#yes this is the default chair

[cccotard]

rank core

[fairy-spring]

You know, the same people who complain about fans wanting a more complex Zelda story would laud the fanmade romhacks, but only as long as brown people are still the villains to make it easy on them

[mandalhoerian]

MY STITCHES ARE OUT FINALLY!!! YAY

[mcmansionhell]

pre-recession, post-taste

Hello, everyone. I hope this blog can bring some well-needed laughs in really trying times. That's why I've gone back into the archives of that precipitous year 2007, a year where the McMansion was sleepwalking into being a symbol of the financial calamity to follow. We return to the Chicago suburbs once more because they remain the highest concentration of houses in their original conditions. Thanks to our flipping predilection, these houses become rarer and rarer and I have to admit even I have developed a fondness for them as a result.

Our present house is ostensibly "French Provincial" in style, which is McMansion for "Chateaux designed by Carmela Soprano". It boasts 7 bedrooms, 8.5 bathrooms, and comes in at a completely reasonable 15,000 square feet. It can be yours for an equally reasonable $1.5 million.

Every 2007 McMansion needed two things: a plethora of sitting rooms and those dark wood floors. This house actually has around five or six sitting rooms (depending if you count the tiled sunroom) but for brevity's sake, I'll only provide two of them.

With regards to the second sitting room, I'm really not one to talk statuary here because beside me there is a bust of Dante where the sculptor made him look simultaneously sickly and lowkey hot.

Technically, if we are devising a dichotomy between sitting and not sitting (yes, I know about the song), the dining room also counts as a sitting room. The more chairs in your McMansion dining room, the more people allegedly like you enough to travel 2.5 hours in traffic to see you twice a year.

Here's the thing about nostalgia: the world as we knew it then is never coming back. In some ways this is sad (kitchens are entirely white now and marble countertops will look terrible in about 3 years) but in other ways this is very good (guys in manhattan have switched to private equity instead of betting the farm on credit default swaps made from junk mortgages proffered to America's most vulnerable and exploited populations.) Progress!

Okay I really don't understand the 50 bed pillows thing. Every night my parents tossed their gazillion decorative pillows on the floor just to put them back on the bed the next morning. Like, for WHAT? Who was going in there? The Pope?

Here's a fun one for your liminal spaces moodboards. (Speaking for myself.)

Yes, I know about skibidi toilet. And sticking out your gyatt for the rizzler. I wish I didn't. I wish I couldn't read. Literacy is like a mirror in which I only see the aging contours of my face.

When your kids move out every room becomes a guest room.

Anyway, let's see what the rear of this house has to offer.

The migratory birds will not forgive them for their crimes. But also seriously, not even a garden?

Anyway, that does it for this round of McMansion Hell. Happy Halloween!

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[vidavalor]

Crowley actually says a barely-coded "I love you" to Aziraphale back in 2.03

In his proposal in the S2 finale, Crowley told us that he and Aziraphale know they're in love and have known it for damn ever but they pretend they're not a couple. This, by default, means that they've not specifically said the words "I love you" before, by Crowley's own admission. They've said I love you in their own little language and we've watched it before. It's little demonic miracle of my own. It's don't go unscrewing the cap. It's just a little bit of a good person and just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing... But what Crowley says in the S2 finale is that they've never-- ever-- said in 6,000 years is just I love you in those normal people, human words. It has always been too dangerous for too many reasons to count so they have euphemisms for it and whole conversations around it and have made that be enough. Why do I bring this up? Because Crowley found a middle ground between the words and their coded language with one another in S2 and it's flying under the radar.

So you know that scene when Muriel has shown up and interrupts Crowley and Aziraphale talking in the back room? The one where while Crowley is speaking, Aziraphale suddenly looks like he's about to pass out with sheer want? Yes, our angel always looks at Crowley like he hung the damn moon (which he did but lol...) but this scene is different. This scene is like... someone get Aziraphale a chair and a glass a water because he is pupils-dilated, audibly breathing, and eyeing up Crowley with naked want. More than the lust? He looks happy. He looks delighted. You can basically hear his heart race from that look on his face. Why here? Yes, Crowley looks hot. Yes, he's in profile in a way that is a visual parallel to Before the Beginning (which was an inspired choice for this scene.) Yes, he's here with a Plan and taking charge of the Muriel situation and swaying his hips a bit while he speaks. It's not any of that. Those are nice bonuses. Aziraphale likes them. He gets them all the time. It's what Crowley said in this moment. To Aziraphale. Through what he said to Muriel.

Crowley cracks a dry, kinda dark joke that is meant for an audience of one: just Aziraphale. He knows Muriel won't get it. Since Muriel is cosplaying as what they think is a human Inspector Constable and they are here to verify the miracle Aziraphale has told Heaven and so are monitoring them, Crowley quips that Muriel is here to spy on them (since they, well, are, actually) and that he knows that many human police officers like to make a bit of a hobby out of spying on "people in love."

People. In. Love.

In a one-two punch in the same sentence, Crowley called him and Aziraphale queer humans and he called what they have love, using the actual word *aloud* for the first time in 6,000 years. He said he loved Aziraphale in front of an angel of Heaven in a little coded joke but this time, using the coded bit to say the real thing for the first time.

Then, just to hammer it all home and make sure that Aziraphale really knows it was very much intentional, Crowley says 'love' again in the next sentence. He starts going on about how Muriel can come to him anytime with any questions about love and he's happy to assist with their understanding of human love with all of his implied vast, vast years of experience with the subject and how he'll be here to answer their questions, in the bookshop, while Aziraphale drives his car to Edinburgh.

Go back and tell Heaven I'm here, Inspector Constable, I don't give a fuck anymore. *We* don't give a fuck anymore. You go tell The Archangel Michael that I'm who they're going to get managing Angelic Embassy X aka The Bookshop until Aziraphale gets back-- yep, me, former Demon of Hell. The Boyfriend in the Dark Sunglasses. He's asked me to, which is his way of saying he wants to stop hiding and asking me not to sneak out to my car in the middle of the night which hallefuckinglujah, Inspector Constable... Go tell Their Beatitudes that we ravish each other all over the bookshop. You won't even be lying. As Maggie'll put it later in the season: I'm done being afraid all the time. I love him. We're in love. There's your hot intel.

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Inspector Constable, be a dear and spray me down with all 700 of our fire extinguishers, will you?

[disneyprincemuke]

bother figures * fem!driver

being the designated baby sister of the grid by default is never as easy as you think it would be

pairings: alex albon x fem!driver, max verstappen x fem!driver, george russell x fem!driver, lando norris x fem!driver

warnings: ugh annoying men

notes: this is hardly funny but like i've had to take inspiration from my bother-less life rn so i'm like rly going through it rn LMFAO and it's almost 5am here but as far as i'm concerned, it is night time somewhere so teCHNICALLY i'm not late to an update!

(series masterlist) | (📂 the rookie season)

in the almost empty room, she sits in the corner seat as she taps away on her phone a message to reply to her siblings' group chat. she had arrived early for the driver's briefing and decided to take solace in the corner with a cup of hot chocolate.

she was enjoying the peace and serenity with the soft chatter in the background as she tried to lock herself in for the race weekend. that was until she felt a presence looming behind her with an aura she couldn't possibly ignore.

she slowly lifts her head up with a mean glare. she turns her head and meets max's blue eyes and sly grin. "what'cha doin'?"

she puts her phone on her lap as a scowl replaces her dead expression. "what do you want?"

"what are you doing?"

"does it hurt you when you see me and like... not do anything to annoy me?"

"yes, actually. i like talking to you."

"i just wanted to talk to ciara."

"now you can talk to me."

"but i don't really feel like doing that."

"why not? i'm here in front of you and not behind a phone screen. where's ciara?" he looks around, then at her with a beaming smile. "oh, would you look at that? not here."

"because she isn't an f1 driver."

"still not here to talk to you and provide you the joys of interacting with somebody face to face."

"max."

"(y/n)."

"times like these i remember you've got a younger sister."

"what's that got to do with anything?"

"you've mastered the practice of being annoying growing up, obviously. you're such a pro at it."

"how can you say that?" max cries, hand on his chest to feign hurt over her words. "i'm not annoying. please take that back!"

"you realise you made me stop my conversation with my lovely sisters because you saw me sitting alone."

max reaches out and pinches her cheek, grinning when blood rushes to her cheeks. "you were just looking a little lonely. just wanted to make you feel a little accommodated to, that's all."

she stares at him, lips pressed together. "okay, that's actually pretty sweet. i kinda feel bad now.”

“and you should!” max frowns, folding his arms over his chest. he leans back into his seat and rests one leg over the other. “you’re mean, you know?”

“i’m an oldest sister.”

“i’m an oldest brother.”

“i have three younger siblings that made me wanna shave my head bald.”

“that’s kinda crazy.”

“i know,” she sighs tiredly. but she smiles slightly. “but it’s kinda nice. with oscar and logan taking over those responsibilities growing up, we never had a moment of boredom at home.”

“cute!” max smiles. “if i lived with you growing up, you might’ve actually run away for good.”

“i could run away for good now if you’d like.”

“seb wouldn’t like that.”

“you’d have to deal with it. i’ll leave a note on my team’s fridge with your name on it.”

“you need to put the reason underneath. if not, your team will think you’re just naming the most handsomest driver on the grid,” max shakes his head in disappointment. “don’t wanna give off the wrong idea, you know?”

“if you say ‘handsomest’, it doesn’t need a ‘most’ before it,” she says, lips parted slightly at the atrocious grammar. if there’s one thing she can’t stand, it’s most definitely the reigning world champion making simply grammar mistakes. “you should get more sleep.”

“i do! i slept like 10 hours last night!”

“somehow i find that hard to believe with the bags under your eyes.”

“what are you two bickering about?” a hand lands itself on the back of her chair. carlos stands next to her with one hand on his hip. “i could hear you from the hallways.”

“damn, you should really keep it down, max,” she chuckles, sending him a shocked look before she clasps her hands together and rests it on her stomach. “you’re too loud.”

“i’m sure he meant you. you like… swallowed a mic as a kid,” max scoffs. he looks up at carlos. “tell me she was louder than me.”

carlos sighs. “you were loud on the same level, i believe.”

"see? i told you."

"you're moving in with logan?" alex's jaw drops, the tiktok video no his phone left to play on repeat as the younger girl dropped the news that logan's moving into her apartment. "mate, what?"

she looks up at him with a confused stare. "what?"

"i thought you said you didn't want people talking about you like that?" alex asks, raising an eyebrow. "people will definitely talk if you move in with a man."

she presses her lips together. "you've got a point, i suppose. but logan's my best friend. we've been talking about moving in together forever! since i was 15!"

"i'm just looking out for you, kid. you should really think this through," alex sighs as he slumps his shoulders. of course, he knows just how close she and logan are on a day-to-day basis. but people tend to be quite ruthless with women and he just can't see this going any other way. "you know how people are."

she sighs, shaking her head. "i don't know. i just don't think people would pay attention to that aspect of my life. i still deserve to make decisions that wouldn't be at risk of scrutiny, right?"

she takes a step forward towards alex. she hadn't exactly thought of the public implications that this would cause her. all she knew was that they'd talked about this for years and were ecstatic when logan shyly brought up their conversation from years ago.

"that's the basic that we all hope for," alex frowns. "but you know how people are. you've seen how they treat you just being here. imagine the chaos."

"maybe i'll just keep it under wraps and hope for the best," she suggests with a small smile on her face. "that could work, right? i don't wanna have to put down something i spent forever talking about."

"if you can keep it under wraps, i applaud you," alex smiles, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "and i thought you've had enough of men - why are you still moving in with one?"

"to save money, really," she smiles. "and with kidnapper and stubby at home... i think living with another person is best."

"but doesn't logan like dogs more?"

"yeah, but kidnapper's taken a very weird liking to him. he doesn't wanna admit, but i know logan really likes kidnapper a lot."

"typical logan, really."

"you'd be surprised how much feelings that loser's holding in."

"oh?" alex smiles mischievously. "tell me more?"

"nice try," she scoffs with an eye roll. "i'm not spilling the beans about logan's love life. that's lore you've got to unlock the longer you race with him. just hope he's feeling friendly enough to share, yes?"

"so true," alex frowns. "but what if he's not friendly enough? means you are my only source for material to piss him off with. so, 'fess up!"

"can't betray my best friend like that, i fear," she frowns. though, her smile grows slowly. "but i can be bribed."

a scowl carves her face as she stares at the roll-in whiteboard with pictures held up against it with sesame street magnets. she sinks into the plastic chair she's given and tilts her head at the men gathered around her.

"and that's why i think you should get the same car as me," lando says simply, recapping the marker in his hands. he turns to her with a proud smile after his presentation.

her lips part. "so that we can matchy and..."

"and fuel rumours," lando repeats. "i'm involved in too little drama this year. it's always 'no wins' this, and 'no podiums' that... i want more."

