#my fic writing ability always really depends on my state of mind but as it HAPPENS

[fangsandfeels]

The vagueness of Astarion sleeping mechanics drives me mad sometimes

So, the game says that elves don't sleep - to the point where it's ironically stated that the only way for them to experience sleeping is to either drink a potion of Angelic Slumber or "get hit really hard with a chair".

Instead, they enter a semi-aware meditative state (Revery) where they experience memories from their past lives (usually most positive and emotional parts). Or they just sorting through their current memories.

Now, we've seen Astarion meditating if his way of lying on a bedroll is anything to go by. He is also immune to sleeping spells. We could also see him sleeping (in a Durge run). I know that devs technically recycle the same sleeping pose for all romanced companions, but still. Also, Astarion has nightmares, which is not typical for elves.

Of course, when I was going through the lore, I scratched the surface, but from what I understood, Revery is supposed to be a controlled state, and nightmares aren't exactly controlled.

But, I've found a very interesting bit that (so far) is still considered part of the official canon:

Elves can sleep and dream just like any human, but almost all surface elves avoid doing so. Dreams, as humans know them, are strange and confusing to elves. Unlike the actual memories of one’s primal soul, present life, or past lives, dreams are uncontrolled products of the subconscious, and perhaps the subconscious minds of those past lives or primal souls as well. An elf who dreams must always wonder whose mind these thoughts first arose from, and why. Priests of Sehanine Moonbow are an exception: they sleep and dream to receive signs from their god, and elves consult such priests to interpret their own dreams."

From: Mordenkainrn's Tome Of Foes, Chapter 2: Elves

And not only does this little bit explain a lot, but it also provides some food for your fic writing purposes.

Now, I'm entering the headcanon territory, so be warned.

Astarion's access to Revery got horribly fucked up after he had been Turned. Not only does he no longer have access to his previous lives since he is technically dead and plucked from the cycle, but he also can't even have his happy or good memories before he became a spawn. Even if they are still there, somewhere in the memory palace, getting to them requires going through the catalog of traumatic and painful memories he acquired after being enslaved by Cazador. It's like running through a burning house trying to rescue your family photo - and the hall gets longer each time. So, entering a trance means confronting the worst memories of his life over and over because there is nothing else there.

Due to this Astarion may resort to sleeping, which elves don't usually do. Elves don't like dreams because dreams are subconscious, and they can't be controlled, which scares them. For Astarion, however, it means there is a chance of him subconsciously dreaming of something nice or just being blissfully empty. However, it doesn't safeguard him from nightmares which (because they are the product of his unconsciousness) get even more twisted than simple memories.

Additionally, there can be a possibility that after becoming a spawn he got cut off from meditation and trances completely, relying on sleeping only: at least, the cut spawn epilogue by Withers mentions how while Astarion needs to sleep again, he doesn't sleep alone. While we don't know what that means exactly (and whether it will ever be implemented in the game), I assume that the tadpole gave him the ability to meditate back, but it was a small improvement because his memory headspace no longer holds happy memories capable of offering solace or refuge.

So, my personal headcanon is that he switches between meditating and sleeping depending on how aware he needs to be, and whatever option feels less torturous at the moment.

For instance, in his Origin run, when he remembers the moment of Cazador carving scars into him, he is in a trance. Which is why the memory is so horribly vivid, as if he is reliving it anew.

However, when he has a nightmare where Cazador finds him, he is sleeping and experiencing a memory affected by his subconsciousness. Which is why he jolts himself awake and desperate to know the limits of his freedom.

So, yes, the man literally can't catch a break.

On a happier note (and for your hurt/comfort fanfiction purposes), once Astarion starts traveling with Tav and the group, his memory bank gets updated with memories that are actually fun and nice, so he has something to linger upon when he is meditating. Sleeping gradually becomes a bit more pleasant experience because his subconsciousness got more material to work with, so the quality of his non-controlled dreams has to gradually improve.

[flowersbyphone]

this is just an idea of mine (one of several, i always have ideas) for a New Kids on the Rock fic (that i'll never write cause i just have no inclination to write anything i'm sorry to say) not really episode material though, more fic that is a bit darker than the actual show, more a mix of the tone of nkotr and "Ryan Murphy: Psychic Friend" (although, anyone is free to write this, or something like this, if they want to - if you do, share it with me i would be so freaking excited, that includes bullet point concept stuff - that includes changing things or adding new stuff) this wouldn't just stay in my mind apparently and i'm a bit nervous since i've never shared anything like this before but here goes...

- basically it's what if the "Ryan Murphy: Psychic Friend" video happened in nkotr

- in this world either Ryan is psychic but it's a power that is hard to use and using it to read minds and predict acute futures over long distances is extremely straining and harmful (and using it to sense vague potential events and stuff - that are more local to the psychic - is relatively easier, but still hard to do unless you're experienced or under pressure - my excuse for Ryan not predicting the Institute's intentions lol) also real psychics are extremely rare

- Ryan doesn't know he's psychic and the Institute (or some people who will become the Institute, once they have a real psychic, which they are desperate for - all for financial gain, of course) are having people do these "are you psychic?" quizzes for "fun" ,,like, they're sending them out as mail, or are just out in public trying to get people who pass by to partake in their fun quiz (which is actually really impossible unless a real psychic tries it)

- or, instead, no one is psychic but the Von Reuter Psychic Institute has created a drug that when injected gives some people (depending on whether their mind has psychic potential or not) temporary psychic abilities, but it would also be harmful to who it was being used on, making their mind work far past its natural capabilities... i guess it would also have to make the person go into a weird state where they're not aware of certain things (like how Ryan wasn't aware he was being held hostage) like maybe their mind can't handle all the information at once and they kind of forget key things while under the influence - and there is a period of time when it's wearing off where the person is coherent and knows what's going on, but still has a bit of the psychic abilities, like at the end of the video

- so for the second one, i don't know how the Institute would initially find out how Ryan has psychic potential? via some test thing like the first option i guess

- anyway, this is how the new kids stumble upon the Institute - Ryan takes the quiz and gets a perfect score, the to-be Institute either sends a congratulations letter back or talks to him in person (depending on how they initially contacted the Institute - i personally kinda like the mail one, since you see them less and they remain more of a mystery, and they know where their clubhouse is now) asking Ryan if he wants to join their up-and-coming psychic institute with the promises of doing good for the world together and being rich and famous

- thinking back to the events of The Vigilante, Ryan would consider, but ultimately decline, when it becomes fairly obvious they only want Ryan - and the new kids don't think much about it after that

- the Institute would somehow kidnap Ryan (either with Neil and Kevin witnessing it or not) - and Neil and Kevin would try to figure out where he was taken, and if they didn't see it happen, what happened at all

- they find out when they see a tv commercial/demonstration for "Ryan Murphy: Psychic Friend" and connect the dots that it was the Von Reuter Psychic Institute that took him (also bonus points for them seeing him in pain like in the actual yt video - i feel awful typing this lol)

- in order to find and infiltrate the Institute, they contact them, Neil asking if he can be one of the people interviewed on the show, saying how great Ryan is - when Neil goes to be filmed (somewhere not at all where the Institute and Ryan is, of course) he notices one of the members, who have showed up to regulate and control what is said and filmed, looks a lot like Kevin - and seems like the head authority there (which gives him the idea to have Kevin somehow take his place - if Kevin was pretending to be this guy then he would have access to a lot of high-security places, hopefully including where Ryan is being held) - he asks the Institute people if they personally work with Ryan (pretending to be star-struck) and the guy who looks like Kevin, who doesn't see much threat to the Institute in Neil, boastfully replies yes

- uhhh i haven't thought about how they would actually track down and infiltrate the Institute (replace the guy who looks like Kevin with actual Kevin - Neil would have to wear a mask and goggles or something to hide is face), find and escape with Ryan, but yeah they do that (this is just a skeleton for the story, a concept i first thought of several months ago)

- also some stuff from Ryan's pov in the Institute would be cool (i say casually, knowing the pain the character would be going through) and him thinking of his friends to cope in lucid moments when he's in his room/cell where they keep him when he's not on tv (maybe once he's been at the Institute for a while and starts to get really scared he will never escape or be rescued)

- would contain lots of friendship moments, emotions, and hurt/comfort including a last chapter of them helping Ryan recover from the trauma of the Institute (for one, he probably would feel phantom sensations of needles from being injected so many times)

- i have asked "what is wrong with me" multiple times while writing this and no one even dies

[new-eyes-extra-colors]

1, 6, 7, 15, B, D, & H for the uncommon asks?

[uncommon character asks]

1 What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

I think it would depend on her current mental state. If she's in a real "can't do anything but stare into the middle distance" funk, I'd say an hour or two of that before she manages to shake it off. In a more manic state of mind, I think it'd be down to minutes before she'd start bouncing a leg, pacing, or playing with her hair.

6. Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

Nora considers law flexible, in that she believes more in the spirit of the law than the letter of it, and it's the spirit she tries to uphold during her time as a lawyer. (That doesn't always go so well, or earn her many friends.) She believes that circumstances do affect whether something is right or wrong, and takes things on a case-by-case basis rather than believing morality is black and white.

After the War she has certain standards of morality she tries to stick to, and for a while falls into the habit of asking Nick, Piper, or her other friends what they think the best way forward is. The Commonwealth being what it is, she also occasionally just resorts to violence to get the outcome she wants (and then struggles with herself over whether that was really the only/best way forward). She's not convinced she should have the authority to make those kinds of decisions.

7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

Taste and smell is a big one for her. Favorite foods she had before the War (tamales and lemonade are the main one) tend to make her feel nostalgic for family (especially her grandmother, whose tamale recipe Nora uses and tries to replicate once she's in the Commonwealth). Whether that's a happy thing or a sad thing depends on the day, so once she knows something will elicit that feeling, she's careful about triggering it.

15. How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

Nora usually thinks through what she says, or prevaricates if she can't come up with something on the spot. She gets lax about this if she's around people she trusts, being more willing to say what pops into her head or ask questions she might otherwise be expected to know already. After waking up in the Commonwealth, it takes her a while to become comfortable asking stuff that she perceives might be common knowledge, because she doesn't want to appear naive or easy to manipulate.

B. What inspired you to create them?

I talked a bit about this in this post under the "milky way" question, but I originally started playing FO4 as the male sole survivor and didn't think of Nora past being a background character in his story. It's why when her husband is referred to, he's named Dana instead of Nate, and Nora has the default name. I just got sick of hearing about all the other characters' dead wives and decided to un-fridge the one I had narrative control over.

Rest in peace, Dana. (...I have a few sketches of a very self-indulgent AU where he and Nora both survive. It's significantly more comedic than the fic I'm writing.)

D. Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look?

Nora's general appearance has stayed the same, yes. I've edited her in game more times than I can count--her hair especially I haven't managed to get right with the mod options available to me, but I think I've finally settled on a face for her. Also, here's some old art showing some of my first sketches of her (~2020) to more recent stuff.

H. What trait do you admire most?

Probably her ability to keep outwardly calm under pressure, so that even if she's feeling anxious it doesn't show. It's a skill she honed both during her childhood and her time as a lawyer.

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

I am so glad that people are still discovering this fic omg!!! this is one of my all time favourite things that I have ever written and I am so glad that you like it omg.

also NEVER APOLOGIZE for live commentary omg - it is literally my FAVOURITE THING EVER to read people's live commentary of my fics. it makes my whole day !!!!! (it makes my whole week, my whole month. I always come back to these and reread them)

so, here are some of my replies lmao

Yes, Officer Lamontange is always on my mind. I can't get those big puppy eyes out of my head. Also - one of my favourite things ever is when I need a name for a random spare background character - taking a name from a character I love and know. Because it works as a cheeky reference for people who know it and a very easy way to name background randos

Also it's not bad to enjoy the toxic co-dependent thing! I love writing toxic co-dependent relationships. They suck irl but they are so interesting in fiction. Especially in a case like this because they suffered such a unique and fictional childhood trauma together, so of course their co-decency coming from that is so fucking interesting to study.

(Also this got me thinking about that 'let's get in the back of your cop car officer' tiktok song. Can somebody edit that with Vanessa please?)

"Lies, lies, lies, and more lies. She isn’t bringing me in." -> Well she doesn't know that! She had every intention of bringing you in. (But you know what they say about good intentions...)

"If only you could see the pure look of disgusted terror on my face.." -> You know a lot of people have said that I have actually managed to make Five Nights At Freddy's scary again with my writing, and I find that insanely flattering. Because I know it has been silly and not scary in a long time (it used to be scary, especially to me) - and I really enjoy bringing back that terror in my fics <3

"you explaining the reason she became a cop makes so much sense" -> it made so much sense to me when I was watching the movie!!! because I even considered that maybe her father forced her to become a cop to help cover up his acts. but it made sense that she would want to prevent him from doing more harm in the future (even if she has trouble pulling away from him and his emotional manipulation), and maybe if what we see in the film is her working with him, she would still want to do a lot of good outside of that.

"why do we have access to her bank account..?" -> the reader doesn't have access to Vanessa's bank account, but because of their closeness throughout their lives and because of how much Vanessa has talked about her father (because Vanessa has spilled a lot of secrets to the reader, ranting about her trauma because the reader because the reader is the only one who knows about the murders and can understand) - the reader knows that part of the emotional manipulation is buying her silence. so this is just a nod to that. the idea that Vanessa vowed on her own morals to stop taking her father's money and break free, but she is probably still taking his money based on her lifestyle - the fact that she just got a new, nice apartment as stated in the dialogue

"my Vanessa is starting to terrify me.." -> okay but this is why I LOOOOVED writing this fic - because it was showing that Vanessa and her father show the same tendencies of rage and the same ability to snap when their emotions are pushed, but her father is fuelled by an underlying blood lust, and an underlying craving for murder that he knows he needs to satisfying. ON THE OTHER HAND Vanessa is fuelled by her love and passion and protectiveness for the reader. so their rage takes them to very different places in the end based on the core of what their emotions are fuelled by

"Are we gonna have sex or am I not making it out alive??? Which one Vanessa??" you have to guess <3 that's the best part

"GETTING TURNED ON WHILE YOUR FRIEND IS STOMPING YOU INTO THE GROUND but honestly good for you y/n like sure why not!" -> so many people make horny posts where they're like 'oh!! step on me!!!' so I figured I would take that literally lmao

"Girl, be serious 💀 if you were ‘good’ you wouldn’t be in this situation! this sexy situation" -> THIS ACTUALLY MADE ME LAUGH OMG

"not to quote Josh from Future Man but I promise I’d be a good girl.." - FUN FACT. because this is a GN fic, I was picturing Josh/Mike x Vanessa while writing it. because he is pathetic and whimpering and needs to be bossed around by her like this

"OH MY AND THE ENDING WAS PERFECT 🫶🫶🫶" -> THANK YOU SOOOO MUCH OMG !!!!! I am so glad that you enjoyed it. this is one of my top ten fics in terms of fics that I enjoyed writing it, and seeing someone having so much fun reading it makes me so happy

Damn The Man, Save The Empire

(Dark)Dom!Vanessa Shelly x Sub!GN!Reader

Heaven is a place we can't afford.

Summary:

Vanessa has always taken care of you.

Since the two of you were kids, she has put her neck on the line for you, and you rarely knew how to return that epic kindness. One night, while both of you are raw and on-edge, the dark cloud of your strange past looming over both of you nearly swallows both of you whole - and once again, Vanessa is right there, taking care of you.

(Dark)Dom!Vanessa Shelly x Sub!Gender Neutral Reader. Toxic Co-Dependent Relationship. Smut and Angst. Takes place before the main timeline of the film (features spoilers for the movie).

Word Count: 6,100

Horror Characters Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: This fic contains major spoilers for the film (even though it takes place before the main bulk of the film) - if you haven’t seen the movie yet and you want to watch it spoiler-free, be cautious; general toxic relationship - the two main characters have a very toxic relationship; there is a power imbalance in the relationship due to one of the characters being a police officer; both of the main characters have a lot of childhood trauma and they show it in their actions; there is underlying dom/sub dynamics - the reader is submissive and Vanessa is dominant; somewhat dubious consent - the whole interaction starts out as an argument rather than something explicitly sexual, but the reader still enjoys it the whole time (one of those safe, consensual, but not ‘sane’ situations). The reader’s gender is completely ambiguous - the only pronouns used for the reader are you/yours, and the reader’s genitals are described in a way that could be interpreted as the character being amab or afab, no specific gendered terms are used; mentions of the reader having sex with someone who is not Vanessa (a random unnamed man); mentions of the reader having sex in the back of someone’s car and being caught by a police officer who is not Vanessa (and then being passed off to Vanessa); dark!Vanessa, jealous!Vanessa, possessive!Vanessa (she hates that the reader had sex with someone else earlier that night).

The reader and Vanessa have been friends since childhood; mention of the reader drinking/ingesting alcohol - not enough to impair consent or impair the general senses; the reader calls Vanessa ‘Ness’ or ‘Nessa’ as a nickname; technically, Vanessa does ‘arrest’ the reader (she doesn’t bring the reader into a police station or file any official paperwork); Vanessa puts the reader in handcuffs in a non-sexual way, and later those handcuffs are used for sexual bondage; use of Y/N (and L/N, meaning Last Name); mention of the reader character stealing and doing other petty crimes; mentions of Vanessa’s childhood trauma - her father murdering children and forcing her to help cover it up (implications that she also participated in the killings in some way); the reader witnessed one of the killings as a child and has also kept it a secret; somewhat graphic descriptions of murder/a child being killed.

Some manhandling but nothing that would insist that Vanessa has inhuman strength; hair-pulling - kind of in a sexy way, kind of in a violent way; Vanessa literally steps on the reader (again, kind of violent, kind of sexy) - some breath restriction due to being stepped on; general pain kink; the characters in this fic have a poor attitude toward casual hook-ups; there is a hand on the neck but no purposeful choking (very little restriction of breath); nipple play - Vanessa painfully tugs the reader’s nipple; something like subspace is described, but the word ‘subspace’ isn’t specifically used; slight inspection kink; spanking - on the reader’s thighs and on the reader’s genitals; Vanessa calls the reader ‘brat’; a lot of this could be seen as brat-taming/brat tamer!Vanessa; Vanessa uses her hand on the reader - because the reader’s genitals are not described, this could be interpreted as a handjob or fingering (but there are no mentions of penetration); Vanessa fucks herself against the reader’s thigh; Vanessa edges the reader (once); asking permission to orgasm; biting/marking kink; I believe that's finally everything.

A/N: This fic is named after a Pierce The Veil song of the same name. I definitely recommend listening to the song, because the lyrics fit with this fic so so well. A very large part of her characterization in this is informed by the 'if you bring Abby back here again, I will shoot you' moment from the movie - rage fuelled by compassion and love and protectiveness for another person. I really love that part and I think it's such an interesting aspect to her character. Also, I put a lot of thought into making this completely gender neutral, making sure the reader could be interpreted as amab or afab, so I hope that everyone enjoys it! Also - I know that it might be weird for Vanessa's nickname in this fic to be 'Ness' because that's the name of Matpat's diner character (named after a character in one of his theories??) but I think it's a cute nickname, and if I actually knew her, that's what I would call her. So I am going off the idea that neither of the characters in this fic know Ness the diner waiter, and the reader has just always called Vanessa 'Ness'. So - yeah.

...

“Get in the car.” Vanessa barked - the pure anger and annoyance in her voice echoed through the night. 

You hated that it brought you a certain kind of warped joy. 

She put a hand flat on your back, between your shoulder blades, and roughly shoved you toward the back bumper of her police cruiser. 

You purposefully walked slower, just to mock her, and she let out a harsh sigh. You bit your lip to hold back a grin. At this point in your lives, this was just the nature of your relationship with your best friend. You didn’t just get under her skin, you lived there. 

“God, I can’t believe you!” She shouted. “Public indecency? You’ve gotten in shit for some pretty stupid things, but having sex in the back of some random asshole’s car-?!” 

“The back of someone’s car should not be considered ‘public’!” You argued, laughter edging on your voice. 

It was difficult to take things seriously when you knew that the consequences wouldn’t be too severe. Vanessa always swooped in to save you. She would just bring you home, scold you a bit. But she wouldn’t do anything that would leave a lasting mark. 

“Did you even know the guy you were fucking? Did you even use a fucking condom?” She screeched at you. 

Did you know the guy? Sort of. Did you use a condom? Yes, you did. 

But you were in the mood to annoy Vanessa even more. 

You shrugged. “Why does it matter? Your stupid cop friend interrupted us before we could even finish, so-” 

“Ugh, get in the car!”

She was lucky that Officer Lamontange had been on duty, and he owed her a favor. Anybody else would have slapped a pair of cuffs on you and hauled you to the station without a second thought. You’d be in processing by now, and you’d be in jail for the next few weeks before they could even get you a public defender. 

But that was you and Vanessa. You fucked up, she stuck her neck out for you. This was probably going to be one time too many. This was going to be the one that got her fired. She had already been warned about letting you off, performing ‘special favors’. 

