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sgtyaraya · 1 month

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Call of Duty OC

Name: Trudy Saidler

Nikename: Jay

Date of birth: June 01, 1992

Age: 24 (at the time of the events in 2016)

Place of birth: Liberec, Czech Republic🇨🇿

Citizenship: Czech🇨🇿

Nationality: English 🇬🇧

Rank: Sergeant

Specialty: Infantryman

Unit: TF - 141

Family/Relationships

Mother: Adele Saidler (Hofmann) 🇬🇧

Father: Philip Saidler 🇬🇧

Brother: Evan Saidler🇬🇧 ✝️

Love Interest: Gary "Roach" Sanderson🇬🇧💕

Reference/appearance

Trudy on the day she arrived at Credenhill

Parameters

Hair: brown with light strands

Eyes: grey

Pigmentation on the body: freckles

Tattoo: on the left arm

Scars: scratches on the right and left arm, a bullet wound in the left shoulder, suture marks on the right side at the rib level, bullet wounds in the abdomen, cartilage injury of the right ear

Height: 170 cm

Weight: 60 kg

Body type: normal

Equipment

Armored vest: warrior "plates" assault systems

M4A1 assault rifle with a grenade launcher

M14 EBR sniper rifle with silencer for long-range elimination and, if necessary, to cover the group

Pistols: M9 and USP.45

Cold steel: Alpha S D2 knife Tactical Knife and Custom Steel Machete D2 Machete Etsy Knife

Personality

Trudy is a young girl with sociability and good nature. Her attitude towards people depends on how they treat her: if they show a positive attitude towards her, she is a little stubborn. Even so, Trudy is not so trusting, so she does not immediately open up to the interlocutor. Trudy sometimes experiences moments that can cause irritation. And in such cases, she can flare up, allowing her emotions to come out. However, she tries to control her emotions so as not to show them to other people. But Trudy's weakest side is her worries. Everything that she experiences inside herself, she tries to hide from others.

Fears

🔥Pyrophobia🔥is a phobia consisting in a constant, irrational, obsessive, panic fear of fire, fires; an obsessive fear of burning alive, getting burned, or losing property as a result of a fire. (in one of the missions, she almost burned herself in the room in which she was locked, losing consciousness)

Biography

Trudy's parents live in the Czech Republic for most of their lives, they have successfully established their lives in another country, and we can say they have lived in it for most of their lives, and did not want to return to England. Adele Saidler (Hofmann) has opened her own atelier in Liberec, where they now live. The woman is engaged in custom tailoring, previously she was specialized in sewing military uniforms. Philip Saidler is a former infantryman, retired for health reasons, retired, but he helps his wife in the atelier, delivering sewing materials. He also earns a living on the outskirts of the city, but there is no information about his place of work. Before Trudy, they had a son, Evan Saidler [date of birth unknown, died as a teenager, cause of death unknown]. The couple suffered a hard loss, and were very worried about their daughter, who knows about her late brother.

Trudy's childhood, like that of ordinary children, was no different from them. She also had her own hobbies, which her parents reacted positively to, and supported their daughter in every possible way, most importantly. The girl was actively engaged in dancing from the age of 12, from which she developed flexibility, there were even performances on behalf of the school. She also loved to help her mother in the atelier, more often looked after the counter, and thus engaged in needlework, she could also sew some clothes with jewelry. In addition to dancing, Trudy also had hobbies, which she does not mention.

During her student years, Trudy met a girl who was 1 year younger than her, Linda Kovac (Czech). She was always an inconspicuous gray mouse, but Trudy became friends with her on the first day they met, and spent more and more time together. Thanks to her, Linda began to gain self-confidence and even changed her style in order not to fall into the gray mass and stand out somehow. Saidler never sought to attract attention, preferring to wear comfortable and not too bright clothes, and studied like all ordinary students. She needed Czech to learn, so even at preschool age she learned this language, English is considered the main one.