"that's not a very good argument," she answers slowly, confusion contorting her face that almost makes alex laugh. "i said that i want an easy car, not a supercar. i've made that clear to almost everyone on the grid, yes?"

"yeah, but like," lando whines, throwing his head back as he stomps a foot into the ground. "seriously? you can't do this one thing for me? i'm asking you a favour!"

"to spend big money on a supercar i have to drive like it's made of glass!" she laughs dryly, hands thrown in the air in disbelief. she looks around at the men that have forcefully pulled her out of her garage and put her in this private room, in this plastic chair when she could've been taking a power nap. "is this what i'm here for? you lot are trying to convince me to finally purchase a car?"

"as per logan's request," alex shrugs, sipping on his juice box. "he said you've been putting it off all year. the season's about to end."

"and you listened to that nonce?" she cries, pinching the bridge of her nose. "you guys are absolutely unbelievable. i can't believe i'm wasting my time here!"

george, sitting next to her with a picture in hand, points at the whiteboard timidly. "i really put in a lot of thought about a car you should get," he says softly, looking slightly disappointed that she's caught on a lot faster than they predicted. "can i at least show it to you? i don't have to present."

"aw, george," she sighs, shaking her head. "it's not another supercar, is it?"

"it's not, i promise!" he perks up with a small smile on his face. he turns to lando with a small scowl. "only lando did this presentation with his best interests in mind. alex and i took the task seriously - just hear us out!"

she looks between george and alex, contemplating if the brit is telling the truth. instead of getting up like she had initially planned, she leans back into her seat. "fine. if it's anything like lando's, i'm leaving immediately. i don't care who has yet to present."

"but this ferrari looks so pretty," charles frowns, turning the picture in his hand to show it to her. "it's matte black and all. i thought we could match."

"that is also a supercar."

"he's presenting last, so i really don't care what he says," george mutters, shoving lando away from the whiteboard. he picks up a big bird magnet and pastes his picture between lando and max's proposal. "so, i think you should get this super cute toyota car."

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @inejismywife @vellicora @leilanixx @meadhgbcavanagh @2bormaybenot @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @cashtons-wife @love4lando @sadg3 @bborra @a10vely-yutazen @mellowarcadefun @glitterf1 @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @gentlyweeps-world @woozarts

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXX)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Several therapeutic white boards were drawn on. Everyone reading was so good and normal about it. So were the characters, presumably.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

Additionally: apologies to Adwen and Allmune on ao3, to whom I directly said I wouldn't do this; I lied. (Whoopsie).

Also additionally: Bonus fic snippet you may have missed

💚👻👽👻💚

“Are you hungry?” Danny’s new therapist asks, her fingers playing with her pen.

Danny shrugs.

Pretty quickly, they’d figured out that these sessions went…worse…when Danny was hungry. Hunger makes him upset. Being upset makes him want to speak less. Not talking ruins the whole affair.

“Want to talk?”

Danny shakes his head, and sprawls out onto the couch—he’s allowed to basically position himself however he feels comfortable in the room, and if he has a choice, he’d rather just hang out horizontal. Does it make getting back into his chair harder? Yes. Is there a lady with super strength right outside his the office door who is willing to pick him up at a moment’s notice? Also yes.

(It’s kind of silly, but, if his legs ever stop feeling so sore…Danny is. Well.)

(He’s kind of curious how tall he’d be if Diana held him piggyback.)

“Want to draw? Paint?”

Drawing is a high-stress activity. Danny tends to default to memories when he draws these days, and he’d rather not think about that right now. Finger-painting is another option, but it’s pretty messy…even if it would be fun…

Danny’s therapist (?) (he's pretty sure that’s what she is?) is a blonde woman, with a quiet face and piercing eyes. She’d probably be less intimidating if they knew each other’s language, if Danny’s being honest; usually these types of people try to talk their way out of being intimidating. Instead, Danny sits on her pinstripe couch in unbranded sweatpants and a thin white tee, and she wears a suitjacket over her tights.

It’s all very strange. It’s not more strange than his chaperone’s usual outfit of plate armor and tiara, but still.

“Want the language bócastréon again?”

…Danny hums in thought, hands crossed across his chest. He’s pretty sure they’ve tried building a thing that’ll detect his language, like, three different times by now, but every time it winds up like the Fenton Ghost Gabber: mindlessly repeating his words back to him, unable to make heads or tails on translation. At least these trials don’t end every one of his statements with I am a ghost, fear me.

Oh well. It’s better than nothing. Danny shrugs.

The therapist clicks the machine on from a switchpad at her elbow, and a blue holographic screen fills the air. Danny only spends a little bit of time batting at the display like a cat, watching the light play off his hands for his own amusement.

“Please begin,” the thing says, and the same text pops up on the screen.

“S’up,” Danny tells it, and grins when the little display starts its very, very, long, and very, very familiar, buffering process.

Danny already knows this isn’t going to work. He might as well have fun with it.

He talks about his day, he talks about his old bedroom; he talks about what he had for lunch, toying with one of the sucker-toys he woke up with ages ago even though he doesn’t know who gave them to him. He talks about his friends, because he loves them—not Tuck and Sam, who he’ll miss the rest of his life, but Mikey and Poindexter, and what school had been like for him. Quiet topics. Easy topics.

Normal topics.

…Danny isn’t’ sure he’ll ever have normalcy again, but…remembering it isn’t so bad either. He plays with his weird suction cup toy with both hands and he talks.

“…So I ended up getting stuck without the Speeder like a million zillion miles from the portal. I thought Jazz was going to kill me, since she needed it to take her girlfriend to prom the literal next night, so I had to run around for like forty minutes looking for someone to help me out— but at least Wulf was like ‘Ne estas problemo’ and he helped me sniff out the weird cheese Vlad had left in the center console of the Speeder the week before—“

The box beeps. “Lingvo identigita: Kryptonian.”

Danny bolts upright as fast as his limbs let him.

Danny was never as good as Tucker was with Esperanto, but—  But that’s Esperanto. Danny’s hung out with Wulf long enough, did enough Duodioma with the stupid little muppet bird mascot. The box didn’t call it the right thing, but—

—But—

The therapist looks at Danny, eyes wide. Danny can’t even look at her. He’s too busy staring at the discount-aisle Ghost Gabber.

“Diru ĝin denove,” Danny demands sharply. Say it again.

The screen automatically translates his words as he speaks—in Esperanto, and then into their own language, the two transcriptions populating side by side when Danny speaks.

At this point, the woman’s mouth is open. Danny would be right there with her, but—

Danny sits there, numb.

He has a language. A language that is mostly guesswork on his part and the occasional swears Wulf will teach him as a joke, but, still, a language.

A language made up by a doctor in Poland. In the eighteen…somethings. And these people with superpowers know it. And they know what it is.

And the therapist looks at him, stunned, with new eyes, as if she knows something new about him now.

…What the hell is Kryptonian?

*

There isn’t Kryptonian plural. Danny thought there there might be.

There isn’t.There is pretty much only one.

One. Singular. Kryptonian.

That feels worse, somehow.

*

Notes taken [DATE REDACTED] 2023, 22:37 UTC.

Participants are:

KE: Kal-El of Krypton, Codename: Superman. JD: Patient, John Doe, Codename: N/A. Patient file attached.

Note: Conversation was recorded in Kryptonian. Machine translation has been provided for convenience.

*Addendum: Yeah, I can get Jor-El on this, no problem –Supes

KE: This conversation will be recorded. Are you alright with that? JD: Conver…? KE: (Writing gesture) This talk. JD: Oh! Yes. KE: Good morning. My name is Kal-El, and I am of Kryptonian descent. On Earth, I serve as a protector. My title on Earth is Superman. JD: Superman? KE: Yes. JD: (Laugh) KE: Thank you. May I know your name? JD: (No answer) KE: Take your time. You may decline as well. JD: …I… (Pause). I do not… KE: That is alright. Do you have hobbies? JD: …What? KE: What do you like to do? JD: …I like to learn about space. I like to…when the fast child…we play games? KE: The fast kid? Impulse? JD: Impulse? (Incredulous) KE: That is his title, yes. JD: Why is his name Impulse? That is… Is that an insult? KE: I think he chose it? JD: (Stunned silence) KE: You like space? JD: Y…yes. KE: Tell me about it? JD: Do they not tell you about me? KE: I hear news. I have not met you face to face. JD: (Shrugs) KE: Not since you bit me, anyway? JD: I bit you? (Incredulous) KE: You were injured, and you were scared. I did not mind. JD: I am sorry! It was an accident! (Upset) I did not mean to! I do not remember— KE: It is alright, it is alright! (Placating) JD: (Cries) KE: Hey… (Touches shoulder) Oh, sorry. I should not do that. It is alright. My dog bit me yesterday, and my son bit me the day before. It is alright. You did not hurt me. JD: (Still crying, hard to decipher) You have a dog? KE: Yes! I have a dog! He is also from space. His name is Krypto. Here, I have pictures! (Takes out communicator)

*NOTE: pictures mentioned contain images of Superdog and Superboy(II)

JD: (Still crying) Are you supposed to ask me questions?? I have been here… I have been here for a long time. People want to know about what I am, and where am I from, and what I can do, yes? KE: Well…yes, but there is a lot of time. There is no limit. JD: (Wipes nose.) KE: All I am supposed to ask you today is if you have any allergies. See?

        *NOTE: List of potential allergens has been attached to patient file.

JD: (Takes list from KE) Allergi…? Oh. No. I am… No food makes me sick. I can eat all foods. I cannot take…there is a sick medicine. For a cough. I cannot take that. KE: Good to know! (Alarmed) I’ll tell your doctors. Do you like your doctors? JD: …Yes. (Shyly) They are nice. KE: Wonder Woman says that she already asked if you feel safe. Do you feel safe with your doctors? JD: I do. Everyone here is kind. I eat a lot. I get exercise. We play games. I take breaks. I see space. I do not worry here, unless I get scared by accident. KE: I am…very glad to hear that. (Chokes up.) My son is about half your height. If my son was far away, I would want someone to help him too. We only want to do our best for you, alright? Please tell us if something is wrong. JD: So I can fight? KE: Pardon? JD: I am meant to fight, right? KE: No, no—not fighting. Just healing. And resting. JD: And then after… I am supposed to fight? KE: No. No, not—you don’t have to fight. The only thing we need is for you to be healthy. We don’t need you to fight anyone. JD: Everyone wants me to fight. (Begins stimming with slime) There are many children here. They all fight. I am eventually going to have to fight. I know.

*NOTE: Slime was provided by Medical team for therapeutic use.

KE: (Pause) Who is everyone? JD: (Silence) KE: Did someone make you fight, before? Is that why you were injured? JD: (Silence) KE: I am sorry if they did. That is not fair. You are not an adult yet, and even adults should not have to fight unless they enlist purposefully. You are a child. JD: No one thinks I am a child. KE: Who said that? JD: (Silence) KE: Did someone hurt you? JD: (Pause) I do not want to talk. KE: Alright. Can you tell me why you do not want to talk? JD: (Silence) KE: Would you like to fight? JD: I am good at fighting. KE: That is not what I asked. JD: There is no choice? When there are bad things and bad people, someone has to fight. I am strong—when I am not injured, I am strong. I fight. There are people who are not strong, and cannot fight. I can fight. I fight. KE: (Silence) JD: This is why you are healing me. KE: (Pause) No, little one. That is not why. JD: (Pause) Oh. (Puts down slime) Am I…am I going to be data again? Are you going to test my body? KE: (Puts face into hands)

[PAGE 1 OF 4]

[Interview is to be reviewed by Black Canary and Dr. Pranathi Russo MD, Pediatric Psychologist.]

*

“It’s bad!” Clark says with a watery smile, because Clark isn’t Superman at the moment—in Bruce’s home office, as private as a place as the world can get, Bruce is only Bruce, and Clark is only Clark.

When Black Canary had suggested that their debrief happen somewhere private where Clark felt safe, Bruce had known that there would be bad news. Still, he pours a mug of coffee that Clark will metabolize all the caffeine out of anyway, and pours a long, thick cup of the stuff for himself, and settles back into his warm leather chair.

“Tell me,” Bruce says, not quite Batman, but not quite Bruce either.

“Bruce, he ‘knows’ we’re going to make him fight. He thinks we’re healing him to be a child soldier.” Clark’s laugh is half joke and half derision. Bruce thinks that he understands. “He thinks we’re keeping him here as—like property, where if we pick up something dumped on the side of the road, we can fix it back up and put it to work. Like an engine, or, or…or like a lawnmower. It’s awful.”

Bruce skips the creamer and goes straight to the Baileys beneath his desk for garnishing.

On the one hand, Dick has been flying out in Gotham since he was a preteen. There had been no question about training him; training was the way one kept their children safe, the same way that Alfred had taught Bruce how to shoot as a child—no matter how much Bruce had loathed it at the time.