“Get in the car!” You repeated back, mocking her voice in a silly way before you let out a chuckling howl. 

So what? You liked to party. So what? Those parties got a little out of control. 

It’s not your fault some uptight suburban yuppies called the cops on you for having fun. You didn’t even know that having an ‘open container’ of booze and having sex in the back of someone’s car was illegal anyway. Live and learn. 

“God, how much have you had to drink?” Vanessa gritted through her teeth, low and full of breath, the way she always did when she was angry. 

It was something that made your stomach twist and made you far dizzier than the alcohol did. You weren’t sure if it was from lust - from your underlying attraction toward her, or if it was from fear. Perhaps a bit of both. 

“Let me smell your breath.” She demanded. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t had that much to drink. One or two sips from a bottle, enough to get you a bit buzzed. You had been planning on having more later. But you were in a nagging mood, and didn’t want to give into her so easily. 

“Ness, I’m not a fucking teenager-” You argued, still facing away from her as you trudged toward the car with lazy steps. 

She put a hand on your elbow and whipped you around with a surprising strength, forcing you to face her. She was tight in your personal space before you could blink, and instinctively, you clamped your mouth closed and held your breath - though you knew that the smell of Jack Daniels would be apparent coming off your nose and lips whether you breathed on her or not. 

“You’re not a teenager anymore, but you’re sure as fuck acting like one.” She said harshly. 

You finally released your breath, giving another laugh and a shrug. 

“At least I know how to have fun.” You argued, entirely careless about the situation. 

You expected that you would get into the front seat of the car and she would drive you home. She’d probably make you drink some water before tucking you into bed, and you would fall asleep to her giving you a long lecture about responsibility. She would come by in the morning with coffee and bagels (despite the stereotypes about cops, Vanessa was not much of a donut person). 

But instead of partaking in this predictable routine, Vanessa surprised you with her next move. 

She put a hand in the middle of your back and shoved you toward the car again. This time you were closer - your stomach landed against the back bumper, and you let out a small grunt as you collided with it. You turned your head over your shoulder to question her, but before you could get any words out, she pulled one of your forearms to the middle of your back and you felt cold steel on your wrist. 

“Y/N L/N, you’re under arrest for Public Intoxication and Public Indecency,” She announced, her voice deadly calm, and stern. 

“Ness, you’re seriously arresting me?” You asked, insult and scorn running through your voice. 

Her answer came in the form of her bringing your other wrist to the middle of your back - she joined it into the cuffs with the harsh, echoing grind of metal as the cuffs slid into place. 

“You have the right to remain silent-” She said, continuing to go about the routine in a very unfeeling tone. 

“You have the right to fuck off.” You bit back bitterly. 

“Anything you say can and will be used against you-” 

“Is that everything I’ve ever told you from when we were kids, or is that just starting now?” You asked, feeling spite rise up in you. 

“Will you ever learn to shut up?” She replied with a sarcastic, spiteful question of her own, and grabbed you to bring you around to the back door of the car. 

You heaved out a sigh as she opened the door. As she put a hand on the top of your head and tried to push you into the car, you resisted further. 

“Ness, seriously?” You said, hoping one last push against her would get her to take off the cuffs. 

“Just get in the car.” She repeated again, her voice entirely stern. 

You sagged, and let yourself become pliant to her motions as she guided you into the backseat. 

It wasn’t the first time you had been in the back of her police car. But it was always under other circumstances. If something else was occupying the front seat, like a large tool box or her gym bag, then she would make you sit in the back. Sometimes, if you were too drunk to sit up and she was afraid you would puke on her, then she would make you sit in the back. You found it to be a decent place to fall asleep. 

However, this was the first time you had been in the backseat in handcuffs. 

This was the first time she had officially arrested you. 

You found it uncomfortable to sit with your wrists behind your back, but you knew that was currently the least of your problems. Vanessa leaned in, reaching for the seatbelt, ready to strap you in, fiddling with it for a moment before she grunted with frustration. 

“The seatbelt back here is still broken.” She said through gritted teeth as she moved to stand at her full height outside the car. “Because someone insisted on-” 

“Oh, shut up.” You barked back. “Where else was I supposed to strap in Sir Bearrington?” 

A few weeks ago she had picked you up from a carnival. 

You had been detained by security there for stealing a large lock box of money from one of the vendors - it had been out in the open, too tempting. When you had taken it with no real plan and simply started running, you had eventually been caught by the security staff on the grounds. 

And when you had been locked up in the office, you had called Vanessa - and she had arrived to bail you out without question. Earlier in the night, you had won an oversized teddy bear and refused to give it up even when Vanessa insisted that it was stupid. 

Apparently your insistence to try and strap the bear into her back seat, the ensuing argument the two of you had over it, grabbing the seatbelt and tugging at it - had broken the seatbelt. You hadn’t been paying much attention at the time. 

“You’re not cute.” Vanessa mumbled, clearly disgruntled by the whole thing. 

She slammed the back door closed, leaving you unrestrained in the back of the car, fully prone to be injured in a car accident. Though, you supposed she didn’t care about that with how angry she was at you right now. 

She walked around to the front seat and got in, leaving the two of you in a sullen silence as she started the car and drove away. She didn’t even bother putting on the radio to buffer that silence, and you hated how much it made you feel like a child sitting in the principal’s office. 

You stared at the back of her head through the metal mesh of the cage separating the front and the back - something that supposedly kept her safe from the dangerous criminal that you were. You felt a deep bitter ache form inside of you as all of it truly set in. With the handcuffs biting into your wrists and your fingers beginning to tingle with numbness, it truly hit you. 

Vanessa wasn’t going to protect you anymore. 

“You’re seriously bringing me in?” You choked out, not intending for the hurt to come through in your voice as much as it did. 

“Yes.” Vanessa replied. “You did something wrong. You deserve to see justice.” 

“Justice?” You scoffed, shaking your head. “You sure have a funny sense of that.” 

“How so?” Vanessa asked, her voice entirely timid. 

She kept her eyes straight ahead, not daring to catch a glimpse of your disappointed face in the rearview mirror. She had a feeling that she knew what you were going to say, and she wasn’t going to like it. 

“If you had any sense of justice, you wouldn’t have begged me not to rat out your father all those years ago.” You said, your voice choked off by emotion. “I would have told everyone what I saw, and he’d be in jail. You would have gone into foster care with some other family, and you’d be miles and miles away from this shithole town. And… I’d probably be in the psych ward. Making paper crafts with some nice woman named Martha.” 

“Please don’t talk about my father.” Vanessa gritted out - it was a very tender spot for her, which was something that you already knew. 

The day you met Vanessa was one of the worst days of your life. 

It started out as a day that was entirely unassuming, at best. You had divorced parents, and when your father got you on weekends, he didn’t like to try too hard. He was the type of dad who turned on the TV and fell asleep, left you to your own devices. You liked it that way. 

That weekend, he had brought you out. Freddy Fazbear’s was a place kids could have fun, and their parents could sit back and forget about them. You liked it there - just like any other kid would. You ran around, played arcade games, ate pizza. You gawked at the animatronic band and danced to their songs. 

At one point, you ran into a shy little blond girl and she introduced herself to you as Vanessa. She told you that sometimes being at Freddy’s got boring for her because her father worked there and she was there all the time. She showed you all the best arcade games, and a hack to get a free play (unplugging them and plugging them back in, which reset them to ‘demo mode’). She even snuck behind the prize counter and got you a decoder ring that you had been admiring, but didn’t have enough tickets for. 

The two of you had the best afternoon together. And you hated it when your father shouted your name and told you that you were going home. So you told him that you needed a spare minute to say goodbye to your new friend Vanessa. And then, innocently enough - you sought her out. 

This search for her mistakenly led you into one of the back rooms.

The horrors you saw could barely be described. A Yellow Rabbit mascot missing its head. A twisted, laughing face covered in blood. A horrifically large knife plunging into a small body. Bright red, thick blood. Guts, flesh. Carnage. 

Vanessa found you just as her father spotted you out of the corner of his eye. He came at you with the bloody knife at the ready. That crazed expression on his face was the most unforgettable thing about him. Whenever you closed your eyes and thought back to that day - the expression on his face was the thing that you remembered most. 

Vanessa threw herself in front of you and begged for your life. The discussion between them that followed was a blur in your mind as your heart thumped hard between your ears. Something about ‘witnesses’ and ‘loose ends’. All you knew for certain was that Vanessa had saved your life. 

At one point, using his large, yellow mascot hand, he thrust a knife toward her, forcing it into her small fist - and he told her that it was time for her to start ‘pulling her weight’. Vanessa took you by the wrist and took you to another room. 

But you never felt afraid with her, not for a moment. 

She made you swear not to tell anyone what you had seen, and you did. And because she just didn’t have it in her to take a life, especially not yours - she let you live. 

It was too weekends later when your father brought you back to Freddy’s. 

You were excited to see Vanessa. Her father was not excited to see you. When he pulled you into one of the back rooms and berated Vanessa about why you were still ‘around’ - you finally found your courage, and told him that you ‘wouldn’t tell’. The smile he gave you was almost as horrifying as the killing had been. He patted you on the head, and said that he liked loyalty ‘in his friends’. 

The Bonnie plushie that he gave you - a kind of reward for your silence, felt tainted. You threw it away at the closest opportunity, but you kept the decoder ring. You still had it in your jewelry box, even to this day. 

Strangely enough, that wasn’t the last time you saw Vanessa. The two of you spent more and more time together, quickly becoming best friends. You were two lost children in the world, two warped branches of a tree growing to lean on each other, desperate to find the sun. You were the only person who knew all of her dark secrets and didn’t care. You were the only person around her who wasn’t dead, or didn’t fear the rumors about her after Freddy’s shut down - even after she started going by her mother’s maiden name, desperate to escape the dark shadow her father had created over her life. 

Being around Vanessa, spending more time with her - it meant that you did see her father in passing. Every time you did, it felt like seeing a ghost. It did feel like the man with the knife and the crazed expression on his face was a completely different person from the man with the thick glasses who sat across from you at the dinner table, offering you more peas and asking about how your classes were going. 

Vanessa was always the same person. She was always stubborn. She was always a champion for the innocent. She was always someone who needed intense control over every aspect of her life. You thought she would have been destined to become a social worker - but you guessed that she had seen too many broken, dead kids for a lifetime. And she liked the security of having a gun on her belt. So that’s why she became a cop. 

You became a highschool drop-out, part-time drunk, petty criminal, sex degenerate, and general failure. 

It was a real case study of the two roads that trauma corrupted people can take. If anybody were ever willing to take a closer look. 

Vanessa fuelled her anxiety and anger into going forward, charging ahead without thinking, and your anxiety and nightmares caused you to fall more and more backward by the minute. 

“How is dear old daddy, by the way?” You asked, picking at the raw nerve out of spite. “Has he missed me at family dinners?” 

“Shut up!” Vanessa barked. Then after a heavy moment, she let out another quiet, mousy sentence. “I haven’t seen him in years. You know that.” 

“Oh, but your bank account says otherwise.” You replied, a cocky tone breaching through. “The new apartment is so nice. I know you’re not bankrolling all that on a cop’s salary. What kind of dirty work does he have you doing these days?” 

Vanessa’s silence was painfully knowledgeable. 

He had sucked her back in somehow. 

“I knew that you always had a soft spot for him.” You sighed. “You probably wish he had gotten rid of me all those years ago, huh?” You mumbled quietly. “It’s not like you ever actually cared about me.” 

Of course, you were feeling hurt by her putting you in handcuffs, threatening to turn you in, something that felt like the ultimate betrayal - so the words slipped out. 

You were shocked when Vanessa slammed on the breaks and the car came to a screeching halt. It was lucky that you were on a desolate backroad with nobody else to rear-end you at the sudden stop. If not for your instincts (even while slightly inebriated) to put your foot against the cage, keeping yourself from smacking forward, then you likely would have had the harsh shape of that mesh imprinted on your cheek. 

“I never cared about you?” Vanessa asked, her voice filled with an intense, dark rage. 

You caught her eye in the rearview mirror, and save for the tears dancing on her waterline - she had a look almost identical to that same crazed look her father had worn all those years ago. You almost would have mocked her for it if you didn’t feel your stomach clenching up with fear. 

You had to remind yourself that this was your Vanessa. This wasn’t him. 

“I never cared about you?” She repeated, so utterly insulted by what you had said that she could feel her reality tearing apart. She almost could believe that you had said it. 

“Vanessa-” You choked out, calling her by her full name for the first time in so long. 

Before you could beg for mercy or apologize, she abruptly cut you off. 

“No.” She said. “Shut up.” 

The pure force of her voice sent chills through you, and this time you couldn’t help but to comply. 

You sat in a dizzying silence as she slammed on the gas pedal again, and the car went speeding off. She seemed very determined with where she was going. After a minute or two, where you were becoming increasingly light-headed from your worry, Vanessa whipped the cruiser into an empty lot - a random patch of old pavement that looked like it was on the back end of a place used to keep scrap cars. 

It was dark and secluded. Nobody would find you here. 

She turned off the car and got out, and the back door was open before you could blink. 

“Vanes-” 

You tried to speak to her again, but she reached into the back and grabbed you harshly. One hand tight in your hair, fierce, like a catty teenage fight, and the other on the collar of your crappy old band shirt. She tore your body out of the car (once again, her strength amazed you), stretching out the neck of your shirt in the process. You pattered along with your feet, struggling to keep up and whining in pain as she tugged harshly on your roots, likely pulling hair out in some places. 

You would deny that you liked the pain, especially when it was inflicted onto you by her. 

She tossed you onto the ground and the roughness of the pavement bit into your skin. You let out a sharp groan as you felt some of the skin on your elbow being scraped away.

“Ness-” 

Before you could speak, she put a hefty boot on your hip and turned you over, turning you over onto your back. She then pushed that boot into the middle of your stomach, forcing all the air out of you. With the force pushing down on you, your arms became numb as your hands got pushed into the pavement, the metal of the cuffs biting into your wrists even more now. 

You looked up the length of her body at her, admiring her like a monument in the darkness. Oddly enough, equal parts fear and lust tingled through you as you had nothing but her in your view. Your mind became hazy from the grounding weight of her boot pushing down against the middle of your body. She was a goddess - piercing blue eyes, glassy and crazed, and the swell of her breasts, tightly pressed against her blue uniform shirt, the slight of her shoulders just barely blocking out the inky blue of the night sky as she towered over you. 

You knew that she could have killed you. She could have easily shot you and left your body there, and nobody would have cared about a petty criminal fuck-up like you turning up dead. 

But in that moment, you weren’t afraid. You never had to be afraid with her. 

“Vanessa-” 

“Shut. Up.” She ground out, the words harsh through her teeth. 

She pressed her foot down slightly, causing you to moan out in pain. 

“Do not, for a moment, even begin to judge-” She almost choked on the words, grinding like harsh knives against her throat. “Do not begin to perceive how much I do or do not care about you.” She said, the words harsh and venomous in the cool air. “If I didn’t care about you, you would fucking know it.” 

You knew there was more to it, more waiting on her tongue. Words she couldn’t say. 

‘If I didn’t care about you, you wouldn’t be here right now.’ 

You were lucky to have her. You knew that. 

“I’m sorry.” You croaked out, finding it hard to breathe around the boot pressing into your diaphragm. 

Once again, this reminded you of her power over you - the way she towered over you like a proud monument. You hated the fact that even as you struggled for air, you felt a demanding need growing between your thighs. 

It certainly didn’t help that you hadn’t been able to cum earlier. Like you had said, you had been interrupted before you and your ‘friend’ (acquaintance, a random guy you kind of knew) could finish up. And although you hadn’t been expecting that to be a very satisfying sexual encounter, you were hoping for it to be distracting and take the edge off of your general horniness, at the very least. 

Now you were here - unintentionally edged and hornier than ever. 

“Yeah, I’ll show you sorry.” Vanessa muttered, that anger still ripe on her breath. 

You thought maybe she would hit you. 

It wouldn’t be the first time that the two of you had gotten into a physical fight, volatile and wonderful as your relationship was. You did think it was unfair that this time you were so unmatched, with your hands cuffed behind your back. But she surprised you when, instead of punching you, she took her foot off your stomach completely. And then she came down to straddle you, sitting on that same sore spot above your waistband where her foot had just been. 

Oh, so it was that kind of sorry. 

This wouldn’t be the first time you and Vanessa had sex either. Frankly, you should have been expecting this. 

A lot of your arguments with Vanessa ended in fistfighting - or fucking. Sometimes a combination of both. 

She glared down the length of her body at you and you were aggravated. She wasn’t sitting low enough on your waist for you to grind yourself against her, to get any good friction where you needed it most. You whined with torment and pain as more pressure, the whole weight of her body and yours was put on your cuffed wrists and they were pushed into the ground. 

Your wrists were going to be so fucked - but you tried to make that a problem for your later self. 

You squirmed helplessly, trying to get more comfortable. Vanessa put a stop to your movements with a hand around your neck, shoving your head backwards into the pavement. You instantly stilled against the tightness of her fingers, especially as she pressed into the tender point at the side of your jaw with her thumb. 

She didn’t apply any intense pressure - as long as you sat with your head back and stayed still, she only used the touch to make you pliant and trap you there. 

She put her other hand above your head and leaned down slightly, creating a looming shadow over you as she spoke. 

“Do not ever accuse me of not caring about you.” She said, her voice still painted dark with anger. “Do you think that random guy you were fucking cared about you?” 

You knew the question was a trap. 

“No.” You said, your voice the timid one now. 

“Do you think he would give a shit if you live or die?” She asked, moving her free hand to skim her knuckles across the side of your cheek - a touch so gentle that it made you shiver. “Do you think he would give his life for yours?” 

“No.” You whimpered in return, feeling that aching need between your thighs growing more hot and prominent. 

“Do you think he would even give a fuck if he made you cum or not?” 

With these words, she reached down suddenly and - with picture perfect aim, grabbed your nipple through your shirt, giving it a harsh twist. The pain shot through you, causing you to arch up against the hold she had on your neck. This made you lightheaded, but you knew better than to keep her waiting for an answer. 

“No!” You whined out breathlessly. “No, he wouldn’t care!” 

“Exactly.” She growled out. “I care. I’m the only one who cares about you in this godforsaken world.” 

She was probably right. 

You sucked in a breath, desperate to fill your lungs when she let you go. 

You looked on with intrigue as she descended down your body. While sitting on your knees, keeping you pinned to the ground, she opened the button and zipper of your jeans. She dug her fingers into the waistband and yanked them down. 

It was a bit of a struggle with you acting as deadweight against her, becoming more dizzy as heat swelled between your legs and made you dumb between the ears. She managed to get your pants down to your midthigh before she left the fabric there. This left your bare ass scraping against the roughness of the pavement, left all of you exposed to the cool night air - open, waiting for her. 

You clenched your thighs tight together, waiting with nervous impatience as she looked down at you. Her jaw was tight, tern; her blue eyes glistening with rage and betrayal. 

“Did he cum inside of you?” She growled. 

All at once, she lifted her weight off your legs, sitting up onto her knees. She hovered above you as she put her hands on your inner thighs and ripped your legs apart - as far as they would go with the waistband of your jeans holding you in place. 

“Ness!” You protested quietly, knowing it was in vain. 

You felt open and exposed to her as she blatantly inspected you - her fingers dug in, holding tight against your squirming attempts to close your legs once again. She knew that even past your embarrassment, you were turned on by this. Blatant evidence of that came before her eyes as a bit of wetness pathetically leaked out of you, glistening in the low light for her to see, smearing across your skin as you struggled against her. 

“Stay still!” She snapped, giving a harsh smack to your inner thigh that resonated through the air, chasing air out of your lungs. You thrashed from the pain for a moment before going still upon instinct, knowing that your hole was now visibly clenching around nothing, waiting for her. “So misbehaved. Such a brat. It’s like you don’t even want me to fuck you at all.” 

She sat herself on top of you once again, sitting on your thighs right where your jeans were, causing the denim to cut into your skin as she weighed on it. She specifically barred your thighs open against the ground, and you made no protest as she placed a hand between your thighs and began touching you. She worked in slow, teasing strokes that made the muscles of your thighs quiver and made a moan get caught in the back of your throat. 

“Look at me.” She ordered - you hadn’t even realized that your head was tilting back, your body so loyal to her that the pleasure of such a simple touch from her already overwhelmed you. “Y/N. Look at me.” 

She put her free hand on your neck again, slowing down the hand that was between your thighs until she was just barely teasing her fingertips against you. She used two fingers on your jaw to force your eyes toward her, and then she put that hold back on your neck - not yet putting any pressure, but making her presence well known to you. 

You were powerless against her, perfect below her - and you knew that’s where you belonged. 

“Who’s in charge?” She demanded, her voice low, scraping against her throat in a way that made goosebumps form all over your skin. 