There have been mistakes in Trudy's life, one of them has undermined people's trust. As a student, a guy was in love with her, and he sought her attention in every possible way. The student's infatuation, yes, did not last long. This guy dated her for a joke, enjoyed her trust. After receiving her education, Trudy left Liberec and went to England. After living there for some time, she went to Credenhill, where the selection for group 141 was held. During the trip, Trudy heard other recruits talking about this group, and who is in it, quite big names sounded from the mouths of the guys, which made her interested. Arriving at their base, Trudy did not expect to see the members of the 141 group live. At the time, Captain McTavish was in charge of the selection, and he took up her training in order to make Saidler an experienced fighter. As a rookie, she was sent for additional training to improve her skills and adapt to work in group 141. During her stay at the base, Trudy met Roach, a young sergeant whom she saw on the day of her arrival. At first, things didn't go very well due to distrust, so we gradually communicated. Jay showed a special interest in Roach as a person and wanted to get to know him better, and thus she awakened trust in him. Roach also showed interest in the girl and communicated with her even from a distance. Trudy was very afraid of attachment to people, and hid her sympathy until the last moment, Roach had the same feelings for her. They gradually showed warm feelings for each other.

Participation

Jay began his service under the command of Captain McTavish, took his first part in the Hunting mission, where the goal was to catch Alejandro Rojas, worked in a group with Roach. In the future, she participated in assaults at certain points, provided cover, engaged in inconspicuous liquidation

The history of the creation of the OC

In 2011, I played with COD Modern warfare 2 for the first time. This game has left vivid moments in my memory, from joyful to sad, my favorite mission is "Rock Climber". At that moment, the first character appeared in my head. Since I couldn't draw at the age of 9, I was building a plot in my head. There is an important point, this is the date when I started playing and when I came up with Trudy. This is June 1, 2011, and this date is also Trudy's date of birth.

In her first version, there was no first or last name, I just called her "Emersan", this call sign is taken from another game that I also actively played. As for her appearance, Trudy looked different, not like she does now. In 2018, I visually sketched her portrait, hoping for my memory. Based on this, I decided to change her appearance, and also attached my old works. As time went on, I always wanted to add something, it seemed to me that Trudy was too simple. Although yes, she really was like that. Then, during the redrawing, I already gave her a name. Her name was Trudy "Emersan" Sombra. She later became Jay, the new surname is Saidler. Trudy's redesigns didn't last long, so I changed it again by drawing new references. You can see that she has hardly changed since 2019, there are small changes on her face – freckles and hair color have become darker. Next comes the tattoo. It was a difficult choice, I came up with the first tattoo myself, then I made another, more complex one. The final version was drawn in 2023, and received a reference

Trudy in 2011 to 2022

#call of duty oc #modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod mw2 2009 #mw2 2009 #mw 2009 #oc #oc art #my oc #original character #cod oc #trudy jay saidler #trudy saidler #oc x canon #roach x oc #roach x jay #biography oc

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theladyofshalott1989 · 3 months

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Damien Andrew Evans (My OC/MC from the Like Moths to a Flame series)

*I modeled his character off of a young Garrett Hedlund. Here are some photos of Garrett (one with his hair down long - LMtaF Damien - and one with his hair short - BB Damien):

I wrote this in a frenzy last night (referencing my already copious notes from the past… hmm… eleven months??? WHAT), so I apologize if it reads like word-vomit (LMAO). BUT, without further ado, here is my Damien info-dump. Damien is my OC from my series, Like Moths to a Flame, which I started on Wattpad in March 2023. Check it out if you are so inclined (AO3 link because AO3 is better…please don’t hate me, Wattpad police haha).

General Info:

Born and raised in London

Lives in a huge estate in Mayfair

Father’s family comes from old money

Birthday: 13th December 1874

Mother: Mary REDACTED Evans (yes, redacted because it’s a spoiler for Burning Bright)

Died shortly after Damien turned two

Father: Andrew Robert Evans

Magistrate in London

Workaholic, doesn’t interact much with his son, leaves him to his own devices the majority of the time (he is very lucky Damien is a good boy; the shenanigans Damien could have gotten up to if he was so inclined…lmao)

Half-blood (only found this out after he came to Hogwarts; his mother never shared this information with his father)

Only child

Personality:

ENFP (apparently) (thanks Myers-Briggs test!) Fueled by interaction with others (being an only child and spending most of his time alone during the summer holidays deeply damaged him)

Attracted to the same sex (and has known this for as long as he can remember)

Alas, he is super self-conscious about his sexual orientation, having grown up in Muggle London, where being gay is a crime. He is also quite secretive because of it; he wants to open up more to people (it’s in his nature) but is hesitant until he feels he can trust them fully. This can take a while.