On the other hand, Jason’s death plays out in his nightmares in technicolor around…once every few months.

The fires. The flames.

(The alien boy found in a wrecked vehicle outside the Kent farmhouse, curled up in fear.)

Bruce thinks about Damian, and how long it had taken for Damian to understand he could be loved as a child who loved animals, and not a future prince of Gotham.

…Bruce passes the Baileys to Clark.

The Kryptonian won’t absorb any of the alcohol in any meaningful way, but he dumps the remainder of the bottle into his coffee nevertheless.

[snowssims]

Alright, finally I could get both parts of this uploaded. So, November 10th is when Fallout 4 released back in 2015, making it 9 whole years old today. I decided I'd try doing some conversions of stuff. These are conversions from the "Modern Domestic" set in the game, you get the two end tables and a chair, plus a loveseat add-on for the chair.

Details:

The loveseat is linked to the chair, and the end small end table is linked to the big, meaning you will need those meshes for the others to work. The end tables and chairs aren't linked in any way, however.

And yes, they're both in end tables, and stand at typical end table height. The two-tile one is cloned from a conversion of an awesims sideboard (to get the slots and all that right) idk where the original download is but I got it here.

The chair has two subsets while the tables have just one.

The cushions on the chair are in the same 28 colors from last time, the woods on both sets are an assortment of 7 natural colors, using color actions by Hafiseazale.

Textures are 512x512, Files are compressed

Polycounts -

Chair - F:956/V:1235

Loveseat Add-On - F:1422/V:1803

Big End Table - F:612/V:636

Small End Table - F:344/V:352

Download End Tables (sfs)

Download Chair/Loveseat (sfs)

vv(swatches + plain previews under cut)vv

Click to see the swatches properly

OH I almost forgot to mention, the end tables. They are about half the depth that they are in fo4, these things are massive by default. Like, they're too damn big in fo4 they're as thick as the shoulder span of an X-01, as I found out.

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + twenty two

authors note: this one may leave people a bit confused by certain things.....that's intentional.

cw/tw: fluff, angst, and smut

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 9k

“Nu uh!”

“Uh huh!”

“Nu uh!”

“Uh huh!”

“Girls.” To his credit, Roman does his best to not interfere or get involved in the midst of his girls arguing. He prefers letting them work it out among themselves, and they typically do. But, there are times, like this, where he just doesn’t have it in him to listen to their bickering. “Stop arguing.”

Lina is the expected one to protest, and she doesn’t disappoint or prove his prediction wrong. “But, daddy—”

“Lina, be nice to your sister.” He looks over at his other twin daughter. “Leya, you have to share.”

The quieter of the two looks less than pleased at his instruction and is clearly in one of her few talkative moods, protesting like her sister, “But, it’s mine, daddy.”

“It’s gonna be mine if ya’ll don’t stop fighting.” Rarely does he have to be strict with them, but they’ve both been on one all day, and Roman is going off barely four hours of sleep because their baby brother decided to make it one of those nights for his parents. “I’m not gon’ tell ya’ll again.”

A shared set of downward gazes followed by another shared ‘yes, sir’ leads to them both switching their attention from the tablet to one of their playthings in the backyard. 

Roman runs his hand over his face as the backdoor opens, revealing Solana’s smiling but tired face. She’s operating off just as many fumes as she is.

“He finally go down?” She nods at his question, moving to sit on his lap, Roman wrapping his arms around her. 

“Eventually.” She chuckles, placing her phone on the rattan chair next to them, Roman seeing the footage of the nursery showing their son sleeping. Finally. “Could be worse. Remember when we had to do it with the both of them?”

Roman offers a small smile. He certainly does. “He takes after his sisters.”

Solana’s smile dims a bit as she caresses his cheek. “You should go try to take a nap. I can watch them.”

That’s an immediate no. “I’m fine.” A default answer for him. He gestures to the now laughing twins, explaining, “especially since they seem to be in one of their moods.”

Solana frowns and then rolls her eyes. “Wonder where they get that from?” Giggling, Solana kisses his cheek and again tries to convince him to do what he’s absolutely not going to do. “Seriously, Ro, I can handle it. They tend to get like that sometimes when you’re out of town anyway.”

At that, he looks over at her. “Really?” She nods. “You want me to talk to them?” Cause as much as he loves his girls, he has never and will never put up with them disrespecting their mother. That will always be where he draws the line.

With anyone. 

Solana shakes her head and instead moves to settle her head in the crook of his neck. “Let them just be kids.” Roman grows quiet, picking up on the underlying meaning to her statement. An agreement they both made with each other during her first pregnancy.  

That they would give their kids the childhood they never had.

“They’re happy, baby.” Years of being together has allowed both husband and wife to practically learn and know each other like the back of their hand, which is why Solana is so easily able to hear Roman’s unspoken concerns. “We all are.”

Her words, like her mere presence and everything else about her, are comforting to Roman. He holds her a little tighter, lips gazing over her temple. 

Solana, however, overhears the return of the argument between their twins, the sixth or seventh time this morning alone. And right as Roman goes to handle it, she shakes her head. “I’ve got it.” 

Watching her walk away, Roman allows his gaze to linger on her a little longer. One thing for certain, two things for sure, Solana only gets finer with age. Three kids later, her already curvy body has filled out even more, giving him all the temptation and stripping him of all resolve whenever she tells him she’s ready for another baby.

He’s just counting the days for that request, already accepting the fact that it’ll only be a matter of time before she’s showing him the next sonogram. 

It’s just a continuation of his inability to ever deny her of anything she wants. 

Roman grabs his phone, hearing it vibrate. Most likely an update from—

“Roman!” 

The phone is dropped, and Roman has never moved so quickly, shot up so fast as he sprints off in the direction where Solana went only to find there’s a vacant space, yard void of any and all items, play equipment, greenery, even the pool. 

What remains is the girls sitting on their knees, on the dirt, a piece of clothing between the two of them, but it’s the red dampness of the clothing that makes his heart stop. That makes Roman go dangerously still.

Blood. 

It’s blood. 

Dropping to his knees, the girls are on either side of him, his voice is eerily calm as he asks, “where is she?” Unlike his tone, Roman is anything but calm. Every single vile, evil, violent thought is crossing his mind at just the thought of someone daring to hurt his wife.

To take her.

Leya sniffles to the left of him. “You have to save her, daddy.”  His head snaps to her, confused by her words, confused by the fact that he’s not freaking out more, by the fact that he just somehow knows that Solana has been taken. “She won’t have much time.”

“Mommy can only fight with us for so long.” His attention switches to Lina, her comment leaving him just as perplexed as her twin. “You’re gonna have to trust them, daddy.”

“What?” He breathes. The weight on his chest is intensifying by the fucking second. “I don’t—”

“It’s the only way to save her.” Leyah reaches for his arm, her little mouth formed into a frown. “They’re gonna kill her if you don’t.”

His chest nearly explodes at that one word.

Kill

But, it's when the next statement that leaves their mouths, at the same time, that does him over.

“And they’re gonna kill us too.”

Roman shoots up from the bed, half expecting to find Solana startled awake by his sudden movement, only for him to snap his head to the right to see the normal rise and fall of her body as she continues to sleep. Peaceful. Content. 

Alive.

Roman shuts his eyes and runs his hand through his wavy hair. What the fuck was that?

Taking advantage of the fact that she’s still asleep, Roman is careful with how he peels the blankets off of him. He grabs his phone off the nightstand and makes his way out the room. Down the hall and descending the steps, Roman finds placement outside on the patio, away from it all so he can try to make sense of what just occurred.

The dreams of what feels like some type of alternative reality have become the norm for him. He has them at least a couple times a week, and while he’s still not sure what to make of them, they haven’t really bothered him. Until now.

Because how can a dream–turned–nightmare in which his wife is taken and possibly worse not bother him? Not to mention the strange, almost foreboding warning of his fictional children.

Trust? Roman doesn’t do trust. Shit like that gets people killed in his world.

It has gotten people killed in his world. 

But despite the heaviness of the latter half of the dream, there is one thing that Roman picked up on. That he has this weird almost sentimental reaction to.

Lina.

Leya. 

This is the first time in any of the dreams that names for the girls were used. 

There’s a strange sense of contentment he feels at the thought of it, a sense of clarity provided at no longer dreaming about two nameless children but two children, named and identified. 

Lina and Leya

Pretty names. Roman can admit that, but they feel…..shortened. Like that’s only part of their names. Nicknames. 

It makes him wonder what the full names are.

And before Roman realizes it, he’s grabbing his phone and opening up the notes app.

Lina Reigns

Leya Reigns

He’s not sure why he’s writing them down. He just knows that he wants to.

“Roman?”

Solana stands before him in one of his shirts, arms crossed over her body, a worried expression on her face. 

She doesn’t wait for the usual invite, for Roman’s long arms to extend and settle her on top of his lap. She does that all on her own. Brown eyes searching his face, she pushes back some of his hair. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

His answer is more default than anything, not an intentional deflection but still one nonetheless. “Nothing. Just….can’t sleep.”

“Bullshit.” Solana cussing is such a new experience for him, Roman having to fight back a small smile at how innocent the profanity sounds leaving her mouth. Like it’s too lewd for someone so innocent to be stating. “Talk to me.” She shifts on his lap, asking in a gentle tone, “was it a bad dream?”

Bad is an understatement, but he’s not too keen on letting her know the depth of what it included. Nor does he necessarily want to reflect on it. “Something like that.”

“Roman…..” And right away, without her even needing to say it, he knows. Knows what she doesn’t need to say.

He’s not entirely ready to tell her the extent of these dreams, so he’s intentional with leaving out the not so little fact that it includes them having children and focuses on a part of this latest one. “It was about you.”

She looks taken back by that but still encourages him to continue, her fingers now moving to massage his scalp. “Go on.” But he’s certain that it’s when he looks away, when he focuses on the dark, almost obsidian night sky that obscures the forestry surrounding the house, he knows that she knows. “Oh….”

“Yeah.” Roman doesn't know what else to say. Doesn’t want to say anything else. He doesn’t even really want to fucking talk about this, wants to forget the damn ‘dream’ ever happened, wants to just go back to bed and try to get some fucking sleep.

But, that would be too easy, and rarely in his life are things ever easy.

“Roman, look at me.” Solana’s soft, caring tone pulls him from pessimistic cognitions. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Ro,” she whispers, bringing her hand to his bearded chin, forcing his unsettled gaze on her. “I promise.”

He wishes that her words provided more comfort. There’s some level, just not a lot, because Roman has had his fair share of nightmares over the years. Most from after that night. Some…..some before. Some he’s never once spoken about and never plans to. Too…..too many bad, difficult, unmanageable emotions attached to them. 

“You’re thinking a lot,” she whispers. The way she’s learned to read him so well feels almost too impossible to be true. He’s always prided himself on being an enigma, but with her? His inscrutable disposition melts away into something transparent and lucid.

He chuckles, but it’s void of any emotion. “I’m always thinking, Sol.” Always thinking. Always planning. Always strategizing. Just always in a state of always.

Solana shakes her head, gently protesting. “Not with me. I don’t….I don’t want you to think when you’re with me….just…..just be.”

Be.

Roman is unsure if he even knows what that is anymore. 

If he ever did in the first place.

And he admits as such. “I don’t….I don’t know how to do that.” A strange, uncharacteristic admission from the man who always has everything together. Because he has to. Because he’s never been granted the space to not have to. 

Solana ghosts her lips over his forehead, his eyes shutting as he holds her a little tighter. “Then we’ll learn together.”

________

Roman has a high sex drive. This is something Solana has always heard through the grapevine, among…..other things. But, her finding out about his sex drive is something she’s experienced herself. Is currently experiencing.

His large, strong hands remain placed and seated on her back, exploring her soft skin that has a soft sheen of sweat that’s built up from the exertion of her body. Her thighs ache a bit as does that sensitive space between her legs, both from the current stretch of him inside her as well as not being entirely recovered from their passionate lovemaking session just hours prior.

Truthfully, Solana hasn’t a clue just how she’s ended up engaged in intimacy yet again, possibly him needing a distraction of sort form his dream. But Roman occasionally sliding his hands to her hips, guiding her up and down, back and forth on his impressive length seems to be just enough, more than enough, to keep her hands on his shoulders, her fingers pressing into his skin, her teeth gnawing into her bottom lip to keep her from alerting his aunt and cousin just what they’re doing this fine early morning.

But, it’s that thought that has her trying to express said concern, to share the slight level of guilt she feels at doing this under his aunt’s roof. It feels almost….disrespectful? And maybe that’s too strong of a word. Regardless, she just has a feeling about it. 

“Roman…..” Solana hates that his name on her lips is more carnal than anything, a moan, essentially. Far from what she needs. Still, she pushes through. “We—we can’t—”

His deep chuckle under her followed by another slight lift of her body as he continues to fill her, physically and figuratively, “can’t what?”