She was still touching you in that slow, barely there way. You swallowed down a whimper and resisted the urge to buck your hips up into her, knowing that it would only get you spanked in a very sensitive place. 

“You are.” You said, your voice cradling around the words in a very pathetic, fucked-out kind of way. 

“And who takes care of you?” She asked, ever present to remind you of this. 

“You do.” You told her. 

“Good.” She growled. 

Then she sped up her hand, her movements almost vengeful as she worked between your legs, touching you in a way that she distinctly knew would make you fall apart. 

“Ness!” You shouted, not even slightly mindful to keep quiet. If you were even slightly present mentally, you would have remembered that’s why she chose this location. She liked to hear you scream. “Oh fuck me!” 

“That’s the plan.” She chuckled. 

She worked you hard and fast, made you breathless. Your mouth gaped like a fish on land as you desperately tried to steal air into your lungs, ever mindful of the hold she had on your neck - a presence, not a hold, not yet. 

Just when your thighs were quivering and you were on the brink of orgasm, she pulled back. Before you could curse on her, she hauled her touch back from you completely and delivered a harsh, sharp spank to the most sensitive part of you. 

“Fuck!” You screamed. “Fuck you, Vanessa, I’ve been good!” You quickly argued, anger surging through you. 

You didn’t even hesitate before you gathered spit in your mouth and launched at her savagely, bitterly angry with her as the pain stung through you. You would never admit that in this state, it mixed with the pleasure in a deliriously confusing way, and might have brought you to orgasm if she had done it again too quickly. 

The glob of your spit landed on her shirt, making a small spot, and she glared down at it for a moment. She didn’t seem to pay it much mind. 

“No, you haven’t been.” She told you, her voice stern. “You need to remember how to be good.” 

She landed another spank between your legs, and as your almost-there orgasm faded from your stomach, this one stung a lot more. 

“Fuck!” You cursed again. 

“Now ask me nicely.” She demanded. “I won’t take care of some brat who doesn’t appreciate it. I’ll take care of someone who asks me nicely, and says thank you.” 

You were too far gone to argue against her. 

“Please.” You begged, tilting your head up to look at her. 

She was still so well composed, not a single hair out of place - the only evidence of sex on her being the stain you had left on her shirt and a tinge of pink coming across her cheeks from the obvious heat you were drawing out of her. 

“Please, Nessa. Please, I need it.” You begged, your voice breathy and fucked out. “I need you.” 

Those were the magic words. 

She put her hand back on you - gently, this time, and began steadily working you. 

“Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you!” You sighed. 

You were now making a slightly sloppy sound with your own wetness as her hand moved - she pushed a steady stream of moans out of you as she worked up the rhythm. It wasn’t long before you noticed her weight shift, and felt her rubbing herself against your thigh. You loved the impressive heat coming off her cunt, even through her pants it was apparent. From the way she moved her hips with intense urgency, she needed this too. 

You felt yourself getting close again, that deadly heat curling in your gut. You knew what needed to happen, and you weren’t going to make the same mistake again. 

“Please!” You begged, breathless. “Please, Ness, let me cum!” 

“Why should I?” She growled, working her hand even faster now, vengeful as she pumped her wrist and canted her hips against your thigh. 

“Cause - cause you’re the only one who cares about me!” You replied. “Please!” 

It seemed that this was enough to satisfy her. 

“Cum for me.” She growled out. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to disobey. 

She worked you through it - part skill, part knowing from exploring your body so many times before, from being the only person who knew you like this. She moved her hand from your neck and leaned down to sink her teeth into the skin there. The feeling of her canines digging into you while you arched up as the orgasm rocked your body only made everything more dizzying. 

The sharp pain of her bite was grounding, and as your body quaked through the last aftershocks of your orgasm, you whimpered out her name. She hushed you, gently petting her hands all over you before she soothed her tongue over the stinging bite. 

“It’s okay.” She whispered into your neck. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

After a few moments of stillness, Vanessa helped pull your pants up, silently admiring the mess you had made all over your own thighs. And then - she sat you up and unlocked the cuffs. Your wrists were incredibly sore and raw in some places from the metal cutting into your skin, but neither of you said anything about it. 

She opened the door for you to get into the front seat, and wordlessly, she drove you home. When you used your key for the front door, you left it open - a silent invitation for her to come inside after you, and she sighed loudly before doing so. 

That night, she slept in your bed. Both of you pretended that everything was okay. 

You and Vanessa were both very broken people. That wasn’t going to change anytime soon. You showed that brokenness in very different ways, and ultimately, she probably handled it a lot better than you did. 

But one thing would always be true - she took care of you, no matter what.

...

If you enjoyed this work, you are heavily encouraged to share it by reblogging or leave a comment (or an ask) telling me what you enjoyed about it! Commenting and reblogging goes a long way to encouraging writers and fuelling future works!

[rorykillmore]

if you're up for a short writing prompt, may i ask for something with cloud and dolores on denny? or maybe one for glory and flame instead of? though if you're more up for an ask, maybe smth about what you're looking forward to/enjoying dynamics wise with em?

“He does really like you.”  Dolores teasingly makes sure she sounds at least a little surprised as she watches Cloud move Flash along at an easy stride.

“Yeah. Well.” Cloud keeps his eyes on the trail ahead of them, but his lips almost twitch in a barely-there smile that she’s come to find familiar.  “No one ever said he was smart.”

It’s just the right amount of playful self-deprecation to make her laugh a little -- it always surprises her that on occasion, Cloud actually manages to do that.  But he’s never been bad company, and maybe that’s why she indulges in spending time with him more than a roommate would strictly on obligation. 

She hasn’t been riding like this with someone - just for the fun of it, just for the sense of freedom - in so long. She can’t pretend there’s not something a little personal about it, and maybe that should worry her.

Maybe this world is making her sloppy. Or soft.

“I’ll give you one thing -- you do seem to have a natural talent for this,” Dolores concedes, not allowing that thought to make her stumble. “I guess there’s something to be said for growing up riding...”

She pretends not to remember the word, if only to make him say it.

“Chocobos,” Cloud mumbles, and Dolores bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “And I wouldn’t get too excited just yet. Walking around on a beginner’s trail is one thing...”

“Have you tried taking him any faster?” Dolores leans over a little from the back of her own horse, prompted by genuine curiosity as much as anything.

Cloud shoots her a sidelong, considering glance.  “Just once or twice.”

It’s difficult to read his expression, but something about the way he says it makes it seem weighted. Suddenly she’s dying to know exactly how much he’s been practicing (or trying to), and it’s such a simple, genuine moment that she forgets to dissect it with the proper distance.

“Show me,” she tells him -- and then adds innocently, “We can race.”

She counts the snort that gets out of him as a small victory.  “Somehow that doesn’t seem fair.”

“I’ll give you a head start,” Dolores offers, only slightly smug. Maybe there’s a small part of her that can’t help but indulge in one-upping the humans around her (even the ones she’s begrudgingly fond of) where she can, but she’s hardly even thinking about that, just now -- it’s more amusing (and slightly gratifying) to nudge Cloud out of his shell only because he’s stayed in it so long.

And, well. Maybe she’s missed this sort of thing.

Cloud doesn’t answer for a moment, long enough that Dolores is beginning to wonder if he’s trying to dodge the subject through stoicism alone.

And then, completely without warning, he spurs Flash and takes off.

“Cloud --” Dolores only just manages to protest, failing to keep amusement from seeping into her tone. She did offer him a head start, after all -- so she waits another beat before she takes off after him.

It’s easy enough to gain on him with the experience she has, but she pulls back a little once she’s leveled off with him, long enough that she can shoot him a quick shadow of a smirk.  “I said I’d give you a head start, not that I’d let you cheat.” 

“I have to make use of every advantage I have!” he calls back to her, and then urges his horse on even faster. Dolores slows just a little to let him pass for safety’s sake - they’re nearing a bend in the trail, and she doesn’t want to risk one of the horses spooking too close to the edge - but then, without warning, Cloud slows again.

She follows suit with a sudden twinge of unease, though she can’t yet see what’s captured his attention as he slows to a final stop. She realizes why a second later -- rifts in the air, she remembers, are almost invisible unless you’re looking at them head on.  But from this new angle, she can see clear through into a...

...It looks like a forest. More still and tangled and wild than the wider spaced pine forests around Beacon Heights.  Dolores quiets for a moment simply to watch it, because something about it draws her in and repels her all at once.

“Just another rift opening up,” Cloud comments, though she can tell by his tone that he’s similarly entranced.

She glances at him briefly, and then back to the rift to consider it more carefully. She’s already suggested to Maeve that they mark down wilder, more secluded areas to search for William in, and she can’t deny that this looks like the perfect fit.

Of course, she can’t exactly wander off to comb it with Cloud right there.

“Let’s go back the other way,” she suggests idly instead. “We wouldn’t want one of the horses to accidentally wander through.”

“Yeah,” Cloud agrees after a slight delay.  “Alright.”

But Dolores has already marked the place down in her memory as she turns around, and she wonders from the slightly distracted expression that’s settled itself on Cloud’s face if he has too.

[salsdemise]

Can I request a Sally face x reader fic? Possibly a confession and first kiss an da party or something like that, thank you!

Hey anon, sorry if this is bad, I'm assuming you meant sal, and if not just lmk and I'll re-write this for another character if you want.

Warnings: Underage drinking, underaged smoking, parties, y/n used in place of your name, really awkward with the confession part? idk how to write those

word count: 1479

other: gender neutral terms used, sal's speech is in blue bc sometimes its unclear whos talking bc i didn't know what to put between the words spoken lol playlist listened to while writing: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5SMv6Go27KIcbfL07wkQ4m

This party wasn’t where you wanted to be right now. Hell, you’d rather be at school, getting pushed around by the kids in the hall right now. Anywhere was better than this loud, flashy,party filled with the smell of cigs, weed, alcohol and sex wafting off of every teen you passed.

Why you had come to this party in the first place had slipped your mind, as now you were more focused on not getting backed into a corner with a potted plant by a group of your peers. Maybe it was because your friend Larry wouldn’t shut up about how fun it was going to be, maybe it was because you would have felt bad saying no, or maybe it was because you certainly weren’t going to pass up on an opportunity to potentially hang out with Sal Fisher, your long time crush and close friend.

Holding your now empty red cup, you navigated your way through the crowd of drunken and dancing teens, most who were nice and giggly as you passed, slurring apologies at you if they bumped you.

While you weren’t all sober yourself, you had enough remaining cognitive ability to form full thoughts, and the only one on your mind was finding one of two people; Sal or Larry. You had no doubt Larry was off smoking with gods know who, so that left one option, and if your brain wasn’t mistaking you, you had seen the electric-bluenette near the door to the backyard in the kitchen not too long ago. So that’s where you set your sights.

When you arrived at the kitchen, you were happy to know that you were indeed correct on where you had last seen Sal, just outside on the patio, sitting hunched over a cup, the bottom straps of his prosthetic undone and dangling. Murmuring a few ‘excuse me’s at the teens you passed on the way, you made your way out to the back, opening and exiting the door and catching the bluenette’s attention. Seating yourself next to him, you said nothing, not sure of what to say.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show. Lar said you were coming, but I thought he was bluffing again,” Sal spoke, sipping on his drink.

You laughed at this, “yea, no, he actually convinced me to come. Not sure how, but he did. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d see you here either. You always talk about how much you hate parties, especially ones that have inebriating drinks,” you set your cup down next to you, and a small breeze knocked it over as soon as your hand left it.

“I don’t, hate em. Managed to get someone to get me something non-alcoholic, though. What have you had to drink?” He motioned to your, now rolling, red cup to emphasize.

“Oh, nothing too strong. They had a punch bowl in there so I took some of that,” thinking back to it as you spoke, it was odd the hosts of this party put a punch bowl out at a party with no need for it. However, you and Sal both seemingly shrugged it off and continued talking.

Conversation between the two of you had always come so naturally, switching between topics and tones, talking about people, your home state, his home state, and the likes.

“Man, I cannot believe he did that! It was like, super awkward between us for a week,“ you laughed, finishing a story about how Larry had tried to ask you out when high. Luckily the guy wasn’t too upset and took no for an answer.

“Hey, y/n, about asking people out...have you ever done it?” Sal questioned, messing with his sweater sleeves now that his drink was gone and his cup had also flown off.

“Oh, uh, not like, here at Nockfell, but in the past I asked a guy in my grade to go to a valentine’s day dance with me. Why?” you responded, tilting your head at him.

“I want to ask this person out, but I’m not sure how.”

“Oh. Well, what do they like? How long have you known them? And how close are you two? You can’t just ask out a random person you barely know, it won’t go well.”

“Well, they like a lot so it’s...kinda hard to put into words. I’ve known them for years now, and I’d like to say we’re pretty close.”

Thinking, you went quiet. As much as it hurt you to know your crush liked someone else, you were going to help him as best you could.

“Well, I’d give them a note, personally. I’d probably piss myself if I tried to tell them upfront. But it depends on how you wanna do it.”

Sal quietly thinks for a few seconds before standing up and fixing his mask, “Thanks for your help dude. We should get going, I’ll go find Larry and we can get out of here.”

You nod, standing and following Sal back into the house, heading for the front door while Sal went off to find Larry. With your mutual friend acquired, you all left for home, depositing Larry at his place and heading to your own beds, tired now that the social buzz had worn off.

Over the next week, you and Sal talked less and less, notes popped up in your locker, and small things like patches, stickers, pins and snacks appeared with them. You were confused to say the least. You loved everything this admirer gave you, and the notes were adorable, even if they were typed and printed rather than hand written, but you wondered why Sal had stopped talking to you as often as he did.

As the weeks progressed, you had started to like the secret admirer that was leaving you small gifts and notes reminding you how much they liked you. But the most recent note, which you had gotten on a sunny and warm Wednesday, really caught your attention. This time, it was handwritten in blue pen ink, the handwriting surprisingly neat, completely eliminating who you thought it was.

The note read: “y/n, meet me in the courtyard during lunch/break time. -<3”, and not wanting to disappoint, you waited with an uneasy shake until lunch came around where you went straight to the courtyard. Seeing no one, you sat on the ground by a tree to wait until your secret admirer got there.

10 minutes later, the heavy doors opened and closed with a thud, catching your attention and causing you to look up where you saw Sal, mask in hands, and looking down.

“Sal? Are you the one that wanted to meet me here?” You were..puzzled to say the least. Sal had hardly talked to you in weeks, and you thought he liked someone else like Ash, but it seems you were mistaken.

“Uh, yea, I am. I know you’re..probably upset at me for not talking to you in the past few weeks, but I didn’t want to say something stupid too soon. I hope you’re not too mad..”

“Sal, I’m not mad. I thought you were busy trying to get your mystery person to like you..and I guess I was right, but I didn’t think it’d be me..”

“Who else would it have been? You and I are as close as Larry and I are, we like the same things and I’ve known you since you got here. Hell, I’ve been pining over you for years now, but last year when Lar told me he was gonna try and shoot his shot, I tried to get myself to like Ash so I wouldn’t feel like shit if you said yes.”

“Oh, Sal. I thought it was Ash, you talk so much about her sometimes, I thought you actually liked her.”

“Oh, no, I don’t. She helped me with this, actually. Which reminds me, if its not obvious already, I really fucking like you. Like, you make me feel happy and just thinking about you makes me feel like I’m on cloud nine.”

Smiling at his words you stood to go over to him, putting your hands on his shoulders so he would look up at you, “I like you too, Sal. Like, a lot. I have for a while, and when you asked how to ask someone out,I..it hurt a little bit.”

Saying nothing at your words, Sal moved forward and wrapped you in a hug, his mask landing in the grass behind you two. Before you could return the hug, Sal backed up and his hands grabbed your face pulling you in for a kiss. Giving you time to react this time, you kissed back, your hands placing themselves over his.

Now, sitting at a college party with your boyfriend, you think to yourself, ‘Maybe parties aren’t so bad after all.’

[funtimebunnyblog]

I'M BACK!!! 🥰😍❤ Did you all miss me? I'm happy to say that I've finally gotten some WiFi where I'm currently living and updates are gonna try to be more steady here in the future but I can't make any promises because I get very busy with my work 😅😇 Please continue to bear with me!

In other words, a while back I wrote the OG version of this little short fic on A03 but I realized that I had never posted it here! 😱 Nevertheless, I decided to write the Part 2 to this and then decided to remaster that first part before posting it here! 🙂🙂🙂 I'm thinking about turning this into a little mini series 🤔🥰

Anyways, I'll stop rambling! Please enjoy! 😚

Pillarroomates (Chapter 1: Roommate wanted)

(This is dedicated to Dagdoth and Sureynot; 2 of the best bad influences I could ever ask for 🥰😍❤)

The steady click-clacking of keys filled the pleasant silence of the little kitchen, Kars typing away on the laptop before him at the table.

It was just a little after noon, a time where he usually put down his work for a brief session to sit back in silence and enjoy a cup of coffee, or maybe a mug of tea depending on his mood, with whatever baked-good had been whipped up recently. Today however, he chose to cut his little break out of schedule completely to get a jump on the deadline of the month that he was currently picking away at.

Hunched over, eyes glued to the screen, one could've swore he was a living statue perched like that so quietly if it weren't for his typing fingers.

The sweet smell hanging in the air came much closer as Wamuu strode over to the table, a soft smile was painted across the mans lips as he placed an oven fresh cookie on a plate down next to the mug of black tea his Master was letting steep at his side.

"Thank you, Wamuu." Kars said quietly, watching the blonde depart in his peripheral vision for only a beat before regaining his sharp focus on the sea of numbers staring back at him.

Kars had his own room with a desk to work in of course but he always found himself enjoying doing work down here this time of day. The heavenly smell of the kitchen when something was being baked and the pleasant background noise of the radio chiming softly, sometimes accompanied by Wamuu humming along, was something sort of relaxing to Kars.

Relaxing around here tended to be something rare too, as there never seemed to be a dull moment in the lives of the Pillarmen these days.

Not in this neighbourhood, no.

The younger man hummed in response, heading back to the stove to finish scraping fresh cookies off the pan to place on a rack to cool. He was sure Santana would make an appearance soon to try one, with the lovely smell filling the air and all.

Santana could never stay asleep (as heavy of a sleeper as he had the tendency to be) holed up in his room when there was something yummy being cooked.

The times where he appeared the quickest was when Kars flicked on the coffee machine first thing in the morning, the red-head manifesting at his side at the very first spew of hot caffeine never failed to nearly give him a heartattack; especially when it was 5 in the morning in a dark kitchen.

Kars' head lifted, cocking an eyebrow as there suddenly came a knock at the front door; three evenly spaced thumps on the wood. The thought of another complaining neighbour was the first thing to cross his mind, making him sigh as he moved to get up from his chair.

"PIZZA'S HERE!!!"

The sounds of heavy footfalls coming at a rapid speed from down the hallway accompanying the cry stopped him in his tracks.

The plum-haired man grimaced, Wamuu glancing over his shoulder with a frown, as none-other-than Esidisi sped by; the one hand clutching the towel around his waist was the only thing keeping it from blowing away completely.

Despite only catching a glimpse of his speedy companion, Kars didn't miss the fact that the other was sopping wet and trailing water.

Esidisi had simply lept out of the shower the second he heard the knock at the door, leaving with only a towel (just barely even) and the foamy suds that were still clinging to his hair and his body.

No doubt about it, he was dripping all over the place.

And all over his clean floor too.

Kars clicked his tongue, more than tempted to sigh again.

"Really, Esidisi?" He called out to the other.

It was hard to tell whether he was more displeased with his state of soapy undress or the fact that the oldest Pillarmen had gone and ordered yet ANOTHER pizza this week with only God-knows-what on it.

Sure, he the others found themselves actually partaking in "Human food" casually these days. Wamuu even went so far as to teach himself how to cook as a hobby to fill time around the house when he wasn't going to the Gym or to work, but Esidisi had become something of a strange enthusiast on the matter.

Some people in this world got a little riled up over something as simple as Pinapple being added as a topping on a pizza but Kars had a feeling those people would have an absolute fit listening to Esidisi's phone order of a multi-fruit pizza (consisting of: oranges, apples, watermelon and strawberries) with cheese, olives and pepperoni.

He was starting to wonder if his longtime companion was simply doing it just to see how far he could push a Pizza place with his barrage of odd orders until they yelled at him or worse, barred him completely from the place.

His question was only met with laughter. "I decided to ask for Mac and Cheese and Jalapeños on it this time!" Esidisi called back, voice echoing off the walls, as he finally reached the front door.

Wamuu's nose crinkled at the very sound of that, choosing wisely to direct his attention to his cookies once more.

Kars decided to follow suit and do the same with his own work.

He supposed it wasn't really his problem, therefore; he shouldn't say anything.

☆☆☆

The advertisment had been a strange one for sure, but really, you had no choice but to at least look into it. It never hurt to try and you were already desperate enough as it was.

Apartments and open housing in the area was becoming a rarity at best these days, this busy time of year didn't help things either, and you had been scouring the internet for every opportunity or opening there was to move in with someone in this portion of the city.

