#like there was just something about her that was so gregarious and fun and her partner is also very autistic so naturally I adore them both

[baycitystygian]

guys. I'm freaking out I just had an Experience

[livecrow]

You're out with friends and joke that you're “un-kidnappable”.

John Price and the lads think that’s interesting. 

Soft!Dark!John Price x fat fem reader

(cw: noncon)

You don’t recall exactly how it came up. Maybe it was the latest episode of a popular true crime podcast a couple of your friends mentioned listening to the other day.

All the same, while lounging in the familiar bar’s cozy glow, the atmosphere at the table stayed light and relaxed, despite the morbid topic. Between drinks, your friends detail stories of encounters with dubious men and swap self-defense strategies—anything to avoid an impromptu debut on a Dateline special.

They were mostly the basics. Remember to lock your doors immediately. Keep your phone on you. Never leave a drink unattended. Always travel in groups. Oh, and carry pepper spray. It turns out all of your friends carry some.

Not you, though. When you are inevitably questioned on the matter, you concede that you have some, "...somewhere."

Your mom gave you a little canister years back. But you admitted you don’t actually know where it is, much to the displeasure of your friends. Upon further interrogation, you guessed it’s probably in a drawer somewhere, lost among AAA batteries, tangled cords of unknown origin, and appliance instruction manuals. 

As one friend suggests the classic keys-between-your-fingers trick, some of the men at an adjacent table laugh.

“Best use for keys when you’re attacked is opening the damn door.”

Apparently, they had been following your conversation. It was the oldest man who spoke, rumbling over the rim of his glass with aplomb that leaves little room for argument. He has a resonance that makes you pause, reminding you distinctly of the distant rolling thunder that forebodes a coming storm. 

The dark, handsome man at his elbow agrees. “'Sides, they’re not brass knuckles. No stability. You’re not actually gonna cause any damage like that.”

“Aye, ye’r better aff jus’ takin’ one key an poppin’ the bastard’s een oot.” A man sporting a mohawk added with a grin, crudely miming gouging an eye out with his free hand.

“Fine, I’ll punch them out then!” the smallest of your friend group counters, palming her fist loudly while trying to keep a straight face.

That just earns more amusement, of course. The huge masked man at the end of their table scoffs, “Like that you’ll jus’ break your fuckin’ thumb.” He proceeds to instruct her how to make a proper fist. 

It's all in good fun. They’re an interesting bunch, probably military of some sort, you’d wager. Three Brits and one Scot. Your group welcomes the interruption, despite the biggest one of the lot looking particularly murdery himself, decked out in all black and a fucking skull balaclava. 

The gregarious, younger two made up for it. They were all smiles, speaking candidly as if they’d just run into some old friends. Before long you’ve practically joined tables. Why not? After all, the four certainly look like they know what they’re talking about, each man large and brawny.

The younger men did the vast majority of the talking, answering questions and enthusiastically offering techniques to their audience while Voorhees only interjected a brusque retort every so often. Your friends were utterly charmed by the Scot’s cheeky beam and the pretty Brit’s warm eyes as they moved from outlining bodily weak points with an emphasis on “soft targets” to discussing the pros and cons of different weapons.

But there was something about the man who initiated the discourse—some quality. He held an unspoken commanding presence, despite saying little. Here he was, the catalyst of the entire interaction, and yet he seemed content to observe rather than participate. It brought to mind some indifferent, deist higher power.

You estimated he was a decade his mates' senior, give or take. Apropos stormy eyes framed by heavy brows and the beginnings of crow's feet. Odd, antiquated facial hair, wood brown with smatterings of grey. Privately, you thought it suited him—looked distinguished. At some point earlier he caught your gaze. He introduced himself as “John.” Although, curiously, none of his cohorts called him that or introduced themselves in turn. Not that your friends seemed to mind; that, or they didn’t notice. 

Along with his name, he offered a subdued Duchenne smile that disarmed you, softening his gruff countenance in an instant. For an instant, anyway. You’d swear that, even in the bar’s low lighting, you caught his eyes twinkle. Some uncharacteristically childish sentiment swept over you for a moment, making you want to believe that the look was for you and that he wasn’t in reality only being polite.

“...honestly, if you have the stomach for it, your best choice is always gonna be a strap.”

The Scot readily agreed with pretty-boy, as he reclined, his chair balancing precariously on just the back two legs. However, they did quibble over the type of handgun, debating various specifications that were gibberish to the rest of you. While they all listen enraptured, only one of your friends really seems truly open to the idea. The rest unsurprisingly remain gun-shy. 

Another friend suggests a taser as a compromise.

“Not for me,” you laughed, “there’s absolutely no way my ass wouldn't immediately accidentally taser myself."

“No mace, no taser, no knife—not even one of those keychain alarms!” your friend groused. “You should have something—”.

Your eyes met again. You and John. Even with the subtle haze of alcohol relaxing you, it felt penetrating. 

Your eyes retreated down to his drink seeking relief. One of his large hands flexed slightly around his glass, thick tendons shifting under the skin and scattered vellus hair peeking over his cuff, dusting his knuckles. He seemed to be in thought as he took a drink. Whiskey you think it was. His shrewd eyes didn't leave you; maybe he was just looking through you—

“How do you keep yourself out of trouble then, love?” 

His timbre immediately cut through the chatter. If you weren’t feeling so fizzy from the drink, you might feel put on the spot when suddenly everyone’s eyes are singly on you.

You were effectively the token “fat one” of your group. While the rest of this friend group happened to be straight-sized, there was absolutely nothing “straight” on your body. Hell, there was hardly a part of you that didn’t jiggle, at least a little bit. You didn’t resent it; you were just self-aware. You were perfectly cognizant that you blended in among them about as well as a hippo “blends in" with oxpeckers.

If you were entirely sober, you might be a bit put out, might worry he’s being mean, poking fun at your expense. But no, the alcohol thankfully chased away any embarrassment from building in your gut. Besides, there’s no humor to be found in his expression, no edge of malice in his eyes. None of his mates crack a smirk either, apparently also interested in your answer.

You were mid-sip when the question was lobbed your way, and you used it to stall. You weren’t sure precisely why, but you found yourself squirming in your seat a bit before recovering half a second later. 

“Me?”, you grinned around your straw, cocking a brow. “Trust me, I’m not worried about it. I’m practically un-kidnappable,” you asserted, in a way that sounded suspiciously boastful.

John’s focus remains steady on you, appraising, but the other men share a glance. 

You could have left it at that, but pretty-boy chimed in, brow furrowing. "How do you figure that?" 

You weren’t completely sure that the men weren’t just being intentionally obtuse, but you’d entertain a ridiculous question with a ridiculous response. Flippancy came naturally. 

You set your drink back onto the table. You lean in, voice lowered to a grave tone, biting back mischief that threatened to give you away. “Listen, my strategy is airtight,” you paused. “If some guy comes along, tries something?" You hold again for dramatic effect.

"...Sit on him."

"Oh my god," your friends groan collectively.

But you went on, unfazed. "It's all over for him! Why would I need a weapon when I have positional asphyxia? Besides, if that doesn't kill him, the embarrassment will."

Any outrage falls on deaf ears considering your friends are fighting back grins.

Buoyed, you continue. "It’d be like someone trying to ‘kidnap’ an adult grizzly bear. I am not gonna get abducted unless the guy just happens to show up with a forklift—", that earns a swat from your friend sitting closest.

"—And if that's how I get caught? Honestly? I’d have it coming if I somehow missed the fucker rolling up and can't, what, power-walk out of there?"

Another friend beseeches, "Be serious!" 

“I am serious!" you shot back, laughing. "Those things go, what, 5 miles an hour, tops?"

Apparently, the rest of the group also found the image of a low-speed fucking forklift chase funny, judging by the Scot's almost spit-take that left him choking a bit. You were pleased that he and pretty-boy had a sense of humor and didn’t bother with the pretense of finger-wagging. 

You were disappointed you didn't get John, though. He only hummed thoughtfully, an odd liminal not-quite frown on his lips that was mostly obscured by his glass as he took another sip. 

Tough customer.

One friend challenges you, “Oh, yeah? You say that, but what if he pulls a gun and tells you to get in the car? What then?”

You pressed your lips together, tilting your head in consideration.

"Well, at that point, I guess I’d have to accept I'm going to die.”

"What?!"

You shrugged, "There's no way I'm getting in that car. You never go to a secondary location. Everyone knows that. Why drag things out unnecessarily when you can die in the street? After all, there are plenty of worse ways to go than by a bullet—besides, at least then my body will be found."

Worried the last bit would have more of a sobering effect on your company than you intended, you pivot and retrieve your drink. You tilt your chin up, gazing off into the distance dreamily, gesturing with your glass.

“My final words? 'Good luck trying to dispose of my corpse, asshole. Hope you know a good chiropractor.'"

With that you slurped down the dregs, ice clinking at the bottom, finally giggling with everyone else at your own joke. Cue lots of your name and "Stop it!"s. Hell, you even eked out a single low "heh" from Hot Topic that you’ll claim as a proper laugh. You were 3 for 4.

Your friends, bless them, are extremely predictable when you’re so candid self-deprecating. They laugh only to retreat to feigning scandal. When they recover, you’re peppered with more scenarios and protests. 

You’re barely able to suppress an eye-roll at their persistence. "I mean, it's a moot point from the start. I'm not the mark for that kind of thing in the first place."

Before your friends could cut you off, you clarified, “I’m not saying anything bad. I would just be—" you paused, searching for the right word—"an interesting choice." 

"No, I’m not the target demographic for something like that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “I'm simultaneously not preferable aesthetically and not worth the hassle logistically. So that ends up pretty convenient, considering I’d rather not be kidnapped." 

You swabbed the ring of condensation you left on the table with a bar napkin absently. "They want some dainty thing—they don’t want me,” you gestured to your person flippantly. “They want a trophy, but not the 'big game' variety," you gave a lopsided smile.

Your friends’ chastisement was swift, distracting enough that it didn’t quite give you a second to contemplate the strange, tenebrous emotion that was simmering just under the surface of John’s expression or that of his mates’. The nuance was lost on you. 

Mercifully, after experiencing a couple more variations of “You should be more careful!” from your friends, the topic finally changed. It transformed and split, becoming a bit too chaotic for you to follow in your current state; several simultaneous threads of conversation going at once turned into white noise.

After a while you must have zoned out a bit, because among the din you didn’t notice that John was now sitting near you. He leaned over discreetly, at a respectful distance that still made your head foggy and face warm, voice low.

“They’re right, you know. You might think you're an exception, but you’re not. Is dangerous to think that.” 

You're so struck by the intensity of his steely gaze that you were slow to catch up to the actual words. You couldn’t fathom how blue eyes could feel so searing; you’d swear you could feel their heat. Completely caught off-guard by the sudden seriousness, you struggled with how to respond to that. “I—”

Before you could say anything, you realized the Scot was talking to you, asking you something, reeling you back into the fray.

…

Time seems to pass differently after that; you have no idea how long it’s been, all talking and laughing, sharing bants. More rounds of drinks. It’s a good time. 

But the night is winding down for you; you can feel exhaustion creeping in. By the time one of your friends’ partners shows up ready to continue the fun elsewhere, you decline the offer. You hated being seen as a wet blanket, but right now all you wanted to do was go home and take a hot shower. Peel off your “going-out” clothes and change into something comfortable. Maybe order in and catch up on a show. A little, "dolce far niente".

They invited the men too, but apparently they had other plans. Your friends didn’t waste any time pouting, exchanging quick, tipsy goodbyes before heading out.

It’s much quieter after that. Even the light conversation between the men has fizzled out. The small bar that night was particularly slow, consisting mostly of your two groups to begin with. You pull out your phone to check the time, frowning when you find it dead.

“...I can call you an Uber?” John suggests, as you stand. The silence is loud, somehow. Oppressive. It looks as if the men are waiting. The air is heavy with something unsaid, some kind of significance that’s entirely lost on your fuzzy mind. You never noticed the inscrutable look Voorhees sends John after he spoke. You’d find too late that a lot of things skipped your boozy notice that night.

Your lip tugs at the offer. “Thanks, but I promise it’s fine. I actually live pretty close.” 

John just inclines his head, doesn’t press further. As you’re headed to the door, glancing back, you offer an earnest, albeit tired, smile. “Was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you around?” 

“Maybe.”

…

You were barely halfway home before suddenly, out of the darkness of a Cimmerian passing alley, arms locked around you, ripping an undignified squeal out of you.

When you catch sight of the familiar faces of your “attackers”, you clutch your chest, trying to calm your hammering heartbeat.

“Fucking hell!” you heaved.

If you weren’t so rattled and clamoring over your words, you would have been especially mortified by the incidental contact on your squishy middle. You couldn’t remember a time someone has grabbed you so brazenly. By process of elimination, it must have been Hot Topic’s large form who was holding you against his front.

“Shit! You guys are assholes,” you exclaimed between pants. “That’s not funny!” Your hands grasped at the large forearms around you, yanking fruitlessly.

It was John who was standing in front of you, thumbs hooked in his pockets, backlit by a streetlamp, haloed in faint breath vapor. It was the first time you’d recall seeing him standing; he was even bigger than you expected. They all were. 

“You left, what—” he pulled out his phone and glanced down at the blueish light in his hand, “20 minutes ago?” His eyes return to your face, raising his thick brows. “Not very ‘close’, is it? Your home.” John spoke conversationally, a picture of ease, like he was commenting on how chilly the weather was tonight and hadn’t practically jumpscared you.

“Dinnae even try tae throw a punch, no’ even one o’ those girly slaps—” the Scot muttered, not particularly quietly, to pretty-boy, who kissed his teeth in disapproval.

You’re running on fumes, so your brain is moving in slow motion, only just processing John’s words, not yet able to summon even a glare for the Scot’s commentary.

“It is close,” you insist, coming out slightly more defensively than you intended. You’re still embarrassingly working overtime to catch your breath while trying to pull away from the hard body at your back in irritation. “Besides, how do you define ‘close’? That’s completely subjective.” Not as if that’s any of your business. You held back that particular remark.

You took a measured breath or two more. “Look, of all people, I appreciate the commitment to a bit,” you clawed uselessly at Voorhees’ iron grip around you, “but can you call your dog off?” 

Hot Topic’s previous abridged facsimile of a “laugh” echoed in your ear, an amused huff so close that it made you flinch. That wasn’t really what you expected from your unadvisable barb. You think it was the material of his mask that you felt slightly graze the shell of your ear, but it was fleeting enough that you couldn’t be certain.