Damn. It’s so hard to resist the devil when he makes the sin feel this good. “Th—this.” She’s not sure she’s even making any sense right now. “It’s—disresp—shit.” Roman is forever adroit, knowing just what to do and how to do it, because one minute he’s licking his bottom lip, the next minute his mouth is latched onto her breast, sucking on her areola in a way that makes it exponentially more difficult to not scream her pleasure from here to kingdom come.

“Ro….” Her hand shifts to the back of his head, his soft, wave locks intertwined in her fingers as Solana manages to keep her steady pace rocking atop of him. He’s so deep inside of her, reaching her stomach it damn near feels like. “Oh my god.” Head thrown back from the erotic of it all, a deep chuckle leaves his talented mouth as he detaches and switches to kissing along the swell of her heavy breast.

“You really wanna deny me this?” His voice is both teasing and curious, hands massaging her sides, gently helping her continue to ride him. “Could watch you and this beautiful body ride me for the rest of fucking time….”

Solana seems to hone in on two words. Beautiful body. She still somewhat struggles to wrap her head around just how a man who looks like Roman could be so enamored with her physically. Even with all the scars, the cellulite, the stretch marks, the fat, he looks at her like she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He makes her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. It’s overwhelming and fills her with so much love, Solana bringing her hands to his bearded face for a sensual kiss to express that love and adoration.

Kissing Roman is also moving its way up her list of favorite things to do. A list that almost entirely includes him, because as much as he indicates and even shares how he can’t get enough of her, she feels the absolute same way about him.

Roman deepens the kiss, Solana loving the feel of their chests pressed together, how he almost protectively clutches her close to him. They hold onto each other almost, so deeply entwined, two troubled souls who somehow found each other in the midst of chaos and sorrow. A joint healing of sorts.

Not even half an hour later, both having found their release, Solana lays on his chest, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns of the tattoos that’s etched onto his chest, one of her favorite things to do when they’re together like this. She loves everything about Roman, his body included, but his tattoos hold a special place for her. She knows it’s part of his cultural background, but a large part of her would guess that the placement was intentional. The ink on his arms to help shield bad memories, a night of unfathomable loss and trauma.

She knows what that’s like. Knows what it’s like to carry around those scars. Another area where they can relate, shared loss that they can find comfort for, in each other.

Eager for her spent body to be one with his, she moves even closer, a small smile on her face when he tugs her nearer and kisses the top of her head. His affection with her always adds yet another layer of safety and protection she feels with him.

Feelings she hasn’t had in forever. If ever.

“I wanna ask you something, but if it’s triggering for you, then we dead it, okay?” Solana is obviously taken back by his statement, and while there’s a small chunk of her nervous about what he’s about to ask, she doesn’t want to shut him down.

Eyes focused on the window beside the bed that unveils the rising sun and subsequent kaleidoscope of dawn colors that paint the sky, she answers, “okay.”

“How were you mentally on our wedding day?”

Solana frowns. That’s the last question she expected to leave his mouth, but the more she thinks about it, thinks about the worksheets Gail had told her she showed Roman, Solana can almost bet she recalls one of those questions asking about the last time she felt suicidal prior to her attempt.

And she’d answered honestly.

On her wedding day.

Something she’s almost certain he knows and is referring to. In a slightly indirect way. To avoid being too……raw. “Roman—” She doesn’t quite know how to address this, how to explain it in a way that makes sense to him but is also not too heavy for her. “I—there was just….there was a lot going on.”

“Because of me.” Her eyes shut. She hates the tone of his voice. Low and subdued. Like he feels guilty about something, like he did something wrong. “Because I sped everything up without actually giving you time to….” Roman takes a deep breath, and she opens her eyes to look up at him. “If I had known—“

Solana sits up and brings her hand to his face. “But—but you didn’t—” She wets her lips, hating that he seems to feel somehow responsible for years worth of trauma that brought her to that place mentally. Not him. “I—I struggled for years with those thoughts, and it was just…..it was a combination of things. I was scared and confused, but mostly because of the plan and what they wanted me to do. I hadn’t eaten in days. I just…..it wasn’t your fault.” She kisses him, lips hovering over his as she whispers, “at the time….it felt like the saddest day of my life, but—it was the best, Roman. I got you….and that’s all I need.” She moves to lay on top of him, burying her head in the crook of his neck. “Te amo, mi amor.”

He still sounds guilty. "But, it's not the wedding you deserved."

"I don't care about that, baby." She moves her hand to his arm, gently massaging up and down his bicep. “Roman, I don’t—I don’t want you worrying about me. I’m better, not all the way, but I’m safe, and I want you to focus on you.” And she means that with everything in her. He puts so much into everything else. It’s beyond time he shifts some of that focus onto himself. 

“Solana—”

“I mean it,” she cuts him off, a hint of determination and borderline assertiveness present, something that takes them both by surprise. Truly. “Healing is…hard work, but it’s….it’s worth it. And you deserve it just as much as I do.” A thought crosses her mind, prompting her to share it with him. “Photography.”

He looks skeptical. “What about it?”

“I want you to start doing it more. You’re good at it, and it…..you looked happy doing it.” Because he is. Because there’s so many things that Roman is good at that he has to do. She wants him to have something that he gets to do.

“I was happy because I was with you,” he corrects. It’s kind but also not entirely true.

“It was more than that, Ro,” she counters softly. “If you want….you….you can take pictures of me.” In taking and sharing occasional selfies of herself while away from Roman, that discomfort  has waned ever so slightly with having her picture taken. Enough to have her willing to be his muse, if that's what it takes.

Roman chuckles underneath her, his hand on the small of her back. “You know I can’t say no to you, right?” Solana giggles, pleased mostly at his less solemn tone, at his agreement, at what type of relief it could provide to him. Even if they both know it’s something that obviously can’t happen until she’s done with treatment. Regardless, it’s something, and that’s all that matters.

But, it’s when Solana settles back on top of him, head on his chest that she feels it. Feels his semi-hardened length against her, prompting her to gasp.

They just….

Confused, she looks at him, brows furrowed. “How are you……do—do you have an addiction?”

Roman’s laugh is deep and makes her smile. A rarity but one she hopes to one day to increase the frequency of. “To sex? Shit, maybe.” She’d say definitely given the fact that they’ve already gone three rounds, and yet he’s still looking at her like that. “To you?” Solana’s breath is sharp as he carefully switches their position so that he’s hovering over her. “Absolutely.”

“Roman….” His mouth is already on the move, trailing down and in between the valley of her breast. “I’m—I’m sore.” And this time, it’s to the point where she can’t afford to bypass it, to push past it, even if there’s a small part of her that isn’t entirely opposed. That feels an almost…..excitement at being with him again in that way.

Even if it will be the fourth time in less than 24hrs. Not even 12. 

“I know.” And yet as he continues downward, Solana realizes he already knows this and is well aware of this fact. Hence him desiring an equally desirable alternative. “But, it’s like you said, baby….” She moans when he braces his big hands on her hips, his mouth kissing her inner thighs, thick fingers separating her swollen, tender lower lips. “I’m addicted.”

________

By the time Solana convinces Roman that they can’t spend the rest of the day locked in his bedroom, thrusted in the throes of sweet intimacy, it’s nearing 11am, and Fetu and Ava have already consumed their breakfast, discussing what they’ll have for lunch. 

Solana walks in first, wearing a warm smile aimed toward the two women, one of which she’s now seeing for the first time.

Ava stands up from the kitchen table and walks over with a small smirk. “My cousin finally got off you, huh?”

Roman rolls his eyes, muttering, “fuck off, Ava.”

Solana blushes. Ava is tall, only a few inches shorter than Roman with a thin build but soft curves. Her onyx black hair is shoulder length, and her smile and brown eyes give away her kinship to Roman. Even Fetu. They all look related. 

“It’s—umm, nice to meet you.” Solana is taken back a bit when Ava hugs her. It’s so interesting to her how the women in Roman’s family are so physically affectionate. It seems almost ironic given just who their family is. The way the word Bloodline strikes fear in the hearts of even the strongest. “I’m Sol—”

“Solana,” Ava laughs, stepping back. “I know. Heard a lot about you, and like I said last night, I’m sorry you got stuck marrying big ears over here.”

Roman is quick with it, retorting back before he downs the coffee he just brewed, “not as big as that big ass forehead.”

“Children. Literal children.” Fetu shakes her head, looking over at Solana. “Do you see what I have to deal with? Why I need you Solana?” She gestures with her thumb, “if this damn disease doesn’t kill me first, Dopey and Tyra Banks over here damn sure will.”

At that, both Roman and Ava look slightly irritated. “Don’t talk like that, Uso o le tinā.” She glares at Roman, lifting up her middle finger to flip him off. “Who else is going to keep me from killing our Tribal Chief?”

Roman scoffs, big shoulders lifting as he shakes his head. He sounds and looks so amused at just the thought of it. “You can certainly try.”

Ava sucks her teeth, angling her body towards him. “Don’t tempt me, asshole.”

Roman smirks, looking at her over his mug. “You know I love a good fight.”

“I’m about to kill both of you if you don’t shut the hell up!” Fetu snaps, Solana looking over to see she’s holding her slipper in her hand. “Embarrassing me in front of my friend, sweet Solana.”

“It’s—it’s okay,” Solana cuts in, unable to contain her smile. She’s not used to seeing Roman like this, so…..relaxed, almost…..almost like he’s at peace. She likes it.

She likes it a lot. 

“It is not.” Fetu drops her slipper back on the ground, shaking her head. “Since both of you have so much to say and clearly energy to expel, you can handle the wood in the back that needs to be chopped up?” Solana’s confusion must be evident as Fetu gestures to the living room. “Wood burning fireplace. I don’t like that new shit.”

“You mean the safest shit?” Roman mutters. 

Ava shakes her head, whispering to Solana. “Our aunt can be a little……old fashioned.” Solana says nothing, seeing no issue. With everything she’s been through, she truly deserves whatever she wants, in Solana’s opinion. “Roman’s been trying to convince her to let him replace it with an electric one for years.”

“And my answer will keep being no!” Fetu calls out, clearly eavesdropping. “Now, I mean it, I want that wood chopped. Both of you.”

Roman scowls. “I don’t need her help.”

Ava glares in his direction. “And I don’t need help from Samoan He-Man over here.”

“I–I thought you guys actually liked each other?” Solana intended to keep that in her head, but it somehow bypassed her speech defenses. Immediately, she feels bad, going the recompense route. “I didn’t mean—”

“They do,” Fetu answers, sharing. “It depends on the day. Today is just clearly not one of those days.” She plasters on a sickeningly sweet smile. “Now get to it, before I embarrass both of you.”

It’s slightly comical to Solana how both people, formidable in their own right, fold so easily at the direction of this older woman. Solana goes to fix her late breakfast along with Roman, the two sharing it at the table along with Ava and Fetu until it's time for them to depart and get started on their joint task. 

That leaves Solana with Fetu, a wonderful arrangement because it allows her time to get to know the woman who means so much to Roman better.

And that is done in a way Solana didn't expect, because she ends up in Fetu’s room, a large bin that Solana pulled from her closet exposing a world of welcomed surprises. 

Solana is overcome with an abundance of photos, a mixture of dated polaroids' and the type of photos one got developed at a kiosk or drugstore back in the day. She’d like to say that they’re photos of smiling, happy faces, but that would be a lie. Many of them are clearly of people taken off guard by a camera in their face. 

One in particular captures her attention, Solana reaching for the polaroid that shows a tall, handsome man. Sharp facial features with an almost stoic expression. Familiar. Very familiar. 

“Is this…..”

Fetu chuckles, nodding, “it is.” There’s a sadness both in her gaze as well as her voice. “He looks so much like him….”

Solana swallows. She agrees. Roman shares a striking resemblance with his father. It makes her wonder if they have similar personalities as well, but another photo steals her focus. A tiny gasp leaves her mouth as a small smile grows. “That’s—”

Fetu also laughs, nodding and reaching for the photo, handing it to Solana. “You can tell by the big ears.” Solana giggles, holding the photo and staring with borderline amazement at Roman when he was a boy. He couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7 years old, so young, so innocent looking, but she knows better. Knows that his smile in the photo was probably short lived. 

“I had taken him and the twins to the water park. They had so much fun that day.” One glance at Fetu, and Solana can see she’s reflecting back and mentally reliving that day. “I did my best to give him as much of a normal childhood as possible.”

Solana is quiet, her own sadness seeping in at the depressing reality that as much as she didn’t have much of a childhood, neither did he.

He never stood a chance. 

“Look at this one.” Fetu reaches her another photo. It’s Roman, but it doesn’t look like him. It’s of him as a child, looking far too serious for a boy no more than 8 or 9 years–old.

Studying the photo a bit more, Solana shares with all honesty, “he looks…..little?”