Sadly, you had turned up empty handed quite a few times.

The last one you had looked into had been great; a nice building, nice seeming people, decent budget; but alas, the people who put out the advert took it down just a day later.

They had decided to give the opening to a close friend of theirs who wanted to come across the country and live with them instead.

You had been starting to consider checking the complete other side of the city and trying to squeeze yourself in somewhere there or maybe even just going with the option of moving cities completely! The hassle of finding a place was just becoming too much until... this one happened to pop up.

☆ Roomate requSWIGGITY SWOOMATE, WE NEED A ROOMATE!!11!!!1!

We are Four Men seeking out a Human roomate to live with us in our rented house.

4 bedroom, 1 bath, 1 kitchen; upstairs, downstairs and basement.

Location: Western side of the city, 929 Bizzare av.

Rent and chores are divided equally among us.

Requirements as followed:

• Must be a CLEAN Human.

• Human must not bear the surname of "Joestar" under ANY means necessary.

•Must be actively working and have claims to have the ability to hold their job.

• Must be willing to contribute to the household via chores and yard work when necessary.

• must be CUTE!!!

• Mus

•

• Must like llf6io78fjjl0

•

• Jo9sjw6jnsjej27ebeolu

• Jsjsij wkk d18kkjs lkdjsjsns52jsjjsnend2njsmdv 6272jsndbdhs2672 jd Djjsija bsij eeskdnne9s782728 jd bjejrn rnusjjsj

• the human must not be loud

• It would be most appreciated if the Human was a mannered person, who holds appreciation for similar hobbies we do. -W

•

Ask within to apply! ☆

You couldn't help but wonder if whoever had written this advert had been drunk at the time by looking at the grabbed mess that took up half the page.

Better yet, you could only hope this was a real advertisement and not some sort of stupid prank.

Either way, you were determined to find out today and claim this oppertunity before anyone else got the chance.

Glancing down at the print out you had made of the ad at the Library, you sighed as you kept going down the street. You had been walking all morning and were beginning to wish you had the foresight to pack a snack or a drink for your seemingly endless sojourn for this supposed place.

There was no picture put onto the advertisement, even a proper description of the place would've been nice, and finding a direct address wasn't exactly a piece of cake to you.

Nonetheless, you kept going. Stopping at every house you passed in hopes to spot a matching address; finding nothing but different numbers and barking dogs tethered in yards.

With every different number meeting your eyes, the possibility of this just being a fake ad just kept growing and growing in your mind.

You were even starting to consider just giving up entirely when, at last, there it was. "292" the numbers were bolted to the front porch, the 9 starting to tilt to one side.

It seemed nice enough. The lawn was well kept, the walkway however looked as if it needed to be redone. The building was a sunbleached blue, probably a nice clean periwinkle once upon a time, but now leaning a tad white and staring to flake. The place was definitely in need of a touch up.

This was the place, now if someone was Home to even just talk to you about this ad that would be great.

You gathered up the courage to leave the sidewalk and start up the overgrown walkway, the wood of the porch whined under your feet as you stepped onto it. A couple of chairs, a book carelessly left behind in one, a little cage sat all by its lonesome in the far corner, and a big unmissable stain (probably coffee) caught your eye on the wood.

The word "Pillarmen" was scrawled on the name card over the mail slot of the front door.

A strange surname, you had never heard of it before, but it must've been safe to assume that it belonged to someone here. Presumably one of the men who had made this advertisement in the first place.

With only a moments hesitation, clutching the print-out in hand, you reached out and rapped on the door hard with your knuckles, then stood back and waited.

Silence... You took the opportunity to fix your appearance slightly, suddenly becoming a little self-conscious, smoothing out your shirt before clasping your hands behind your back neatly and putting on your best smile.

First impressions were important, most especially a first impression made at the door after all.

There came the sounds of voices, too muffled for you to hear through the walls, followed closely by the unmistakable thundering of footsteps coming closer and closer from within.

Finally, the door flung open.

You felt your eyes go a little wide, the smile drained from your face as you craned your neck back slightly to meet the gaze of the very tall and very muscular dark-skinned man that now stood before you.

Belatedly, as your eyes followed the droplets of water that were dripping off him, trickling down every inch of his muscular body and pooling at his feet, you realized he was practically naked; clutching only a fluffy white towel around his waist.

The towel didn't look nearly as fluffy and white as his hair, however.

"Uh--" Your tongue swole in your mouth as you both found yourselves staring at one another, seemingly sharing a similar dumbfounded moment.

He blinked owlishly.

"You're not the Pizza delivery." He said matter-of-factly, breaking the tense silence that had fallen between the two of you.

Your head shook violently, broke from your sudden stupor, pulling out the slightly crumpled piece of paper out for him to see.

"Uh-- I--... N-No! I'm not-- I'm uh.... here ab-about the-- the roomate ad...?" You sputtered, the words felt as garbled as alphabet soup falling off your tongue, you felt a nervous sweat beading on your skin under your clothes as it hit you for a second time that wasn't wearing any. "Oh! If uh-- this is a bad time I-- I can come back later!"

His face lit up suddenly, eyes shimmering like sapphires. "Oh!" He cried. "I forgot about that!"

The massive man turned, calling back over his shoulder deeper into the apartment.

"Kars! There's a Human here, they saw our advert!"

You happened to be so gobsmacked, still reeling from the slight shock of the very first of your encounter, you hadn't even noticed he distinctly used the word "Human" there.

"What?!"

You couldn't see past the mans hulking figure but you could very well hear the scraping of a chair in the distance, followed by more thundering footsteps heading towards the door.

You blinked as yet another larger-than-life sized man made his appearance, pushing past the first with a frown. The both of them looked almost comically squashed where they stood taking up the whole doorway.

This man was just as tall and as muscular as the first. His skin was like ivory, framed by dark cloth wrapped from his neck to the top of his head with only a tuft of deep purple hair dangling precariously out over his pointed nose.

More importantly, very much unlike the first, this one was fully clothed.

Clad in a dress shirt that matched his hair, slightly unbuttoned to just give you a peak of the buldging muscles he had underneath and the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, neatly pressed black dress pants and house shoes.

Kars blinked in surprise as he caught sight of you at last, eyes scanning over you. He honestly hadn't expected someone to come to their door about the advertisement they had put out so quickly, they had only put it out less than a day ago.

If anything, by the way it had turned out, he was surprised someone responded to it at all.

"Please, come in." Kars told you, making his best attempt to save this lousy first impression.

His surprised look was short-lived, turning sharp as he directed it onto Esidisi. The other man smiled sheepishly, turning and retreat back to the bathroom to finish his shower without the pizza he had left it for...

☆☆☆

☆Previously...☆

Kars hummed, reading over the advert for a 4th time with pursed lips.

He had listed all the necessary information about them and the living situation and even put down a few requirements to set the bar for any Human who would happen to want to apply.

However, even with the ground rules set, it still just seemed a little too bare to him.

"Hmm," Kars peered over his shoulder towards the living room doorway; he swore he could hear more of the crunching of the flaming hot cheetos Esidisi was enjoying rather than the actual program he was watching. "Is there anything specific you would like to add to this before I post it?"

"Shay they mush be cute!" came the reply though a mouthful of spicy junkfood. Kars could only hope he wasn't getting crumbs all over the couch again, not to mention getting too handsy with the T.V remote eating those things...

"That isn't what qualifies as a 'requirement', Esidisi..." he sighed.

The other swallowed, now blessed with the ability to speak much clearer; the crinkling of the cheeto bag hit Kars' ears next.

"Well excuse me for having standards." He heard his oldest companion grumble, drowned out by the crunch of more food.

Wamuu's head peered out of the kitchen, the pie he was just about to place in the oven cradled in oven-mit hands. He had decided to try his hand at fudge pie this time, having mastered apple so quickly.

"It would be nice if the Human were a Warrior as well," he said, disappearing from Kars' sight again as he went back into the kitchen, carrying the pie to the awaiting oven. "Or perhaps if they were interested in going to the Gym or baking as I do..."

Kars sighed, "Wamuu, I understand you would like someone to train with but this--"

"The Human must not be loud."

The Pillarman practically jumped out of his chair, the tiniest yelp escaping his lips as he swiveled his head to find none other than Santana looming over him. The sheet lines imprinted in the others face indicated he had just arisen from a deep sleep; most likely venturing out of his cave and into the kitchen to see what Wamuu was up to.

Even after thousands of years, he still couldn't get used to the youngest Pillarman sneaking up on him.

It probably didn't even count as "sneaking" anyways as Santana was just so naturally quiet he just happened to go unnoticed until he spoke up.

Kars opened his mouth to make an attempt to speak again, only to be cut off one more time as Esidisi finally made his own appearance; leaning over the purple-haired man to see the advert in the works.

"See, this is all wrong." Esidisi told him, frowning at the screen. "This is too formal! If we're going to get someone at all, we need to grab their attention somehow. Here, I'll fix it!"

The other practically clamored over him, cheeto bag tucked under arm as he reached over to type on the computer, deleting the majority of the title Kars had written out and already replacing it with one of his own creation.

Kars belatedly realized the others' hands were still coated in hot cheeto crumbs, smudging the keys of his pristine computer with imprints of red and orange as he typed away.

"Esidisi, stop this at once!" He commanded, trying to push him at arms length, only to be met with a hand pushing back and smooshing against his face. The smell of spicy cheese flavoring hit his nostrils, only fueling his fire. "This is my work computer! I'm the one writing this advertisement!"

Santana merely stood back, watching the two elder Pillarmen fight over the computer in silence. Esidisi was pushed by Kars into the keyboard a handful of times before their focus was solely on one another and no longer the ad.

"Get your grubby hands off me!" Kars growled as the other straddled him in the chair, his face now smudged like his keyboard. They kept pushing on one another, a clumsy slap war already underway, obscenities and curses getting mangled as they argued back and forth.

"You never let me--"

"I told you that--"

"I wanna do it! Just let me--"

Santana peered down at the computer curiously, uninterested in watching the display before him any longer.

The red-head typed out his own request before picking up the device and carrying it to the kitchen for Wamuu to see and whatever he wished; Santana ignored the sound of two bodies toppeling out of the chair and hitting the floor as he left.

Kars didn't even get to see the ad (or rather; the remainder of what qualified as an advert) before it was posted online by Santana.

[multisfabulis]

Death’s Hypocrisy and Life’s Antithesis

Word Count: 3636

TW: Discussion of death and suicide

I can feel my soul wanting to leave my body as I type this out because I'm super nervous over how this will do. Not only is this the third ship fic I've written this year, this is both my first BSD fic (a fandom I've been in since 2016) and my first DazAtsu fic (my OTP since my foray into BSD in 2016) AND it's the last fic I'll have written and posted for 2021. At least I fulfilled my promise of writing more than two fanfics this year!

So how did this idea come about? Well, I've had this HC scenario of Atsushi being in a suicidal state of mind and Dazai helping him out of it while making himself out to be a hypocrite since 2016 (I believe) but I never thought I'd turn it into a fic due to lack of confidence in my abilities and not knowing how to flesh it out beyond the bare bones. Then, over the course of time as I worked on my confidence and my skills, I eventually came around to the idea of turning my HC into a fic. Then Wan! happened (Episode 11 or 12, you know which moment I'm talking about specifically) and I stewed around for months until this fic came into existence earlier this month.

I didn't even plan on this being my first fic in either category! I planned on my first BSD being a SigAtsu fic because I enjoy living in rarepair hell and my first DazAtsu fic was going to be a Kagerou Days fic with death and tragedy but then Wan! happened and I postponed both. That was honestly for the best.

I want to apologize for the philosophizing, Dazai and Atsushi possibly being OOC, and for the pacing. Although I wrote this with the purpose of posting it once it was done, I also wrote it with the intent of indulging in 19 year old me's HC and I'm fully aware this would never happen in canon as it stands now. Still, I hope this fic is enjoyable to read, despite its issues!

One last thing, I do plan on writing more BSD fics! Some of them are DazAtsu while others are for other ships and a couple are even crossover fics! Those will be posted sometime in the future but this is me testing the waters for now!

Read on AO3 | Read on DeviantArt | Support me on Ko-fi!

     What is life? A question humans have asked themselves dozens upon hundreds upon thousands of times throughout their existence and it was a question that seemed to have no “correct” answer. If you were to ask ten random strangers plucked off the street what life was, they were bound to give you wildly differing answers. A person’s interpretation of the concept relied on a multitude of varying factors, such as their past, their present, and what they believed would be their future. They also didn’t remain static; they could change due to any number of reasons and in a matter of years, months, weeks, or even days, depending on what happened. The answer was ever evolving, making it unlikely, if not impossible, to ever truly know it.

     For Dazai Osamu, his answer was this. Life was dark, full of death and despair with no end in sight, no hope of it ever getting better. It was hard to tell when it began or even if it “began”, suggesting the possibility he’d known of a life without the perpetual feeling of emptiness within it. Sure, his life went from absolute certainties to hypothetical implications over the past few years of his existence but it didn’t erase his insatiable desire for death. It always followed him, whether in the world of the living or in dreams, it stuck to him like a second skin. Life, as it stood now, was tortuous torment, something he became accustomed to long, long ago.

     The question he sought the answer to was, what was death? It was the end of life, the state of being dead. Children could understand such a concept once it was explained to them in easy and simple terms. However, what he really wanted to know was “What is death?” Would it give him the peace he lacked? Would death be able to fill the void that was inside him? Did death really mean the end of someone’s life or was it a term people used to describe the process of a soul leaving its mortal vessel to move on to the afterlife to exist for however much longer? Then there was the belief that someone was never truly gone if they lived on in others’ memories of them. It’d be just his luck to die only to realize a facsimile of him was still alive by that method. He’d never receive any rest, if that were the case.

     It was another one of those moods again. The ones where he pondered on the meaning of life, death, and other abstract concepts before coming to the realization they’d never be completely understood. Usually, when he found himself thinking such things, he’d stow himself away in a secret place for some time until he was done. Today, it occurred during work so he naturally snuck out while no one was looking and came up to the roof, with mostly everyone none the wiser. Ranpo knew because he was Ranpo and Kunikida tore the place apart trying to find him till he eventually checked the roof. As disruptive as these moods were, they did get him out of doing work and they had the added bonus of pissing Kunikida off so it was a win-win scenario.

     Everyone should’ve already been on their way home by now. However, he still had to finish his case reports and send them out before the day was over. He played around with the idea of doing work for a moment. He could write up his reports and be on his merry way but procrastination’s always been a hard habit to break and putting them off for another day was so tempting. Oh, what was he to do?

     Yokohama was just as lively today as it was every other day. Cool air came to chase away the late summer heat as night crept ever closer. Down below were the sounds of people walking and talking and traffic, the typical ambiance of a city. The clear sky above was streaked with vivid hues of red, orange, violet, and blue as the sun set over the horizon towards the west. It was an all too familiar yet still comforting sight to see for a dead man walking.

     He heard the door behind him open with a loud creaking of its hinges. Just by the process of elimination, there were only a handful of people who knew he’d been up here today. He turned around and was greeted by---

     “Atsushi-kun.”

     Atsushi didn’t say anything. It wasn’t surprising, since Dazai noticed he hadn’t been acting quite like himself over the past few days. He still had his snark and was keeping up with both work and Dazai’s antics but it was easy to see he was half-assing it so as to not worry anyone. Whatever was going on, Dazai figured it was nothing too serious and wanted to give Atsushi some time to work through it on his own. Now he was wondering if, perhaps, that was the wrong thing to do.

     “Did Kunikida-kun ask you to come fetch me?” he asked before letting out a fake exasperated sigh. “I swear, it’s like he has no trust in me at all!”

     Instead of beating around the bush or try his hand at lying, Atsushi replied with a simple yet curt, “No, he hadn’t.”

     That was a tad concerning. He said nothing more and stood beside Dazai, resting his arms and head down on top of the railing. He hadn’t seen much of Atsushi today so he wasn’t sure whether something terrible happened while he was out working on a case or if his childhood decided to rear its ugly head up again. There was a good chance it was either-or. Regardless, now was most definitely the time for him to step in and give his lovely kitten some help.

     Before he could open his mouth, however, there were a couple things he saw that gave him pause. Atsushi had an almost listless quality about him, like it took everything he had to just stand there and do little else. Then there were his eyes, which were setting off alarm bells in his head. They looked darker than usual, the violet and gold muted to the point they seemed lifeless. They never lost their light, even in the worst of situations, so Dazai was really starting to worry over what was happening with Atsushi. Panic was a feeling he hated having.

     “Dazai-san, can I ask you something?” Atsushi called out, motionless.

     Despite his gut instinct telling him it was a bad idea, Dazai replied with, “You know I’ll always answer your questions to the best of my ability so ask away.” This might give him a clue as to what was troubling Atsushi so he decided to indulge him.

     “Do you think--” he stood up straight, keeping his eyes transfixed on the city before him-- “if someone were to jump from this height, they would--” his grip on the railing tightened and he swallowed nervously-- “die?”

     Okay, that was very unsettling to hear. Atsushi would never ask such macabre questions, much less entertain the thought of them. He was someone who fought to survive, to live life and see all it had to offer. To listen to a person who enjoyed even the smallest pleasures of the world wonder if a fall off of a building would kill someone went against his character.

     Slipping the mask on, he attempted to brush off the question as a morbid joke with, “Why, Atsushi-kun, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were asking that to see if you wanted to try it for yourself!” It was meant to be a chance to prove him wrong, even in the vain hopes he wasn’t. “But I know you’d never---”

     “And what if I did?” Atsushi asked, cutting him off mid-sentence. “What if I said I did want to try it?”

     “Well, it’s only a hypothetical scenario, isn’t it?” Dazai smiled uncomfortably, growing increasingly disturbed by how the conversation’s going. “It is hypothetical, right?”

     An agonizing moment passed by before Atsushi answered, “…Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.”

     “Atsushi-kun, you--” He placed a hand on his shoulder to slowly turn him when---

     Atsushi shook it off but it was enough. It was only a glance yet what Dazai saw struck fear into his core. What little light there had been in his eyes previously was completely gone, replaced with a dead hollowness. They were too similar, too close to the ones Dazai remembered staring back at him in the mirror during his days in the Mafia. It was an uncanny resemblance and he needed to do everything in his power to right this wrong, because it didn’t fit sweet Atsushi.

     “What happened? Can you tell me?” He thought if he approached this gently, it’d coax an answer out of Atsushi. It didn’t work. “I’m here to listen if you wanna talk about it.” More silence. “Atsushi-kun, I want to help you but I can’t do that if you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

     He let out a sigh. “I thought you of all people would understand this.”

     “I do but that doesn’t mean this is the right way to go about it. What you’re thinking of doing isn’t going to solve everything, it’ll just make it worse.” God, he sucked at this. Not only was he the absolute worst person for this, it was his darling Atsushi he had to talk back from the edge. Anyone else would be better suited but it was just his luck to get caught up in this.

     “You think I don’t know that?” He turned away from the railing to face Dazai. “That’s all I’ve thought about over the past few days and I still feel like this. If anything, it’s only made me feel worse.”

     There was one tactic left he hadn’t tried yet. The very thought of using it was contemptible but desperation called for drastic measures. “Think of all the people that’d be affected by your passing, Atsushi-kun. Think about how Kyouka-chan would feel if you were to die.” He felt like scum for bringing her into this. “You have so much to live for so that’s why---”

     “Don’t give me those empty platitudes, Dazai-san, we both know you don’t believe in what you’re saying.” There was barely restrained anger in his voice and he glared at Dazai with heated intensity. “How can you ask me to live when you don’t even give yourself the same courtesy? You’re-you’re a hypocrite, Dazai-san!”

     He deserved that, especially for trying to manipulate him. Atsushi was right; Dazai was a hypocrite. How could a man like him talk someone out of committing suicide when he couldn’t extend the same mercy to himself? He craved death like it was his life’s purpose; he wasn’t qualified for this.

     Yet, because it was Atsushi, Dazai had to help him. Whatever was making him think he should die, he needed to be convinced it was only temporary. A proven hypocrite’s point still stood.

     “I may be but it doesn’t make what I said any less true.” Atsushi averted his eyes, most likely ashamed of his earlier outburst. Dazai’s voice took on a softer, kinder cadence as he said, “You can choose to believe what I’m about to say next, all I ask is for you to listen, okay?”

     Gently, he grabbed Atsushi’s hands and held them in his own. It was clear to see the difference between them in how they viewed life. Dazai’s were stained in so much black blood, they showed naught a trace of the “human” underneath. Atsushi’s, meanwhile, were pure white with only a splash of scarlet. He couldn’t stomach the idea of killing someone while Dazai felt the countless amount of sins crawling up his back. They were life and death yet the reaper was giving his antithetical partner the encouragement to keep going. How paradoxical.