“You can call me Ghost, sweet’eart”.

On any other day that edgy moniker would have garnered some kind of mirth, but your clouded brain didn’t seem fit to supply a witty retort with some strange man at your nape.

While John said nothing, something in his expression must have communicated to Ghost. You instinctively relaxed when his arms released your middle. It soothed your nerves a touch, enough that you didn’t register that you were in the process of being edged backwards and were now partway through an alley you should have passed on your route home.

You crossed your arms, opting to ignore the introduction in lieu of another shaky inhale. “Just wait till my friends hear that you guys blew them off just to fuck with me. So much for having ‘plans’, huh?”

You tried to tease, still desperately attempting to slow your heart, recoup some composure, and match the men’s nonchalance. You’re not sure how convincingly you pulled it off. Some nagging anxiety still seeped out of you in a slow leak, despite your best effort to pull yourself together, to not be a buzzkill in response to a technically harmless pran—. 

“This is the ‘plan’, love.” John replied simply, not missing a beat.

You huffed in exasperation, brows pinched. “...What, ‘making a point’?”

John paused for a moment, seeming to weigh his words, “That’s one way to look at it, if you’d like.”

There was a pregnant pause, and suddenly the scrape of shoes on the dirty pavement seemed loud in your ears. The smell in the alley is particularly damp and musty now. Had you been moving this whole time? You’re getting all turned around—

Pretty-boy cut in, “You know, your whole premise was faulty from the start. ‘Sides you didn’t account for more than one person being involved”. 

“Involved in what?” you blinked, bewildered. 

“Your kidnapping, obviously.”

“My k—?”.

“—Speak for yourself, Gaz. I’d ‘ave ‘er either way.” Ghost interrupted, making you jump, a stark reminder of the presence still at your back.

You were stunned into silence for a couple of excruciatingly long seconds before choking out a pained laugh. “Ha-ha. Alright—alright, fine. I get it.” You raise your hands in surrender, head swiveling back to John as you turn to press your back against the rough brick of the alley wall, trying to keep them all in your field of vision. 

“I’ll get a taser or something, is that what you want?” you offered, wearing your best expression of deferent contrition.

When John finally peels his eyes from you, he just sighs heavily, shaking his head at the pavement; either in disapproval or disbelief, you couldn’t be sure which. 

“Bit late for that now.”

“…What—what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You stutter indignantly.

You were starting to feel woozy; maybe you drank a bit too much. Your sole scuffs against debris, almost tripping you up completely if not for the brick wall to steady you. Your palms sting as they slide slightly on the stone, but you don’t dare take your eyes off them to look down for even a second. 

Suddenly, with a furtive glance over Ghost’s shoulder, you realize you're almost out on the other side of the street. His massive form fills the alleyway, destroying any hope you’d be able to squeeze your wide body past him or John and the others on your opposite side.

Your mouth is painfully dry. Your throat works, trying to swallow but still managing to somehow choke on nothing. You force some authority you don’t feel into your tone, but it tapers off rather weakly.

“Listen, you’ve had your fun. I really need to get home.”

You were struck by how different they all seemed compared to hardly a half an hour prior. The shift was dramatic—made your head spin. It was hard to rationalize that the people who were just sitting across from you in the homey local bar sharing drinks and the people now caging you into a dreary, abandoned street corner were one and the same. 

An approaching streetlamp visible through the yawning maw of the alley cast harsh shadows on their faces. A literal “light at the end of a tunnel” that only offered you dread.

You swayed slightly on your feet, head darting around, desperately trying to keep an eye on the four of them. You were feeling suddenly inexplicably drunker than you felt mere moments before. As your knees quivered and you tried to steady yourself, John remained a pillar in your wobbly field of vision. Watching. Waiting. 

You're not sure which was preferable, the ominous comments or the ominous silence.

You weren’t small. You’d never felt small in your life. But with a group of large men looming over you, it was suddenly hard not to. It was not a feeling you were accustomed to and one you didn’t enjoy now. You needed air, it was getting impossible to think. You tried to speed your gait to no avail; you couldn’t gain any distance. They prowled, following you closely, as if there was a gravitational pull anchoring them to you. 

“Fine. Fine! Okay, you proved your point, alright?!” you exclaimed, getting more frantic by the second, louder. “Let me pass. I’m serious.”

“Oh, so now she’s serious…” Gaz teases, somewhere off to your left.

“You think I’m not?” John husked, sounding incredulous, forehead lines deepening as he raised his brows, tucked his chin to stare down at you through hooded eyes. “Love, I’m serious as a heart-attack.” 

He was smiling at you again. It looked the same as before. Sincere. But where previously it endeared you, now, now it makes your heart stall, then shudder in your ribcage; fill you with the sensation of a freefall, the one that jolts you awake while on the very precipice of sleep, leaves your heart racing, despite the tranquil darkness. 

His eyes flick over your head.

Before you are able to register the glance, Ghost is suddenly on you again, grabbing you round the middle quicker than someone his size had any right to be, this time actively herding your large form forward. You realized dully that his last grip on you must have been relatively loose compared to his grip on you now; it was clearly only a fraction of his actual strength.

“What are you doing?!” You cry, a hair's breadth away from a shriek. Your head whips back to John, imploring, “Stop—Stop, I don't know what you want!”

This is probably what it feels like to be a frog. Pounced on and scooped up roughly by some huge creature—some grubby kid’s scrambling fingers. Slippery, round body gripped tight.

You were finally out of the alley, pulled by Ghost as well as your own unsteady feet, your body's instinct to try and avoid cracking your cranium on the concrete abetting him, betraying you.

“What we want?” Ghost chaffed over you, mimicking your voice. “Go on then,” he urged, “give your ‘ead a wobble?” 

You could practically feel him cocking his head, feel his smile even with him against your back, even behind the mask.

The open air did nothing for you. It didn’t clear your mind or relieve the claustrophobia churning in your belly a single iota. After all, it wasn’t really the walls closing in on you—it was bodies.

“You’re just trying to scare me!” You accuse sharply, voice strained, grunting as you only manage to nearly heimlich yourself on the last attempt to free yourself from the steel grip around your midsection.

Gaz and the Scot chuckle.

John says your name. He utters it like it was a complete sentence, but you're not sure what it means, what he wants. Either way, it made you regret giving it to him. You suddenly preferred not hearing it on his lips in that rumbling baritone.

Ghost scoffs. “For ‘avin such a smart mouth she’s a bit thick, eh, Soap?” he comments meanly over your head.

Soap’s responding before you have a chance to voice any displeasure, somewhere between a laugh and a scold.

“A bit? Haud yer wheesht!” He turns his attention quickly back to you, leaning in close, “Aw, pet, dinnae pay him mind…Lt kens our bonnie is well thick”, he pats your cushioned hips affectionately.

A shocked gasp slips out of you unbidden at the brief but unmistakable gentle fondle of your fat love handles. They all drank in the vulnerable, little noise. It would be the first of many. It was impossible to interpret the gesture as anything but “familiar”.

Your body jolts. You would have practically jumped a foot off the ground if not for Ghost anchoring you. With the hold, stark realization floods you like a bucket of ice water—there’s quite literally nothing you can do to avoid any of their touch. Your skin crawls at the unfamiliar contact and doubly so at the threat of more yet.

“Dead fit,” Gaz says readily, sounding like an agreement if you’ve ever heard one, his eyes roam your form.

Words were stolen from your overheating brain, still trying desperately to reboot, to process what the fuck is going on.

“Captain ‘s a man of taste—such a pretty, dainty thing,” Ghost sneers in your ear. “Playin’ coy now, when she was practically battin’ ‘er lashes all night.” 

“—It’s not too late—it’s a joke, right? Let’s—we can just forget about this—”

Ghost completely ignores you. “Soft thing like you prancin’ ‘round, cunted at this hour, thinkin’ you're safe?”

“Cun—? I’m not fucking drunk!”

“You’re lucky someone with bad intentions didn’t hear you.” The grin is loud in his tone, oozes off every syllable.  

“You think I'm a dog? So you knew wha’ you were doin’ then? You were teasin’ a ‘ungry dog, waving a juicy steak under ‘is nose. Rubbing it in all our faces, of any bloke ‘n earshot?”

“What—what the hell are you talking about?! You—you can’t be serious!” You finally parroted uselessly, equal parts baffled and horrified. These men are crazy.

“She keeps sayin’ tha’,” Soap comments, perplexed.

“‘Denial’ ‘s not just a river,” Gaz shrugs.

Ghost continues. “Captain—” A big hand is suddenly on your jaw, centering your gaze back on John, ”—‘s doin’ you a kindness. Keepin’ you safe n’ sound, makin’ sure you don’t get yourself chewed up 'n some dirty fuckin’ alley,” nodding back towards the way they came, “Nice of ‘im, innit?”

You flailed desperately, hoping to catch Ghost off guard for even a second. You send your elbow into his ribs, as hard as you could manage at the awkward angle. It was akin to hitting granite. You sucked in air through your clenched teeth as pain radiated through your ulnar nerve. His grip on you didn't waver, he didn't flinch. He laughed.

A true, low “heh, heh, heh”, that you regretted ever wanting to hear—could have happily gone your whole life without hearing. It sent rogue shivers down your spine and piloerection up your arms as you gawked up in shock, pain forgotten.

“Och, that’s a bit better, Bonnie.” Soap feigns, judging your strike like he’s trying not to hurt your feelings.

“John—” you plead helplessly, turning your gaze back to him. But saying his name was a mistake, deepening the look already there. Rubatosis filled you.

“Think you're strong, eh? That you could ever ‘urt any of us? Show ‘im you can fend f’ yourself then.” Ghost wobbled you to and fro, shook you, as if you were some weightless bauble. 

As your world tilted, you instinctively gripped his arm for dear life, dizzy, afraid you would topple over. You knew he was right, of course; there is no point denying it. 

But a man like him, like them—saying it? It was wrong—it chilled your blood. It felt needlessly cruel, to rub in how weak you are compared to them. The provocation freezes you, making Ghost’s dark eyes crinkle. 

“Slim pickings, huh? Must be feeling desperate?” you bit out, before you could stop yourself, voice bitter and thick with emotion—panic and anger congealing into snark. A hole is a hole, after all. Bad luck that you happened to be the one around.

Who would you trade places with? Better you than someone else, your conscience whispered faintly.

“You really don’t get it?” John wonders aloud, bafflement mixing with a heady intensity.

“Imagine thinking no one would want all this—” Fingers grazed your curves. Touched every roll, every hill and valley on your side with a reverence that shocked you for the hundredth time that day, left your mouth literally agape. 

“—thought is an utter travesty. One of life’s greatest pleasures is a big, soft girl. Nothing sweeter,” he declared breathily despite himself. “Nothing. So much more to hold, to squeeze—”

There was a certain palpable greediness to his touch, even while he was restraining himself. Groping, not bruising. He only went so far, skirting frighteningly close to your more private bits. At least it appeared your actual debasement was not going to happen on this particular street corner. His hands make a slow jaunt, mapping your contours. Down your back, your side, your belly, your thighs—kneading and squeezing your ample flesh.

A pitiful, “Please stop—” is eked out of you. Your unadulterated fear on full display, sincere and raw. Begging. You were begging, or trying to, anyway. Your breath hitched, flesh jolting with every unwelcome brush against you, sending your nerve endings alight, already feeling overstimulated. 

There was that expression again, that you didn’t recognize before. But it was no longer just simmering under the surface; it was boiling. Emanating out through his pores, muddled with a touch of pity. You finally recognized it—hunger.

“I’m not cross with you,” he adds oddly. “You don’t understand now, but you will. This isn’t a punishment—it’s a consequence.” 

Your throat clamped painfully, words tumbling out of your mouth incomprehensibly, trying to find the right thing to say to make him stop. More hands were on you, pulling your wrists together in front of you. “Please, I don’t, I can’t, wh—”

“Am not going to hurt you. You have my word.” The solemnity of the promise rattled you. Maybe he truly believed it, but you certainly didn’t. After all, you’d wager you had different definitions of “hurting”. You’d die on the hill that this was “hurting” someone.

Somewhere inside you, your body was screaming at you to do something. You’d take the inspiration.

Scream what, exactly? You couldn’t be sure. You should scream “fire” not “help”, right? But you’d never get the chance, because on your inhale, John’d somehow divined your intentions, and suddenly a hand was clamped over your lips before a sound could escape them. The pressure of the palm was close to bruising this time, unyielding—he wasn’t taking any chances, apparently. 

Jerking your head did nothing to dislodge the hand, unlike those on your limbs. It followed the movement rather than impede it. As fate would have it, your struggles only left your head spinning, vision partially obscured by the force of the hand pushing your plump cheeks into your eyes. Whiplash pinched in your neck at the frantic jerks. God, you felt sick.

After that, everything happened very quickly. Suddenly it felt like there were hands all over you, everywhere. Grabbing, holding, pressing. You could hardly tell up from down.

You’d shut your eyes for even a momentary reprieve, willing the vertigo to cease. For everything to stop. For all of them to stop touching you. Hoping desperately that you’d wake up and find yourself safe in bed, this all a bad dream. 

Then there was a ripping sound, then a couple more. Someone was pushing stray hairs out of your face. The hands on your wrists moved up instead to grip your forearms. No sooner than you heard it, the large hand had fled your lips only to be immediately replaced by some large sticky substance that was stretched taut across your mouth, from cheek to cheek.

Startled, your struggles renewed, some expletives trapped by the stuff, transforming into useless “mphhhing!” as your hands jumped to pull the offending material from your face. An entirely fruitless endeavor considering the grip on your arms, which didn't budge an inch. John seems fit to ignore your pitiful struggle, simply smoothing it out carefully, layering a couple more pieces. He hums in satisfaction, wide palm patting his work, cupping your mouth and jaw again for good measure.

There was that sound again. With the fear it shot through you, it might as well have been a gun racking. You couldn’t see it, but this time your sloshy mind recognized the distinct creak and shrill shrrrrrrrrrrrp. It was duct tape being pulled from the roll, then wrapped noisily around your wrists, aided by the hands forcing your arms together. 

Trying to shove, to bully yourself between them was hopeless. They were all too close, too strong, too heavy, all bearing down on you. You didn’t have room to throw your weight around or even properly kick out at them. Round and round, the tape went, and round and round again for good measure before the end was ripped, smarting where it snagged slightly on the hair on your arms. 