Fetu laughs. “Because he was.” Solana gasps quietly, as the woman explains. “Believe it or not, that big, strong husband of yours was the runt of his siblings. He was small for his age, and it always bothered him.” Solana has a hard time conceptualizing any part of roman being small. Fetu's lips slip into a small, forlorn smile. “I always knew he would be something special. I just—I wish it could have happened differently.”

Solana says nothing, already knowing what she’s referring to. What she doesn’t need to say.  “He’s…..he’s a good man.”

“He’s a better man with you.” Fetu places a comforting hand on Solana’s knee. “You are good for him, child, and I think he’s good for you too.”

“He’s the best,” Solana murmurs, emotion building at just the thought of the man who’s completely changed her life around. For the better. “He’s—he’s everything to me.”

And even that is putting it lightly, fails to fully encapsulate just what Roman means to her. What he is to her. 

Fetu’s grin shifts into something appreciative. “You know….I always prayed he would find someone before I closed my eyes. Someone he could love and who would love him back the way he deserves. The way anyone deserves.” Solana’s stomach coils a bit, a strange foreboding sense coming over her. “You’ve given this old woman a tremendous amount of peace, and for that, Solana, I cannot thank you enough.”

It’s been relatively easy to pick up on how close Roman is to his aunt, largely due to his own vulnerable worlds. She’s the closest thing he has left of a mother, and the thought of her no longer being here….

No.

Roman can’t lose anyone else.

Especially Fetu.

“Solana.” Pulled from her thoughts, Solana looks down to see that Fetu has moved their hands so that Solana’s palm is outstretched. “I need you to do something for me, but I need it to stay between us for now.”

And just like that, goosebumps sprout all across her arms. “You—you don’t want me to tell Roman?”

Fetu shakes her head, Solana looking down when she places a white, sealed envelope in her hand. “I need you to give this to him when the time is right.”

Questions. Solana is full of them. What is contained within this envelope, and why is Fetu giving it to her and not Roman? And why can’t he know? Just so many questions, but for some reason, Solana can only settle on one to ask.

“How—how will I know when the time is right?”

There’s despondency in the older woman’s eyes that contrasts her smile. “You will.”

Something about this rubs Solana the wrong way, and not in a bad manner, per se. Just something very heavy. Very sad. “Fetu, what—”

“Enough of all this sentimental shit.” Fetu clears her throat and wipes at her eyes, changing subjects as she goes on about something Solana can only partially pay attention to. There’s a bit of envy there. Envy at how she can carry on like nothing just happened. 

If only Solana could do the same.

________

The conversation with Fetu is something that weighs heavy on her chest, something she wants to inquire more about from her husband’s aunt but knows won’t give her the answers she’s looking for. It’s why the younger woman is grateful for a brief respite, one that she hopes will serve as a much needed distraction.

Solana settles herself onto the chair outside, looking over her shoulder to make sure the door is closed. 

She props the phone up against the back of the chair and adjusts her top just as the screen fills with smiling faces.

“Solana!” She smiles at Mickie’s excited greeting. “Oh my god, I told them he didn’t kidnap you!”

Solana giggles and shakes her head, frowning a bit as she explains, “no, I’m—I’m sorry. We….we had to leave suddenly.” That’s a nice way to put it. To refer to the way that Roman escorted and signed her out of the facility without her having a chance to explain to her newfound friends what was going on.

And unlike herself, Mickie, Cam, and Melina don’t have mafia head husbands who are allowed to break and stretch the rules for her the way Roman does. So they don’t have their phones at all times with unlimited and unmonitored usage. 

It’s why Solana has made the active effort to break away and call them during the slot of time she knows they’re allowed phone time.

Melina moves into the frame of the phone camera asking, “are you okay?”

An easy answer. “I am now.” Because had they asked just slightly over twenty-four hours ago, her answer would have been very different. “Just needed to handle something, but I’ll be back sometime tomorrow afternoon.” Roman shared they would have to get on the road tomorrow morning, something she could tell he wasn’t happy about. He clearly enjoys being here. Enjoys the freedom here. It’s a palpable thing, and she loves it. She loves seeing how at peace he seems in this safe space.

“Good,” Melina nods, clearly pleased by this. She smirks, “we miss you.”

Cam scoots closer so she can share, “it’s boring without our residential artsy bae.”

Mickie gasps, snatching the phone, sharing with an excited tone, “And Paxley had a total breakdown, ripped the head off her dolls and everything. Apparently her girlfriend broke up with her.” It’s clear she’s trying to hold back an amused smile. “It was actually kind of funny.”

Cam sucks her teeth and shoves the woman next to her. “Mickie, please.” She directs her focus back to Solana, adding, “Dr. S had to have her sedated and everything.”

Solan frowns. She knows what that’s like and wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Melina snatches the phone away, expression shifting into something almost concerned. “You’re gonna finish out the program, right?”

“I am.” It’s something Solana has actually thought about since Roman’s confession. She hates that he’s been struggling, but what she hates even more is that she hasn’t and won’t be home to help him in the way that he deserves. Maybe even needs. But, she also knows that she’s not exactly where she would like to be yet. Getting there. But not yet.

And she wants to be at her best when she comes home. Roman deserves that much. But, so does she.

So, as much as a part of her would like to come home now, she knows that what is best is ultimately her finishing out her treatment. 

Melina looks relieved, offering a small smile. “Good.” 

Solana picks up on it, the unspoken thing hidden behind her question. “What is it?”

And the frown is back, Melina sharing in a solemn tone, “there…..there are whispers that the facility is shutting down at the end of the year. Something about lack of funding.”

‘What?” Solana didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t that. “But—but it….what about….what about people who need help?”

Cam scoffs, almost bitterly. “Three steps forward. Eight steps back.” Solana feels for her the most. She knows this is the second time Cameron has entered residential treatment at the very facility where the four women seem to be finding so much healing. 

Mickie shrugs. “There are other treatment places…..none that are reasonably close and for women only.” Solana winces at that, at the almost bitterness that laces her tone at the end of the sentence. Being in a place to heal surrounded by women only truly makes the biggest difference when tackling sexual trauma. 

Trauma caused by men.

“I heard Dr. Stratus is seeing if she can get another grant or investor, but….” Cam shakes her head. “I don’t think we should hold our breath.”

Melina rolls her eyes. “Especially with how much money she probably needs to keep this place running. Has to be in the millions.” She smirks, sarcastically remarking, “and you know investors are just dying to put all their sweet money into a bunch of unstable bitches.” 

Solana’s frown deepens. She wasn’t expecting to hear this news. Definitely didn’t expect it to have her heart feel so heavy at this update. It almost seems silly, like she shouldn’t be so sad about a place closing that she only ever heard about a month ago, that she plans to never once again visit and be entered into.

It was a one time program that’s clearly serving its purpose.

And maybe that’s the thing that makes her sad. To know how helpful its been for her, a type of healing occurring she never thought possible. Healing that she knows so many more people need and will need. So many women.

Melina manages a grin that doesn’t meet her eyes. “Well, we started this together, at least we’ll get to finish it together.” And Solana gets it, understands why Melina wanted to see if she’s coming back. Because if this is the last time they’re all in the same setting, as strange a setting as it is, she wants it to be something they can do together.

“And we can still connect once we’re out of the hammer,” Mickie suggests with the biggest, brightest smile, “assuming we don’t get locked up again.”

Solana can’t help but to laugh. Mickie is a hoot, but she never fails to put a smile on her face. 

They all do.

And in some strange connection that she doesn’t quite understand, the smile and sisterhood of it all, it brings about a thought, spurs an idea that she otherwise would never consider. It’s a massive ask, much beyond a favor, the biggest and grandest thing she could ever ask for.

And yet she’s going to do it.

Going to ask it.

Going to ask him.

________

“Get the hell away from me!”

It’s the first thing Solana hears when her eyes snap open. The second thing she notices is the absence of a set of strong arms around her or the equally strong chest she was laying her head on when she fell asleep. Confused, Solana rubs at her eyes and tenses at the next sound to make its way to her hearing.

“Go away!”

It’s this second time around that Solana realizes she recognizes the voice, and it has her hopping out of bed and heading for the door.

“Uso o le tinā, please, it’s me, Ava and Roman—” Solan’s concern grows to match her confusion as she follows the source of the voices, having a good idea of what's happening without even needing to see it. “Just let us—”

“I don’t know who you are! Help!”

Solana finds the three of them in the living room, the sight similar to what she had already guesstimated. Ava and Roman are on opposite sides, both wearing pained, concerned expressions, focused on Fetu who’s in the middle of the room, in her robe, crying, a knife in her hand, arm stretched out toward them. However, Solana focuses on the red liquid pooling on the handle of the knife. Fetu is cut, most likely a self-caused injury when she went for the knife. 

Solana’s stomach drops. She’s clearly in the midst of an episode, unaware of who she is, who they are. And it breaks her heart. The amount of pure fear and terror in her face toward the two people who would no doubt lay down their lives for her.

Solana takes a step forward, and Fetu’s frantic eyes land on her, shifting into something almost relieved. “Please—you can help me!” 

Roman is the first to pull his attention away from Fetu, focusing on Solana who can so clearly see the distress in his eyes. How difficult this situation has to be, to see her like this and not be able to do anything. 

He reaches his arm, clearly trying to keep her back. “Sol, go back—”

“No!” Fetu cries out, bringing both husband and wife’s gaze onto her. Solana swallows as Fetu begins to cry again, shaking finger pointing back and forth between Roman and Ava. “They—they want to take me!” Her crying intensifies, Solana slowly starting to make her way toward the older woman, ignoring Roman’s subtle attempt to keep her away. “Please—please don’t let them hurt me.”

Fetu’s pleading breaks Solana’s heart and would bring tears to her own eyes if not for the fact that she’s focused solely on the scene before her. “I—I’ll help you, okay?” Solana doesn’t take her eyes off Fetu, mindful of any sudden action she could take, movement that could potentially and unintentionally injure her. “I’m—I’m Solana.” She introduces, offering a warm smile when she’s closer, very much aware of Roman and Ava whose eyes are burning into her back. “Can you—can you tell me your name?”

Fetu seems to try to think for a moment, her face painted in terror, only to shake her head. “I—I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Solana immediately reassures, tensing a bit when she feels movement behind her, Ava and Roman trying again to approach, which only prompts her to hurriedly wave her arm to shoo them back. To tell them to leave without actually telling them to leave. “Well, I’m gonna help you, okay?”

She understands they just want to help, but their attempts to help will only exacerbate the situation. Fetu doesn’t recognize them, sees them as threats. But for herself, that is not the case. Thus, Solana needs them away to deescalate the situation. 

Solana is relieved when she’s finally able to stand directly in front of Fetu, gently reaching to move some hair out of her face. “It’s okay. You can trust me. I won’t hurt you.” The words seem to be registering, Solana gesturing to Fetu’s cut hand. “Looks like you hurt yourself.” She smiles warmly, gently, and patiently. “How about I clean that up for you and then maybe we can have some tea? Hmm?”

Standing in front of Fetu, obscuring her vision of the niece and nephew her disease has her convinced are strangers, Solana briefly turns around, catching both of their gazes. “Go.” She mouths it, eyes pleading in a way her voice cannot. “I’ve got her.”

Both look torn, Roman especially, but when Fetu drops the knife and reaches for Solana’s arm, clutching tightly, both indifferent to the blood that’s now stained on Solana’s skin, it seems to send a message that she is very much in good hands.

Solana gives the cousins a nod and refocuses her attention on the elder woman. “It’s okay,” she comforts, offering a warm smile as she moves her arm around her, pleased to see that the other two have left. 

It’s for the best. 

Solana is able to escort her into the kitchen and pacify her enough to get her seated at the kitchen table while she pulls out the medical kit under the kitchen sink. 

“Jealous.” Solana turns around, necessarily supplies in hand as she faces Fetu. “I—I told Nakoa we couldn’t trust him.” The next fit of crying returns as she shakes her head, injured hand formed into a fist that she hits on her thigh repeatedly. “I told him!”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Solana drops to her knees in front of Fetu, placing the supplies on the floor as she reaches for her hand, trying to stop her from further injuring herself. “It’s okay. I know—I know you did.”

Solana, in fact does not know, has no idea who this Nakoa person is nor the other unnamed man. Nor does she necessarily care very much right now to know. She just knows that her number one priority is keeping Roman’s aunt as calm and stable in this position as possible.

“He was…..he was jealous. Always jealous.”

“I know.” Solana nods, determined to not invalidate her, even if she’s making no sense. “Is it okay if I wrap up your hand?”

Fetu seems to take a second to think about it, eventually nodding. “Y–yes.”

Pleased at this acquiescence, Solana finds herself humming and singing softly as she works to clean, disinfect, and tend to Fetu’s wound. Fetu, who, in a much calmer voice comments, “you—you have a pretty voice.”