Nearly everything he does, he always has this nagging thought in the back of his mind (it follows him literally everywhere): Would my mother be proud of me? (He has never told anyone this; it also haunts him immensely)

Highly intuitive

Very forgiving (arguably to a fault) of anyone he grows to love and trust

Feels very deeply, but, again, he tries his best to hide it. Something must be terribly wrong or extremely upsetting for him to cry in a public setting.

Not very organized (also has a problem with tardiness), EXCEPT when he is at home. He doesn’t want to make a mess for the servants, so he is extremely meticulous and clean when he’s home for the summer. Any other time, he couldn’t care less (LMAO). Physical Description:

Very unique brown eyes with golden flecks in them (Seb is absolutely obsessed)

Taller than average (a little taller than Sebastian, much to Sebastian’s chagrin)

Long blonde hair (just past his shoulders) that he keeps tied back in a low bun (his preferred style)

Sebastian would much rather he wear it down and loose (he is quite vocal about this), but he eventually is like fine…you do you, fam

In Burning Bright, Damien has to cut his hair short so his father isn’t suspicious. He has a cute little tuft at the top of his head that sometimes cascades across his face, which Sebastian is enamored with

(Eton, the all-boys boarding school Damien attended before Hogwarts, has strict uniform and hygiene protocols and would never permit him to wear his hair long; Damien’s father thinks he is still attending Eton so he must keep up appearances)

Lithe but muscular, a testament to how active he is when he arrives at Hogwarts. His go-to when he’s not in classes is to ride his broom around the Scottish Highlands and complete Merlin Trials. He is obsessed with finding and completing them all. (What a Ravenclaw…)

Ample arse though (LMAO) which Sebastian loves… (Seb is an arse-man; you’re welcome HAHAHAHA)

Tan from being outdoors most of the time

Sharp jawline, broad neck and chest, prominent collarbone (he is quite thin), very angular features

Light spoiler for stories post-Burning Bright: Older Damien is a bit heavier in adulthood (and Seb loves this development)

Magic Reveal:

Damien never had one of those “oh shit what just happened???” magical moments, so when Fig showed up on his doorstep with his Hogwarts letter at the very beginning of the summer in 1890, Damien thought it was a joke. When Fig did some magic for him to convince him, Damien lost his goddamn mind. He was thrilled, but also terrified. Fig told him not to worry, that he could stay with him over the summer to prepare Damien for the school year.

Damien’s father was (unsurprisingly) not home when Fig arrived. Damien also asked Fig not to say anything to his father. Fig sensed there was some tension between Damien and his father and agreed (for the time being). Eventually, once Fig got to know Damien better, he decided Damien was right and it was for the best that his father didn’t know about his magic. This was the moment when Damien realized he could fully trust Fig. Surrogate father/son bond activated <3

Their backstory (if Damien’s father asked) for why Damien was gone over the summer was that he was traveling with a friend from Eton. Damien’s father was hella neglectful and didn’t even bother to ask, which to be fair, made things super easy for Damien and Fig (LMAO).

Likes:

The color green

Flying (he loves how freeing it is and the feeling of the wind in his hair)

DADA is his favorite class (his early dueling wins probably played a factor; poor Damien didn’t have a lot of wins in his life prior to coming to Hogwarts, well…besides being rich AF LOL)

CATS (dude adores cats to the EXTREME; he would love to adopt all of the ones he finds wandering around Hogwarts and Hogsmeade; I even have a headcanon that very early on in his time at Hogwarts he smuggles a cat into his room - a room which he shares with Amit, Everett, and Andrew, mind you. Unfortunately, Amit is allergic, so that plan goes to hell in a handbasket rather quickly.)