You're quite literally fighting for your life, sweating with exertion and panic, panting behind the tape, but your desperate flailing didn’t deter them at all; you didn’t receive even a single hitch in any of their breath for your effort. Hell, it couldn’t even hinder some conversation. Not that you caught most of it with your head swimming, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“—‘course she’s scrikin’, we’re nicking ‘er,” Ghost rolls his eyes. 

Something else was said, probably by Soap, based on the accent.

Ghost just doubles down. “No point tryin’ to talk sense into ‘er. Thing doesn’t know what’s good for ‘er—“

John took his time; he’s dedicated to his task. Precise yet generous with the tape. As soon as the hands left your forearms, more tape was applied where they departed, this time around your entire body, effectively pinning your arms down at your front, circling you enough times that you lost count.

Your struggles and thrashes reinvigorate, an absolutely method portrayal of a snared rabbit. It hurt—hurt how hard you were pulling against them. Bruises would undoubtedly bloom in the coming days wherever their hands gripped you from your wild jerking. That is, assuming you lived that long. Your chest heaves with anxiety. The men allowed you a bit more space, enough that you didn’t feel actively compressed on every side. By them at least.

Not John, though. It was his face that filled your vision, his eyes that pinned yours.

“Shhh. There’s a girl. It’s already over.” You hadn’t yet noticed the tears gathering, that you were so close to falling apart. He said it like it would be some sort of comfort, cupping your plump cheeks delicately. John spoke to you gently, in the softest tone you’d heard yet, softer than you would have believed his husky voice capable of, and yet, with an disturbing finality. “It’s done. Nothing you can do now,” he whispered into your terrified face. 

He was too close—there was a little mole on the right side of his nose you never noticed before. He smelled of smoke, and under that, something woodsy and spicy. A large, rough palm smoothed over your hair. Your terrified eyes squeezed shut, willing him out of your face, to stop looking at you. You’re certain he could feel your terror; hell, he could probably feel each little panicked puff of air forced out of your lungs on his face as you tried vainly to regulate your breathing through your nose. “There you go,” he praised, “In and out.”

Shining tears wobbled precariously in your waterline. You tried with all your might not to let them loose, to salvage any shred of dignity. Any sense of control. As if that would somehow make things worse, as you sucked in a wet, sniveling sound.

Your internal pleas for space were less than useless, as John leaned in ever closer, cradling your skull in his hands, pressing his lips to your crown in a chaste, whiskery kiss.

The sheer intimacy of the gesture made you balk. Held and boxed in, there was no way to move away, making you whimper pathetically. Sounding foreign to even your own ears. A savourable sound, that went right to John’s belly.

Trying to hold it in was all for naught; as soon as John’s lips touched you, your resolve shattered. Shattered into so many pieces even Kintsugi couldn’t repair it. Your face was soaked with the onslaught, tears traveling as far as down your neck. Dizzy with panic, the duct tape swallowing up most of your damp sobs. You couldn’t recall the last time you'd broken down like that in front of another person, much less four near strangers. 

“I’m keeping you.” He says suddenly. He waits for you to take in the words, thumbs stroking slow circles into your cheekbones.

You hiccup behind the tape, teeth chattering in your clenched jaw as you realize you’re shaking. Face tacky with tears. You angrily tried to pull away again, but John just held you still as you quake. 

…John didn’t need Ghost for muscle, you realized dully. His grip was an epiphany, the promise of strength in his hands alone—it made you feel all the more useless.

Calloused thumbs rasped over your cheeks, wiping away the wetness there, only for more to replace them. “I won’t try to stop you from crying, won’t punish you for being upset,” he rumbled, “but, you have to understand it won’t change anything. What'll happen. From now on, you’re mine—but I take care of what’s mine. You’ll see.”

Why?! Your heart ached. You couldn’t understand how people you’d been chatting and laughing with mere minutes ago could do this to you. People who had seemed so normal—

Gaz smirks, nudging Soap, murmuring, “Oh, don't worry, she’ll feel heaps better when she’s creamin’ on—”

You didn't think you were capable of feeling worse. Your eyes bulge in horror, breath snagging again in your throat.

John sighs, interrupting him with a harsh jangle of metal as he pitched some keys to Gaz, who caught them easily in one hand. “Bring the car ‘round will you?” John asks, but it’s really not a request.

“On it!” Gaz’s reply is prompt and cheery as he steps off the curb into the darkness beyond the reach of the streetlamp, practically a spring in his step. 

You sniffled, sinuses starting to burn, following your eyes’ watery influence. Feeling humiliated as you can feel your nose start to run, tickling your philtrum. Soap cooed over your teary face. You flinched as he raised his hand to you, but he only wiped your nose, disgustingly with his own sleeve. 

He had the nerve to look chagrined at your reaction. When he spoke again, it was uncannily quiet compared to his familiar boister, as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Dinnae fash, it’ll be awricht, bonnie, swear it.”

His words were worthless; didn’t pacify you at all. You were possessed by a primal terror of a cornered animal that couldn’t fathom what was going to happen to it. Your eyes flooded, everything in your vision warped by tears. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear over your own hammering heart. Soap’s cursin’, saying something. Maybe it was fucking Gaelic, you didn’t understand what he was saying.

“—Wee lamb, greetin—”

“‘Nough fussin’, Soap. You’re almost as bad as ‘er.” 

“Ah ken, ah ken…”

“I did warn you, even gave you an out.” John sighed, commiserating, as if he weren’t the source of your angst. It wrung completely hollow, he didn't sound disappointed in the slightest with any of the events. If anything, you'd suspect we has trying to tamp down the opposite.

“Jesus wept, Cap—” Soap blurts, any remorse apparently long forgotten as he suddenly grips your ample belly possessively, making you shriek“—almost made us lose out.” he grumbled “Ah knew ye were tryin’ tae tip ‘er aff”. You thrashed in his rude hold, face hot, but he just grinned, loved how your squirms just showcased your enticing bounce.

Despair and humiliation ached in your chest, heavy like lead. You just wanted to go home.

Headlights round the corner.

In a last-ditch attempt, you allow yourself to completely go limp, following through on the threat of being unmovable. You barely start tipping before Ghost and Soap are on either side of you, holding you up between the two of them, completely halting your descent.

Your mind shuddered to a halt with the idea they might actually be able to lift you. When you tried to buckle your knees, they went ahead and confirmed your fears true. Not even a slipped grunt of exertion gave you any satisfaction, when you were being half carried, half dragged practically kicking and screaming to the car. Well, as much as you could through the tape. As you’re urged onward, you lock your knees as your legs jam against the car’s running board.

“You’re going one way or another,” John calls simply, tapping something into his phone.

“Watch your head, trophy.” Ghost grins, huge hand spanning your skull, pushing you down past the door frame, but you think you just might have preferred the concussion. Your own weight does the rest of the work, sending you sprawling belly first onto the back seat, teary cheek smooshed against the cool, leather interior.

You should have been prepared to be absolutely as difficult as possible, regardless of whether or not it’d change your fate, but you were utterly spent. Your limbs ached at all the struggling. You couldn’t muster any more fight as Soap and Ghost maneuvered you into the middle seat. Your plentiful "handholds" aiding the process.

The lone lap belt buckled tightly across your lap before Ghost and Soap followed you in, sandwiching you, sitting in the seats on either side. You were practically spilling over onto them, it was a tight fit. 

You couldn’t quite swallow a yelp as rough fingers were wedged under your plush form on either side. Apparently unsatisfied with your positioning, you were swiveled so your ass remained in the seat while the rest of your body lay flat. Your upper body in Ghost's lap and legs curled in Soap’s, the seat belt digging into your soft belly at the awkward angle.

You were normally hyperaware of the space you occupied and tried to be as respectful as possible about it. You would be mortified, feel a bolt of white-hot shame if any squishy bit of you even accidentally brushed up against someone else. You’d do anything to risk a stranger's look of annoyance or disgust, god forbid someone say something. And yet, here you were, your fat body draped across two men's laps, both looking quite fucking pleased with the arrangement. There was nothing you could do about it, as Soap paws at your thigh, humming happily.

“Behave, you lot.” John stoops, smiling at the group fondly as he shuts the door.

The car is moving.

You were completely adrift. Maybe you were in shock. All it took was a handful of seconds for your life to become entirely and irrevocably derailed. 

While lying prone, the motion rocked you slightly. Outside the window, the world flitted by. All you could make out from your vantage point was the wide expanse of sky, purplish, the color of a dusky developing bruise, only swagging power lines and the tops of towering street lamps flashing across the horizon.

Just like that, slow conversation started up again, right above your head. It was as if they were back at the bar; the normalcy of it was chilling. Soap’s hands were still resting over your thick thigh, petting you. Repetitive strokes up and down your thigh that also eventually blended into the background. The car was so warm now—John must have cranked the heat. You feel the warmth dust across your face where it filtered into the backseat.

You're feeling floaty—disconnected. Your body couldn’t sustain the level of terror that should still be at the forefront of your mind. Adrenaline burned everything out of you, drained you till there was nothing left but fog, thick and cloying. It became a task to keep your eyes open.

You were so tired. 

Your limp body bounced lightly as the car went along. The voices were even more distant now, a muted background noise, like someone speaking on the phone in the next room over—you can just hear the mumble through the wall but can’t decipher any of the words.

…

“—get some proper rest on the plane.”

(I horked this up originally after re-reading one of @391780 posts. I think it was the one where Simon calls dibs on you while you're out with friends? Clearly things deviated a lot, but still. Do yourselves a favor and read all of their stuff.)

[darlingshane]

Burden

Carmy Berzatto & SIL!Reader + Past!Michael Berzatto x F!Reader

Summary: After Michael's death, you moved out of Chicago and took the kids to be closer to your family. A year later, you come back to see the Berzattos and on your last day you have a heart-to-heart with Carmy.

Content/Warnings: Angst, Grief, Guilt, Mention of Death and Suicide.

Word Count: 1,6k

A/N: Carmy calls reader Sis.

— You can read below or at AO3.

Being back in Chicago hurts more than you could have imagined. Even if it's just for a short visit, so your kids can reconnect with their aunt and uncle.

This isn’t the most exciting trip you’ve ever taken, but at the end it’s sad to leave this city behind once again. That feeling won’t ever go away. After all, this is the place where you met and built a life with Michael. This is where your two kids were born. And like in all good tragedies, this is also the place where your soul mate decided to abandon you when he took an early exit by his own hand.

A year later, you're still dealing with the aftermath of it all.

You moved to Minneapolis to be closer to your family mere days after your oldest daughter finished her school year. It was the right choice for all of you. But you all miss being closer to the Berzattos. You've always had a great relationship with most of them.

Natalie has been a great support, even in distance; even when battling with her own grief. She's the one you’ve talked to more often and the one who gave you that little push you needed to come visit.

It’s been a hectic week, especially since they’re reopening The Beef — The Bear — now, and they’re running against the clock to have everything ready for the launch next month. You haven’t stepped inside the restaurant since before Michael's death, and that’s something you can’t still bring yourself to do.

On your last day in the city, Aunt Natalie and Uncle Pete take your eight-year-old Madison and, god help them, your two-year-old Aiden for a fun day out while you hang back in the house.

You take that as an opportunity to pack everything for tomorrow and to finally get the guts to call Carmy to invite him for lunch and have some quality time with him for old times’ sake.

In regard to your brother-in-law, you’ve both been more distant toward the other than you used to be. He's become more reserved after Michael's death, and all your energy has been put on your two kids, and poorly handling everything else.

Back in the day, when Michael was still alive, you were the one to always call Carmy when Mikey stopped ditching his brother’s calls altogether. At some point, you ran out of excuses to give to Carmen on behalf of your husband's behavior. So, you’d just say – Just Mikey being Mikey.

Carmy and you knew that was bullshit.

Michael had a gregarious nature that remained unchanged until the last second. It’s hard to believe it was just a mask he put on to keep everyone happy, including you.

It begs to question what else you didn’t know about Michael, or if there was something different you could’ve done or said to change the outcome of that night.

Nothing has ever filled you with more guilt and remorse for not paying closer attention. It has also left you with a lot of anger the way he chose to leave you and the kids to your own devices. You know it's selfish, cause he had to be hurt beyond words to commit an act like that. The Michael you remember would have never done anything as such. It unnerves you that he didn't feel comfortable enough to come and talk to you. And you've exhausted your mind going over and over all the events preceding that day, searching for something that you'd have said that would have pushed him farther into that abyss. Something was off, and you should have tried harder to figure out what was going on with Michael. But in the midst of handling two young kids and your own job, you missed all the clues to Michael's secret affliction.

Regardless of that, Michael will always be the person you've loved the most, along with your children, and while the wound is still open and bleeding, you need to try to mend that relationship with Carmen before it's too late.

You're folding a pile of clean clothes and sorting them in your suitcase when the doorbell rings.

Swallowing that anxious lump in your throat, you open the door and greet him.

“Hope you don't mind, I ordered some pizza. I'm not much of a cook and figured you'd been so busy with… I didn't want you to…”

“No, that's fine, Sis. Pizza is perfect,” he's clearly nervous too when he takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back of a chair. “So they left you alone, huh?”

“Yeah. Aiden is probably driving them nuts. Do you want something to drink?” you gesture toward the kitchen.

“Uh, sure.”

Carmy follows you into the kitchen. He gets a soda, and you get a glass of water.

This is the first time you've seen him alone without Natalie or the kids around to interrupt. It feels a little awkward to be honest. Everything is still so raw for all of you, that locking eyes with Carmy's steel blue gaze feels like being stabbed with cold daggers. It's hard to look at him without seeing yourself in that same sea of despair.

Sipping his drink, his attention is drawn to a picture that Sugar took of Aiden a few days ago, pinned under a magnet on the fridge's door.

“He's gotten so big since…” Carmy trails off, pointing at your toddler. “How are they doing?”

“The kids?” he nods at you. “They're fine for the most part. Aiden is easier. He doesn't…” you don't have to finish the sentence for him to pick up what you mean. He was still a baby when it happened and until he's older, you won't be able to explain what happened. “And Madison… She really, really misses her dad, you know? She tries to put on a brave face, but some days she doesn't want to talk. And every other night she ends up in my bed begging me to not ever leave her.” You place the glass down on the counter, turn around to face the window, so he doesn't see the tears streaming down your face. “Ugh, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't burden you with this. You have enough already with…”

“Don't apologize, Sis. God, I hate him for doing that to you and the kids,” Carmen says softly.

“You shouldn't. He was your brother. It was my fault after all. I should've… I'm sorry.”