Solana’s smile is warm. “Thank you.” She’s happy it worked, worked to settle some of Fetu’s fear and anxiety. “My mother used to sing me to sleep.”

“Your…..mother……” Her voice is distant, as if she’s trying to put the pieces together. “I—I was never a…..mother.” She swallows, opening and closing her mouth a couple times before she speaks again. “Are you—are you a mother?”

A question she’s been asked twice now. Each time bringing up a sense of sadness. “N—n–not yet.” 

Fetu makes a sound, head tilting a bit as Solana clears her throat of the emotion that’s suddenly built up. “You will be.” The younger woman stills, lifting her eyes to meet those of Fetu’s that suddenly seem so knowing and insightful. “Nakoa….he…..he will be a good dad.”

Again, Solana is confused and suddenly a bit more curious about who this person is. And what connection he has, or Fetu thinks, he has to her. Regardless, she just continues to work seamlessly transitioning into her next task, fixing the older woman a warm cup of tea.

Solana sits silently in the chair next to Fetu, stifling a yawn as she catches a glance at the time on the microwave. 4:45am.

Her mind gravitates to Roman and Ava. Ava more than Roman. How often does she have to deal with these sorts of episodes? Roman as well, but with Ava living here with Fetu, surely, she has to face them more.

It makes her heart heavy. 

And it stays that way even as Fetu finishes her tea and asks to go “lay down.” Solana holds her arm, carefully helping her up the stairs and into her bedroom. She’s pleased when Fetu asks her to braid her hair for her, Solana feeling a sense of nostalgia, reminiscing on times when she was younger and her mother would braid her hair before bed. 

Some of her fondest memories with her mom.

Solana is helping Fetu get settled in bed when the older woman asks in an almost childlike voice. “Will you—will you stay with me until…..until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.” Gently caressing her forehead, she gives a comforting smile and moves to grab the chair against the closest wall. Dragging it to the side of the bed, Solana has barely sat down when Fetu reaches for Solana’s arm, her mouth shifting back and forth from a smile and frown as she clearly struggles to verbalize whatever she wants to say. “Promise me…..promise me you’ll look out for him.” Solana herself is frowning, confused by just what she’s asking. “Promise me you’ll stay with Nakoa.”

That name again. It confuses her just as much as it did the last time it was used. 

Fetu continues, shaking her head. “I can’t—I can’t walk out the door without—without knowing he’ll be okay.” There’s something about her statement and the one that follows that makes it click for Solana. That helps her to realize who Nakoa really is. “I—I left him all alone o–once. I—I can’t do it again.”

Roman

Fetu is talking about Roman and something else that Solana can’t even bring herself to verbalize, the thought itself devastating enough.

“I’m not going to leave him,” Solana vows, taking Fetu’s hand in hers, conjoining them. “And neither are you.” Tears fill her eyes as she reiterates, “he needs both of us.” Because he does. Solana knows and believes that with everything in her. The humanity and kindness Roman still holds is solely because of the woman before her. Solana has just so happened to build upon it. “And besides….you’ve gotta be here when we finally have a child. You’re…..you’re the closest thing he or she will have to a grandmother.”

Because it’s true. Because Solana wants her and Roman’s child to have the loving, supportive family that both of them were deprived of, and for more than just a short period of their life. It’s another vow on her part. 

To do better.

To be better.

“A child…..” Fetu trails off, loosening her grip on Solana’s arm, settling hers at the side of her body. “Yes….soon….soon.”

Solana can’t take her gaze away from Fetu, studying her face from the moment her eyes flutter shut to when the steady rise and fall of her chest indicates a much deserved peaceful sleep. Solana is absolutely prepared to stay in that chair the entire night, by Fetu’s side, no protest whatsoever. 

But, it’s not even forty five minutes into Fetu’s slumber that the bedroom door is slowly opened, Ava clearly checking that her aunt is sleep before she walks in and kneels at Solana’s side. “You can go. I’ll—I’ll stay with her.”

Solana looks at the woman, the red, puffy eyes that she knows all too well. She shakes her head, placing a hand on her shoulder. “No. You….you get some sleep. I don’t mind.”

Ava makes a sound, her nose turning up ever so slightly. She’s staring at Fetu. “It’s so—it’s hard seeing her like this, ya know? I—I just want to help, but I can’t—” Solana shakes her head, as Ava closes her eyes, clearly trying to hold back tears. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Again, Solana knows grief and heartache better than anyone. “She loves you. And in her heart, she knows who you are….she always will.”

Ava is visibly moved by the kind words, nodding and wiping at her eyes. “Thank you, Solana.” She sniffles, laughing with a small scoff. “You’re way too good for him.” Solana smiles. Not a chance. “Please….I’d prefer to sit with her, if….if that’s okay?”

Solana has no room or place to deny Ava anything, especially this. She just didn’t want her to feel like she had to. But hearing her reason, she’s more than happy to get up. “Of course.”

Solana is by the door when she stops and calls out Ava’s name, waiting for the woman to look at her as she asks, “who—who was Nakoa?”

Ava’s shoulders drop, the change in her disposition evident as she answers in a sad tone. “That was my uncle......Roman’s dad.”

Solana’s eyes shut, her mind gravitating back to the picture she saw just earlier today. Of course. Nodding, she reminds, “if you need anything—”

“I know.”

A final shared smile among the women, and Solana quietly closes the door. Making her way back to Roman’s bedroom, she half expects to find him up, pacing, wearing a hole into the floor. She instead is met with the complete opposite: room dark and Roman’s big body sprawled across the bed. He’s on his back, laying on top of the blankets. It’s obvious he fell asleep while doing that waiting she correctly called before even entering the room. 

Shutting the door, Solana moves over to the bed, careful movements helping her position her body so she’s tucked next to him. Her arm over his stomach, and her head on his chest. 

Despite her carefulness, it’s not even a full two minutes before he’s stirred awake. 

“Shhh. It’s just me.” She whispers, kissing his bearded jaw. Even in the darkness of the room, she can still slightly make out his features as he looks down at her. 

“Fuck.” His voice is deep with the slumber he so desperately needs so much more of. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Good. You need that.” He’s been nonstop the past couple days, not to mention the fact that they have to be up in a couple hours to get back on the road. Solana makes a quick mental note to see if he’ll let her drive back. Even if just for a portion. “Go back to sle—”

“Fetu—” 

Solana feels his body tense underneath her, prompting her to soothingly move her hand across his abdomen. “She’s okay now. Sleep. Ava is sitting with her.”

He says nothing, but she watches the way he lets his head fall back against the mattress. “I’m—I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t—”

“I’m not.” Because she’s not. And truth be told, what occurred tonight rests devastatingly low on the list of worst things she’s ever experienced. “I’m glad I could help her. Help you guys.”

Roman hesitates before asking in a thick voice. “How did you….”

“My mom worked at a nursing home when she was in medical school. She used to tell me about her patients with Alzheimer's. How she had to help them. She used to write about it in her journals too.” Not to mention random information Solana has read and learned over the years in her vast pursuit of acquiring medical knowledge after being denied the chance to go to college and pursue her nursing dreams. “She just….she needed to feel safe. I know what that’s like.”

Again, Roman is silent for a couple minutes, Solana eventually feeling him tug her closer, her eyes shutting when he kisses her forehead.  

“Thank you.” There’s so much held behind those two words, an immense amount of appreciation and love that’s felt on such a palpable level. “I love you.”

She could never tire of hearing him say that. Ever. “I love you, too.”

Today was a lot, in so many different ways, Solana feeling perplexed by the many happenings. The letter from Fetu. Fetu’s maybe incoherent, or not so incoherent, warning about someone being jealous. Her almost ominous way of speaking about herself, about her future.

It was just…..a lot. 

And Solana knows there’s so much to digest and try to make sense of. Just not tonight.

Tonight she just wants to fall asleep in the arms of her husband.

Tomorrow, and whatever it entails, can come later. 

[justastraymoa]

Unwilling Alpha

Chapter 5

Masterlist

Taglist

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The rest of the promised week with Stray Kids and the decision that will change everyone's lives.

Warnings ⚠️ swears, abo dynamics, mentions of slave trade, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, fear, manipulation.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl

Exhausted, I managed to sleep through the night.  It was a knock on my door that ended up waking me.

“Breakfast is almost ready.”  Hyunjin said when I bid him enter.

I nodded, yawning, and stretching, curling backwards in my bed.  “Okay, thanks.  I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“By the way you talk in your sleep.”

Freezing I squinted at him.  I had never been told that before, but I’ve not slept in front of anyone but them and Chan on the plane for many years.  “What did I say?”  I kind of dreaded the answer.

He shrugged, still standing in the doorway.  “We didn’t realize you were asleep at first.  You just talked to us like normal.”  He half smiled, trying not to laugh.  “Then you started talking about maroon summer storms and dark warm wood.  Apparently, we smell good.”

I slapped my hand over my eyes.  “Never mind.  I’m staying here.  Forever.”

“Aww, it was cute!  Bin even blushed.”

“You are horrible.”

Hyunjin laughed and stepped further into the room to sway my exposed foot.  “Don’t worry.  You smell good too.  Like flowers, a cold winter breeze, and the pages of a new book.”  He sounded wistful and when I looked, his eyes were glazed and far away.

He shook his head and cleared his throat, turning to leave.  “Nice blue panties.”  He called as he shut the door.

Looking down I realized my blanket had moved when I stretched, revealing my panties and entire left leg.  I hadn’t even felt the cold breeze.

Groaning in embarrassment I flung the blanket the rest of the way off and rolled off my mattress to get dressed and face the day.

They were all sitting at the table again when I joined them 10 minutes later.  As soon as I sat I.N moved to fill my plate.  That must be his job.  As youngest maybe?  I don’t know.

“Ayen, wait.”  Lee Know ordered before a single drop of food touched my plate.  Confused, I.N still listened, putting down the utensils and sitting back in his chair.  “Yesterday when we did this you didn’t seem happy.  Do you want us to keep filling your plate and waiting?”

I was brought up short at the question.  “Aren’t your instincts telling you to?”

“Yes, but they tell us a lot of things until we learn what you prefer.  Right now, they are kind of on the default setting.”  He started to explain.  “The other Alphas liked it when we did this, so we didn’t think to ask you.  But like I said yesterday, you aren’t like the other Alphas.”

I smiled way to brightly for this early in the morning.  But I was happy.  They were starting to try and get to know me now instead of ignoring me and assuming what I wanted based on instincts and their experience with other Alphas.

“Thank you.  For asking.  Seriously, it makes me very happy that you did.”  I watched Lee Know turn pink before continuing.  “And no, I don’t like this.  It makes me feel used.  I don’t mind if you want to wait until we are all sitting to eat, but I would rather you not wait for me to be served and start eating before you do.”

“We can do that.”  Everyone nodded in agreement.

Then, a bit haltingly – like he was arguing with himself – Lee Know took a scoop of eggs and then ate a bite.  Everyone followed with varying degrees of struggle.

“Don’t worry.  It will get easier as our instincts adjust to your preferences.”  Chan soothed when he saw I looked worried.

I just nodded and started getting my own food.  As we ate various Omegas added food to my plate, but they did it with each other too, so I was fine with it.  In fact, I joined in.  The first time I added food to I.Ns plate he about exploded in glee.

“JYP texted me.  You still haven’t unblocked him.  He’s worried.”  Chan said as he pulled me away from the table so I wouldn’t help clean.

“Oh yeah!”  I had fallen asleep last night with my phone still trapped.

Taking out my phone I immediately unblocked the number so I wouldn’t forget again.

JYPs reply was almost immediate.  What Chan said must’ve been true.  He had to be worried if he was so quick to reply to me.

“He okay now?”  Chan asked.

I looked up from my phone and realized he had led me to his room.  His scent saturated every corner.  And it was surprisingly clean.  Neat and organized.  I always thought when he wasn’t on live or camera in here it would be a bit messy.  A typical bedroom type of messy.

“So, what are you up to today?”  I asked sitting in his desk chair.

Chan fell back on his bed, bouncing slightly.  “I’m scheduled for a live shortly and I wanna work on some songs, but nothing other than that.”

I smiled evilly.  “I’m so going to watch your live in the other room and troll you so hard!”

“I’ll troll you right back, watch me!”

I scoffed.  “You won’t even know which ones me.”

“I’ll just troll all the trolls then.”

“Good luck with that.”  I nearly ran from the room.  “Guys!  Guys!  Help me troll Chan on his live!”  I shouted, running towards the living room.

“Way ahead of you.”  I.N replied.  He was sitting on the floor in the living room, laptop sat on the seat of the couch.

“I will cancel my live!”  Chan threatened from his room.

“No, you won’t.  You will make STAY sad!”  I pointed out.

“They’ll get over it!”

“This is why you aren’t my bias; you flake!”

“HA!  I’m on to you!  I am your bias don’t lie!”

“You.  Wish.”