Magic (obviiiiiii); he still can’t believe his luck that he’s at Hogwarts

The Wizarding World and how accepting it is of all forms of love. He cannot believe his lucky stars that he can be openly affectionate with Sebastian. It even takes him a while to realize this because no one straight up told him and Sebastian at first wants to keep their relationship on the down low since he’s still trying to figure out if Damien feels as strongly about Sebastian as Sebastian feels about Damien. Silly boys #idiotsinlove

Dislikes:

Herbology (he SUCKS at it; Sebastian and Damien have this in common, but Damien is much, much worse. He never uses magical plants in his duels because he is bitter about how bad he is at growing them and doesn’t want to spend money buying them at the Magic Neep hahaha)

Close-minded people (which is why he is understandably upset and confused by Sebastian’s very vocal hatred of goblins; it nearly ends any potential of a relationship from that point forward, but Seb does eventually apologize more than once *PHEW*)

Dark Mongrels, and to a certain extent dogs (le sigh) (light spoiler for Burning Bright so I won’t go into detail about it)

Interactions with Other Characters:

Fig -

Fig was the father Damien always wanted. Supportive, understanding, a wealth of knowledge. Losing him was absolutely devastating; it nearly broke Damien.

Natty -

Besides Sebastian, Damien’s second kindred spirit. When Sebastian and Damien aren’t on good terms for a large swathe of Like Moths to a Flame, they are joined at the hip. Sebastian even worries that they might be a couple at one point and is very jelly. (C’mon Seb, read the freaking room!)

Poppy -

Damien likes Poppy but is a bit intimidated by her. He still really enjoys her company, just in moderation. Ominis -

Damien willfully ignored him before they officially met. He didn’t realize it at the time, but eventually comes to the conclusion that he was jealous that Ominis was best friends with Sebastian. Notably, he easily sensed that Ominis wasn’t into Sebastian romantically, so that was a relief at the very least. Damien was super annoyed by Ominis after the encounter post-Undercroft. He couldn’t understand how someone could lose their temper so easily. Eventually, they do bond… hilariously, it’s Ominis that makes the effort to get to know Damien better. (Of course Ominis knows that Seb and Damien are snogging; he’s ~scary~ perceptive; at first Ominis is just vetting Damien in a protective “I need to make sure you’re a good person for my best friend” kind of way, but then he eventually realizes he enjoys being in Damien’s company. Likewise Damien to Ominis. They eventually also bond over classic music (Ominis lets Damien borrow his gramophone every so often and they sometimes even listen to it together.)

Amit, Everett, and Andrew -

Damien’s roomies! He likes Amit and Everett a lot, but definitely has more in common with Everett since they are both obsessed with flying. Damien even buys Everett a broom so he can stop using a school one. Damien finds Amit a bit awkward, but in an endearing way. He would beat someone up for realsies though if he ever overheard anyone make fun of him.

Andrew and Damien don’t really care about each other either way. Andrew hangs out in different crowds. They don’t talk much.

And yes, I realize that Duncan Hobhouse is also in Ravenclaw, but I've decided he has his own room. Damien finds him annoying, even though Everett is friends with him for some reason lmao.

Sebastian - HOOOO BOY HERE WE GO Damien fell for Sebastian HARD almost immediately after meeting him (their dialogue after the match in DADA was such a turn-on hahaha). He really struggled to play it cool that entire exchange though. He does succeed (sigh), but later… um… goes back to his room and yeah, in my headcanon he furiously does what you would expect lmao.

Sebastian immediately found Damien intriguing BUT he was not sure why. He had always appreciated the beauty of both genders, but he had only ever been with a girl so it never even crossed his mind that he could be romantically interested in Damien. He didn’t realize until <BIG SPOILER FOR LIKE MOTHS TO A FLAME> Damien asked Seb to kiss him in the Undercroft. Once their lips touched, Sebastian had one of those *connect the dots <Charlie from It’s Always Sunny at the blackboard scribbling nonsense> moments* and is like… OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. And then he just rolled with it. Doesn’t question it at all he’s so confident in what happened. Damien is immediately his. MINE MINE MINE seagulls from Finding Nemo gif.

Unfortunately, Dark Magic was a HUGE cockblock (*sad face*) and their budding relationship combusted to the extreme. Damien was devastated but would NEVER admit it so he lost himself in his other friendships (thank you for being there Natty, you QUEEN). As we all know, Sebastian sucks at expressing himself (LMAO say it louder for those in the back), so he avoided Damien like the plague and stewed in his anger. But he is confused and upset and just a turmoil of emotions and it plagues him. A proverbial storm cloud follows him everywhere he goes.