“Don't go there, Sis. It was nobody's fault.”

“No, it was. I was supposed to look after him, and I failed. He just left one night… and never came back. And I should've seen. I should've known… ”

“Listen,” there's a pause and a sigh while he gathers the rambling of his thoughts. “I have no idea what was going on with him. You and I both know that he could barely talk to me. And these past few months, I've found out things about him that I don't completely understand. But if there's one thing I know about Michael is that he loved you and the kids more than anything, and wouldn't want you to blame yourself for what he did. That's on him. I'm not gonna let you do that, okay?”

Staring at the sink, you vaguely nod, and wipe your tears. Guilting yourself over Michael's death is something that's going to follow you always. Even if it wasn't your fault. There are things about that night that still don't sit right with you. Every day, you wish you could go back in time and scream at yourself to look closer, pay attention, and ask him to stay that night you saw him leave for the last time.

“He was so stubborn sometimes. I should've pushed him harder to talk to you.”

“That's not on you, either. I know you tried.”

“He was very proud of you, you know?” you finally glance over yourself to see his reaction.

Though you knew Michael was highly proud of his little brother, he never got to express that face to face, or even on the phone. Maybe telling Carmy what you know could help him a little.

“Was he?” His head heavily slumps into his shoulders as a response, as if he wasn't completely sure Michael cared at all. He said he did, – I give a huge fuck, – Carmy recalls his brother saying that eventful Christmas. But after that, things went stale again, and he was back to being the odd man out.

“He was incredibly proud of you, Carmen,” you reassure him. “Michael really, really loved you, and respected you so much.”

“Maybe he did, but he didn’t want me here.”

“It wasn’t like that. He… Michael thought you deserved much better than to end up with him stuck in that hole in the wall. His words,” you point out. “He thought you were artistic and talented, and having you working with him would've kept you from going to Copenhagen and working in the best restaurants in the world. He believed that you could do anything, and needed to go out and chase that dream for both, for you and him, and experience everything that he couldn’t.”

“He told you that?” He moves to stand next to you, bracing his palms on the counter.

“Maybe not in that many words, but yeah.”

“He could have done any of that, too.”

“Yeah, he could’ve. But that’s not what he wanted. He took his chances with what he got, and that was his path. Not yours, Carmy. I should’ve told you earlier, it’s just…”

“… Hard. Tell me about it.”

“I’ve missed talking to you. I wasn’t trying to push you away like he did.”

“I know, Sis. I know. You have your hands full. I wasn't expecting you to. I get it. You can call anytime, you know? If the kids are giving you a hard time, or you just need to talk… I’m not Natalie, but I can listen.”

“Yeah, likewise.”

You both timidly smile at the other, and the burden weighing on your shoulders lightens just a little.

[unseemingowl]

Saga Anderson, and Nordic rep in Alan Wake 2

Early on in Saga Anderson’s exploration in Alan Wake 2, she runs into Ilmo Koskela. Fiercely proud of his Finnish heritage, Ilmo gregariously makes note of Saga’s Nordic sounding name and the familiar design of her knitted sweater. Perhaps a fellow Finn?

Alas no, Saga’s mom is Swedish she informs him. Immediately Ilmo’s face falls. I’m not sure if it’s actually just the animated character defaulting to his resting face, but either way the timing is too perfect. Cue uproarious laughter from me. People in the Nordics are on friendly terms of course, but we gotta have the tiniest bit of… scornfor each other. All in good fun of course. It’s traditional.

Now, I’m Danish, not Finnish, but still, I feel right at home in the towns of Bright Falls and Watery in Alan Wake 2. All of the little nods to Nordic culture and mindset feel so wonderfully familiar to me. The melancholia, the irreverent sense of humor, the affection for the Finnish and Swedish quirks of the characters. The game feels all the stronger in tone and narrative for Remedy embracing the Finnish roots of the studio.

Which is exactly why it sucks that I almost immediately saw the charm of those narrative decisions weaponised against Saga.

I first watched the scene between Ilmo and Saga on a lets play when I was trying to figure out if I should finally dip my toes into survival horror and buy the game. Delighted by the writing I took a look into the comments to see if people were vibing as hard with it as I was. They were. But I also saw a comment that made me frown.

Paraphrasing, it basically went, come on, like hell a guy like Ilmo would make the assumption that a black woman is Finnish. There are a multitude of reasons why I think that person was wrong, mainly that Nordic people love it when we run into each other in other countries, but it also just made me sad.

Saga being black does not negate her Swedish heritage. Formally, she is American, sure (I assume, not sure how that works in the US), but she’s raised by her single Swedish mom, of course she’s going to identify heavily with that part of her herself. It’s a profound and essential part of who she is.

But hey, I’m a white potato Dane, so I’m not gonna argue that I know much about the experience of being biracial. I’m gonna stick to what I know, which is that Saga is a very moving and beautiful example of something that I’m actually not used to seeing much of - a story about connecting with your Nordic heritage and roots. And it’s part of why I love her so much.

When Nordic people show up in big, international productions, it’s usually as Vikings, and sure, it’s fun to see our wild ancestors, but contemporary questions of Nordic identity and heritage is not something I often see explored. Not even in our own productions.

So much of Saga’s story is about family. Fighting for her current one, Logan and Casey (and sure, David too, lol), and rediscovering her first one. Tor and Odin.

Her discovering her ties to Tor and Odin is profoundly moving and made me teary-eyed several times over. And sure, a lot of those ties are fantastical in nature, but they still feel very much grounded - and what makes us Nordic if not the ties to our myths and legends that Tor and Odin have made themselves the living avatars of.

While Saga’s mom, Freya, had good reasons for leaving the Anderson seer magics behind, seeing them as part of what made her family fucked up, she also cut Saga off from the fullness of her capabilities. It is only through Saga reforming her family, healing its scars and fully embracing the Anderson heritage that she becomes as powerful a parautilitarian as she is at the end of the game. That’s beautiful.

And in fact I think Saga being black only deepens the richness of those themes rather than negate them or make them irrelevant. Because yes, Saga’s story would have been moving if she was a white character too, but I am very well aware that a lot of biracial people of Nordic ancestry can feel alienated from that part of themselves. Not least because questions of who gets to claim a Nordic heritage can get pretty ugly around here. There are most definitely people who share the racist mindset of that commentator. It adds an extra dimension. Which is why seeing Tor and Odin’s eagerness to claim Saga as part of the Anderson heritage is all the more moving. Through her magics, she’s just so obviously an Anderson, and they’re so damn proud to call her theirs and fight alongside her. Because they all got that wild Viking blood in them. They’re part of her and she’s part of them.

Roger Ebert, the film critic once called movies empathy machines. I think games, when they’re at their best, can be an even more intense variation of that. Which is exactly why it baffles me that some people can play through Alan Wake 2 and still think Saga is a stunt-woke character rather than someone fully and beautifully integrated in the narrative. A narrative which, at its most basic level – in my opinion – is about the mystical bonds we form with each other and the rest of the world through art and love and blood and family and heritage. All the great horror doesn’t negate that either, it amplifies it. Kind of like that clicker.

[momentov1vere]

Assigning PJO/ HoO characters to Knights Radiant orders (+ my reasoning)

I put too much thought into this not to share it somewhere so here’s a sort-of character analysis that is much longer than it needs to be (bc I was bored and stuck in a car for 10 hours) :)

Not sure how much of a crossover there is between the PJO and Stormlight Archive fandoms but this was mostly for fun (and I want to see what happens lol)

Here we go!

——————————————————————————

🔱 Percy Jackson : Stoneward

The powers don’t rly fit (Cohesion- manipulating objects at a molecular level- & Tension- changing the stiffness of something) but none of the Radiants have water powers so 🤷‍♀️

Loyalty is pretty much the #1 belief of the Stonewards (“Though sometimes gregarious, they are never flighty. If a Stoneward is your friend, they will be there for you”) and Percy’s fatal flaw is literally loyalty so that’s that

Percy is said to be one of the best fighters seen like anywhere in a long time and Stonewards are the order that is viewed as the best soldiers of the Radiants

They like a challenge and will often take on more than they can handle (like Percy choosing to take on the Great Prophecy)

Stonewards are also good at being able to find a solution to a difficult situation with only few resources and Percy often comes up with things on the fly/ improvises

I struggled SO MUCH picking one for Percy oh my god he had similarities to like half of them (I almost made him a Bondsmith or a Windrunner but they didn’t seem right)

🦉 Annabeth Chase : Elsecaller

Powers : Transformation (changing an object into something else- aka ‘Soulcasting’) and Transportation (looking/moving between realms); Annabeth likes creating new things (architecture) so there’s a bit of a connection to the Transformation power even tho she doesn’t really have powers

Elsecallers are always trying to reach their full potential, like how Annabeth is always be seen trying to learn new things and become the best version of herself

They are regarded as the ‘wisest’ Radiant order (just like Annabeth/ the Athena cabin are viewed as the ‘wisest’ demigods)

Annabeth always has her goals in mind but also always trying to lead and encourage others (like Damasen) which is common amongst Elsecallers

🐐 Grover Underwood : Edgedancer

Powers: Abrasion (altering the friction between surfaces) & Progression (quickly growing organic objects faster than normal- including plants, skin, body tissue, etc.)

He’s able to make plants grow faster using his magic reed pipe so that would translate into Progression

Abrasion would kind of fit for him too, bc of the goat legs (he’s able to navigate more difficult terrain than humans)

Edgedancers care about the ordinary/ overlooked people of the world and spend most of their time making sure those people are protected. Grover cares deeply about nature/ animals and always tries to protect them bc humans often deem nature unimportant (nature = ordinary people in this scenario)

☠️ Nico di Angelo : Dustbringer

Powers: Division (control over destruction/ decay) and Abrasion

I don’t know if Nico has anything that really fits the Abrasion power- except for maybe the fact that his shadow travel helps him get places quickly- but Division is definitely similar to his power over death/ earthy materials

Dustbringers typically don’t get along with others (including people in their own order) because of personality differences and stereotypes about their powers like how Nico is often ostracized at first bc he scares people

☀️ Will Solace : Edgedancer

Powers: Abrasion & Progression

Will is a healer so Progression would be a good power for him to have; while he doesn’t have any powers similar to Abrasion I think it would be useful for him to have to get to injured people faster

Will cares about everyone and will do his best to heal anyone because he doesn’t want anyone to suffer, and he doesn’t just focus on the powerful demigods- he makes sure to lend his power anywhere it’s needed

Fighting is not the the Edgedancers’ main concern, preferring to protect/help the injured (especially people who aren’t necessarily warriors) and Will also is more like a wartime medic than a fighter (though he- and the Edgedancers- can fight if necessary)

They want to see and understand both sides of something, even their enemies, rather than seeing everything in black and white. Will struggled with this in TSATS but eventually realized that places like the Underworld aren’t necessarily just about death/decay, but are also about life

🌩️ Jason Grace : Windrunner

Well first of all the man flies and that’s basically what the Windrunners do lol

Their powers: Adhesion (temporarily sticking two objects together) and Gravitation (changing the direction/ strength of something’s gravitational pull)

He cares a lot about protecting innocents/ the defenseless and keeping his friends safe which is a main idea of the Windrunners

Windrunners are very militaristic in general and Jason was raised by the wolves and the Romans to be that way as well

Tempest would be his windspren & prefer a horse form cus they can do that (I think)

⚡️ Thalia Grace : Windrunner

I know she hates flying but I don’t think it’s really a requirement of the Windrunners to ‘fly’; they mostly just change the direction/amount of gravity that’s pulling on them so she could find creative ways to use Gravitation (walking on walls/ceilings which then appear to be the floor to her, etc)

The Hunters of Artemis are pretty militaristic as well (they have a specific leader & ways of doing things, similar to the Romans)

Thalia cares about innocent people/creatures and is very protective over the people she cares about (Annabeth, the Hunters, etc)

Windrunners tend to attract “big-sibling types” and Thalia is definitely a big sibling type lol

🏹 Frank Zhang : Stoneward

Powers don’t rly fit him either but personality-wise I think it’s right

Frank is really loyal to his friends (sometimes to the point of attacking/fighting people more powerful than him to save them) and will always be there for them both in battle and for personal issues

He’s pretty good at improvising and his shapeshifting allows him to come up with creative solutions (turning into an iguana to get out of the Chinese handcuffs lol)

He’s also pretty quick to come up with creative solutions without many resources (using his firewood to free Thanatos when there was no other heat source, etc.)

💎 Hazel Levesque : Lightweaver

Powers : Illumination (illusions) and Transformation

Hazel learned how to manipulate the mist from Hecate, essentially giving her illusion powers, & she can change the shape of earthly materials (can’t change the material but it’s close enough to Transformation); this is one case where I almost made her a Stoneward but Lightweaver just fit better for everything else I think

Lightweavers are the ‘artistic’ order and attract people who love art/ creativity (Hazel is an artist)

They tend to not follow rules the way other orders do, instead choosing to reach their goals by their own means (ex. Hazel choosing to go her own way and make her own choices rather than taking one of the paths Hecate gave her in HoH)

🔥 Leo Valdez : Dustbringer

Same as Nico; both of them being Dustbringers would be an example of contrasting/ clashing personalities within the order

Fire is definitely a destructive ability similar to Division (they can burn things) and without a level of control (which Dustbringers need to learn before they can advance their powers) things could get bad (and have- rip Esperanza Valdez)

Leo hasn’t really been ostracized for his personality like Dustbringers could be but his powers originally made people scared (they didn’t know he had them at the time but his cabinmates did say a that having that power was dangerous and they hoped no one would ever have it again so he took that a little personally)

🗡️ Reyna Ramirez-Arellano : Bondsmith

She’d be bonded to the Stormfather (1 of 3 beings who can gift Bondsmith abilities), allowing her to generate Stormlight and infuse other Radiants with it; this is incredibly draining and similar to Reyna’s ability to share her strength

Bondsmiths’ main focus is unity/ bringing people together and Reyna definitely spends a lot of time attempting to unite the Roman and Greek camp (after all, she did spend an entire book helping Nico and Coach Hedge get the Athena Parthenos back to CHB as a peace offering)

Bondsmith powers aren’t typically used for fighting but rather for assisting other Radiants and keep them fighting; Reyna is skilled with weapons but doesn’t use her powers to fight, only to help others keep up their strength/ motivation

🕊️ Piper McLean : Lightweaver

Piper had some personal things that she had to work out (lying to her friends in TLH, etc) before she fully embraced her power, & Lightweavers have to come to terms with truths about themselves before they can progress as people & as Radiants

There aren’t really any Radiant orders that work with manipulation magic so it’s hard to bring the Charmspeak in but the illusion magic Lightweavers have does allow them to change their appearance, so I’d imagine her using it to make herself super beautiful for espionage purposes or smth (maybe using it to transform into someone’s loved one?)