“You argue like you’ve been married 30 years.”  Hyunjin said as he joined I.N and me in the living room.

“Backup has arrived!”  Changbin called holding his phone above his head and folding into a chair.

“You’re outnumbered Bang!”  I cackled, giddy.

Despite his threat Chan did go live a short time later.  And I immediately began my trolling session by commenting on several of his more iconic embarrassing quotes and asking him to do those annoying things all fans ask idols that embarrass them.  I even caps locked aggressive compliments and pick up lines.  He was so red and flustered the entire time.  And the others joined in, making him worse.

Truth be told I had not had so much fun in a very long time.  I.N and Changbin matched my troll comment for comment perfectly and I was smiling so hard it hurt.  Sides cramped from laughing.

Before today I had never even dared comment on a live or do anything more than send likes.  Even that made me blush and hide like the person who was live could see me.

As soon as the live ended, Chan came running from his room and tackled me, pinning me and tickling my sides mercilessly until I.N and Changbin managed to free me, pulling me to safety as I gasped for air and Chan grabbed after me.

“You 3 are the worst!”  Chan declared.

“Oh, you loved it!”  Changbin argued cradling my upper half in his arms.  I was still out of breath from the tickle attack.

“Turds.”

I snorted at the weak comeback.

“I’m honestly not sure who is corrupting who here.”  Hyunjin mused from his spot.  He was failing to hide his amusement at our antics.

“I think there is a healthy amount of corrupting all around.”  I mused poking at him with my foot and giggling when he swatted it away.

“You are all equally awful.”  Lee Know shook his head at us, but he couldn’t stop the small smile on his lips.  I stuck my tongue out at him.

“You are all so loud!”  Han complained from his room.  “How is anyone supposed to get any work done?”

I groaned.  “You are on hiatus!  Stop working!”

“Never!”

Shaking my head I relaxed into Changbins arms, looking up at him.  I was trying very hard not to fangirl over any of them holding me or touching me, but damn did my heart race every time.

Momentarily I wondered if I was truly crazy.  Here I was in the position of 10 entire lifetimes.  I had the opportunity to be a part of Stray Kids.  Id practically have saved them if I stayed.

And I would have so many adventures.  See so many places.  Meet so many people.  And do such amazing things!  But only if I gave up everything I currently am.  Everything I worked for nearly all my life for.  It felt like such a huge loss either way.

“You smell sad again.”  Changbin observed.

I shook my head.  “Sorry.  I was in my thoughts.”  I took a deep breath to shake my melancholy.  Then I squinted and poked at Changbins chin.  “You know, this isn’t your best angle.”

Lee Know snorted and Changbin rolled his eyes and dumped me onto the floor unceremoniously.  I squeaked in protest.

“Who looks good at that angle?”

I shrugged.  Chances are there was someone, but I couldn’t say who.

“Speaking of looking good – are you going to do a photoshoot with us?”  I.N asked.

“Sure, if you want.  I have enough gear to get decent photos.  Nothing like your normal photos, of course.  I’m not as professional as the photographers you usually deal with.”  I answered as I crawled my way onto the couch next to Hyunjin.

And that’s how I spent the next several hours taking various photos of every Omega but Seungmin.

Seungmin had refused to leave his room unless he had to – claiming he was too busy to socialize.

But the rest of us had a blast.  Taking photos, solo and group, in nearly every room of the house.  They even changed outfits several times.  It had been a while since I had had so much fun doing my job.  I loved my job and enjoyed it, this just emphasized how much I truly loved being behind a camera.

It also emphasized exactly how much I’d be giving up if I stayed.

That night, after dinner, I hooked up my laptop to the TV and the 7 Omegas gathered to watch me edit their chosen photos.  Then they each posted the photos on their accounts.  I made sure to heart each post.

“Which ones your account?”  Felix asked showing me his phone so I could point my account out.

“It’s this one.”  I clicked the profile.  “Yah_its_y/n.  But you can’t follow me.  Everyone can see who you follow.”

“We won’t.  We just wanna stalk your page.”  Felix promised.  I rolled my eyes.  It was only fair though since I regularly stalked theirs.

My profile was boring anyway.  There weren’t even a lot of selfies.  It was mostly my photography and videography.

While they went through my profile I caught up on news and updates on Stray Kids.  I was several days behind on the gossip and fan made edits.

There were no posts on the new pictures they posted.  But they were just posted, give STAY 5 minutes to gush over them, edit them, then repost them.  It would be fun to see the edits they made to my photos.  I’m looking forward to seeing all the cool versions they come up with.

I was also checking to make sure my existence hadn’t been discovered.  There was the ever-ticking countdown for when Stray Kids either had to be bonded or dissolve forever.

I stared at the countdown for several minutes, not really seeing the numbers.  Instead, I was imagining a life with no new Stray Kids songs or content.  No more watching these 8 amazing people grow and make the world a brighter, better place.

How different my daily life would be without them.  Sure, there would be fanfictions and edits of old content for a while, but that would eventually peter out.  People – fans – would mourn and heal before moving on to the next group.  Just like with the groups this happened to before.  It was a never-ending saga.

I must have been giving off sad chemo signals again because Felix crawled into my lap and nuzzled under my chin, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Signing I started to run my fingers through his hair.  “Sorry.  In my thoughts again.”

“So not happy thoughts, then.”  Chan stated with a twist of his lips.

I shrugged a shoulder.  “Not every thought can be happy.”

On day 4 we played board games.  Monopoly got a little crazy.  Lee Know ended up owning most of the board and the money.  Then he became a mob boss/loan shark when we landed on his property.  That man did not play when it came time to collect either.

Chan had to finally call the game before we killed each other.  Tempers got a little heated.  Monopoly is a dangerous game.

Everyone ignored the fact that Seungmin yet again spent the day in his room.

I was a little confused on why JYP or Chan hadn’t tried to talk me into staying and bonding Stray Kids.  I expected some sort of campaign or negotiations, but besides texting to check in, JYP was quiet and absent.  And Chan avoided mentioning anything beyond tomorrow.

Yes.  Tomorrow afternoon Chan would escort me back to the airport.  I had already taken my suppressant with dinner so I would be safe from exposure by tomorrow afternoon for the flight.

The room filled with sadness at the subtle reminder, but no one brought it up.

That night, as everyone was asleep, I was woken up when someone crawled into the bed with me and wrapped themselves around my sleep soft body, hiding their face in my neck.

Hot steel and fresh water filled my nose, confusing me.  Freeing an arm I cautiously rubbed at Sungmin’s back.  He trembled slightly and something warm and wet hit my neck.

“Seungmin?”  I asked, worried.  Maybe I should get Chan.  Did Seungmin sleepwalk?  Can you cry when you sleepwalk?

He gasped out a soft sob.  “Please.  Please don’t go.  Don’t leave us.”  He begged.

I didn’t respond.  I didn’t need to.  We both knew I had to leave.  Instead, I held him tightly and soothed a hand up and down his back as he cried silently.

The next morning, as I packed and said goodbye, there wasn’t a single dry eye.  Even Lee Know had to leave the room several times only to come back looking suspiciously puffy around the eyes.

And I sobbed the entire time, heart breaking for so many reasons.

But this was the best decision for me.  For my future.  My life.  This pain would fade eventually.  To a dull ache I would grow accustomed to and live with.

And so, with one final tear-filled wave to JYP and Chan, I boarded my plane and flew home.  Back to my normal life I worked so hard for.

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Unwilling Alpha Taglist: @xxeiraxx @hanniemylovelyquokka @breadedloafs @songleepark @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @hyunjinhoexxx @kayleefriedchicken @vietjeb @hityoulikebahng @juju-227592 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @royal-shinigami @bangchansfavoritenoona @straykidslvr @bookswillfindyouaway @h0rnyp0t @Svmmerstime @jennibahng

[spoopdeedoop]

hi i have some disorganized thoughts/hcs abt the found family human doctor au

(one of the thoughts being i should really give it a better name. another being YES this is only the nuwho doctors atm bc that's the only series i've watched so far apologies. if i ever get around to watching classic who i will add them trust)

BEHOLD my random, not at all in-depth headcanons

nine is the only one with a car out of all of them. they all keep bugging him to drive/pick them up from places -- he has mixed feelings about being the assigned taxi driver

both twelve and eleven are teachers -- college professor and preschool teacher respectively. twelve's students love them because he will say the most stupid, hilarious shit with a straight face without even knowing and eleven's students love him because he is the only teacher at the school that will dance with them during musical chairs (he doesn't even play the game. he just dances)

i want to make one of them an actual doctor but i don't think any of them could handle it unfortunately

they all share an an apartment flat on the same level -- nine, twelve and fifteen live in one room, ten, eleven and thirteen live in the one across from them. of course there are other people in the building too but they're all used to the strange loud hyperactivity of that particular flat. i think i'm using the right terminology here. yall know what im talking about

(i'm so tempted to make some companions be their neighbors)

nine and ten are the most insomniac of all of them, so they're used to bumping each other in the dead of night on their way to raid each other's respective fridges or something. very rarely thirteen will join them and they're like "WELL FANCY SEEING YOU HERE"

twelve does sleep, but like. he's nocturnal

eleven and ten hate each other in a sibling kind of way (see: day of the doctor). they are constantly sending each other death threats or tripping each other over. everyone is sick of it

sometimes when they're out shopping you'll hear ten yell "GET OUT OF THE FROZEN FOOD YOU NUMPTY WE ARE NOT BUYING FISH FINGERS" over the aisles and you'll hear eleven whine "WHY DO YOU HATE ME SO MUCH" back

(if you're lucky you'll be able to catch fifteen mumble "why did we put them in the same apartment. are we asking for an eviction notice")

eventually eleven will pick a random stray cat off the side of the road, take her home, and name her bowtie, which is a stupid name, so everyone just defaults to calling her kitty

kitty's favourite person is twelve, to eleven's absolute despair

(my original idea for this was to initially have ten hate the idea of living with a cat, since he's stated full on in the show that he doesn't like cats, but apparently there is some very obscure doctor who comic run in which he falls into a depressive spiral and adopts a cat whom he names rose-the-cat, so he might actually like cats idk?)

anyway ten hates her until he doesn't lmao. he vents to her when there's no one else home and she will Stare at him back and it is a very nice friendship

kitty and nine watch shitty romcom together

they have a joint groupchat together -- half of it is just thirteen and fifteen assigning everyone outfits they find on pinterest and the other half is eleven asking where everyone went (he keeps getting lost when they go out)

nine doesn't know how to download pictures off the internet and so resorts to manually editing memes together to send to the groupchat and everyone's like "girl that's so much more effort........."

(yes he doesn't know how to press save image to camera roll but he knows how to use a photo editor flawlessly. such is the logic of the idiocy of the doctors)

eleven and thirteen get along very well i think. they're the only two of the group to play video games and so they bond over that. they also have ridiculously similar clothing taste

sometimes they'll succeed in getting fifteen to play pokemon with them and then they'll proceed to not see him until the next day when he comes out of his room and goes "you didn't tell me plusle couldn't evolve i've been levelling it up all fucking night"

friday is assigned movie night (it's always big hero 6)

eleven is the only one to actively seek out physical affection, usually really abruptly like clinging to thirteen's back as she passes him in the hall or bapping ten with the palm of his hand until he sighs and gives him a hug. he does expect a platonic kiss on the forehead from anyone before he goes to bed and will complain if he doesn't get one

anyway thats it i'm sick in the head and really sad. if this keeps up i may be forced to actually write a fic

[multicohn]

summary: a certain grand prix brings up memories of how paul and y/n got together

warnings: none

pairing: fem! reader x paul aron

genre: fluff

face claim: no one in particular

author note: writing about a driver who is the same age as me is lowkey kinda crazy ngl, like wdym we’re born in the same year?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

tomorrow would be the start of the grand prix that brought y/n and paul together. though they’ve been dating for almost a year, the pair acted as if they’ve been together much longer.

y/n had always wished to have a boyfriend, but never expected it to actually happen; much less be in a relationship with a professional athlete. she never stood out much during school and was always a second option, but somehow y/n found herself with someone who loved her unconditionally.

paul has always wanted to entertain the idea of having a girlfriend, especially when it’s all his friends can talk about, but he also wanted to focus on his career and didn’t believe he could juggle both yet. his friends encouraged to find someone who would be able to understand him on a deeper level then they or his family ever could, but paul didn’t have any interest in the girls his friends tried to set him up with. he was thankful for that as he might’ve never met y/n.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

flashback

it was an ongoing thing between y/n and her cousin that if they didn’t have anyone to go with them to something — by default the other would be their plus one. it bonded them together throughout the years and even if they were going somewhere with someone already, an invitation would still reach the other.

motorsports in general has never been an interest to anyone y/n knew, but one day her cousin had been searching for something to watch and decided on giving “formula 3” a go while waiting for her show to start. originally labelling them as “the funny looking race cars”, y/n’s cousin grew to have an interest with the sport and planned months ahead to attend a grand prix. she knew y/n would never say no unlike her friends who thought watching people drive around in circles sounded utterly boring — “it’s like watching paint dry,” they said.

y/n didn’t have interest in it, but was willing to expand her knowledge into her cousin’s newest interest.

and it was definitely… new.

seeing her cousin so excited wasn’t a new thing, but she hadn’t been this way over a sporting event in ages.

the pair had decided on splitting up to try and get more signatures, but y/n wondered just how many could really fit on the hat.