And then all hell breaks loose with the relic (DAMN YOU RELIC), BUT Damien and his strong intuition senses something is up and realizes that Seb is not himself. He activates stealth mode and becomes Seb’s shadow without Seb realizing, following him around and making sure he is okay. After the catacomb ~incident~, Damien won’t let him out of his sight and refuses to permit him to head back to the castle alone. In fact, it scares him so much that once they make it back to the castle, Damien has an OH SHIT I LOVE HIM BUT HE JUST MURDERED SOMEONE moment and he is so lost in his thoughts that Sebastian runs off. This haunts Damien immensely because he is so worried that Sebastian is going to hurt himself. And then, of course, he gets all caught up in the repository / goblin invasion stuff that he is distracted, but he still follows Sebastian around when he can. #sneakyDamien

And I’m not going to go into further detail because massive spoilers for the end of Like Moths to a Flame hahahaha.

***

So, that’s my Damien. He is my ~goodest~ boy. And he has definitely stolen my heart. <3

#oc character #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x male mc #sebastian sallow x mc #queer fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic

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afatlotofchance · 6 months

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The Prince and the Sorcerer (part 1)

I had to split this commission in two given how long it was. This was a commission about the commissioner's OC, the spoiled, gluttonous and fat prince Tristan, meeting his just dessert at the hands of a recently hired court mage. Enjoy!

Evan wanted to check his appearance once more. Since he had no mirrors or polished metal nearby, he merely used his third sight.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never manage to find an appearance pleasant to his eyes. His ears were too big and sticking out too much. His brown hair formed a straight mop that, while not ugly, certainly wasn’t above the average. While being tall and gangly made his cheekbones more defined, giving him quite a good face, it still made him prone to insulting nicknames, like scarecrow or bony-witch. But at least he was clean, perfumed, wearing sumptuous robes. He hoped that would balance the rest.

He was tempted to use just a bit of glamour, but he had no time for that. He could already hear a guard coming. Evan closed his third sight as he heard a booming voice:

“Our Majesties are ready to receive you.”

Evan followed the guard. He was a bit nervous, actually. It wasn’t every day you met with the royal family, or were appointed at the court. Especially when you were of humble origins, like Evan.

Don’t be foolish, the young magician said to himself. You’ve fought monsters, dealt with familiars, chatted with elementals, and you would be nervous in front of humans, people just like you?

No, not just like him. These were high-born, blue-blooded, god-chosen humans. Royals. A king, a queen and a prince. Royals who apparently had enough means and powers to contact the great and powerful sorcerer Rummuel, the most renowned magician of all the continent, and to convince him to lend them one of his three faithful apprentices to become their own private court magician for a period of seven years!

“I’ll be up to the task, master!” Evan had claimed upon hearing the good news. “I’ll show them how worth I was of your teaching! I’ll blind them with the highest spheres of the Arcanas! I’ll…”

“How you go my boy!” Rummuel muttered. “You won’t need all that. You will merely be a court wizard. Doesn’t need much qualifications these days. Any apprentice like you can do that. You will merely be a consultant – advising the king – and a defender – protecting the royals. All you need is a bit of knowledge and some moves to fight. As long as you can clean curses, repel bad spirits and speak the old languages, everything should be alright. Oh, and don’t forget to be a show off. Kings usually like big, flashy, sparkling things. They’re not interested into real magic, they wouldn’t even recognize a black-flamed candle, they just want to show other people they have a magician and that he can do wonderful things. Not useful things. Just wonderful ones. It won’t improve your magic, but you’ll get to know more about how royalty and nobility works – a knowledge you clearly lack.”

Evan still grunted at the sour memory of his encounter with the King that Went Fishing.

But at least, he was chosen to be the one. Not Dyfan, not Aedan, him, the apprentice everyone just remembered for being young and clumsy. He was going to show them he could be as much of a good wizard as they were – and not because he was a nobleman’s son like Dyfan, not because he grew up with viziers and sultans like Aedan, but merely because he was a talented, genius, extraordinary magic user!

Evan was taken out of his thoughts by the sounds of trumpets being blown and two huge doors being opened. He straightened himself, stood tall, puffed up his chest and walked proudly in there.