Transformation would allowed her to turn something into something else (etc. mud to food) which kind of relates to her cornucopia & how it makes food out of nothing

——————————————————————————

Hooray we made it to the end!! Sorry that this was so long, I had a looong time to think about this and wanted to get all my thoughts down

I mostly used coppermind.net and the descriptions of the Radiant orders on Sanderson’s website so some of this info may be a little inaccurate but this was just for fun lol

[thegeminisage]

STAR TREK UPDATE TIME. the update is, we have finally started enterprise. here are things i knew about enterprise before starting:

set 100 years before tos (i was close, it's more like slightly under 100 years after first contact and a hundred and change before tos)

hoshi sato apparently dies on tarsus iv

INSANELY sexy chemistry between t'pol and trip tucker every gifset i have ever seen is bananas but they have a love triangle with archer, who is a bitch

they have some kind of baby in an au or something

MIRRORVERSE

vt'pol pon farr episode

lots of sexism everybody is mean to t'pol bc nobody likes vulcans

riker cameo at the end and everybody hated that and also a bunch of people die in badly written ways in the finale

theme song controversial.

prior to starting this i was like this is sttill technically kinda 90s trek it's got the riker cameo like 2001 isn't so far from the 90s and immediately we got hit with the theme song and the weird sexism and MAN what a downgrade from voyager. this is post 9/11 trek baby. we are in a different world now. i will miss ds9 and voyager so much

i was...honestly kind of bored by this. it wasn't as bad as the tng pilot but nowhere near as good as the voyager or ds9 pilots, the latter of which is high art. i did not find myself especially endeared to anyone except poor hoshi sato, who did not ask for this and reltably jumps at her shadow at every opportunity. i know it isn't t'pol's fault she's writen that way, and i feel certain i will be very endeared to her by the end, but in this episode she just kind of annoyed me.

as for the men, no one really stood out to be except trip and archer (i'm not even sure of everybody else's name yet, except dr phlox, whose freaky smile did make me scream aloud). as stated, archer is a bitch. he is mean and yells for no reason because of like...daddy issues that don't feel like they have any real weight. i don't like his acting and he has evoked no emotional response from me except annoyance. i like trip a little better! while i'm not losing my mind over him or anything he is fun, and i do like that even though his accent is fake (said "can't" instead of "cain't"), he did remember to change the end of "thursday" to "thursdee." that is how we say it yeah

the time period we're in did seem neat to me at first (you have to appreciate them not having gotten the transporter working on people yet and warp 4 still being fancy to them lol), but i don't really understand why the vulcans have been the boss of these guys for 90 years or whatever, have they just been saying "space is dangerous don't go" for that long and all of humanity listened? i think narratively they exist to be rules, and the rules exist to be bucked by captain archer, because he's an AMERICAN, DAMMIT. post 9/11. i get there's no federation or whatever yet, this is the wild west, but jesus fucking christ. also i hate that cochrane came up with the fucking speech. fuck that guy! rapey ass tos episode. anyway speaking on the time period i also liked the gravity thing. very fun

but like...the dinner where she was cutting her breadstick and talking about human barbarism for eating animals?? what even was that. we've had this philosophical discussion in trek a thousand times already. we KNOW humans aren't going to become brutes because this is a prequel. nothing in here was meaty enough (sorry) to justify retreading those points.

i did like this new race of bend shapeshifting guys. like, i miss odo, but also, whatever they've got going on was really fun. and the language barrier with the klingon at the end DURING the fight was also entertaining. i did also wind up liking the extremely gregarious scene with the decontaminating gel or whatever...at first i was very annoyed (you can see her nipples! give this woman some dignity! they could have done this separately!) but 1. trip was a perfect gentleman and 2. when she was like "turn around" i knew in my heart she could give him the strap.

other than that, very little to be compelled by, but at least i don't hate anybody except archer and the fucking subtitles. the subtitles on this were so so so so so SO bad. straight up disappeared at one point. i hate paramount plus so much <3

TONIGHT: ent's "fight or flight" and "strange new world."

[checkoutmybookshelf]

We're Back To UCMH!

I have been waiting for this book for literal months, and I am SO HAPPY that it is finally here. I'd have read it in one day, except that I got 1 hour of sleep in two days, so I did actually crash before getting to finish Halle and Henry's story. It was worth it though, because watching the dynamics between a neurodivergent-coded love interest and a demi-coded love interest was absolutely fascinating. I had so much fun with Halle and Henry, and it was nice to have Nate, Stassi, Russ, and Aurora around a little too. Like, the "adopted by a gang of hockey-playing golden retrievers" vibe that I loved from Icebreaker was still here, but we also get how Henry and Halle navigate a deeply gregarious group that loves them. Let's talk Daydream.

Hey, so this is your SPOILER WARNING because I'm going to SPOIL THE HECK out of this book. You were warned, proceed with caution.

Soooooooo...the fact that Henry DIDN'T take a swing at Will because he was so worried about how Halle would feel about a) what her dickhead ex-boyfriend said and b) about Henry's response just makes Henry the bigger man in so many ways, and that was just deeply satisfying to me as a reader. That and Halle letting her mom HAVE it because her mom has been using Halle as a third parent in the household since Halle was a kid. Hannah Grace has a knack for making character arc climaxes immensely satisfying and avoiding cliches, and I really appreciate that. I also loved how Halle and Henry both get climaxes that work WITH their character arcs. Halle learns to say no and prioritize herself, and Henry gets to BE himself and be loved and supported in his needs.

So I'm not neurodivergent, and I'm not always good at seeing it in books and book characters where it's not explicitly stated in the narrative, so I was grateful for the letter that my copy had about how there was explicitly NOT going to be a diagnosis. I will say I'd probably have caught it in Henry's case from the text and the context, but I appreciate the clarity and I also appreciate the opportunity taken to highlight that nobody needs a diagnosis to be valid or to explain their experiences and needs. Just the matter-of-fact acceptance Henry gets and the patience people in his life have to let Henry explain what he needs and then GIVING THAT TO HIM with no questions asked was lovely. I also love that it wasn't always perfect. People made mistakes in good faith when they were trying to help, and there cannot be enough good said about modeling communication, accepting new information, and doing better the next time.

Listening to and believing people when they tell you about their needs and experiences should not be groundbreaking, but holy crap do people still struggle with this, so I love that Henry never had to. He is surrounded by people who listen, hear, and support.

Which is extra nice narratively because Halle is not. Her dickhead ex-boyfriend is ten kinds of jerk, her family basically uses her as a stage manager/extra parent, and she was honestly super isolated and lonely before she got pulled into the house full of hockey playing golden retrievers (seriously, that wonderful lost keychain in a frat house tumblr post about how wonderful "boys will be boys" can be as a vibe when it isn't toxic absolutely applies here). I was never a Halle, but I have KNOWN Halles, and I cannot tell you how lovely it was to watch her learn how not to people please and to find herself in a girl squad that genuinely loved and valued her in addition to having Henry around. It was lovely and happy.

I also (and please feel free to correct me on this) read Halle as demisexual coded, and that's a dynamic that I'm not used to seeing in romance novels, but it was also one that I really enjoyed. It's never bad to reiterate that pressuring someone to do something they're not ready for or don't want to in bed is SUPER BAD, ACTUALLY, and that that behavior includes bullshit like trying to enforce arbitrary timelines or calling someone cold for not wanting sex. Also, asexual spectrum identities are entirely valid, and deserve more representation in romance.

Overall though, the thing that made this book for me was Halle and Henry's communication. They're really good at the communication thing and they're really good at BEING together, which does not mean sex, it means that they are good at existing in the same space while being aware and accommodating of each other's preferences, needs, and boundaries. AND THEY HAVE FRIEND SQUADS FOR SUPPORT. Because it is normal and healthy (and often hilarious) to have multiple sources of support in addition to your partner. I adore that Henry and Halle have that, and the side characters (both new ones and ones we know from other books) are still wonderful.

Other things I adored in this book in no particular order:

Henry being a fine arts major. That was such a fun alternative side to an MMC after Nate and Russ were SO sports-focused. Henry having that extra dimension was great.

Halle being a writer. This is very much a "ooh, it me!" moment, so your mileage may vary, but I do love me a writer character. (Yes, this is why I still have a deeply soft spot in my heart for Rick Castle. No, nobody asked. You just know this now.)

Henry being so worried about Halle being sick that he takes her home to his mother who is a literal doctor. Henry was correct, Halle needed to take care of herself, and honestly, this was the sweetest thing.

Halle getting to have her girl squad preparatory periods. As someone who also used to adore getting ready for stuff with her girl squad, there is something really wonderful about this dynamic, and it was a treat to see Halle get to experience it.

The sex painting. I was not expecting to do anything but roll my eyes at this scene, but actually? It was well handled, it was cute, it made sense in the context of their characters, and y'know what? Sure. The book not self-cringing at this also helped, and I was willing to let these two adorable college kids have their fun and make some art together.

Henry's gift giving. I am a Halle, I am SO BAD at gifting, but I appreciate the skill in others. And Henry NAILED it. A+, no notes.

Halle admitting to Gianna that she wasn't sorry she and Will broke up. That was big for Halle personally, and hot damn did it model something important to her little sister. Just excellent.

I had a delightful time with this book overall, and I'll be sad to leave Maple Hills. If we are lucky, there will be more Hannah Grace books in the future though!

[wellnoe]

Wrt my previous message, which non bird type animals could you see Jean, Maddie, Hope, etc having either as pets, superpets or companions ?

agh this is so hard for me bc i just associate them with birds so strongly... i really don't know anything about hope, so i have no real idea of what would suit her.

i think giving maddy a fun little fantasy critter could be fun! you don't want to edge into lockheed's territory, so not a dragon, but something appropriately winged and demon-ish. maybe a fantasy bat.

i would give jean hermit crabs. i think you could do a fun metaphor with phoenix? like her getting too big for her metaphorical shell as she becomes phoenix, or whatever, and jean reflecting on that. also they're gregarious and need friends :) like jean :)

and i am touched by the image of rachel arriving at xaviers and briefly taking care of her mom's hermit crabs that have become a group pet as a reflection of the x-men's love and care for jean? or on krakoa, rachel briefly stopping in to see her mom's hermit crabs while at an excruciating summers family dinner where she feels adrift and ill-at-ease.

anyway. i think that would be fun.

[synnthamonsugar]

in the spirit of saturnalia, WOE WRITING ERIS/DRIFTER BE UPON THEE

Dastardly ... you understand the assignment. Anyway I had a lot of fun figuring out how to commit my "ideal" Eris/Drifter dynamic to paper. (And maybe getting closer to answering such questions as "how DO you write FWB when the B doesn't come into play presently?") Want me to write/draw something outside my usual body of work? Inquire here.

Drifter attempts to find purchase in Sanctuary's cramped and impossibly cluttered galley, stacking ration crates, jugs of water, empty trays and a partially-disassembled hand-cannon into a precarious heap until he has enough space on the scuffed steel counter. A few feet away, his coat lay draped across one of the chairs surrounding the small metal dining-table.

"Have you forgotten our agreement?" Eris asks, emerging from the hallway, straightening out her veil. Unarmored and unbooted, she's nearly impossible to hear approaching, impressive and unnerving in equal measure. 

"I'm not stickin' around," he defends, rummaging through the mostly-bare cabinets, turning up a dusty packet of noodles, some freeze dried veggies, seasonings and sauces, a bit of oil, a can of meat? . . . it's not clear if they were brought by Eris or some scout who'd holed up here previously, but nothing's broken or bloated, so it's decent enough to work with. Ferreting out some clean pans among the mess, he lights the stove and sets to work. "Just that neither of us ate. I'd feel bad leaving without fixin' that."

"The sentiment is appreciated, but I can feed myself."

"Well … I can't. Not at my place at least. The Derelict's cleared out and I'm not rifling through the Annex this time of night. Don't need Hawthorne asking questions … worse, Ada. She talks." Eris gives him a cross look. "Look, I'll replace your food when the next shipment of supplies comes. With interest."

"Take your time. I favor the ration packs anyway."

"I noticed," he gestures at the empty retort pouches. 

Eris leans against his back and peers over his shoulder, tip-toe, to get a better look at the stovetop. Noodles roil in a pot, while the mysterious meat-product sizzles in the pan, sliced thin enough to crisp. She's not particularly gregarious when it comes to physical contact, not beyond what's necessary, so the small gesture feels outsized. "Smells good."

"Don't take a whole lot," he remarks, stirring in the dried vegetables. They watch in slack fascination as they rehydrate from hard chips of foodstuff to something resembling diced mushroom, cabbage, scallion. "First thing you learn out there — it's all in the preparation, not the ingredients."

"I think the ingredients are important," Eris replies, letting go to fetch a pair of chipped bowls, some tumblers and mismatched cutlery from the shelf. Clears out enough room for two at the table.

"Maybe for hive rituals. This is cooking, Moondust." 

The noodles are better than expected, aided perhaps by their own hunger. As they eat, they talk idly about plans for the next day. Drifter, overseeing gambit matches at the newly-reinstated arena on the outskirts of the Dreaming City. (Eris is more interested in the details of Awoken zoning bureaucracy than he has the patience to explain.) She is cagey about her own, not saying much more than it involves meeting with Ikora and Queen Mara. Knowing he's unlikely to like the answer, he doesn't press further. 

When they at last finish, Drifter slips on his coat and meets Eris' cheek in a brief kiss that she returns. Bidding each other goodnight, they go their separate ways, tired and sated.

[insertpoetryhere]

Dadbastian Week: Different Kids

I was not very polite with this one, and also I need to explain myself for this one bc I made an AU just for this one fic.

The Needed Prelude: It's an AU where Sebastian has both Phantomhive twins. How? I have no idea. R!Ciel is just Ciel. O!Ciel is... unnamed sonboy. Sebastian serves O!Ciel, but R!Ciel kinda isn't his business. R!Ciel is the Earl Phantomhive, but O!Ciel snatched up the Guard Dog gig out from under his feet bc he wants his revenge. R!Ciel doesn't know Sebastian is a demon, he's just chilling and has no idea a revenge plot is happening.

Needed Content Warning: Mentions of the twins backstory. Also favoritism. That's all.