     “You’re right, I’m a hypocrite. What right do I have telling you to live when I don’t tell myself the same?” He stroked the back of Atsushi’s hand with a thumb. “But it’s because you deserve to while I don’t. You’re a good person, Atsushi-kun, and I’m a poor imitation of one. You want to save people, you have saved people, and it’s because you are and choose to be a good person.”

     Dazai, in a rare moment of candidness, cast his gaze down to their conjoined hands before continuing on. “In some ways, you’re what I strive to be yet I know I can never reach you, no matter how hard I try--” his grip tightened ever so slightly upon sensing Atsushi’s incoming protests-- “and that’s okay. I’ve committed far too many crimes to ever be redeemed, I know I’m destined for hell but you still have a chance.

     “The world will always be a dark and harrowing place but--” he looked up and took a deep breath in-- “you, along with everyone else in the Agency, fight to make it less so. If you were to die here and now, the world would lose that little bit of goodness, that little bit of light only you have.

     “That’s why I ask--” he cupped Atsushi’s cheek, peering into his eyes that seemed to be regaining their natural brilliance-- “for you to live. Don’t die, not yet, not until it’s your time to go. Live, Atsushi.”

     Atsushi stepped back, turning away from Dazai, who was unsure on what he should do next. He felt too exposed standing out here but he didn’t want to run and hide again until he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt Atsushi would be all right. The mask had a tendency to slip whenever they were together but this might’ve been the first time Dazai let Atsushi into his walls, if only for a moment. It was strange and not at all appropriate with the kind of relationship they shared. Yet, if his precious Atsushi was ever in this situation again, he’d bring them down without any hesitation.

     Each and every word was said with the utmost sincerity. He spoke out of the depths of his heart, even if he was a demon masquerading as a human. He wanted to believe he got through to Atsushi, stopped him from potentially going through on a mistake that’d cost him greatly. He held on to hope like it was a lifeline.

     They may have been on the side of light but they were there for very different reasons. Dazai only wanted to fulfill his dear friend’s dying wish of becoming a good man in spite of all the atrocities he’d committed. Atsushi wanted to do good, whether it was by helping people or doing the right thing, which was more selfless and noble than Dazai could ever be. The world could care less if another monster like him were to die but if it were Atsushi? It’d be worse off.

     Several minutes went by as he wondered if he had possibly crossed his boundaries when he heard it. A quiet sniffling, followed by a shaky intake of air and a soft whimper, like someone was crying but trying to hide it. It was a sound he recognized, having listened to it many times before.

     Tears threatening to spill over filled Atsushi’s eyes. His shoulders trembled as he bit down on his lower lip to keep himself from sobbing. As sad as the scene was, it brought Dazai some much-needed relief. Atsushi was going to be okay.

     “D-dazai-san…” A tear rolled down his cheek before he wiped it away. “I’m sorry for… worrying you and for yelling at you earlier.” Then, as if he couldn’t hold it any longer, the dam burst open as a myriad of tears fell to the ground. “I’m sorry that I let you down, that I’m just a disappointment and---”

     Maybe it was from hearing the absolute pain and guilt in his voice or the pitiful way he looked at him. Whether it was one or the other, it didn’t matter. It was enough for Dazai to grab Atsushi’s wrist, draw him into his arms, and just hold him for however long it took till he stopped crying.

     Atsushi didn’t return the sudden hug, likely too shocked to do so. This was very much out of Dazai’s comfort zone and it wasn’t like him to make spur-of-the-moment decisions based on pure emotion. However, what Atsushi needed right now was an equal, not a mentor, and Dazai hoped he was filling in that position somewhat. If this left Atsushi feeling better after everything, it’d be worth it.

     “You could never disappoint me,” he whispered, smiling fondly. “You always manage to find a way to surprise me, even exceed my expectations.” His arms tightened ever so slightly around him. “You’re more than you think you are.”

     Dazai gave Atsushi one last squeeze before pulling away a moment later. Atsushi stood stock still, no doubt stunned from everything that just happened, and he had a flush of embarrassment on his face. Knowing he was going to be all right, Dazai felt confident that they had nothing left to discuss.

     Atsushi called out in a meek voice, “Dazai-san, I---”

     “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Atsushi-kun.” Dazai walked past him towards the direction of the door. “Kunikida-kun will kill me if I don’t finish my work and I’d rather my death be at my own hands.” He opened the door, the creaking of its hinges echoing from inside the stairwell. He turned back to Atsushi. “I’ll be here if you need me.”

     Before more could be said, he went inside and descended the stairs. He made it down one flight, deciding to get off on the floor above the Agency. Going home sounded appealing but he’d be risking bumping into anyone from there and he really didn’t want to deal with them after what happened. He walked further in, wanting to ground himself back to reality.

     That was… a lot. He was used to high-pressure situations, fights where his life could be snuffed out by a split-second decision but this was different. Dazai, a man who yearned for the sweet release of death, had to talk down Atsushi, someone that lived life to the fullest, from suicide. Not only was it a complete reversal of some of their earliest interactions but he opened up to him. He was a former Mafia executive that kept even those closest to him in the dark about his intentions yet he bared just a piece of his soul to save his protege. How things change over the course of 4 years…

     Atsushi was special. There was no other way to explain it; Atsushi had endeared himself to Dazai with his honesty, his faith, his loyalty. He deserved the right to live, the right to exist. He may be young and inexperienced now but there was nothing stopping him from reaching his potential if he continued on this path. Dazai was sure he’d get there in a few years’ time, even if he wasn’t there to witness it someday. Maybe he should try to stay alive until then, if only so Atsushi wouldn’t be sad over him not seeing how much he’d grown.

     Dazai let out a sigh and leaned against a nearby wall. When had Atsushi become so important to him that he was considering prolonging his tormented existence? It was made in jest but it was still a joke he’d never think about normally. He would be the death of him, either metaphorically or by his own hands. Honestly, if Dazai were to die via murder, he’d like his beautiful tiger to be his killer.

     How cruel yet fitting it is for death to love life.

[wexhappyxfew]

The Nightingales of Fortune Favors the Brave

A Band of Brothers Fanfic Coming Fall 2021 (or presumably whenever Landslide finishes up!) 

HELLO!! If you’re reading this, then as you can see, I’ve finally created a master post with all my Nightingales (well, not really mine THE PUBLIC’S but you’ve all gifted them to me ever so graciously, and it honestly, it means the world to me). Just to see the excitement and reception I’ve gotten from so many people in the fandom involving a female group of Pathfinders - an area of war, I have wanted to cover ever since nearly over 2 years ago I got involved in the fandom. All OC’s will have their creators name listed beside them - I did not create any of these OC’s, all credit goes to the lovely people who crafted and gifted them to me for FFTB!

Viewing where I currently am in my life, I’m going to going to college this year! I got accepted into the school I wanted, the program I wanted, even a scholarship! And I’m beyond excited. I really wanted to have something there for me when college does finally, you know, HAPPEN, and so Fortune Favors the Brave was the only way to go! To have a wonderful group of Nightingales, of female Pathfinders in the Band of Brothers fandom, seemed to be the way to go. Updates and such will definitely be different - I’m picking up more work hours this year, probably even summer classes, night classes, weekend classes - whatever I can do to benefit my degree and myself, I’m taking the opportunity. 

And so, updates will presumably be quite different, depending on a variety of things, but...this will be my college story! No matter how many years it takes to complete and update and write, this will be the thing I have with me through it all for when I need a mental break from school! And I am beyond excited for when I do finally get to share this story more than anything! 

We have such a great group of OCs here - different backgrounds, different reasons for joining, different creators who gifted them to me, different friendships, relationships and abundances of sisterhood and brotherhood moments. I’m truly beyond excited to showcase the Pathfinders side of the war in the light of 16 female OCs, whose stories will be told through their viewpoints based on different episodes whether whole or split! 

So thank you ALL!! These past 2 years have been a joy in the fandom and let’s hope for another few more! I’ve managed 3 fics and 4 books total and I’m excited to bring, presumably, my FINAL Band of Brothers fic in the fandom to you all in the near future. Thank you!! <3

THE NIGHTINGALES 

Team C DZ C for 506th PIR, 501st PIR 

-> 2/506 PIR (Stick 2/Plane #4) 

-- TOCCOA VETERANS --

Team Leader 

Captain Eleanor Graham - @basilone

Eleanor Graham had never met a challenge she couldn’t conquer - the eldest of four and a farmer’s daughter, teamwork and diligence were drilled into her mind like clockwork, along with being as much of a leader in the eyes of her family as she could. There was more to life than a farmer’s wife for her future though, no matter how much she adored the farm her family had grown to craft from the ground up. Iowa brought no opportunity except the farm life deemed fit for her, so upon seeing the advertisement “ It’s Your Fight Too “, OCS had never seemed like a better choice in her eyes. Because it was all their fights - man, woman, child, anyone - it was a World War, a fight for all their lives, for human lives. And with the capability to obtain Captain just before leaving for Camp Toccoa, it solidified her position for not only leading in Easy Company, but leading the Nightinagles - the first stick of female Pathfinders.

Assistant Team Leader

Lieutenant Florence Godfrey - @pxpeyewynn

A British lady and an artist at heart, from the little town of Avebury, set inside Wiltshire of Great Britain, her father made it big in New York just as the war that swarmed throughout Europe, erupted into spitfire. And suddenly thrust into the world of an America before war, was unsettling. Her country fought while America remained neutral. Yet, when the advertisement flooded throughout New York City - she couldn’t help but take it as her only way to get into war. OCS was beyond enough challenges, but walking in as a Lieutenant for Easy and for the Pathfinders, she was no longer the little girl who prayed at night to whomever was above to end the people’s suffering, or avoided interaction to instead draw in her notebook. She was a Lieutenant, and she was a woman at war - yet what was she even fighting for? 

Eureka Operators (each equipped with a Eureka Transponder each)

Sergeant (NCO) Marie Reynal - @thoughpoppiesblow

Grandmère Reynal always held her at night, under the dark night sky and sang in her soulful Cajun French, the words flowing from her lips and remaining an ever-present comfort in times where food was hardly ever on the table, or when she had to watch the other girls at school get the latest Mary-Janes and she was stuck with her old ones. Her grandmère taught her to appreciate the small things in life. But when the “It’s Your Fight Too” poster came out in the papers, Marie Reynal knew there were larger things in life than the newest Mary-Janes at school. Packing up what she could, Marie headed out to Camp Toccoa, equipped with nothing but some clothes and her fiddle. 

Corporal Edith Lockner - @mercurygray

Remember to look up - her mother would always tell her that. Especially when things on their little farm got hard in Stanford, Illinois where the only thing that occurred there was the wagering price of corn that fluctuated with the ever-changing times. So...she figured that’s why she always tended to look to the stars when her mother would tell her that before bed each night, looking out the wooden window under her quilt as a cold draft blew in. She always imagined herself up there, amongst the stars and for once seeing what the stars saw. But to be up with those stars and to get to study them, she’d need a lot more money than what ever amount the corn tended to bring in. And the Airborne with a fantastic pay grade, along with the Pathfinders and their earnings -- it seemed her ticket out. Maybe there won’t be stars - but anything’s got to be better than here. 

Wireman 

Corporal Chiyoko ‘Luna’ Omori - @papersergeant-pencilsoldier

Know your place. Eyes down, mouth shut. And most importantly, honor your family. Chiyoko Omori has never been one to step out of line, nor has she been one to speak when otherwise not spoken too. Trained in the art of kendo, the Japanese martial arts that her ancestors trained in, she leads with discipline and integrity amongst the group of Nightingales training as Pathfinders, as the solo wireman of the group. Her intelligence, more than once, has saved her and in war might just save her again and again. Her father’s garage had always been home to a multitude of repairs and many she had learned to do herself. But there she had been Chiyoko. But for war, she must forget who Chiyoko is and embody the only other name besides her family name that she will ever know - Luna. 

Lightmen (each equipped with 2 Halophane Lamps each) 

Staff-Sergeant (Senior NonCom) Sarah Prowse - @junojelli

For once in her life Sarah Prowse would not have her twin brother by her side. He hadn’t been by her side for years after he went back home to fight with the English and lost his life at Dunkirk. But this was real, this was happening - and the Pathfinders withheld the opportunity to prove to herself that Edmund had died with valor and courage. And he would not have died in vain. The nannies had always said they were inseparable but they weren’t those kids anymore. This was real life. And in real life, there was love and loss and pain. And sometimes the only way to get through it all was to do the thing to distract you most from it all. Some days she wished her family could’ve just stayed in England - maybe Mum would still be here. With her sharp mind, and the ability to read people like an open book, rising to the rank Staff-Sergeant had come easily - reading the field and reading people were pretty similar...right? 

Corporal Jean Dawson - @tvserie-s-world

Life in Louisville, Kentucky had always been a sort of cozy-comfort that Jean Doxon had always enjoyed. The weekend fairgrounds filled to the brim with people enjoying the night life it offered, early summers filled with watching her father race horses around the tracks sprinkled throughout the town and nights by her boyfriend, Glenn Hartley, where the sky seemed to stretch forever into the night. That is before the war sent him away to the Pacific. And their only form of communication was reduced to letters, with pressed flowers and the hint of rose perfume. Jean refused to mope about, when she knew this war was hardly far from over. Quick-thinking on her feet, and a town champion for knot-tying in her days in elementary, she packed what she could and left for Georgia the second she was able to take the first train out. The Airborne had much to offer, but more importantly so did the Pathfinders. 

Corporal Mercy Codonoa - @whoahersheybars

Mercy Codona always been a traveler, never staying in one place and always on the move to somewhere new that she might've never quite been before. This meant new neighbors, new friends and a new way of life. Something the United States readily offered. Each new town in a new state had a different way of life than the next. She figured that's why she was so quick to adapt to her surroundings - nothing was ever permanent, nor set in stone. Neither was family. Orphaned by 17 and left to fend for herself, left in the care of her mother's estranged sister, Mercy took the liberty by herself to do what she could to support herself. Taking up odd jobs in each town she traveled to and managing what she could to feed herself. But she was proud of her Romani-Croat heritage and what her ancestors had done in their past lives. She intended on continuing what their stories had not finished. If only she could continue to support herself. It was only when the "It's Your Fight Too" showed up newly on the Fort Wayne clipboard by the post office in April 1942 and then and there in that moment did she decided - with the extra money the Airborne offered, along with that of the Pathfinders, she'd be able to support herself in the future as well as possibly find people with the same dreams as herself for their futures, and for once finally belong.

Private Kennedy Rutlidge - MINE

Kennedy Docherty had always had quite a wild and exciting mind, always having a new idea, or a new method on selling the most recent paper that got her a few cents an hour. All through her schooling years and even up to her senior year, she took to the busiest corner on Lake Ave and Lyell Ave, calling out to sell her papers, before heading home for the night and running her normal routine the very next day. She spent summers at Lake Ontario, in her grandmother's home on the lake, where some of her fondest memories of her youth had been born. She always believed that's why she was always fascinated with flying, like one of the birds or hawks that flew out across the lake in the early morning. What she'd give to get that feeling just once in her life, away from school and away from the constant need to make as much money as she could to help with the family. The words "It's Your Fight Too" scrawled across the paper in early April had caught her eye within a second and left her running home just that night to break the news that she was signing up. And almost a week later, she found herself packed on a train towards Camp Toccoa, Georgia, bright eyes and the last bit of innocence fading from sight.

Security Personnel  

Sergeant (NCO) Alexandra Calypso - @iilovemusic12us

A Boston girl who grew up with her proud Jewish faith, with a Greek mother, knew hard work and sometimes it was pushing yourself to the very limit beyond what the human body could handle sometimes. So that meant falling, scrapping your knee a few times, sucking up the tears, sending a quick prayer to God and moving on with your life. Life had always been like that - they weren’t the richest, nor the poorest, but there wasn’t ever enough food on the table or enough money to fix the roof, or even to keep the mortgage paid. But her parents never stopped working. And she supposed what drove her to the Airborne and to the Pathfinders was seeing how hard they worked. And they paid well she had heard. She could work with it. And if anything, the Pathfinders were more accepting than any school in Boston she’d been to. 

Sergeant Nellie Shaw - @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant

Hailing from a small, coastal town in Maine, the proud Scot wanted more than anything to stay out of war when it finally came knocking on America’s doorstep. But Nellie Shaw, loyal as saint, knew that there was one thing she could do for this country and that was fight. Give her a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of gin, and she’d go in swinging for the war effort, even with her grumpy morning attitude that slowly became infamous in her elementary school days among the school children. She had no purpose on a farm on a mountain side anymore, rather destined to do what part of the fight she could. Taking Greer Riddell under her wing, the fellow Scot befriended the least likely person to enjoy her company and yet Nellie’s easy-going companionship slowly became integral to the entirety of Easy Company and the Nightingales. 

Private Greer Riddell - @leighinthesky

Schruz, Nevada was home for 21 years and by the looks of it, home for the rest of her life. A bee farm in a tiny town wasn’t idle for the rest of her life, but if she never got the money for college to get out of the small town, she feared she wouldn’t ever leave. And knowing the military had offered 16 women a stick of a plane to get their shot at becoming Pathfinders for the Army was her ticket straight to Toccoa, Georgia for training. The pay could send her not only to college, but could get her out of that tiny town which had confined her to nothing but her family and a cute little bee farm where hard work always paid off. Don’t be fooled by her subdue and withdrawn nature, the second her hands touched the rifle - the field was hers and yet so was the valley.

Codebreaker [Betchley Park Member]

Sergeant Laverne Robinson - @vintagelavenderskies

For her 23 years of life, Laverne Robinson had known just about every spot in London where you could catch a smoke break and not get caught by one of the older women and get scolded for doing so. She blamed her older brother, he blamed her. It was a mutual thing. But that had been the only thing to fear in London - until war struck, which sent every eligible man off to fight for the effort. Her brother included, leaving her staring out the rain speckled window all alone as the smell of her mother's soup wafted past her nose. Yet, like many women of the time, she wanted to fight too. Fluent in French and German and skilled in mathematics and code-work, Bletchley Park seemed the best fit. Working on codes, both sculpting and breaking them inside the building, keeping her lips shut and going on about her normal day when not inside the institution, life didn't seem as dreary as she had anticipated. Because she knew she was apart of the effort to end this war. That was until, she was called upon in late March 1944 to join up with the 101st Airborne with the first female stick of 12 pathfinders to make the jump into Normandy and assist them in anyway possible. Laverne knew it was a once in a lifetime opportunity and if her brother were there, he would've told her to run with it. Becoming a professor of mathematics would have to wait.

REPLACEMENTS

Corporal Alessandra Lisi - @tvserie-s-world

Alessandra Lisi had never known her parents. She was always told that sickness had taken them when she was just a child. Her brothers had been older than her and had tried to protect her from the sight of her parents dying. And so when their Nonna had taken them into her home without hesitation, Alessandra grew to look to her Nonna as the other parental figure she’d ever had. Of course, her brothers were always there for her, protective as they were, they never let her get into any sort of trouble without hearing about it first. Alessandra grew to adore her Italian heritage, cooking with Nonna on Sunday’s, inviting family over to enjoy the meals and even getting to stir the sauce as Nonna dropped in fresh, cut tomatoes. That was life and it had always been life as such. But when war sent her 3 brothers away, she knew she would not go down without a fight either. Upon receiving the paper in November 1943, she noticed the cover page withheld the picture of 12 women, adorned in jump wings as well as military grade goggles and scarves standing with wide smiles and bright eyes in front of a C-47, the title 'The Nightingales', lying just underneath. Female Pathfinders. If her parents were here, they would've been telling her what Nonna would've been telling her now. Fight for what you believe in, because while there's life, there's hope.

Private First Class Bettie Smith - @sgtxliptons86

Brooklyn, New York had it all - the kids in the streets, the shops on the corners where you could get a piece of candy for as little as 5 cents, even the corner stores in the summer where you could get ice cream for a dime. And as Bettie Smith grew older, running the streets of Brooklyn became like a weekend job - checking in on the younger kids of friends, riding bikes past the floral shops and picking up flowers for her sister, getting a bag of charcoal for her father. Even throwing some curses towards the boys who would heckle her for the way she wore her hair or the old shoes laced on her feet. Her older sister wasn’t too pleased with it all, but ever since Ma had passed, she seemed to let it slide - it was an escape for Bettie. So when war came knocking on the Smith’s door, anger, yet pride for their country filled the home, as well as the streets of New York, as more men and women began signing up for the cause. More friends left to join the effort, leaving Bettie there on the concrete doorstep. So when Bettie received the daily paper in November 1943, showcasing the 12 female pathfinders of the 101st Airborne, front and center for all to see, Bettie took it in quite large strides and took the first train of December 1943 to Fort Benning, Georgia.