“excuse me, can you sign my hat? please?” paul happily took the hat from her without looking before signing his name and giving it back. she thanked him and wished him lucked which caused paul to raise his head in order to thank her back kindly, but froze upon seeing y/n smile at him.

“um- ye-yeah thanks” paul watched as she shuffled back into the crowd and slowly disappeared as other fans moved in to ask for his signature

“damn” he thought before reaching out to sign someone’s shirt

y/n found her cousin who was overjoyed at getting so many signatures and y/n couldn’t help but smile at seeing her so happy. they then made their way towards their seats that were quite far, but had been the cheapest and her cousin was sick of setting up blankets, chairs, tents or gazebos.

the races were good and her cousin was more than excited to explain things that y/n didn’t understand.

“come on” her cousin pulled her towards the track

paul happily stepped onto the second place podium and scanned the crowd in hopes of spotting the pretty girl that had asked to sign her hat earlier. his smile broadened upon seeing her behind the fence that separated the race track and pit lane.

y/n glanced over at her cousin who leaned on her shoulder as the national anthem of the first place winner played before looking back up at paul aron. she wondered why he kept glancing in their direction, but shrugged it off; surely, he wasn’t looking at her — she isn’t that delusional.

once they finished spraying each other with the non-alcoholic champagne, paul quickly rushed towards his manager while the pair took some quick pictures of each other on the race track.

“excuse me?” y/n looked up from her phone to see an older woman wearing the familiar uniform of one of the race teams

“hi, can we help you?” her cousin asked politely

“I think you dropped this?” she handed y/n a folded up flyer to which she furrowed her eyebrows at but thanked the strange woman and took it

“no problem” y/n looked at her cousin who shrugged before unfolding it and reading what was written

xxx - xxx - xxx

our driver thought you were pretty ;)

her cousin cooed, but y/n just shook her head. she didn’t believe someone would like her and thought it was a joke, a prank even. why would someone like paul aron be interested in her? she doubted it was zak o’sullivan or dino beganovic since she never interacted with them today and maybe that was why paul kept looking in their direction?

“no, don’t get your hopes up y/n” she stared at the number, unsure about what to do

“let’s text it”

of course, her cousin would say that.

“no”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“you okay?” y/n nodded and looked towards her boyfriend who adjusted his race suit

“just reminiscing about last year, remember when my cousin texted you?” paul rolled his eyes and sat down beside her

“hey, cutie. i lost my number, glad i can have yours with a winking emoji. yes, i remember it very clearly since i thought it was you”

y/n conversed with paul through her cousin for a while before being confident in actually communicating with him. surprisingly, he didn’t find the way she texted boring or annoying and found it quite funny how exaggerated y/n’s cousin is. they became good friends ( after a rather dark topic about if he hurts y/n in any way, shape, or form, she knows how to hide a body ) and she was glad that the people she cared about the most became close.

“paul, it’s time to go” he nodded and stood up before helping y/n who smiled lightly

“good luck” she gave him a kiss on the cheeks which caused paul to blush and smile before dino had to come over and literally pull him away from loving admiring his girlfriend

[ghostlywhiskey]

lawyer!price who calls you into his office one day because he's having formatting issues trying to draft a motion and can't figure out how to fix it. typically you don't work on his cases, being assigned a different set of attorneys at the firm, but your desk happens to be closer to his office. so, when you hear your name come out of him in a frustrated tone to come into his office, you quickly stop your current task and head to the doorway of his office. "yes, john?" your tone of voice far softer and laced with nerves since every conversation you've had with other paralegals at the firm mentions their fear and/or their dislike for him.

price looks up at you as you stand in the doorway. "i don't have time to go back and forth sending this fucking document over email trying to figure out why its being a pain and the assigned paralegal is out sick today." is all he says, his eyes staring at you as you stand completely still in the doorway. he didn't tell you to come over to his desk, so your brain cautions you to wait until he orders you to do so.

is he gonna ask me to come over and look at it?

can she move her fucking feet already to look at this word doc.

"well-" "do you-" his words are quickly cut off by yours and both of you fall silent. quickly taking advantage of the silence, you speak up again quickly before he can get a word in. "do you want me to take a look?" you finish your sentence from before, cautiously taking small steps towards his desk like he's an animal in a zoo enclosure that could harm you. except instead of harming you, you'll end up on the unemployment line.

"please." the word sounds forced out of him, like he's trying to bite back any frustration.

how am i suppose to know or assume what you want, prick.

walking over to his desk, he slides his chair back as you get closer, giving you room to stand by his desk to look at his computer. you reach over to grab the mouse, bending down slightly to look at the screen better. as you click around trying to fix the formatting, you don't even bother explaining what you are doing to correct it - knowing damn well the attorneys will always just default to asking you or another paralegal to fix it.

after a few minutes, you hear him clear his throat and stand up. a quick glance without moving your head to make it obvious shows him discreetly adjusting himself as he walks over to the doorway of his office. the only words to leave his mouth are, "i'm getting coffee." as he disappears outside his office door.

fucking skirts. it's not even a short skirt. what the fuck is wrong with me.

you shrug it off, trying not to think too much of it. by the time he gets back to his office, you are already back at your desk and resuming your prior tasks.

as he walks back into his office, he sees a post-it on his keyboard reading, 'fixed the format. lmk if you have any other issues'. the sounds of the post-it crumpling in his hands and hitting the plastic bag of the trashcan faint, but loud enough for you to hear. the action causing you to roll your eyes.

you're welcome.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Character Cliches

Archetypes vs. Stereotypes

Archetype - a character prototype (i.e., a template). Examples: The sidekick, the unwilling hero, and the villain.

Stereotype - an oversimplified and overused character that plays into cultural preconceptions.

Depending on your genre, you can and should use archetypes in your story.

Your readers may expect certain types of characters to pop up in your story.

However, stereotypes are not typically recommended because they may represent immature or lazy writing.

Archetypes can be built upon, whilst stereotypes are generic.

Ways to Avoid Character Cliches:

Focus on Your Character's Origin Story

Why is your character the way he or she is?

What caused them to develop a particular trait?

How does this trait continue to serve them through their life?

Don't be afraid to "interview" your characters. Yes, you'll feel silly initially but the process can provide you with a ton of insight into who you're writing.

Go In Depth With Character Description

It is useful for you, as the writer, to “see” who you’re writing.

You should know what your character looks and sounds like, even if it’s only for the purpose of writing a more faithful narrative.

You should be able to see your character as an actual three-dimensional person who moves through space. Example:

Know the way they sit in a chair—

Are they hunched over?

Do they usually sit on the edge?

Do they tuck their feet underneath them when they sit?

One reason for writing a stereotypical character is that you don't know enough about them. The more you sit in your character's presence, ask questions, and observe, the less likely you are to create a character that’s flat and generic.

Give Your Characters a Range of Emotions

You should know the emotional range of your principal characters.

Range means that you shouldn't just stop at anger. Anger is perhaps the easiest emotion for any of us to access, and it’s very easy to write.

It doesn't take much skill to write an angry character.

Want to show that your character is angry about something?

Have them furrow their brows and throw their phone across the room. Done.

What about happy?

Aside from a smile, how does your character display happiness?

What about sadness? What about fear?

From the way they wrinkle their face to the way that they breathe, you should see your characters in vivid detail.

Also, consider which emotion your character is most comfortable with and why.

This can inform your writing choices because humans are often stuck in one emotion or another. We’re rarely indifferent.

If you know your character’s default emotion, you can write a fleshed out character who responds in a more realistic way.

Give Your Character a Sense of Motivation

What motivates your character to act?

What is their internal and external motivation in every scene?

What is in their backstory that causes them to take every action?

Give Your Character Fears and Flaws

What is your character afraid of?

What don’t they show?

What’s left unsaid in each scene?

You should know even if it’s never fully revealed to the reader.

Give Your Character Strengths

What makes the character strong?

What does your character readily show?

What does your character—not just you—like about himself or herself?

Source ⚜ On Emotions ⚜ 170 Quirks ⚜ Flaws ⚜ Goals & Motivations More: Notes & References ⚜ Archetypes ⚜ Stereotypical Characters

[scificrows]

i like to make fun of murderbot for being all "i hate everyone, i don't care about anything or anyone, fuck off" while simultaneously caring very much about the people around it and the situations it finds itself in. i love how it "accidentally" ends up caring quite a lot about the friends it makes along the way. but i think something that i tend to forget is that murderbot actively decides to care - at least at some point in its story.

idk, as a person that struggles with depression, this paragraph from artificial condition really resonates with me. prior to all systems red, murderbot had contracts. it had routine and it had protocols. it knew what it had to do to just get by, how to perform so no one would notice it had disabled its governor module. it was deeply depressed, yes, but it was functioning (for lack of a better word). in artificial condition, murderbot's routine is gone. it cannot go on in that state of numbly going-from-contract-to-contract, putting in as little effort as possible, consuming media to cope. that option is gone because it escaped (and note that escaping the company was not an active choice, it kinda happened to it). murderbot has two options now: it can either gather all its energy; actively do something new and difficult and distressing; change something in its life and try. or it can let the numbness and the emptiness take over and stop trying. if murderbot wants to survive as a rogue secunit, it has to try. no matter how difficult that is. the wording in that paragraph really hits home for me. the way the non-caring sees an opportunity to slip in and to take over. does murderbot even care? does anything really matter? is anything really worth the hassle? wouldn't it be so much easier to just let your mind slip away a little, to go numb, to be passive, to watch media and wait for things to happen to you? wouldn't it be nice to stop thinking and struggling and feeling complicated things? to stop making an effort? you've been dealing with a lot lately and maybe it's time to just shut down. maybe you'll just take a little break. just slip deeper into this chair and start the show. time flies when you're not paying attention. trying is exhausting. who cares if you don't do the things you wanted to do, you were supposed to do. it'll be fine. let's just ignore those things for now. just let the non-caring take over. just stop thinking. you can deal with the aftermath later. just watch your shows. who cares. but murderbot cares. it decides to care. it decides to fight with all it has and i think that is so brave. and i think in the later books caring is less of an active decision for murderbot. once you start caring, it's easier to keep going than to stop; and murderbot, for all its "i'm a grumpy rogue secunit, leave me alone" behavior, knows just how important caring is. so it's not that it doesn't know what's happening; rather, it lets itself care. tl;dr: caring is not the default for murderbot, it's just the more difficult of two options. and it decides not to take the soft option. it decides to struggle. it decides to care. and so it does.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

wish me luck, maggots, I'm going to preach good omens to irl humans.

Tomorrow I have, well, some kind of college thing... an explore the college event? Dunno what it is, exactly. A morning spent at the college where they'll discuss the courses and I'll need to interact with other students.

Also, parents are supposed to come, but mine are going to be away with work. And my brother said I needed to dye my hair black before going (with the Crowley red faded, it's now a bright ginger, kind of Bildad-coloured). He did not say this with kindness.

I'm not going to do any such thing, because fuck it. If the college can't accommodate me (not about the hair, but about my being queer and my mental health) then I'd rather know sooner, not later be caught off guard like I was the previous college.

SO MY GRAND PLAN FOR DEALING WITH IRL HUMANS TOMORROW:

I take the Good Omens book with me.

I dress as gay as I know how to. If I have to wear my bi flag as a scarf, so be it.

It won't come to that, don't worry. I tend to look gay as a default.

I carry the Good Omens book in my hands at all times.

I wait till someone asks me about it, as people tend to do at such events.

I SPREAD THE GOOD OMENS AGENDA TO THEM.

I move on to my next victim. During this process, Good Omens being the story that it is, I will make many queerphobic people very, very uncomfortable.

Good. I will tell many people I like their shoelaces. Let's see how that one goes.

Now at this point I will have made conversation with several people, but worst comes to worst, I can always just find some English students. Apparently they all, as a collective species, adore Neil Gaiman. Excellent.

If even that plan of interaction fails, and all is doomed, I will sit on a chair, look gay and mysterious, and open Tumblr and talk to you maggots instead.

A flawless plan, methinks.

Am I terrified? Absolutely, yes, and I am traumatised by my previous experiences at college.

However, I have decided to put things into perspective, and go forth not as me, Asmi, but as the Good Omens Mascot, and preach Good Omens to everyone, and then get the fuck out of there. This is a lot more manageable.

...anyway, so, yes. Wish me luck. Wahoo?