Ok I'm done talking now, it's for @dadbastianweek2023

Have fun, God knows I had fun. I love messy things.

Favoritism

A proper Phantomhive butler did not pick favorites. He serves all members of the household with equal attentiveness, as anything less would be highly unprofessional.

… That being said, Sebastian had a favorite Phantomhive twin.

It was his twin, obviously. The fact that the boy had a contract with him was definitely a factor, but it was far from the only reason that he held the younger of the two in an esteem higher than that of his brother.

Another, much bigger factor is that his own charge caused significantly less trouble for him. The boy was quiet, and when he did need to stir up something for the sake of his revenge it was always the type of mess that Sebastian enjoyed getting tangled up in. The thought had even crossed his mind once or twice that the youngest Phantomhive boy really would make one hell of a demon.

Ciel Phantomhive was a different story. He was loud. He enjoyed pulling silly little pranks on his much more serious brother, disagreeing entirely with the idea that they were both no longer children. It was the kind of behavior that made Sebastian scoff, realizing what his young master had meant when he expressed to Her Majesty some doubts about his older brother’s ability to inherit their father’s secondary title. 

Ciel Phantomhive as the Queen’s guard dog. The thought of it almost made Sebastian laugh.

Still, the older twin wasn’t without his charms. He was gregarious, easy to like, and arguably an agreeable young man (though a bit of a people-pleasing doormat if you asked Sebastain for his honest opinion). He really did make a fine Earl Phantomhive, especially considering that his skills in mathematics weren’t entirely hopeless and that he didn’t cower in fear at the thought of a public event.

Sebastian tried not to let his distaste show, but it was hard sometimes. His own master was so clever, something that had been a driving force behind Sebastian’s loyalty remaining with him. He had such a razor-sharp intellect that made even a demon sit at the edge of his seat and watch excitedly for his next move. Compared to such a cunning little mind, Ciel Phantomhive just looked…

Dull.

It wasn’t as if this opinion was shared only by himself. The Young Master also seemed exhausted by his brother’s antics.

“He thinks his job is so hard!” The boy would groan.

“Indeed, if saddled with your position, he would crack under the pressure.“ Sebastian would agree before looking up, his face showing no remorse. “If you pardon my saying so.”

The truth was that the new Earl Phantomhive was stuck in the past, trying far too hard to salvage the past from the wreckage with childish pranks and rude behavior behind the closed doors of his own manor. The worst part of all of it is that whenever he acted in such a manner, he would look to Sebastain of all people for approval. And Sebastain was not one to find such antics endearing.

Yes, the only words to describe Ciel Phantomhive were as follows; Sentimental, painfully unfunny, and so very dull.

So dull he had yet to notice a demon living under his own roof.

---

“Sebastian?” A voice shocked him out of his thoughts, nearly causing him to drop the dish he was wiping down into the empty basin. He turned, his reaction entirely dependent on who exactly was standing in the kitchen doorway.

The shaggy blue-black hair didn’t tell him much, so he moved his eyes down to the eyes. Only one was visible, with the other hidden away behind a sensible black eyepatch. His face softened.

His twin.

“I didn’t even hear you coming, Young Master.” He said with a gentleness that made it all sound like a laugh. He supposed he must have been too wrapped up in his thoughts to feel the boy’s soul approaching him. It happened from time to time, though he did try not to be so careless.

He glanced down at the blue suit the boy wore, raising an eyebrow at it. “Did we not decide on the green one for today?”

His master shrugged, looking down at the floor in what Sebastain assumed was shame. “I spilled my tea. Tanaka helped me change.”

Sebastian tutted softly, turning his attention back to the dish in his hand. “You must be more careful, My Lord.”

Something about his phrasing made his charge tense up, but everything seemed to do so nowadays. ‘Teenagers’, Sebastain thought with the slightest hint of disdain as he waited for the boy to say whatever it was he had needed so badly that he walked all the way down to the kitchen rather than just calling for him.

“... Am I your favorite?” 

Well… that wasn’t quite what he expected.

“... Pardon?” This time, the plate was set carefully at the bottom of the wash basin as Sebastain turned to give his full attention to the young boy.

“Am I your favorite?” He asked again with more confidence. “Who do you like more, me or Ciel?”

The question was so uncharacteristically bold that it startled an unbecoming bark of a laugh out of Sebastain’s throat. “You, of course.”

There really was no need for hesitation. It’s not as if he could lie to the boy. Better to just spit out the answer if the question was going to be so simple and of such little consequence.

His young master looked horrified by his answer. In a way, Sebastian could not blame him for such a reaction. It did not bode well if your actions earned you the favor of a demon. And indeed, he most certainly deserved the favor he received.

“What is this about, anyway?” Sebastian teased lightly. “Have you fallen victim to a sudden bout of insecurity?”

His young charge’s lip quivered, so the boy bit it to keep it still. Sebastian paused for a moment, wondering if maybe he had been a bit too careless with the topic at hand. After all, humans were very attached to their senses of morality. No matter how skewed it may be.

“As if you would care.” The boy muttered with such bite that Sebastain felt he had really earned the guard dog title. Sebastian went to open his mouth, maybe say something to mend the situation slightly, but the boy was already gone by the time he mustered the pathetic “ah” noise in protest.

Well…

That seemed like a dilemma in the making.

---

“Sebastian!” This time the voice that called his name pulled him in a way that was more tangible, yanking his movements to a stop as he felt his master’s presence grow strong and irritable. “Sebastian!”

“Yes Young Master, what is it?” He turned, watching the boy run up to him in his… green suit? “The green one is back?”

The younger Phantomhive twin;s scowl wavered just long enough to show his confusion. “What are you-” He growled in frustration, and only then did Sebastian notice the hand placed firmly over his left eye. “Where is Ciel?”

Sebastian looked confused now. “If I remember correctly, the Earl Phantomhive was meant to be out on business today.”

“Well he isn’t,” The boy growled. “And that wasn’t an answer.”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed even more, if that was at all possible. “I assure you, I have not seen him as far as I’m aware.”

“Well he has to be-” Speak of the devil and he shall appear, rounding the corner sharply and slamming a hand right in his brother’s chest. 

His younger brother coughed hollowly on impact, forcing Sebastian to bend down and watch closely for an asthma attack as the boy held a fist against where he had been struck.

Once the coughing subsided, he uncurled his fist and showed Sebastain the eyepatch that lay crumpled up in his palm. “You ASS-”

Rather than scold the younger brother for his language, Sebastian lifted his head to demand the older apologize immediately for his behavior.

That is until he saw the back of Ciel’s blue jacket.

He hummed curiously as his charge quickly covered up his eye with the patch and demanded help tying it.

So, Ciel Phantomhive was in fact capable of manipulation.

It indeed was a day full of surprises.

---

“You’re in the wrong study.” That was the only greeting Sebastian got as he opened the door to Ciel’s personal workroom. He had to admit, if upsetting him so was the only way to keep him hard at work even after the sun had gone down, then he should make a habit of being even less sensitive. 

No, that wouldn’t do. This much conflict would only get in his way as time went on.

He smiled. “No, I believe I’m in the right place.”

There was no response.

“... I bought hot chocolate,” He tried again. “With cinnamon and cream.”

Still nothing.

Sebastian sighed, placing the cup down in the boy’s line of sight. He supposed he was going to need to be even more direct than he had thought (yet another reason why the other brother was preferable. Bribery was still an option for minor blunders).

“I owe you an apology, My Lord.” He said sympathetically. “It was wrong for me to say such things, even in jest.”

Of course he hadn’t been joking. But technically he hadn’t said that he meant it as a joke either.

Ciel’s brow furrowed, and Sebastian wondered if he was about to witness the elder brother’s version of the famous Phantomhive rage he had already seen on full display so many times.

He hadn’t once ever considered that such a face could be the prelude to tears.

He was too stunned to speak as those glassy blue eyes turned to him, filled with some type of betrayal that Sebastian hadn’t felt was warranted until he saw it firsthand. “Why do you hate me?!”

“I-” He cleared his throat, trying to gain his composure once more. “I assure you My Lord, I don’t hate you.”

How could he? Children were too innocent by nature to truly hate. He just so happened to not find much value in innocence.

“You don’t like me!” Ciel yelled, and Sebastian had to bite his cheek. That part unfortunately was true. “You adore him! When he calls, you answer! When he speaks, you applaud! B-but when I do it, you just- you just-”

Something dug its claws into Sebastian’s spine. Something that seemed like shame. He really hadn’t meant to make his lack of affections so noticeable. 

“My Lord,” He knelt down to what would have been eye level if Ciel wasn’t doing everything in his power to not even look at him. “You must understand, your brother sometimes requires special attention. He’s been through a lot-”

“So have I!” Ciel cut him off with a cry painful enough to make even a demon feel guilt burrow into the pit of his stomach.

In his three years as the Phantomhive butler, he had never even considered it. Of course he had been aware that the boys had both been taken the night their parents had been killed. He knew logically that they had both taken the same route from start to finish, the only difference in their memory being what happened in those last few minutes before the horror was over.

When his charge woke in the night, thrashing, screaming, vomiting, clinging to the nearest source of warmth for salvation, Sebastian rushed to his side and held him tight until the memories faded into black and he was brought back to the land of the living, shaking like a newborn deer.

Who did that for Ciel? Did anyone do that for Ciel? Or had he been forced to fight his way through those fits all alone?

Sebastian tried to swallow the sand-like shame in his throat. Perhaps he had misjudged the boy’s resolve.

Slowly as to not startle Ciel, Sebastian reached into his breast pocket and extended a handkerchief to the sobbing boy in front of him.

Lord only knows how pitiful his face must have looked for Ciel to decide to throw himself into Sebastian’s chest instead. He allowed it, wrapping his arms around the boy and allowing him what little comfort he knew how to extend.

“There, there.” He whispered to him in the voice he only ever used for the child’s brother. “You’ve been very brave.”

And it was true. There were few things Sebastian could think of that were more courageous and more human than smiling at the face of hell. It was the type of behavior that Sebastian was sure would make the late Lord Phantomhive quite proud.

But he wasn’t here. So Ciel was vying for praise from the man he felt was the closest thing he could get now in lieu of fatherly affection.

Hesitantly, he placed a kiss on top of the child’s head. “You’ve done well.”

He cried even harder, clinging harder to Sebastian’s lapels. Something about the situation brought Sebastian a sick satisfaction that his demonic nature just couldn’t ignore.

He would not crave his attention if he knew the truth.

After all, he was not as dull as he had initially seemed.

[a-libra-writes]

i’m so happy your requests are open again omg!! i think i’ve read pretty much everything you’ve ever written on this blog sdjfgifakskfk

i’m asking for any type of romantic headcanons involving brandon stark. like, a marriage between him and a lady from the stormlands, family/kids hcs, jealousy hcs or literally anything you want. i’ll literally read anything you write <3 if you don’t have the muse for this, that’s completely okay too !!

Oh, my cup runneth over with choices! Hmmm .... for now ill do a little bit of everything? Mostly relationship and domestic HC's 🤔

To start with! When it comes to an arranged marriage, he's initially huffy about it ... until he realizes she's pretty and interesting and whoops he's like a boy trying to impress her before the wedding. Lyanna especially teases the hell out of him for this change of heart. Ironically a lady whose more closed-off, shy or nervous will get a much gentler side to him, whereas one whose more outgoing or friendly will get his full gregarious self. He isn't really aware of it, but a lot of this trying so hard is because he'd like her to be comfortable and happy in Winterfell. Brandon's parents were happily married, and if he really sat with himself about it, he'd want his relationship to be the same - but he knows that's a pipe dream in Westeros, so trying to start off on the right foot with his new bride is important to him.

Now, if this was someone he was familiar with for a while, like a lady whose also a Northerner, Brandon is much less anxious. If anything, he's probably more boisterous and himself because he feels more comfortable. He "gets" Northern girls, and he gets you. You're more familiar and therefore he's less nervous about "messing up".

And the thing is, Brandon can become very attached with the right lady. Even if she doesn't fully feel the same yet, he's finding himself wanting to do things for her. He wants to be lordly and gallant and all those things he used to make fun of in the songs. He wants to get flowers delivered to her (isn't that what ladies like?) and help her up on her horse (he's pretty sure she rides ...?) and carry her over the snow and mud (though, the Winterfell yard is well kept, so ...). Alright, maybe that doesn't pan out, but he can still impress her with his hunting and swordsmanship and show her all over Winterfell. The Stark siblings are having a field day with all this and his father is just happy he's too busy to sleep around.

There's also the matter of jealousy, and it's something that shows up early. It's a childish sort of jealousy at first, especially if his lady is lovely and not from the North, therefore many lords want to see her and speak with her during feasts. He wants to interrupt them and take her away, and if he's drinking he's only more obvious about it. It's gotten some of the court to whisper, look how taken the wolf lordling is with his bride. He just frowns and sulks if you, his father or Lyanna scold him about how boyish it is.

(Now, if there was a serious breach of etiquette, like a lord taking too many liberties during a feast or Brandon was feeling some fierce insecurity ... Yeah, the dueling swords are coming out, if he doesn't just wring the man's neck with his bare hands. In the North, you fuck around and find out).

He's the sort of person who really needs to be in love with their spouse, or at least fond of them, even if he knows that's childish to expect. He'd start to become lonely and listless otherwise, his eye prone to wandering to other women, wondering why his house isn't like the warm and happy family he was raised in. He'll always love any children, though he's not always the most attentive father. Twins? Oh, he won't tell them apart until they're ten. His daughter wants a sword? Sure, sure, let her have steel, that's what he practiced on. A child wants to ride? Well, why not come up on the warhorse with him, no need to start with a pony - you get the picture.

Now if he is in love with his spouse, it's utterly obvious, just like his early infatuation and jealousy was. He'll trust her completely and be grateful to her for many things, not just raising children and helping him with the more infuriating parts of running the house, like numbers and logistics for guests. He doesn't like leaving his wife for a long period of time, even if his brothers are there to protect her. He'll give her a tight, long embrace before leaving and takes her in his arms once he's back. He always wants to kiss and touch, even in inappropriate places (old servants warn the new people about which rooms and halls to avoid). It's not hard at all for the new Lady Stark to get Brandon wrapped around her finger.