“Remember. Shine. Show them who’s powerful here.” he thought to himself.

The throne room was enormous, the size of a cathedral. Evan walked behind the guards on a red carpet the size of a road, between pillars of stone as enormous as the old oaks.

“Evan of Hastings, third apprentice of the great sorcerer Rummuel!”

He finally reached the end of the throne room, an enormous wall covered in gold. In this wall, in this gold, was carved the picture of a royal family: a king, a queen, a prince and a princess, with a knight standing by their side, hands on his sword. All were giants, and all had no faces, making the representation slightly disturbing. Ever since his adventures at the Blackworm Castle he had a bit of a hard time with things without faces.

Three big thrones, also made of pure gold, stood before him, one of them empty.

On the central throne rested King Ralston. He looked like a jolly and affable man – but not without an aura of strength and power. Evan was quite good at reading people’s auras, and despite the bright smile and courteous face, the king was clearly burling with frustrations and dissatisfactions. He seemed to be bearing a sense of guilt, burden and unfairness. His aura was that of a man about to hit something just to vent off his anger. And he certainly looked like he could hit something strong. He was a big man of thick built, muscular and portly all at once. Curls of long, sandy blond hair fell on each side of his round face – his cheeks and chin soft and fleshy, under a thin honey-colored bear. His fur-trimmed burgundy coat seemed ridiculously small compared to his sturdy body and flat but fleshy, almost padded belly. His orange and golden doublets stretched on his broad shoulders and enormous arms. Evan had seen none so big before – they were the size of hams! A big golden chain was also stretched tightly on his wide and prominent chest. The king was playing mindlessly with one of his rings, a big circle of gold with a pointy diamond, and as he did, Evan saw the muscles of his arm and chest bulge and flex under the tight cloth. But what struck the most Evan was the power of his cold, icy blue stare.

He bore a warm smile and opened his arms.

“Welcome, Evan of Hastings! We are honored to meet the apprentice of the great Rummuel!”

“The pleasure is equally shared, Majesty. I am honored to be in the presence of my King and his Heir.” Evan answered while kneeling.

“Queen Ermine is unfortunately at the castle of the Rogue River for the moment, but she should be back in a matter of months. Let me introduce you to my only son and heir: Prince Tristan!”

Evan stood up and looked at the throne on the far right – the largest of the three golden thrones. On it sat a boy of such girth that Evan thought his mind was playing tricks on him. But it wasn’t any illusion, the boy was indeed of that enormous size! Could he be sick? No, he seemed quite lively: in fact, he was devouring a big lamb leg, that he held by the bone like one would brandish a scepter or a magic wand.

Like his father, Tristan was blond in hair and blue of eyes with thin brows, but his curls were of a lighter, more golden shade, and his eyes of a deeper and darker blue. Outside of that, he bore little to no resemblance to his father. Beardless, lacking the king’s big nose, his features were much more delicate, almost feminine. An elegant and thin nose, almond-shaped eyes, a thin mouth with well-drawn lips…

But Tristan suffered from an enormous, indecent, incredible fatness. The boy was as big as an ogre could get – and not an ounce of muscle appeared in this flabby mass. His round belly spilled itself onto his lap, while bloated love handles hanged on each side of his body, his blue shirt tight on his excess of flesh. Instead of a manly chest, his was as feminine as his traits – two tremendous pectorals, reminding Evan of the plump breasts of these fertility idols he once saw in the dark woods. His face was even rounder and fuller than that of his father, to the point that it stopped being round and became rather pear-like in shape, his plump jowls and overgrown cheeks completely hiding his jaw under thick layers of flab, making his face like a mound of soft butter.

But the strangest thing, strangest above all, was just how beautiful Tristan looked. Surely one with a face that stretched, widened and exaggerated by the excess of flesh should have been hideous to look at. But here, it changed nothing to the delicateness of his traits, carved in the butter mound like one would carve a precious gem. Again, statues and idols came to the mind of Evan, but these time those of the beautiful, eternally young and perfectly muscled gods of the arts and of the light.

“Are you really a wizard, small boy?” the Prince asked. “You don’t look much like one to me.”