Private Annie Laine - @wereinadell

Annie Laine, the daughter of Finnish immigrants, had always dreamed of leaving the quiet countryside her parents had always preferred for their family for the big cities of the Midwest - maybe she’d go to Chicago and study theater, or maybe she’d go and finally attend college in Milwaukee. Anything to get out of the small town she currently resided in. But the countryside had brought alone its perks - orienteering and hunting were big in the Laine family and every child, her 3 brothers, her and her sister, had all been taught the noble art. Swimming the streams, fishing in the lakes, taking hikes through the forests and coming back with a deer for dinner - life had always been quite peaceful Annie felt. But she could always hope that one day it changed. And it seemed war rung those bells quite early on. Annie was tired of structured life and if anything, she knew that the start of structured life in the military would fall quite nearly to shambles once they hit war. The November 1943 issue of the daily newspaper brought upon not only sudden interest in the military, but in that of the female pathfinders who were paving their way in all of military history to be the first stick to jump into continental occupied-Europe. All it took was what cash she had saved for college and a small suitcase to get her on the way to Fort Benning, Georgia.

Private Marla Hughes - @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant

Lafayette, Louisiana had been home all her life - Baton Rouge just to the East and New Orleans just a little further. It had always been home for as long as she could remember. With the fancy parties her father always allotted for the family to attend, talking with the men in pristine suits, or the women with the big hats, some days Marla Hughes just wished to be able to go outside and enjoy nature instead of suffocating amongst the people who seemed to live in a world that didn’t even seem like real life. She supposed that was when she had hit her breaking point and joined the Airborne in Fort Benning, Georgia. She was tired of the life that did absolutely nothing for her. There was more to this world, so much more and yet she was confined to a party dress and an expensive glass of wine that tasted bitter when it rushed down the throat. There were small bars, where the music played, and you could dance until your feet grew tired, there were beer bottles awaiting to be clinked together with friends and there were people beside the stuck-up society she was forced into. The Airborne accepted anyone far and wide - and maybe she could strip of the posh life given to her and finally be set free.

THESE ARE THE NIGHTINGALES!!!

> if you have any questions, feel free to send them in! if not, it’s all good! these are our 16 nightingales! :) thank you to all of you who sent them in back in early December! It’s been an honor to craft these wonderful OC’s!

[followtheowls]

For a fic prompt, could you possibly write something about Ezra being injured and the medbay and Kanan and Hera are waiting for him to wake up/are worrying. Thank you so much :)

Thanks for this prompt <3 I also used it as a part of my ficlet series on ao3! I hope you like it

tw: medical talk (nothing to gory or graphic though), non graphic mention of injury

fandom: star wars rebels

characters: Kanan Jarrus, Hera Syndulla, Ezra Bridger

Words: 1.7k

The Medbay was not a quiet place, Kanan decided. He took in his surroundings from his place in his chair, in the corner of the small Medbay that was designated for waiting. He could hear the medics bustle around chatting and moving from one patient to another, the medical droids zooming around looking for their next task or procedure, and the medical equipment and machinery hum and creak while they carried out their functions. He could hear the beeping and chattering of binary from the droids, and the medics’ attempt at a hushed conversation. To Kanan, it seemed ironic that a place for healing and resting would be so incredibly noisy, but then again, he was probably more sensitive to it than most. He found that the loss of his vision had forced his other senses to adapt and subsequently become more sensitive to compensate for the loss of his eyesight.

The scent of bacta was thick in the air. So thick, in fact, Kanan could feel it burn his nostrils as he breathed in. The scent provided almost an instant headache, and his stomach churned as it reminded him of agonizing memories, in this very Medbay, from his recovery after returning from Malachor. Nothing eased the effect of the smell, it was something that was burned into his memory unchangeable. Even breathing through his mouth was only a half solution, the odor was so saturated and overwhelmed the air that he could almost taste it. Kanan wondered how the medics were able to work here all day. They probably become desensitized to it, he thought, too much time spent alongside it to let it bother them anymore. Kanan hoped he wouldn’t have to spend enough time in this overwhelming environment to even get near the point of getting used to it.

Kanan felt like a raw nerve, exposed and vulnerable. There was a lot to try to keep track of through the Force, and though he had grown accustomed to using the Force to guide himself through life, right now it was taking extra concentration to center himself. He was feeling everything too keenly. He jumped as he felt someone brush his side accidentally, sitting down in the seat next to him. Hera, he thought. He felt her hand slip into his and squeeze. He returned the gesture, squeezing back with equal pressure. He waited for her to speak first. 

“The medical droid says if all has gone well in surgery that they should be finished soon. He’ll probably be put in a bacta tank for a day or two, depending on how well the surgery goes. They didn’t have any other information to give us.” She stated quietly. Kanan just nodded and tightened his grip on her hand. They sat in silence for several minutes, and Kanan once again became ambushed by the chaos of the medbay.

He prided himself on his ability to remain calm in stressful situations, something that had been hammered into him during his upbringing at the Jedi Temple, but, at the moment, he could feel himself begin to drift from those teachings. Somewhere in Medbay, his padawan, his son in everything but blood, was lying broken and exposed on a table in an operating room, with several surgeons working hard to save his life. He needed to find his balance and his center, but he didn’t know how to do that when he was teetering on the edge of losing everything. 

He should’ve been on the mission, Kanan scolded himself. He should have been there to look out for Ezra, to protect him from what he hadn’t learned yet or from the hate of the Empire. Force knows no one ever did that for Ezra before Kanan was around. Kanan could even fathom imaging the possibility of losing Ezra now. That’s not how it was supposed to go, children were not supposed to go before their parents, it’s against the natural laws of the universe. 

Hera spoke up suddenly. “Stop,” she said sharply. “I know you. Don’t do that.”

“What?” Kanan responded, genuinely confused.

“You’re blaming yourself. I can see it all over your face. This is not your fault or my fault. The Empire. They did this,” she hissed, her anger a white hot presence in the Force. He just hummed in agreement and stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.

Several more minutes passed, it was hard to tell how long they sat there not speaking, just waiting. It could’ve been five minutes or an hour. Kanan really couldn’t tell. He felt Hera stiffen next to him and sit up straighter, and through the noise of the Medbay, he could hear footsteps getting louder and moving towards them. Together they both stood to greet the medic.

“He’s alive and he made it through the surgery. It was touch and go for a while, and his heart arrested once on the table, but we were able to successfully revive him and repair his internal injuries,” explained the medic. Kanan let out a shaky breath he didn't even know he was holding, and slid back into his seat, nauseated and tortured by the knowledge that his padawan’s heart had stopped. 

Hera’s voice shook as she found the strength to speak. “Thank you so much. Will there be any long term effects? Any lasting issues we need to know about? And can we see him?”

“He will, hopefully, make a full recovery,” responded the medic. “There is a very small possibility that there could be some neurological deficits caused by lack of oxygen to his brain during the time that his heart stopped. But, in my professional opinion, I think that possibility is extremely low due to how quick we were able to restart his heart, but we won’t know until he wakes up. Otherwise, he is young and strong, and it is expected that he should recover just fine. though he will need to take it easy and rest for a few weeks. Right now, we have him immersed in a bacta tank to ensure a speedy recovery. I can take you both to see him if you like.”

Hera let out a cry of relief and happiness and she bent down to tackle Kanan in a desperate embrace. He returned it with equal ferocity, almost numb with relief. If the situation wasn’t so dire and serious, Kanan maybe might have made a joke and pointed out just how mom Hera was being. It would have been funny if the situation wasn’t so, just, not funny. The tears were evident in Hera’s voice when she responded that yes, they would like to go be with him, but Kanan was not one to judge. He knew if he had functioning tear ducts, he would’ve been bawling minutes ago.

The medic led them out the door and into a big open room adjacent to where they just waited. Kanan could sense a few medical technicians and droids fluttering around doing their jobs, but his focus immediately snapped to the muted-but-thankfully-still-there presence of Ezra that was emitting from what was presumably inside the bacta tank in the center of the room. While Kanan was his usual brand of stoic and silent, next to him Hera let out a half-suppressed, choked gasp. The medic respectfully excused himself to give them space, telling them he would be in his office if they needed anything.

Beside him, Kanan heard Hera let out another water breath, and he felt her struggle in the Force to contain herself and her emotions. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her into his side, prompting her to lean into him. It was just as much for his support as it was for hers. It would be okay, they could be unbalanced together. 

Hera shook under his arm, and he felt her lose a bit of the emotional battle she had been fighting. He heard the small plops of tears as they slipped off her chin and made contact with their clothing. He squeezed her a little tighter and whispered reassurances that Ezra would be okay, trying his best to be comforting, but certainly feeling like he was failing. Kanan was hovering between a mix of not knowing what to say and navigating his own residual numbness, shock, and terror from the terrifying moments when he hadn’t known if he still had a living son or not.

After a minute or two of silence between them, Hera, always the most verbal with her emotions, spoke up. “Kanan, he - he,” she was cut off involuntarily by a forceful sob. She attempted to gather herself and start again. “He - just - he looks s-so young,” she whispered, her words choppily cut apart by sobs. “And so f-fragile, in there. The tank is so b-big and - and he just looks so small.” She finished her sentence, and abandoned any premise of maintaining her composure by dissolving into quiet, but powerful tears. She turned away from the sight of their kid in the tank and leaned into him fully, pressing her wet face into his sweater. 

Kanan couldn’t or didn’t have the capacity to imagine what she was looking at. He couldn’t bring his mind to produce that image for him. But, for the very first time in the eight months since becoming blind, he didn’t actively wish for his sight back. At this point, Kanan had mostly accepted his blindness, and had learned to lead his life without sight. But, typically the most emotional moments with his family were the moments he truly wished for his vision. But not right now. He knew that the scene in front of them would be seared into Hera’s memory for life, but something deep inside him, he realized guiltily, was relieved he couldn’t see it. Relieved, because, maybe, he hoped, this way the image wouldn't haunt him. That he wouldn’t go to sleep at night and dream of it, or freeze in the midst of a firefight for fear of seeing it again. Just in that fleeting moment, he felt grateful. Grateful that he didn’t have to see what Hera was seeing, Ezra hurt and broken, and suspended in bacta while connected to a million wires. Grateful that Ezra was going to recover. Grateful for more moments with his family.

[xbloodrunsredx]

do you have any recommendations for writing Rick in character to how he is portrayed? i'm trying to write my first R&M story and i've read many of your Rick and Morty fics and always find that he's always true to character, at least in my mind.

Boy, I can do you one better! I wrote a brief character breakdown thing when I first started writing him, I’ll post it below.

Rick Sanchez

Defining characteristics:

- Alcoholism

-Cynical/nihilistic/dark sense of humour

- Suicidal

- Apathetic

- Selfish

- Undiagnosed ‘sociopath’

First thoughts:

Rick Sanchez was disillusioned to the world early on, by his own hand or otherwise. He has few true friends, preferring to devote himself to science or the destruction of his own body. He displays classic symptoms of multiple severe mental illnesses, ranging from depression to sociopathy. He has trouble connecting to other people, due to his own perceived self-worth as an entitled narcissist. Any attempts at making headway into a sustainable relationship (usually by Morty) is met with resistance, because Rick doesn’t know how to form healthy relationships from what we’ve seen (particularly with Unity). He does see himself to be more intelligent than other people, which is partially true; however, his emotional and social intelligence is severely lacking. Writing his character would take a lot of insight into the world as he sees it; the world which is always changing dependent on his mood, alcohol levels and company.

Why?

- Rick takes Morty on adventures, not only as a shield, but as someone he can show off to 

- Morty is Rick’s closest ‘friend’; unhealthy power imbalance

- Rick does his best thinking when he doesn’t actually try thinking; he’s impulsive and reckless, mainly because he doesn’t care for his own life (how would Morty change this?)

- Rick enjoys disillusioning people (about marriage, school, god, etc) to make up for his own lack of faith in anything

- He cares for Morty’s mental well-being - kind of - he lies about the cause of Morty’s breakdown during the Purge Festival and sacrifices things he normally wouldn’t for Morty (small allowances like Morty’s ability to choose adventures).

- Kills for Morty (Jellybean). Rick is possessive, cares for Morty. Doesn’t know how else to help.

- Needy. Needs Morty’s attention, positive or negative, and relishes in the fact that he can get it whenever he wants. Was this from the beginning or did it develop over time?

- He sees emotion and attachments as irrational and weaknesses. From his own failed relationships? Either way, he still forms attachments which causes his loathing for them to bubble inward.

- He believes that his apathy makes him superior over those with more obvious emotions because he doesn’t value emotional maturity or intelligence.

Second thoughts:

Rick struggles with balancing his pathological need for independence outside of meaningful relationships, with the need for love and affection from his grandchildren and Beth. He cares about them, but he can’t display that to their faces, only in subtle forms (lying about the purgenol). He likes to do things to win. He cares little for the lives of people, whether he’s saving them or killing them, and mainly about his usually petty end goal. He doesn’t like the thought of his family having lives outside of him, and purposefully places himself in positions of power over those he loves. He almost appears to be having a long term existential crisis, over his own place in the universe - he states that nothing in the universe matters but later goes on to claim himself a god, talk about how amazing he is, and how he can’t die, placing any importance in himself and not the universe at large. He scares himself with his own nihilistic worldview and clings to his alcohol and substance abuse problems as a way of coping with his unsureness. He later oversells his intelligence to keep people from questioning him whilst he is questioning himself.

Remember that he’s an asshole, but still human. He does bad things for bad reasons, but he still has reasons: at surface level, they actually tend to be really stupid - like in the dragon episode where he knocks Morty out with gas that ends up knocking himself out too. He’s a genius that lacks the ability to make short-term decisions because he acts on impulse or (vat of acid episode) in order to prove a point. He has little emotional development which we can look at in comparison with his soaring social intelligence in his ability to make meaningless friends in abundance. 

[honeypirate]

Superpowers I Like

An ongoing list of superpowers i like. most from superpower wiki, the stuff in () are my thoughts, the rest from the website’s linked. sometimes powerlisting changes the names so if the link doesnt work let me know ad i’ll update. 

Let me know if you use any and tag me in the fics you write!

Geometric Physiology

Transform yourself or objects into any shape

Universal Irreversibility

Ability to render an action impossible to be stopped, blocked, manipulated, and reversed

Talpidae Physiology

can mimic/transform into talpids, including the moles, shrew moles, desmans, and other intermediate forms of small insectivorous mammals.

Earth Weaponry

can create or wield weaponry with power over earth, which grants the user a wide variety of earth-based abilities

Transcendent Demonic Mage Physiology

The power to use the abilities of demon of godly arcane powers.

Tooth Fairy Physiology

Can transform into and perform acts the tooth fairy does. (Rip out the teeth of your enemies. control every tooth in the room. could also be strengthened to control bone? maybe?)

Psychic Food Manipulation

The ability to manipulate psychic food/edible substances. (technically, animals are edible, people technically.. like this has so much room for creativity)

Contact Force Defiance

can ignore contact forces, forces that require contact with something, like a surface of the ground or an object. They can defy contact forces and not need to make contact with the surface, or interact with objects from a distance without touching them. Like magnets that don’t want to touch.

Life Connection

User is connected to any/all life and living things, so that as long as they exists life does as well. This allows them to have both an emotional and spiritual link to every form of life, so if the target feels pain or is injured all living things would feel the same pain and/or possibly gain the same wounds as the user. If the user ever dies or is killed then life itself may cease to exist as well. Reader needs a bodyguard??

Fine Interaction

The user can interact with anything that that is microscopic, no matter how small it may be, allowing the user to interact with them as if they were objects or surfaces, possibly even causing macroscopic effects if skilled. This can include viruses, diseases, microbes, atoms, molecules, particles, superstrings, etc. reader is a heart surgeon.

Snake Den 

The user can project numerous snakes from their body to eject poison into the target, project snakes as projectiles to attack or otherwise send them to the target.

Chi Manipulation

The user can create, shape, and manipulate chi. By learning to harness this inner latent energy, they can gain superhuman capabilities and use them in cases of extreme combat. Some examples include physically manifesting all of their inner strength and unleashing it through sheer force of will

Dimensional Storage

The user can put items/beings into a separate dimension for safekeeping and can summon them back with relative ease.(I really like this one)

Liquid Transmutation

User can transform any/all liquids, whether organic or inorganic, into any other fluid/liquid and change a liquids inherent properties such as turning water into acid or even make something like soda poisonous. Any liquids transformed by this power would have all the properties of the liquid they become.

Replication

User can instantly and perfectly replicate themselves and/or targets which can be objects or living beings, numerous times, while usually being able to recombine the clones. Most users have both of these abilities (if subconsciously), copying their clothes/equipment along with their body. Original target will normally be able to maintain control over all copies.

Reactive Adaptation

Users can either instantly develop powers or abilities to deal with threats or their bodies dynamically learn from experience. Depending on the user's control of the power or genetic structure, the reactive effects can be permanent or temporary.

Self-Sustenance

Users physical needs are greatly reduced or completely removed. These needs include air/breathing, sleep/rest, food, drink, bodily evacuations, shelter from environmental effects and their lack (heat/cold, dryness/wetness), etc. The user is also able to stay immobile without the normal effects this would have.

Technology Manipulation

User can create, shape, and manipulate technology and technological constructs, computers, robots, hardware, and other devices that can be termed as "technology." Manifested as a special form of electrical/telekinetic manipulation, a special form of "morphing" which allows physical interaction with machines, or even a psychic ability that allows mental interface with computer data.

User can control the flow of intricate machinery, and assemble or disengage their programming at will and operate most technology at distance. A variation of Electricity Manipulation, they control specific electrons and instructs them which items to engage or disengage and may be able to use the electric impulses to gently control smaller metal parts

Matter Ingestion

The user can eat any substance without harmful effects, regardless of what they consume. They can consume matter in any form - solid, liquid or gas.

(maybe what they eat gives them energy, maybe like how Natsu can eat flames?)

Persuasion

can compel people by speaking, the victims are unable to disobey; the seemingly cogent commandment is far too compelling. At a high level, users can persuade people into hurting/killing themselves or even flip around sense of logic, but can never cause victims to achieve what they are not capable of. 

(maybe user has to work up and strengthen it to be able to persuade peoples to do bigger things)

Anatomical Liberation

User can split their own body apart into pieces and control the said pieces however they wish, by levitating them away from the user's main body and using them as they were connected to the user.

User is immune to cutting and being slashed because they can just pull their bodies back together again. They can also remove their own organs without dying and will neither bleed to death nor die if their brain or heart is removed.

Omnilingualism.

User can speak, write, understand and communicate in any language, including computer codes, languages they have never been heard before, sign language (even lip-reading), illegible words, and backwards speech and writing with little or no training. The user may even communicate with non-human animals or read body language.

Item duplication

user is able to mimic and replicate the objects of others around oneself, and be able to use those objects as one's own.

Darkness Manipulation

User can create, shape and manipulate darkness and shadows. By itself, darkness is mostly used to cloud everything into total darkness, but by accessing a dimension of dark energy it can be channeled to a variety of effects, both as an absence of light and a solid substance: one can also control and manipulate the beings that exist there, create and dispel shields and areas of total darkness, create constructs and weapons, teleport one's self through massive distances via shadows, etc.

Density Manipulation

User can manipulate density, which is defined as mass per unit of volume. This allows them to alter solidity, change the size of substances, create or destroy matter/mass in a volume, change inertial resistance (mass), make things intangible, either strengthen or weaken gravity, concentrate or expand matter, or create pressure differences in a fluid (gas, liquid, plasma) to induce a current and possibly use it to move solids.

Some users might even be able to control electrical charge density, which is the amount of electric charge per unit volume. This would, in turn, enable them to manipulate electromagnetic fields. Control over population density might also be possible for some users as well.

Luck

The user is gifted with an automatic and continuous supply of good luck, most have no control over this power as things considered "lucky" randomly and unexpectedly happens to them despite any predestined fate or logical reason. Ergo, nothing bad will happen or if it does, their power will sort it out no matter how impossible the situation is or how high the odds are against them, allowing the user to always be in complete context in whatever situation they are, be free to do as they please without consequences, and be untouched and ineffective to the laws of causality.

All aspects of user's life improve drastically: work, social, romantic, personal, financial, school, and basically life as a whole would become easier, happier, and would excel altogether.

Paralysis Inducement

Users can immobilize the target completely or partially, causing them to be left without movement and sensation. Making motor functions and muscle movement unavailable, the victim may freeze on the spot or crumple to the ground.

Pain Infliction

Pain Infliction is the ability to inflict horrible pain on others with the mind. It is triggered by pointing one's hand at a target, who will be overwhelmed with pain. The pain is described as a thousand tiny blades stabbing the brain. The pain will instantly vanish once the user loses concentration.

Prehensile Muscles

User can make their muscles stretch/extend and hold/manipulate objects like an extra limb. (could be like tendrils)

Liquid Mimicry

user can morph their body into a liquid state, is made up of or can transform their body completely into liquid substances. A user's transformed form is anatomically identical to their normal form, aside of being made of liquid, in which case it contains all to organs and is somewhat vulnerable to attacks. Alternately the user can transform into homogeneous matter, without any part of their form being more important than the other.