[yingren]

🖤(for Peckii)

send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours.

filled out below cut.

attractiveness:

repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.

personality:

grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.

note: peckii is such a fun little spirit. ren finds a lot of enjoyment in their conversations even though he doesn't really understand her yet. she is one of those people he can talk to when he just needs a break and he doesn't want to think too much about the shit going on in his life. he's also very confused by her but that's... he won't admit that out loud.

how likely they would have sex with them:

not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.

level of friendship:

never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.

first impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

current impression of them:

i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.

note: so i did strike all of the sexual stuff. you'll have to ignore the "oh fuck they're hot" etc in the remaining categories. he would never & i would never. but apart from that! ren does like peckii. as with pretty much everyone so far, he didn't trust her immediately. the way she speaks about nature is really interesting to him though and even if he has nooo fucking clue what to do with all the soil she brings him, he's going to keep accepting it. ren says peckii needs to wash her hands more often lest she get sick from eating something with her dirty hands but i say shut up let the girl do what she wants. he has no choice anyway. if he doesn't let peckii do whatever she wants i'm sure eros will put a knife in his head.

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

12, 15 (I think I know this one but here's you're chance to wax poetic), 20 (can't be pyro), & 21 for avalanche!

12. What's a headcanon you have for this character?

Since I have already posted a ton of headcanons for Pyro over the years, I'm giving this question to Morph from TAS. Exiles Morph was born with his X-gene activated (basically appeared as a white blobby vaguely human-shaped baby) and also lost his mother to cancer at around 13 or so. Since TAS Morph seems less powerful than Exiles Morph, I tend to assume they were born "normal" and developed powers later, but I consider the dead mother to be part of their backstory. So, my headcanon is that the first thing TAS Morph ever shapeshifted into was their mother - shortly after the funeral, when they were desperately missing her and wishing they could see her again. It completely freaked them out, and it took a little while for them to go, "Oh, I'm a mutant and also shape-shifting can be fun." But if any X-Man ever asks Morph how they discovered their powers, they always give a wacky joke answer because the truth is kind of a bummer and they don't want to get into all that, not to mention all the weird Freudian implications. (Of course, X-Men 97 might completely negate this headcanon.)

15. What's your favorite ship for this character? (Doesn't matter if it's canon or not.)

You're right, you know it's gonna be Pyro and Avalanche. Honestly, I just love the contrast of (relatively) serious, stoic, less chatty guy with excitable, extroverted gregarious guy (not mention the big guy/skinny guy aesthetic). I think Pyro is constantly dragging Avalanche out to DO things, and Avalanche (mostly) enjoys it. And the way those two have been together for so long, through thick and thin, Avalanche going with Pyro to the Savage Land to try to find a Legacy Virus cure even though he's not infected and there's no personal benefit for him. I can't imagine Avalanche going to such great lengths for anyone else. Like even in canon they are bros, even if the comics won't let them bang. From their very first introduction you see them having each other's backs and not really fighting with each other the way they both occasionally fight with Blob. And, much like Mystique and Destiny or Blob and Unus (or Black Tom and Juggernaut), I just love the idea of two criminals in love.

20. Which other character is the ideal best friend for this character, the amount of screentime they share doesn't matter?

For Not Pyro. Hmmm.....I'll say that I think Toad should be good friends with Blob, because they have both been on the same team (a few times), both have mutations that make them "ugly" in the eyes of most people, and are treated badly because of it. They've both been through some shit. And I think Freddy's general attitude of "Fuck you, I am who I am, and I'm okay with it," might help Morty deal with some of his own issues. Freddy doesn't really take any shit from anyone, and seems comfortable with himself in general, while Toad is always full of self-loathing.

But since Toad is currently part of the Exiles, I kinda hope he manages to bond with some of them. Third Eye at least reached out to him. Let Toad have some friends.

21. If you're a fic writer and have written for this character, what's your favorite thing to do when you're writing for this character? What's something you don't like?

For Avalanche - much like with Blob (or Pyro) I want to give him some internal complexity and not just write him as a dumb, violent criminal, even though all three of them often are in the comics. And filling in his backstory, of course, dude has been in comics for decades and we know almost nothing about him, even his supposed "wife." One of my headcanons is that he grew up in a large family as one of the older kids and therefore knows a lot about dealing with children because he was expected to help look after his siblings. Put him in a situation with a crying baby, and he will automatically take charge, whether he actually wants to or not, he just jumps into the role of "I guess someone has to deal with this." He has a love-hate relationship with his family, he hated all the expectations and responsibilities placed on him, but he misses the sense of community, and having a place where he "belonged." He also probably got kicked out for being a mutant.

What I don't like in fic - how the popularity of "Lance Alvers" from X-Men evolution has completely overshadowed Dominikos, and any fic with Avalanche in it will likely be Lance. Much like movie Pyro John Allerdyce has mostly overshadowed comics Pyro in fandom. And I actually like the adapted versions, sullen bad boy American teens Lance Alvers and John Allerdyce are both interesting characters. But they definitely are very different from their comics counterparts, Lance is basically just Rictor in all but name, and it's made it hard to find any fan works for the original versions of the characters.

[braveclementine]

Chapter 6

Warnings: School shooting, trigger warnings of death and violence.

Copyright: I do not own any Marvel characters or locations. However, I do own my OCs: Elizabeth Silvertongue and Clementine Greenleaf. I also own Clementines' brother Donavan. The following OCs are owned by other Wattpad writers as this is a collaboration project. Their OCs are on the face claim page. I do not condone any copying of this.

"Miss Silvertongue, what are personality traits?" Professor Barnes shot out as he started the fifth week of Psychology. 

"They are traits that reflect people's pattern of thoughts, feelings, and behavior." I replied quickly. I had expected him to call on me despite not having started the unit yet and had pre-read the chapter before class just so I didn't look stupid. 

Professor Barnes eyes glinted with something like surprise, before he pretty much scowled at me. 

I still couldn't gather if he liked me or not. He always put me on the spot in school, embarrassed me every chance he could, but when I was working with Professor Rogers he was teasing, almost flirty. 

Maybe he was bipolar. 

"Technically that's a word for word definition, but correct either way." Professor Barnes replied, before moving on, walking over to the chalkboard. "Trait psychology rests on the idea that people differ from one another in terms of where they stand on a set of basic trait dimensions which can be classified into a system called the Five-Factor Model." 

He wrote the letters O-C-E-A-N out in a downwards motion and then listed them off. 

"Openness Conscientiousness Extraversion Agreeableness and Neuroticism." 

"Now then, Openness is the tendency to appreciate new art, ideas, values, feelings, and behaviors. Someone on the high end enjoys seeing people with new types of haircuts and body piercings, curious, imaginative, untraditional. They may be fantasy prone, open to feelings, diverse behaviors, new and different ideas, and values and beliefs. Someone on the low end however prefer not to be exposed to alternative moral systems. They have narrow interests, they're inartistic, not analytical, and very down-to-earth. How many of you think this is your personality trait?" 

Most of the classroom raised their hands, but neither Clem nor I did. 

"Conscientiousness is the tendency to be careful, on-time for appointments, follow rules, and are hardworking. A person who is on the high end of this trait are never late for a date, they're organized, neat, preserving, punctual, and self-disciplined. They're competent, orderly, dutiful, achievement oriented, and deliberate. Those who are not conscientious prefer spur of the moment to planning, they're unreliable, hedonistic, carless, and lax. Anyone here think they're conscientious?" 

I raised my hand and Clem put hers up hesitantly along with a majority of the class besides a few boys in the back who snickered. 

"The extraversion have a tendency to be talkative, sociable, and enjoy others. they tend to have a dominant lifestyle. They enjoy being the life of the party, active, optimistic, fun-loving, affectionate, gregarious, warm, assertive, excitement-seeking, and positive emotionally. Those who aren't are sober, aloof, unenthusiastic, and might prefer a quiet evening reading than going to a party." 

I frowned. I liked being sociable and enjoyed others. But I also would prefer a quiet evening reading to a party. On the other hand, I also wouldn't consider myself unenthusiastic either. 

"Agreeableness is the tendency to agree and go along with others rather than to assert one's own opinions and choices. They agree with others about political opinions, they're good-natured, forgiving, helpful, but can also be gullible. They're trusting, straightforward, altruistic, compliant, modest, tender-minded. . . submissive." He looked directly at me as he said this and I couldn't help but blush, swallowing hard. "Those who aren't, quickly and confidently assert themselves, they can be irritable, manipulative, uncooperative, rude. . .dominant." I refused to look up at him. 

"Lastly, neuroticism which is the tendency to frequently experience negative emotions such as anger, worry, and sadness, as well as being interpersonally sensitive. They constantly worry about little things, they're insecure, hypochondriacal, and feel inadequate. They're anxious, angry, depressed, self-conscious, impulsive, and vulnerable. Those on the opposite end find they don't get irritated by small annoyances, they're calm, unemotional, hardy, secure, and self-satisfied." 

He paused for a moment and then continued, "Now, obviously being one of these traits does not make up your entire personality, nor does that mean being that personality means you're all of those things. It's very hard to fit a person in one box." He looked around and then started to write on the chalkboard again. "Open your laptops and go to this website." 

I had to go through a bunch of links because the website had moved and then saw that it was a personality test. 

"There are one hundred and twenty questions. When you're done, write your results down on this piece of paper and hand it back in." Professor Barnes said. 

I flew through the test. It was very easy since I was very sure of myself and once I was done, I started to scribble down my results. 

EXTRAVERSION           11 Friendliness                  44 Gregariousness            1 Assertiveness                1 Activity Level                 25 Excitement-Seeking   82 Cheerfulness                 30

AGREEABLENESS      41 Trust                                 6 Morality                           27 Altruism                          71 Cooperation                  41 Modesty                           87 Sympathy                        38

CONSCIENTIOUSNESS    30 Self-Efficacy                           55 Orderliness                             42 Dutifulness                             38 Achievement-Striving        10 Self-Discipline                        4 Cautiousness                         71

NEUROTICISM                   74 Anxiety                                   66 Anger                                       51 Depression                            30 Self-Consciousness           94 Immoderation                      77 Vulnerability                         82

OPENNESS                             5 Imagination                            50 Artistic Interests                    73 Emotionality                           60 Adventurousness                  1 Intellect                                      4 Liberalism                                 1

I stood up, bringing the piece of paper over to Professor Barnes, handing it to him. He smirked as he took it, immediately looking over my results. I huffed as I headed back to my seat, seeing him chuckle at something. 

I felt weird about my test results. I wasn't surprised that my trust was at a 6 out of 99, that was a given since I trusted my parents and Clementine and that was it. But being dosed so high at Neuroticism? I knew I was self-conscious, but I only had anxiety during school and no other time. 

Well, now I was having anxiety over my test results. I felt like I had failed someone, having Neuroticism be my highest one. My openness score didn't exactly surprise me, though I had thought it would be higher-

The door slammed open, making people jump and I immediately hit the floor when I saw it was a man with a black mask, holding a gun. The class started to scream and my eyes darted over to where Clem was hiding behind the metal box next to her desk as gunfire started to sound throughout the classroom. 

I reacted immediately, my hand shooting into my bag, and I stood up, firing off two rounds from my Desert eagle. The first one hit the man in the chest and he went down, the second bullet hitting him in the neck as he fell. 

The screams took a moment to subside, but my hand didn't lower from where I had been pointing it, my eyes still staring at the spot the man had been standing. 

Then a large hand was prying the gun from my hand and I snapped out of it, seeing that Professor Barnes had gently taken the weapon from my hand, surveying me with a look that I had never seen before. 

I could hear that whispers were starting up, but I couldn't seem to be able to hear them, staring at the body on the ground now. Blood hadn't pooled from him, like I thought it would. At least, not as much as happened in the movie. There were dots of red liquid, but for the most part, the floor was clean. 

He wasn't breathing. 

I had shot him. 

I had killed him. 

The room started to spin. 

"Breathe." Professor Barnes ordered in my ear. Unlike the rest of the classroom, his voice was clear, sharp, loud. I could feel Clementine's eyes on me, though she didn't approach, letting the Professor help me. "Breathe and walk." 

Professor Barnes guided me past the dead person, calling back something to the rest of the class. We passed two people in the hallway though I couldn't recall them at all. Professor Barnes led me to a room that looked like it was used for meetings. People were rushing around and Professor Barnes said something to one of them. 

"Sit." Professor Barnes ordered, but didn't wait for me to comply, nearly shoving me into an armchair. 

There was no blood on the ground. 

Just a dead body. 

"Talk to me." Professor Barnes said. 

I didn't reply. 

*CRACK*

It was like an electric shock flooded through me as he backhanded me. In hindsight, the slap hadn't even been that hard. Had I been ready for it, I would've probably have called it weak and rolled my eyes, slapping him back playfully. But I was not ready for it and I had been in shock. My fist shot out and he caught it before it slammed into his face. 

"Can you hear me?" Professor Barnes asked. 

"Yes." I snapped. "And I could hear you before." 

"You're in shock, this is normal." Professor Barnes sighed. 

I closed my eyes, feeling the start up of tears build up. But I wasn't going to cry in front of Professor Barnes. 

"Hey." A softer, warmer voice said and I opened my eyes to see Professor Wilson there, along with Dean Fury standing behind him with a much sterner look on his face. Professor Wilson put his hand on Professor Barnes' shoulder and murmured, "Let me take it from here." 

Professor Barnes nodded and left the room, probably to go back to his classroom. 

"Are you alright Elizabeth?" Professor Wilson asked softly, sitting in the chair in front of me. 

"Um, I- I think so. I'm not sure." I mumbled, staring at my knees. "I don't think I've processed it yet." 

Dean Fury opened his mouth but Professor Wilson raised his hand. "Elizabeth, why did you have a gun on you? Are you aware that this is a gun-free campus?" 

I bit the inside of my cheek, my shock and guilt replaced immediately by anxiety. I felt as though I was going to throw up. I was going to be expelled. . . and it hadn't even been two months yet. Not even six weeks. 

"I- I did Professor." I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut and clenching my fists. "But I wanted it on me for protection. I. . . I've never had to be anywhere without it. The idea of a gun-free zone makes me anxious because those are the zones that get attacked more since criminals know that no one will be able to defend themself. I. . . I didn't want to break the school rule, I just wanted to feel safe." 

"I understand." Professor Wilson said. "And there won't be any repercussions for this." 

"Why?" I asked softly, but bluntly. 

"Because you saved the lives of your peers." Dean Fury replied before Professor Wilson could. "From what Professor Barnes told us, you reacted quickly and immediately. So, thank you." 

I hesitated and then asked, "Will I. . . will I be able to have my gun back?" 

"I'm afraid not." Dean Fury answered. 