Animal Morphing

User with this ability either is or can transform into animals, whether partially or completely, as well as use the abilities, traits and appearance/physiology of animals by rearranging their own DNA structure. They are able to transform into animals that exist, alien animals and/or animals that are extinct, such as Dinosaurs.

User may have this ability from an empty genetic code, allowing them to accept any form from which they have a DNA sample, others may be able to alter their form mentally and change just by seeing and mimicking animal features.

Life-Force Absorption

The user can absorb life-force/energy, vitality and health, while removing it from the source, into their body and use it in various ways, gaining some form of advantage, either by enhancing themselves, gaining the drained power, using it as power source etc., either temporarily or permanently.

Weapon Hands

User can transform parts of their body to form a weapon of their choice onto their hands and forearms, possibly their biceps, triceps, and shoulders.

Vision Manipulation

The user has complete control over the vision of oneself and others. They can enhance, reduce or remove them temporarily or permanently, protect them from being overwhelmed, cause the target to see things that aren't there or prevent them from seeing things that are, cause/remove sensory ailments, etc.

Tactile Teleportation

User can teleport objects and/or beings through physical contact, the user can transfer them to any location they desire as long their in physical contact with the object/being

Disease Manipulation 

The user can create, manipulate, shape, transform, cause/heal, etc. all forms of diseases, including their severity, contagiousness, methods of spreading, etc. They can control the organisms that spread diseases, including germs, bacteria, virus, or other pathogens on a cellular level, including bacteriophages, microorganisms (microscopic organisms), retroviruses, cells that abnormally grow to make cancerous tumors and cysts, and pathogens that produce genetic mutations

Morality Manipulation

The user can manipulate morality, making people ethically good or immorally evil by psychically kindling the targets’ minds so that they succumb to the voice of truth or to the urge of sin. The victim may feel the calling of the Almighty or some other cosmic force of good or succumb to all inner sins. The effect may expire, but that may be years after the evocations.

Dream Manipulation

User can create, shape, enter and manipulate the dreams of oneself and others, including modifying, suppressing, fabricating, influencing, manifesting, sensing, and observing dreams as well as nightmares, daydreams, etc., possibly including past ones. They can produce and modify dreams, bestow nightmares or lucid dreaming, entrap people in REM, and promote spiritual/emotional healing within dreams.

In some cases, user's power extends to the real world, such as wounds inflicted on a sleeping victim, healed damage (mental or physical) affecting the physical form, and other wise blurring the line between waking and dream. They may be able to pull someone from the waking world into the dream world or brings people/things from the dream world into the waking world.

[hergan416]

First Line Meme, Second Edition

SO. Someone (maybe a bot? but their blog actually looked pretty normal) liked this really old post of mine where I did a "first line meme". You put the first line (or paragraph) of your last 15 stories and then see if you can find patterns. Anyway... I had found some interesting patterns in my writing last time I did it.. and I have written nine more stories since then... so I think I'm going to do it again, but change the number to 9.

I'm (obviously) not tagged by anyone this time, and I'm going to leave this open to anyone who wants to do it. If you think it will be helpful or sounds fun or literally anything, please steal this from me.

Patterns: First on the pattern I noticed last time... it seems that some of my works have stronger starts now. Especially Lex Talionis and Food Fight start short and sweet and to the point. I still use introspection to set up scenes more often than not though, and after reading through some of the older fics from the last meme (Seek and Ye Shall Find), I wonder if I could achieve a similar effect better if I simply removed the first paragraph and started on the second. I may have to attempt to try this method more often in editing. Second, I noticed that I write differently (a bit) depending on what character I'm trying to channel. I don't know if I always like it. For instance... the beginning of Sanji's Respite speaks with Sanji's voice but with my introspection. It's not thought through as much as I could have. And considering my methodologies for editing and posting fics ....I'm not honestly surprised.

The First Lines

Just like last time, all my pseuds are together. This includes my omorashi kink pseud, yugiomo. If you are over 18 and don't know what omorashi is, here's a definition from urban dictionary.

Unlike last time.. the first lines are not all safe for tumblr, so I'm going to add a read more.

If you click "read more" you are verifying you are over 18 and that you have read this warning that there is explicit omorashi content below the cut.

And without further ado--

9. Gone Wrong (Fandom: Yugioh, Relationship Tags: blindshipping/puzzleshipping Yugi/Atem, Rating: E(xplicit), Pseud: yugiomo) Yugi wasn’t used to this. The Pharaoh’s slave and Chamber Pot, he was used to a lot: namely taking piss in his ass and holding it for a given period of time, often while the Pharaoh attempted to get him to fail. Licking up the spilled piss when he did. Sometimes being used by the Pharaoh as a sex toy when the Pharaoh was particularly lonely at night. These were all things Yugi was used to.

8. Neoptera (Fandom: Yugioh, Relationship Tags: revengeshipping Alister/Kaiba, Rating: E(xplicit), Pseud: hergan416) Five years had passed since Alister had last seen Dartz, the seal of Orichalcos, or any other hint that DOMA had even happened. Five, blissful years. He was still haunted by the omnipresent force of Kaiba Corporation, and Seto Kaiba’s stupid stupid face being plastered everywhere for each new tournament, mistake, and project that he announced. But Alister’s life had drastically improved.

7. Lex Talionis (Fandom: One Piece, Relationship Tags: katamar Katakrui/Marco, Rating: E(xplicit), Pseud: hergan416) “Sphinx Island,” Blackbeard stated, as he passed the eternal pose to the sniper. “He might not be alone,” he warned, snickering loudly, as though laughing at a crude joke.

6. First Day at the River City Journal (Fandom: Magical Kitties Save the Day RPG, Relationship Tags n/a, Rating: T(een), Pseud: Victoria Treasure) Hi! My name is Victoria and that's my human Bailey. Bailey calls me "Treasure," but that's because humans can't be trusted to keep a True Name secret. You will though, right?

5. Sanji's Respite (Fandom: One Piece, Relationship Tags: Sanji & Trafalgar Law, Rating: T(een), Pseud: hergan416) Shortly after the coup de burst away from the massive hailstorm that the amazing Nami-swan had avoided, the crew managed to go back to normal. Of course, Usopp, Chopper, and Nami-swan were all concerned about their ability to fight Kaido, but Sanji knew nothing would change their stubborn captain’s mind. For instance, despite everything that had just occurred, Luffy was already passed out on the figurehead of the boat, rubber arms wrapped around the lion’s face like nothing was wrong.

4. Law's Introspection (Fandom: One Piece, Relationship Tags: Sanji & Trafalgar Law, Rating: T(een), Pseud: hergan416) Even as he moved from bumming one cigarette a week, to one every four or five days, to two a week, Law couldn’t bring himself to purchase his own cigarettes. He could pass a few berri each time to Sanji, helping cut the cost of his ever increasing usage, but planning out the purchase would be like admitting defeat. Cora-san had never wanted Law to be a smoker, but here he was chasing Cora’s memory in the tendrils of smoke anyway.

3. Food Fight (Fandom: Yugioh, Relationship Tags: Prideshipping Atem/Seto Kaiba, Rating G(eneral), Pseud: hergan416) “Pass me the flour,” Kaiba asked Yugi, gesturing at the cake flour on the counter behind the shorter man.

2. Doctor's Orders (Fandom: One Piece, Relationship Tags: Trafalgar Law x Reader, Rating E(xplicit) Pseud: yugiomo) It was after hours. The clinic had opened easily to his keycard, as promised, and he dragged you inside by the hand, guiding you through the staff hallways lit only by emergency lighting. Your eyes barely glanced at the tattoos covering the back of his hand in favor of following closely behind him, ensuring you would not be left behind. Excitement bubbles in your chest, the transgressive feeling you’ve come to associate with trespassing enough to distract you from the heaviness of your bladder, and you follow confidently behind him without squirming.

1. Remuneration (Fandom: Yugioh, Relationship Tags: Prideshipping Atem &/ Seto Kaiba, Rating T(een), Pseud: hergan416) Exodia’s forceful devastation knocked Kaiba out quickly. Despite the poetic justice, Kaiba did not think about how his obsession and vengeance had created the conditions in which he was now losing consciousness. The punch’s inertia pushed past his physical body, shattering even his mind.

[kai-keda]

Cowards Die Many Times | DreamSMP Fanfic

Wow okay so I literally JUST made a post flat-out making fun of myself for writing this but in the tags I made a comment of “Should I post this?” and wow three people already reblogged with comments expressing I share.

So, you can thank (or blame lol) @thesmpisonfire @tommyistheprotagofthesmp and @ak3m0n for this being posted here at all. Depending on what the response to this is on here, I may or not post it on a03 and, again, depending on the response, I may or may not make this a sort of collection of one-shots detailing different death scenes and how the characters felt in those moments.

A/N:

THIS IS NOT ABOUT THE REAL LIFE STREAMERS!

I view the DreamSMP storyline as a sort of Dungeons and Dragons game with no real DM. Just players running around a world that they create as they go along and cause whatever chaotic instances and plot points they can manage. As such, while I write this and as you read this I want you to remember - burn into your brain - that this story isn’t about the real Minecraft streamers. They aren’t even streamers in this fic, they are fictional characters living in a made-up fictional world. I get that the line is blurred due to the nature of the videos this is based on, but I view it as being sort of like how when you write a character like Spiderman, you’re writing Spiderman, not Tobey Maquire.

All that being said, I really wanted to just write this concept of how death and respawn works with Tubbo from a certain festival event but as it turns out, he is very uncomfortable with the concept of fanfiction written about him. (Thank you SMP-boundaries for your God sent Tumblr) As such, even though I don’t see it as me writing literally him as I’m sure he’s seen plenty of, I won’t include anything from his perspective and try to limit any sort of mention of him. (I can’t bring myself to surgically remove him entirely. That would just be impossible because of how much of a part he plays both in what visibly happens and in Tommy’s development) ALSO PLEASE do not go out of your way and tag or try to show any of the Minecraft streamers/youtubers involved in this (not that y’all would lol). I happen to know that Tommy especially doesn’t want to see them even if he’s okay with them existing.

This was also meant to be a sort of collection of ficlets in one chapter. It was going to include more than this one scene and even include a POV from Wilbur but, uh, wow I got really carried away heh

SO YEAH! Now we got the important bits out of the way, please enjoy~

Cowards Die Many Times

“Do I shoot him Wil, or do I aim for the skies?” It was a heavy question. So heavy he couldn’t bring himself to raise his head. As they stood together and allowed the light reflecting off the water shine on them in a subtle way, Tommy considered his options. The answer should have been obvious. After all, this was war and this duel was their ticket to end it all and free themselves from their previous leader. The one Wil and he had labeled as a tyrant.

Dream.

“Tommy I -” A pause. Tommy looked up at his general. The only man he would ever take orders from. Wilbur Soot. He could see in his eyes that he had messed up. This was a burden Tommy couldn’t handle anymore. The deafening silence lasted for all of two seconds but it felt like eternity. He would never know for sure what Wilbur thought of his outburst and challenge towards their worst enemy, but the answer he received relaxed him. If only for a bit.

“I want you to do whatever your heart tells you.”

Tommy took a deep breath and relaxed it before turning around and going towards the man who hid behind a mask.

“Coward.” He whispered to himself. When he thought the word, he believed it was for Dream but now that he felt it leave his mouth and heard the shake of his voice, he wasn’t sure if it was for himself or not.

He walked to the center of the wooden path and held his bow tight. The tyrant, with his bright green hoodie that seemed to act as a target and challenge, laughed with his friends. With George and Sapnap. As if he felt this was all a game and after he won it would all be over with him holding more than bragging rights. The worst of the scene was that even Eret - the traitor - joined in their fun.

With such thoughts running through his mind, it’s no wonder the decision Tommy came to.

They needed their independence.

And Tommy had the perfect opportunity.

He knew what death felt like. He had nearly grown used to it. Maybe that’s why he was always so quick to start fights, skirmishes and even join wars. That was probably why he felt no regret with this decision to challenge the immediate area’s strongest member.

But if he was so used to death, then why did he shake so much?

Dream finally left his friends behind to watch as he walked towards Tommy. The younger of the two swallowed his nerves and did his best to glare. The smiling mask stared him down. Was Dream glaring under there? Was he shaking within the loosely fit hoodie? Was he…

“Are you taking this seriously at all, Dream?”

“Oh, I don’t know. This seems pretty easy.”

Oh yeah, Tommy was killing him for sure. To hell with any sort of ‘honor’ that supposedly came with throwing away ones shot in a duel, Dream was officially a dead man.

“Remember, Tommy,” Dream stated with his usual calmness, “when I win, you give me the disk, Mellohi, and you all give up this silly tantrum for good.”

Tommy glared even harder as now he was angrier than ever. Dream was always after his music disks, his most prized possessions in this God forsaken land. Betting one of them was worth it if it meant seizing total and complete independence forever for this wonderful vision Wilbur had shared with him.

He thought briefly about the disks. About why they were so treasured by Dream and himself.

For Dream they were merely bargaining tools. Something he could use to keep Tommy under control and stop him from starting anymore fights with anymore members under Dreams thumb. The deal would be that if Tommy got involved in any sort of ‘griefing’ of any kind, Dream would burn the disks. Though, to be completely fair and honest, all of that had started with Sapnap burning an unrelated member's home and then dragging both of the now dueling men into the fight.

But for Tommy? These disks were everything. There was something nostalgic about the sound of music, as though there was something he had long forgotten from a time far behind him. It was incredibly rare where they lived to find such things and Tommy, Tommy had two of them. Each a different mixture of sounds that brought their own unique textures to his mind.

He was not about to throw away his shot.

A whisper entered his mind and he did his best to not give away who it was from. For someone to use this ability, one that made themselves freeze in place and become vulnerable, especially at a time like this, it was important. So he simply continued to glare at Dream.

‘There’s no turning back now, Tommy. Good luck out there. My right hand man.’

Tommy took a deep breath before yelling out as loud as he could. “LET’S FUCKING GOOOOOOOO!”

At the sound of yelling, Dream, Sapnap, George, Eret and even Tubbo - the only other member as young as the loud blonde child and one of their allies - all laughed. But the rest of his side? His makeshift army? They starred with an apathetic energy Tommy wasn’t sure what to feel about. All looked as though they had given up on this hopeless revolution. The humanoid fox and supposed child of the general, (it was unclear how serious he was of such a claim as it was never confirmed) Fundy, even went so far as to let out a sigh and shake his head.

He never was one to find such outbursts funny. It was as though he felt that Tommy treated this all as a simple game with no consequences. Yeah, he hadn’t experienced death nearly as many times as Tommy had, so maybe he did think more of it. 

Wilbur, however, was hardly monotone in his expression and voice. As he spoke his next line, he looked directly at Tommy for only a brief second with worry and, more importantly, sadness. Wilbur had also already given up but as Tommy thought over that look, he realized that Wilbur, the one who was always looking after him as though he were an older brother charged with watching over the youngest child, was apologizing for dragging him into this. For supposedly making Tommy experience the worst possible torture this crazy world had to offer over and over.

Death.

“Are both parties ready?” Wilbur had questioned. After that one look, he refused to even so much as glance at Tommy. The younger one understood. Wil could never help getting emotional in times like these, after all.

Tommy turned to look at his opponent and the damn man was putting on a show of yawning, hardly looking prepared. He really was that confident.

Tommy pointed an accusatory finger at the one who seemed to like to smile a bit too much and yelled out “Are you ready to experience death, Dream?! Cause I’m ready to cause it for you!”

Dream shrugged and stood straight, bow in hand at his side. “Let’s hurry and get this started.”

Wilbur, still not looking at Tommy and, more surprisingly, not saying anything about his outburst of a response, stated the rules of the duel.

Turn their backs to each other, count ten paces - no more, no less - and then fire on your opponent at will. The first to die wins the duel and the agreement.

Either Tommy loses one-half of his most prized possessions, or he gains independence for their nation.

The count began. Tommy thought about what it would be like to kill Dream like this. No tricks, no silly traps and no real plans from either of them. Just a single arrow making contact and he would be dead. It was almost unreal. He would be a hero and would be considered a total badass. Maybe everyone, both enemy and friend, would finally respect him.

The count hit four. His thoughts turned away from such happy fantasies. What if Dream wanted revenge? He never took losing very well. Rather, he took it harshly, and the Lord only knew what George would do to them in unofficial retaliation. Dream would probably lightly suggest George return the favor to Tommy in a whisper and then claim to wash his hands of the incident. Just for the satisfaction of showing power while keeping whatever peace they decide upon after all this.

The count hit seven. Tommy centered himself. Maybe it was a bad idea to allow himself to daydream at this time. He probably should’ve been scanning and studying the terrain thoroughly and thinking of how to use it to his advantage and of how the other could use it against him. Think of a plan or at least a vague idea of the literal millions if not infinite possibilities.

Like hell.

Tommy always thought of plans only when he was backed into a corner and even then he was well into a battle.

Dream was the one to come up with every possible outcome and choose one of nine where he won. Tommy refused to be like Dream.

The count hit ten.

Tommy turned quickly and fired. His arrow went off and almost hit Sapnap, someone who was once an ally, if only temporarily, in his and Dream’s initial war. Way further off his target than the young man was willing to accept.

There was no time to think and sit in denial of being such a terrible shot. No time to listen to Dreams lackies yell at him to be a better aim or watch Tubbo cover his eyes while Fundy simply shrugged as though expecting it. Dream’s first arrow went by his ear so fast he almost felt as though it could deafen him and the older of the two was already aiming his second shot while Tommy was stuck in disbelief.

Tommy quickly moved and jumped to avoid the arrow that he knew would hit him if he didn’t but instead of landing on the wooden path, he crashed into the water. The very lake - or was it a pond? - that served to decorate the land and create a nice scenic area to sit and enjoy time with friends around. Tommy had forgotten all about it just as everyone had probably predicted.

Just as Dream had predicted.

As no arrows came, Tommy figured that Dream was waiting for him to surface so he took the time to ponder on his decisions.

After all, there was no doubt they were coming to bite him in the ass. There was no chance of him getting out of the water and not getting shot to death by a single arrow from his worst enemy.

This was it.

He was going to die again.

How much would it hurt this time? How long would he be stuck in an area of nothingness as whatever God that created them formed a new body? Would he be able to see his friends, to see Wilbur, as they are forced to give away any hope of a special place they could call their own?

Would it be slow and torturous as his body reels from the pain or would it be instant and clean? He had no way of knowing any of these things. He had no way of knowing what this death would feel like as, in his experience, there was no rhyme or reason to any of it.

What would one day only sting for a bit as he was instantly brought back to life, would cause him to spasm and feel his heart stop and his lungs give up their air for what felt like hours. In that one case that comes to mind, to add insult to injury, he would be trapped in that plain area that was completely absent of light and life with no way to contact anyone he loved (or hated).

They all knew this.

They all agreed that the fear of what would happen as you see the attacks coming and you feel yourself growing weaker could only sometimes be worse than the experience itself.

Tommy felt torn by everything in a single moment. If they all knew this, then why did they fight in this war to begin with? Was it worth these moments of pure fear and terrible agony?

Whenever he would die he would return as though nothing ever happened despite his true thoughts and experience. He was not one to talk about things like ‘feelings’ or ‘emotions’. That was something for women and only women. No matter how much Wilbur would try to encourage him to be more open like Tubbo, Tommy was a man. And he was always fighting to prove it.

Yes.

He may be positive he’ll lose. He may be certain there is no chance of winning this duel, but Tommy made a decision in that moment as he swam to the other side of the path.

He was going to die but he’d be damned if he let himself be the cause of Wilbur’s hopes in the form of their very own L’Manberg crashing down forever and for good.

First, he had to make it look good so no one else would suspect what he had hiding in the deepest part of his mind. An actual plan.

He jumped from the lake and pointed his arrow directly at the mask and right between the eyes but before he could fire, he was hit.

Ah. This one was going to hurt.

[frances83]

Mercy Me - Part One

Summary: Jacqueline Laymore can’t really tell when it started to hurt to call Spencer her friend. But that didn’t really matter after she got kidnapped. Right now all that matters is getting home and getting Spencer Reid.

Warnings: Angsty? Mentions of self harm, suicidal ideation, death, kidnapping, is catholic guilt a warning? culty vibes, mentions of torture, and a very small mention of rape and gouging one’s eyes out.

Word Count: 1.3k (its a babey for the first part)

A/N: this is one of my first fanfictions on tumblr and in this fandom, so idk be nice or like really mean, criticize me, i don’t really mind. i used to write aphmau fanfiction nothing really hurts at this point. also this is an original female character fic because i for real can not write fic in the y/n format and i’ve had this idea for a while. it took a lot of effort to post this without puking in anxiety first but i hope it goes well ig.

If Jacqueline was going to die right then and there, she would have frankly been pissed. Sitting in the bathtub with blood seeping out of shallow cuts on her thighs would not be a great way to go. It’s especially stupid because they weren’t even new. Jacqueline knew better than to cut in the tub.

Especially since she’d been clean before the incident.