I felt my heart sank and I lowered my head so they couldn't see my tears. I had had that gun since I was eight. My grandfather had given it to me and he had died only a year later. 

"I understand." I managed to choke out. 

Dean Fury nodded and headed out the door, leaving me alone with Professor Wilson. He smiled kindly at me. "I might be an English teacher, but I'm also a therapist. I used to work with veterans who returned from war. If you ever need anyone to talk to about this, you can come right to me. I'll always be there for you." 

I nodded, but knew I would never accept it. I didn't believe in therapy. 

"Ah, one last thing." Sam said as the door opened again and I watched as Captain America walked in, his shield on his back and his  mask over his face. 

"Is this the shooter?" the Captain asked in surprise, eyeing me up. 

"No, she apprehended the shooter." Professor Wilson said, standing up, offering the seat to the Captain, who took it. 

"Can I ask you a few questions?" He asked. His eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, though I adverted my eyes away from him quickly. 

"Sure." I murmured. Like I had a choice.

"Why did you have a gun in the first place?" 

I repeated what I'd told Dean Fury. 

"And this was your first instinct? To shoot?" 

I flushed, but answered defensively. "My best friend was in that room. I did what I had to do to save her." 

He nodded. "Admirable." 

I hadn't expected that remark. Captain America was known for only killing when necessary. Perhaps he thought this was a necessary time. 

"Why didn't you think to let Professor Barnes handle it?" He asked, "He is ex-military." 

I blanked out. I hadn't even thought of that. "I-I don't know. I didn't think about it." 

"Have you ever killed before?" 

Professor Wilson made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. 

"No sir." I whispered. "That was my first time. Human, anyways. I've gone deer and duck hunting with my grandfather when I was young." 

Captain America nodded. "Well, thank you for protecting your class." 

I just nodded and then asked, "Do you know what's going to happen to my gun?" 

"I'm sorry, I don't." He replied as he stood. 

I just nodded, my heart sinking once more. "Can I leave?" 

"Of course. Professor Barnes will escort you to your dorm." Captain America replied, his tone leaving no room for argument, despite the fact that I thought I'd be fine, heading to my dorm by myself. "Please stay on campus until you receive an email. We're in lockdown mode right now, which is why Professor Barnes will be escorting you." 

I nodded, standing. Professor Barnes came in, holding my backpack. "Come on." 

I went with him silently, taking my belongings and following after him. We walked down the empty corridors. Occasionally, I'd get a glimpse of another avenger. Hawkeye and Black Widow talking together, and there was Antman collecting something off the ground. But other than that, no one. 

We were silent until we reached my dorm and Professor Barnes stopped me from going in. His soft expression pissed me off more than his smirk. "Stop looking at me like that!" I snapped. "I'm not made of glass." 

"I know." He replied, though his expression didn't change. "You're strong. But even the strongest bend until they break." 

I bit back my retort. He was just trying to be nice. 

He sighed. "Listen Elizabeth. I. . . It's hard, taking a life, no matter how justified. In war, in self-defense. I know it is. We all. . . cope in different ways and sometimes it's not healthy. If you feel like you're struggling you really should talk to Professor Wilson. I don't even like the asshole but. . . he helped me through my ptsd so. . . it could be worth it." 

He was so awkward as he talked now, so uncertain unlike as in class. I softened a little, realizing he was really opening up to me. 

I sighed. "Thank you. I'll think about it." 

He nodded once and then added quickly. "We're not friends, by the way." 

I couldn't help but smile. "Of course not. I refuse to be friends with assholes. Good night Professor." I said sweetly, stepping into the dorm. I looked over my shoulder to see he was smirking, before heading up to the dorm. 

The minute I was out of his sight though, a depression seemed to envelope me as I shouldered open the door. 

I immediately smelled something foreign and I just stared as Clementine sat on the sofa, a piece of half-eaten Papa Johns' in her lap. Her eyes were rimmed red and she looked up as I closed the door. 

"Elizabeth!" She flung herself off the couch and I dropped my bag, letting her pull me into her arms. I burst into tears as she hugged me tightly. "Oh my gosh, are you okay? What happened? Are you in trouble? Are you alright? What'd they say?" 

It took me a while until I could actually form words before I went with her and sat down on the couch. "No, no not in t-trouble." I hiccupped. "Actually, I was t-thanked several t-times, by the professors and also by Captain America." 

"Captain America?" Clementine asked in a hushed voice. "The Avengers came to look into the shooting?" 

"I don't know why t-they were t-there." I said, wiping my eyes with the palms of my hands. Clementine immediately handed me a napkin from the pizza joint. I pointed to the pizza. "What's t-this?" 

"Well, as I figured we almost died today, I thought 'fuck it'." Clementine sighed, picking up her pizza slice again and then looked at me, "What happened to your gun?" 

"I don't know." I said, my eyes filling up with tears again. "I just know I'm not getting it back." 

I thought she would make some rant about how the gun was my private property and that I had every right to have it back. Instead, she took another piece of pizza and handed it to me, snuggling up with me. "It's okay Elizabeth. It'll be alright." 

I nodded and we sat in silence for the rest of the night, watching Bones and eating pizza. 

ꨄ︎

I launched myself out of bed, throwing the door open and staggered into the bathroom. My knees hit the tile as I threw up the pizza from last night. I heard footsteps rushing towards me and then Clementine leaned over the trash can, throwing up too. 

When were both done, laying on the floor of the bathroom I muttered, "Never again." 

She replied weakly. "Agreed." 

[renegade-skywalker]

just felt like posting some pics and head canons for my OC bard, Merit 🥰

~~~

(this is mostly backstory but I'll probably add to this later and pin it somewhere idk)

Merit has seven sisters. She’s technically the second-oldest but has undoubted Eldest Daughter energy. The actual eldest sister is Fable. Her younger sisters are Morning Glory, Daffodil, Dahlia, Harmony, Festival, and Jovial (Jo for short). 

Part of the sisterly dynamic is inspired by the Bennet family of Pride and Prejudice though it’s definitely not a one-to-one comparison. Like Jane and Elizabeth, Fable and Merit are the eldest and are very close, having shared a room for most if not all of their lives. Like Jane, Fable is unendingly kind and soft spoken. Unlike Jane though, Fable isn’t interested in romance or a partner at all and is instead intent on opening her own business or taking over the family bakery. Like Elizabeth, Merit is known to be brash but eloquent about it (Vicious Mockery lol) but unlike Elizabeth, she’s the hopeless romantic. Also like Elizabeth, Merit loves to complain but does so in a jovial manner. Like Mary, Morning Glory is a bit off-putting but nice and straight-laced. Like Kitty and Lydia, Daffodil and Dahlia are vapid and boy crazy but are also hilarious and tons of fun to be around. The youngest sisters are a bit like the triplets from Brave in that they are simply a menace.

Her father is a wood elf of indeterminate age (I headcanon that he rarely speaks about himself and only very occasionally drops mind-blowing lore about his past in passing before leaving the room without any further elaboration lol) and is a (no longer practicing) druid though he still pays homage to Silvanus and will occasionally take his troupe of daughters out of the city and into nature to pay his respects. He left his old life behind to wander for a while before stumbling upon the wonders of simply baking bread when in Baldur’s Gate working an odd job and he’s been there ever since. He finds kneading dough to be meditative and soothing, and now runs a bakery with his human wife Alys, who is Way Too Hot For Him. Not that he’s an awful or hideous person, he’s just very, very old and very, very quiet where Alys is quite gregarious and social. No one understands their relationship but it’s something Merit has always admired growing up even if it’s often confused her.

Not sure why but they were somewhat inspired by Holling and Shelly from Northern Exposure which I’ve been watching all winter. Idk just I think they’re hilarious. Also running a store/restaurant together is a fun dynamic idk. 

Merit is closest to her oldest sister, Fable, who she is also the closest in age with. Fable was born sick and her mother had a difficult time with the pregnancy to the point that she thought neither she nor the baby would make it. Fable is named Fable because the idea of her making it into the world was like a dream. After her birth, their parents feared another child wasn’t in the cards and might spell death for Alys, so when Merit was born she was actually named Marvel. She hated that name so when she was six she dubbed herself Merit, because anything ‘worthy of merit’ that she did had to feel earned, whereas Marvel just made her feel like a fraud. Her parents and Fable still affectionately call her “Marv” though.

Merit picked up a love of storytelling from working the bakery with her parents, hearing the customers talk about their various backgrounds, their day-to-day routines, their travels, etc. 

She fell in love with music at 12 when a famous bard came to the city and performed for a while, a half-high elf named Laurel, who took a shine to her interest and taught her how to play. They remained pen pals for years even after he left Baldur’s Gate exchanging verse and ideas for songs, however their relationship was… complicated, and quite frankly inappropriate. Merit did not see it for what it was until she was much older.

Merit has a bit too many interests and has dabbled in fencing, languages, history, the arcane, and even what little druidic magic her father has taught her (she’s mostly familiar with animal speaking and plant growth) though her main love is poetry, song, the written, sung and spoken word. Her greatest ambition is to write an epic poem that can be performed in parts, essentially acting as a dramatic tome as well as what essentially is a concept album in our reality

Part of the reason Merit cannot see any of her ambitions through is a mix of her changing attentions which change with the wind’s direction but also her family… she’s often had to return to Baldur’s Gate to help the bakery, and her younger sisters are known for getting in trouble...

Merit has worked her way into the merchant’s guild on her parent’s behalf and has also done some work for the Guild in order to keep her family safe and unbothered, which is a secret she’s kept from them but had done for their safety

Her work pays for the family property’s “protection” so to speak. This would also mean she’s already acquainted with Nine-Fingers Keene before the events of the game.

She’s actually sacrificed a lot for the family business and is happy to do so but it is also to her own detriment. Fable has been able to man the kitchens but not much beyond that due to chronic pain and flare ups. The next eldest sister, Morning Glory, has a head for numbers and will work the books and run the orders but is such a downer that it makes working with her a chore and a nightmare, she’s incredibly controlling and neurotic. The next sisters capable of doing anything, Stella and Selene, are in their early 20’s and would prefer to socialize, party, and snog their way through Baldur’s Gate rather than do anything else. The very youngest sisters, Verity, Amity and Jo, are all too young to do much other than clean maybe but Merit would prefer they have a childhood than work the family business. Plus they are known for playing tricks on people so it’s best they stay out of the way.

Merit feels like she’s already raised a village of children given how much she’s helped raise her sisters practically since she was able to walk so she had zero interest in bearing children of her own. Not to mention how much she’s sacrificed to help the family business, she hopes to one day be able to see all of her dreams and artistic ambitions to fruition.

Merit has a few songs that have gained some popularity but only within Baldur’s Gate seeing as she can never seem to leave for very long. She is most known, however, for her serial called Sea and Shield. It’s a crime serial about a disgraced Flaming Fist who enlists the help of the last person he’s imprisoned, a notorious pirate, who he sets free on the terms that she help him discover who committed the murder he was framed for. It’s relatively popular but the series is unfinished, plus due to being kidnapped and tadpoled she is very very behind her usual publishing schedule. She has no idea how to continue (or possibly even end) the story though so she was already in a pickle before the game events occurred.

[vacantgodling]

NIX ZABALA

y’all thought i was fucking kidding i Will Not stand for nix slander

31, he/him, straight in an extremely queer way :), black

gave himself his name when he was a child and doesn’t remember what his birth name is

lead guitarist (the main shred machine), screamer, backing vocals

founder and leader of LUKEWARM REJECTION

optimistic, gregarious, laid back, trustworthy, loyal, funny & fun loving, dad energy >>>>

dating (and eventually marries) trisha honeycutt, best friends with toph & close friends with most anyone he meets lol.

his married name is nix honeycutt bc he takes his girl’s name (also honeycutt is a cute ass last name ok)

he and trish eventually have a daughter named dolley! they named her after his favorite guitar :’)

BACKSTORY

NIX has always been a drifter. orphaned at a young age, and escaping the foster care system when he was around 15. life has been tough for nix, but his seemingly endless well of optimism has always shone through and kept him pushing for good times and forging relationships with good people.

music has always been what’s held nix’s life together, and he came up with the idea to start a band when he was very young, though he never had anyone around him that he knew that was into music enough to join in with him. after getting a construction job when he was around 18, he met and quickly befriended the boss’s son TYSON CHOMISH, and through him became friends with his energetic and drum-loving younger sister SOBEK. with the two of them becoming friends, nix’s dreams of starting a band finally began to take shape.

in falling out with his apartment complex around this same time, tyson and his girlfriend RENA graciously offered nix a place on their couch (well a room, but he always ended up falling asleep on the couch anyway, force of habit lol) it was here that he met rena’s friend TRISHA HONEYCUTT, falling head over heels for her almost instantly. though trish didn’t give him the time of day at first, the pursuit of her affections, and his desire to really and truly start this band helped win her over, and once the rest of the crew slid into place, she started to set up small gigs for them as their manager. they moved in together not too long after, and have been attached at the hip since.

nix takes a shine to almost anyone he meets, and seeks to find the good in people, even in MAVERICK LOVERDE when their attempts to have bassist LEIA COFFEY both sing and play the bass didn’t work out. while most of the rest of the band has always had a slight off vibe about him, nix has always been there to vouch for him and try and smooth things over when things get misconstrued. (this quickly died when maverick decided to show his true colors because a betrayal of nix’s trust is just not something you can come back from).

meeting TOPH was also by chance. he and trish were on their way home from a gig and saw him huddled up in an alleyway seemingly not dressed for the harsh weather. seeing him out in the cold reminded nix a lot of himself when he was younger, and he essentially roped the seemingly young man into staying with he and trish for a few nights while the blizzard passed. he proved to be a chill, trustworthy individual—if snarky with a mouth that’d make sailor’s blush—and even after the storm they stayed in contact, becoming friends to the point that toph frequently crashes with them for weeks on end.

it was the night trish was in a terrible car accident that nix learned that toph was something different. her chances of survival were extremely slim, and toph calmly asked him if he’d like him to save her. nix didn’t really question it, just said yes please anything!! and so toph revealed his demonic powers to nix and healed trisha. overjoyed, nix didn’t even care that he may potentially owe toph his soul, but toph laughed and simply said that he did it to repay his debt to the two of them for being so kind and considerate towards him even when they didn’t have to be. ever since then, nix and toph have considered each other best friends, to the point of having matching tattoos. however, nix has never introduced toph to the band until maverick walks out on them because toph doesn’t usually like meeting new people lol