She wondered if that was the time to back up and take a second to think. Think about her wrongdoings.

Of course, Gabriel doesn’t give her the release of death and instead shot himself in the neck. Her eyes, always the worst part of her body, follow the arterial spray as it stains the yellowing ceilings. She almost wants to take the revolver and shoot herself in the head, but that would contaminate the crime scene.

Jacqueline is smarter than that. But the revolver is so close to her. Yet just out of reach. 

Everything seems to be just out of reach when you’re kidnapped. 

But everything is moot compared to the digging feeling in her stomach telling her that the gun still has five more rounds. 

She doesn’t. Of course, there is more to her life than being a martyr for another’s sins. That isn’t what Father Julien said when she was younger, but Father Julian also tried to gouge out her eyes in the town square.

Father Julian did a lot of things, talking about the grace of God wasn’t one of them. But what can you really expect from a man that creates a psychopath? Jacqueline dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, creating swirling patterns behind her eyelids. Phosphenes. She can hear him say it. Spencer always made sure to tell her the weirdest facts he could remember. She can’t remember most of them but sometimes his voice pops up in her head reminding her of them.

A lot of things pop up in Jacqueline’s head these days. She smoothed her hair back with the water on her hands and stepped awkwardly out of the tub. Taking two towels from the rack on the wall, she wrapped up her hair and body. Carefully stepping around Gabriel’s body and blood pool she enters the bedroom. For a cheap motel, it was quite clean. Frankly, it wouldn’t be half bad if the carpet wasn’t a brown color and she didn’t come with the guy who kidnapped her. She dug through Gabriel’s luggage until she found yet another, white cotton sundress. It wasn’t a bad dress, quite pretty in reality. It was the situation that made it the ugliest rag Jacqueline had ever seen. It fell to just below her knees and the bodice fit her waist perfectly, the spaghetti straps dug into her shoulders but it could have been much, much worse. 

Jacqueline would have liked the dress in another life. However, Gabriel had a thing for the whole ‘white equals purity’ thing and tortured her in a dress similar to the one she was putting on.

She stopped putting the dress on. Blinking through the tears forming in her line of sight, Jacqueline searches for a shirt and a pair of pants that could maybe fit her. She found Gabriel’s taupe button-up and slipped it over her shoulders, buttoning the front up to the third button. After digging a little more she finds a pair of army green pants, a little too high waisted for such a masculine man but she puts them on. Luckily Gabriel also had a pair of hiking boots which Jacqueline took the shoelace out of and used it as a belt.

The sandals that she wore when out with Gabriel would have to do, though it looked a little silly. Jacqueline took her hair out of the towel and ruffled it up a little, she always hated leaving her thick, wavy hair without product in it but it’s better than brushing it. The bangs brushing against the bridge of her nose are going to make her cry though. She used to hate how she looked in bangs but now, with Gabriel’s praises ringing in her ears, she almost likes the way they frame her face.

Almost.

Jacqueline grabbed Gabriel’s wallet on the way out of their hotel room.

The secretary looked at Jacqueline funny as she checked out. Granted, it was well deserved, Jacqueline looked like a mess of men’s clothing. She also was leaving without Gabriel, which sounded a little unheard of considering he didn’t even let her speak when they checked in.

Jacqueline wanted to call the police so the maid didn’t get a nasty surprise. She didn’t have a phone on her but she walked to the payphone on the street corner and quickly called 911. 

“Hi, Hello. Y-yes… I… I need to report a suicide at Maple Leaf Motel, room 3C. My… My p-partner shot himself in the neck!” She wailed into the phone before hanging up. She was always good at faking things. Right now, faking composure seems to be the only thing keeping her sane.

Time to catch a flight to Quantico, Virginia.

Or, more likely, hitchhike. If there was anything Jacqueline had learned in her nine years with the BAU is to not hitchhike. But she had about two hundred and fifty dollars and the clothes on her back. And if anything she could pay for some gas and maybe use the self-defense that Morgan taught her. She knew that from where she was it would be around twenty days by foot. A twenty-hour car ride. And maybe a five-hour flight depending on the airport. The closest 'big' town near Maple Leaf was Lexington. 

And deep down, Jacqueline really wanted to take a road trip. Nebraska is quite a pretty state. Though walking would be a little excessive considering she's technically been off for two months already.

The fact that she’d been with Gabriel for two months sent shivers down Jacqueline’s spine. The bureau wouldn't take her vacation days away for being kidnapped but you never really know with the government, do you? She started walking to the library when she realized that she could email Strauss and talk about her job and how fast she can be reinstated. Luckily the library was a few blocks down the street.

"Hello, dear! What can I help you with today?" The elderly woman behind the help desk smiled. Jacqueline figured that they didn't get that many people inside the small library. 

Jacqueline forced a smile and walked up to the desk, "Can I use one of the computers? I need to email my boss about my... vacation."

The librarian gives Jacqueline a sugary sweet smile. "May I, Deary," The librarian corrected.

"Right," Jacqueline drawls. The librarian walked her to a clunky old computer and logged on before shoving Jacqueline down into the seat. Jacqueline goes through google to find her email service and quickly write one to Strauss. Strauss responded quickly, a short email reading:

Dear Agent Laymore,

You're thought to be dead. I can not grant you the ability to step into your building for recertification and discussions of reinstating you until you prove otherwise.

Erin Strauss

Jacqueline responded:

Dear Erin,

You're supposed to be nicer to people who are held as a hostage. Anyways, I guess a way to prove my identity would be that I can sing 'On My Own' from Les Mis perfectly, I know you have heard me do it. And that your husband divorced you after he gave you half of his liver due to your liver cirrhosis. You told me this one night when I was crying over my brother killing himself and getting disowned. I am the only person on the current team (I assume, though I'm sure Rossi knows ;D) who has that information on you.

With love,

Dr. Jacqueline Laymore PsyD

Ps. Please don't give my job away because I made a joke.

Erin responded with a very annoyed emailing detailing what they will discuss once Jacqueline reaches Quantico. With a valid ID of course.

Now the hard part, finding someone who wasn't a serial killer to hitchhike with. For at least twenty-four hours. In a car.

Spencer's voice called out in the back of Jacqueline's head, reminding her that there is a 0.0000086% of being killed or raped while hitchhiking.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Haymitch, Effie, and Hayffie

(Musings, character analysis, my headcanons about their backstories and forward stories, especially about their relating and relationships. I felt like I needed to think through some of these ideas before writing more fics. These reflections got incredibly long, and I considered just keeping this in my drafts for myself, but maybe something here will resonate with someone else too, so here we go.)

I’ve been writing about Hayffie for a month, and I have some thoughts about their relationships/sexual histories both individually and together. It’s film-Hayffie that I’m into, so some of my ideas might conflict with what’s canon in the books, which I haven’t read in nearly a decade. When I eventually reread the books, I may feel differently, but these are my musings for now.

Haymitch:

We know Haymitch had a girlfriend when he won the second Quarter Quell at age 16. Snow had her murdered along with Haymitch’s mom and younger brother, so I’m guessing Haymitch loved her, otherwise Snow wouldn’t have bothered to have her killed since Snow always kills with intention.

Haymitch I imagine has probably always been good-looking-enough, but not extremely handsome. (I say this despite the big crush I have on Woody). I can see Haymitch as a kid having been witty, reasonably athletic, reasonably popular, a class clown and fairly obnoxious. As a teen without a father present/alive, home would have been a place of hard work, so school was likely Haymitch’s primary outlet for fun. I figure that particular girlfriend may have been his first serious love (and probably his only love).

I think he and she had some experience with sex but not a lot. They probably explored each other and discovered things together. They may have had sex only soon before the reaping, just in case the worst happened and one of their names was pulled. I’m remembering the guy I dated when I was 16. I loved him, but I didn’t want to have sex with him. However, if it had been the feeling of the end of the world, I probably would have slept with him. So, logic tells me they did.

Fast forward. Traumatized post-Games Haymitch wouldn’t have been with anyone else for a long time. I think it may be canon that he refused prostitution because he had no loved ones left to lose, but even if Snow did prostitute him, it would have been maybe once when Haymitch was still a minor, like Snow’s last nail in the coffin of crushing him. But Haymitch would have ultimately proven himself to be too much of a loose cannon/liability for Snow to use in that way.

So I imagine Haymitch has some history of sexual trauma. First in the intensity of sex with his beloved girlfriend within the feeling of coercion (let’s do it now or maybe never). Then with being prostituted to likely some wealthy middle aged woman. Rather than being the prostitute of a man, I think Haymitch would have killed the man or killed himself, depending on his trauma state at the time. So I don’t see sex with men, forced or otherwise, in his history.

It’s canon that Haymitch is basically a loner/shut-in who doesn’t like people in his house and sleeps holding a knife (when he’s able to sleep). I see him having the potential to be quite desirable to women and the potential for being a player. But trauma put a damper on those potentials. I think he could have sex whenever he feels like it, but for a couple of decades after his Games he just doesn’t very often (on average over those years once or occasionally twice a month maybe) because women are too much of a hassle, and they aren’t the love he lost. Alcohol is strongly his drug of choice over sex.

When he does have sex, I believe it’s one-night stands or casual sex with women who are players themselves and probably who he mildly dislikes. He steers clear of relationships that seem at all likely to become emotional. He firmly does not want to get attached to anyone again. Liking people is something he perceives as risky. Loving people is something he perceives as suicidal.

Haymitch is perceptive. Over the years, he’s learned some basics about what feels good to women physically. Pleasuring women has never been his first priority during sex, but I see him as the kind of guy who gets off on them getting off, so he would have made an effort to experiment a little and pay attention to the results. Unfortunately, alcohol often gets in the way of really focusing on women while he is with them. Which is one of the reasons Effie likes him better sober...

Effie:

I like to imagine Effie in early life, 0-9 maybe, with a very old great-grandmother in her 80s-90s. This great-grandma had memories of growing up in a free-er nation before the dictatorship gained in intensity, before the first revolution, before tyranny. I imagine she told Effie folktales that Effie remembers as bedtime stories. Those appeared to be fictional but were filled with archetypes and the roots of humanity. Her great-grandma was careful to protect the family, so she never spoke openly against the Capitol, but she understood and communicated deeper truths which shaped Effie’s heart/unconscious mind. I like to imagine Great-grandma offered Effie a reflection of the girl’s authentic self and offered her a small taste of empowerment. “Never forget you’re more than a pretty, well-mannered girl. Your wit is sharp. You have the capacity to be so much more than a face and a body bending to someone else’s will.”

To Effie’s controlling parents, and even to Effie herself in time, the great-grandma would seem eccentric. I envision her telling Effie that a woman doesn’t need a man to please her or to achieve greatness, and teaching her that she can please herself in all ways including financially and physically. Those lessons sunk in. I see Effie’s great-grandma having possibly been widowed young and surviving on her own awhile, with kids including Effie’s grandparent. In many ways Great-grandma was a self-made woman in her time.

Effie lost most of that connection to antiquity and to her authentic self when her great-grandma died, and she had nothing substantial to shield herself against the tight control and will of her family and Capitol life.

I imagine Effie mostly complied with that control but claimed autonomy in subtle ways. I think she had sex throughout the second half of her teens and throughout her 20’s, always being discerning, discrete, and selective about partners, rather than *sleeping around.* She had an intention behind each conquest. These conquests often had to do with aspects of self discovery, the desire for validation, and facilitating what she wanted in life, especially the ability to project a certain image in order to get where she wanted to go.

Did Effie fall in love with some of those young men? Probably, because underneath her thick facade, Effie has a tender heart which the facade protects like armor. Did she ever have her heart broken? Seldom. For the most part, she inherited and practiced ways of staying in control of her emotions within relationships. Most men thought of her as a desirable pain in the ass, but worth the high maintenance because she knows how to pleasure a man, she gives that focused attention during significant times including sex.

Did she ever experiment with sex with women? Possibly at some point out of curiosity and in seeking validation, but I don’t see women as her jam. Pretty and popular in childhood, she got along with girls in school. Later in her teens and adulthood, women mostly resented her natural beauty, fashion sense, drive to achieve, ability to attract attention, and her perfected facade. I see Effie feeling wistful at times for the quality of connections she had in youth, but her understanding of survival in Capitol society dictated that image and career-based connections were more important than purely emotional ones.

By age 30, during her years as an escort, Effie is quite singularly driven. She knows her body well, but there’s a veil over much of her inner self. The facade she’s built up is so thick that she doesn’t know much anymore about the vulnerable self beneath it. Haymitch can see the softness in her, whether he’s sober or drunk. She is both terrified and thrilled by his capacity to see the self she hides.

Hayffie:

I picture Haymitch as one of the first crushes Effie can remember having. I think of her as 8-9 years younger than him, so she would have been 7, nearly 8, when he was in the second Quarter Quell. She would have been quite taken with the way he held Maysilee’s hand as she died. Just as Effie was genuinely touched by Katniss caring for Rue as she died.

I see Effie having only been an escort since maybe the 72nd Hunger Games — long enough for the District 12 folks to know and mock her, but not too long. She had ambitions to move up in the districts, and she was on her way to proving herself as an effective tool of the Capitol: looking, sounding, and acting the part she was playing, and keeping herself veiled to the injustice of the Games and of tyranny in general. She was brainwashed by a lifetime of coercive propaganda, not because her mind is weak, but because the propaganda was so prevalent and multifaceted, including coming directly from her primary caregivers.

I think she probably expressed interest in Haymitch early on in their work together, seeing him as his idealized younger self. I think he turned her down then, in part because there was something about her that he enjoyed too much, even though he may not have been able to pinpoint what it was, because in the beginning he perceived her to be mostly ridiculous.

I see Hayffie playing cat and mouse for a few years — teasing, taunting, holding each other at bay and not doing much beyond tormenting one another during games 72-74, and learning each other’s nuances along the way. Effie would find Haymitch’s uncoothness off-putting and his wildness tantalizing. He would find her poshness annoying and the woman underneath all those layers a sensual curiosity.

The third Quarter Quell effected a personal transformation for each of them. Haymitch accepted the reality that he was caring about people; he couldn’t stop those emotions, even with alcohol, and he really didn’t want to. Effie’s eyes were opened to the injustice of the Games through her deep affection for her team of victors. Her armor came down enough to experience heartbreak — a related heartbreak to what Haymitch was experiencing as he lost old friends, like Chaff and Mags, and as he cared for Katniss and Peeta and helped launch a revolution.

I see this as the vulnerable time for Hayffie when their personal games of cat and mouse would pause, and intimacy would creep in and feel scary. They’d banter it away for a while but by then they’ve seen each other’s heartbreak, and the contents of a heart once seen, can’t be unseen.

In the absence of liquor for him and in the absence of facades for her (i.e. in District 13), hiding authenticity from each other would be tough. The taunting chase would continue in spirit, but physically they’d be ready to catch each other and play with that physicality if for no other reason to provide distraction.

“Let’s keep this casual,” they’d say. “No strings.” But the tapestry that had been weaving so long would take shape nonetheless. Strings would be everywhere, drawing them together faster than they could cut them.

Sex between them, after years of avoiding it with each other, would feel easy and alive, like breathing. Their bodies would fit well, so neither would have to work too hard to pleasure the other. I can see that sex between them has the potential to be very rough at times, though always with mutual consent. They both would be this interesting mix of selfish and giving. Their parting and coming together I see going on for years with feigned casualness. Cat and mouse again. The lightness would become more and more of a lie. Sex with other people would eventually whittle to nothing without much discussion about it.

They’d meet themselves in time as free individuals, and they’d realize they had fallen for each other all along, despite everything and because of everything. They would keep trying to stop it, and they’d keep failing miserably until finally moving into acceptance.

I don’t picture them ever married. Haymitch would want no government or religious bullshit in their personal business. But I see them eventually sharing their lives with increasing intimacy, how ever that might show up. I’m not sure yet how it would show up, though I like to think that several years down the road, Effie will move to District 12 “as the place becomes more civilized,” and when she perceives that there is meaningful work for her there. I also believe Effie’s perception of “meaningful work” will shift in time, initially out of necessity and then organically as she reconnects with her deep self and reclaims it.

I don’t picture Hayffie with kids. Okay, that’s a lie. I totally picture them with a kid and would have a blast writing the humor, affection, and angst inherent for them within that choice, but I don’t think that choice is in character for them. If they conceived a child, that would happen inadvertently. They’d both be terrified of parenthood, given their histories individually and together. Most likely Effie would terminate the pregnancy, but she’d be conflicted. And the more opportunity Haymitch would have to think about it, the more conflicted he would be as well.

The Hunger Games takes a toll in both ways. Kill a fetus to keep it from being born into a world where they’ve participated in and witnessed the killing of children? Or let the fetus become a baby with traumatized dysfunctional parents and hope for the best? I think they’d see it as a lose-lose, but also would feel so much tenderness about the possibility, especially if it happens years down the line in the feeling of “let’s do it now or maybe never.” Sound familiar? There’s some trauma reenactment there.

Trauma bonding and secure attachment:

I think that Hayffie could fall easily into reenacting trauma with each other. Here are some ways I see that playing out...

Haymitch experienced severe attachment trauma while still in early life, losing his parents and everyone he loved. This was on top of the trauma of being hunted and killing and witnessing death within the Games. This trauma was inflicted directly or indirectly by the Capitol. Haymitch has a lot of unresolved anger at the Capitol. Without integration there’s no healthy way for someone to cope with that severity of trauma. Hence, his addiction/alcoholism.

From the perspective of dysfunction, I can see him drawn to Effie because she’s a Capitol girl, controlled/controlling and emotionally abandoning. She doesn’t show up all warm and fuzzy and “talk to me, honey.” She shows up with open criticism and disdain for him. On the surface, she has those fundamental qualities in common with the primary abuser throughout his life (Snow). So through the lens of trauma reenactment, it makes perfect sense that he’d want to fuck her.

I imagine Effie experienced early life trauma that was more subtle but still impactful. She grew up in a place where one misstep could lead to her family’s ruin. She grew up with parents who likely demanded no missteps and were emotionally unavailable, being so focused on achievement over emotional health. To keep her parents’ approval Efffie needed to do everything precisely: appearance, manners, attitude, performance. When she didn’t exceed par, I imagine she was criticized and chastised. When she exceeded par she was praised. (Intermittent reinforcement.) Throughout her early life, she marinated in rigidity with constant reminders of what happened to people who were imperfect. Effie became an attention seeker and a people-pleaser. She sought validation from not just the masses, but also specifically from people who were the most critical of her and dependent in some way upon her *performance.*

From the perspective of dysfunction, I can see her drawn to Haymitch because he doesn’t offer her consistent validation. Even his *compliments* are teases, taunts, and mocking sarcasm. His alcoholism makes him emotionally unavailable and at times intermittently reinforcing. In moments, he’ll look right into her with unmistakable genuine attraction, and she’ll feel high when he does. The high comes because the attention is intermittent and unpredictable. In that state of emotional drugs flowing through her, it makes total sense that she’d want to fuck him.

Their potential for trauma bonding will make their relationship at times explosive and volatile, not overtly abusive but with sharp tongues and intense physicality that at times borders on punishing. Their desire for each other grows like wildfire, their bond tightens, and sex between them is compelling and delicious in a way that I don’t think either of them has experienced before.

I like to believe their potential for trauma bonding is only part of what draws them together.

I think Haymitch’s compassion in the second Quarter Quell touched young Effie’s heart very genuinely, and her young heart was also shaped by her great-grandmother’s unconditional love. With that heart, she in time grows deep affection for “her victors,” not just as validations of her self-worth, but as people who are truly deserving because of who they are, not what they do.

I think Haymitch has the capacity to see through Effie’s walls of makeup, clothing, and attitude to the heart of the girl who has watched him kill but doesn’t regard him as a murderer, rather she sees him still as the boy who held his friend’s hand in death. I like to think of him seeing that core aspect of himself through her eyes. Each time he sees it, he forgives himself a little more for the responsibility he feels for the death of his loved ones and everyone he ever killed in order to stay alive, and evey tribute who died under his mentorship. Haymitch carries impossibly heavy burdens on his shoulders, hence the alcoholism. Effie’s regard for him as a victor, a victor who showed compassion to Maysilee, to Katniss, to Peeta, and so on, lightens more and more over time the burden he carries.

I think their relationship is an interesting mix of dysfunction and healing. It’s raw and messy, and Effie desperately needs raw and messy, even though she fights against that a long time. Their relationship also has the capacity for deep tenderness and connection, and Haymitch desperately needs tenderness and connection, even though he fights against it a long time.

I so want to see Effie raw and messy. I so want to see Haymitch tender and connecting. That’s the unfolding I write for them together. It’s tough not to rush it, because it’s so interesting, and I want to see it all so badly.

After all these years, I am adoring Hayffie in this unexpected way. This ship is surprisingly intricate and beautiful.

P.S. If you made it this far, wow, and thanks for caring about the characters enough to read my extended ramblings. Comments welcome. I love to hear other people’s thoughts about Hayffie.