Evan guessed the “small” must have been about his own skinniness, for Tristan must have been around Evan’s age, even though it was hard to tell with all of his curves. The Prince’s aura was very faint, like if he had none at all, the wizard merely seeing some translucent blue light – but it could have been very well a simple trick of his eyes, due to his vivid blue shirt. It was like if this boy was barely feeling any emotion at all.

Yet, the look on his face was clearly one of disdain. Not an outright mockery, but a sly cruelty Evan knew too well.

“I can assure you, my lord, that I am the apprentice of the great magician Rummuel, who took me when I was twelve of age and has since raised me in his tower alongside his other apprentices, and taught me many things about spells, potions, magic and the other worlds.”

“Then, prove that you are indeed a boy of magic.” ordered Tristan while taking a bite of the lamb leg (which was so greasy and dripping with sauce that Evan was amazed that the prince had no stain on either his clothes or face). “Do a miracle.”

Evan got his body ready. It was now, the moment of truth, the display of his great powers. What would decide everything: how the royals saw him, how the court would see him, what the kingdom was going to see in him. Will he be admired, mocked or feared? No mistakes were allowed here.

Evan was pretty sure he could meet a lot of the prince’s expectations. Except raise the dead. Or create life. Or show him the true face of God. Or… Oh gosh, what if the prince asked him some levitation? He could do a mere object, but what if the Prince asked Evan to make him levitate? He couldn’t possibly raise such an enormous mass! At least not without ripping one of his muscles, or seriously damaging something in the room!

“Make your shadow dance.”

Evan sighed with relief. Then looked at the prince in his dark, disdaining eyes.

“What?”

“I read once the legend of a powerful magician on an island far away. He could fly and make people’s wish come true. He talked with fairies and was perpetually young. And he could make his shadow dance and act in his place. Can you make your shadow dance?”

Well, that was going to be easy. Just a bit of shadow puppetry. No need to sell your soul to pesky, annoying, manipulative, whore fairies to do so.

“It will be as easy as blinking, my lord.”

Well, almost. It was as easy as spilling some grains of a magic powder to make the shadow a material of its own, whispering some words to wake up and heat the shadow, and then moving your arms, hands and fingers around to move the shadow. Evan made it dance, jump, spin, go from one wall to another. It was merely playing with the lights, but in reverse, so that the people would be focused on the shadow, not the light. It was liking writing a word by darkening everything around it. He was there, all white and shining, but you technically hadn’t written it. You just made it appear. Same thing with the shadow.

Tristan was flabbergasted, eyes wide opened. He even forgot the half-eaten lamb leg, dropping it on the floor. Ralston’s smile had subtly shifted – it was now an uneasy, worried smile. But his eyes were shining like those of a child.

Evan put his shadow back into place and made a small reverence.

“Could you do mine?” the prince asked.

“Your shadow?”

“Yes, of course! Make my shadow dance!”

“I could… If your highness wouldn’t mind approaching me. I don’t want to catch the throne’s shadow with your own, that would be problematic.”

The prince grunted, but obliged. He got out of the throne and walked until he was right in front of Evan. He couldn’t get really close to him, because his belly was standing in the way, but he got close enough that Evan inadvertently sank the tip of his fingers into the prominent gullet. He immediately took them off, his face getting slightly sweaty because of such an impudent mistake, but Tristan simply showed a snarking smile.

Now that the Prince was so close to Evan, the young wizard realized just how impressive he really was. Despite him being shorter than Evan, probably of four or five inches, he still managed to have this feeling of… of bigness, this impression of… of roundness… he was like he was all over the place and you were just standing his way, taking up his space, no matter where you were… And Evan felt more like a beanpole or a twig than he ever did. The thought “I should put on some weight” even crossed his mind before he shook it off.

“Don’t get irrational or ridiculous now. Focus on the task.”

But it was hard to focus with Tristan looking at him. His face was indeed one of rare beauty, there was no mistake here. In fact, his facial features reminded him of those a fox spirit took once to seduce him, on a beach in a faraway island… by a blue night and a big moonlight… it was the hour of nightmares, and the sand was grey, and the sea was…

Evan shook his head. Get to work. Dust, words, arms. Magic.

The prince’s face beamed with glee upon seeing his rotund and massive shadow move around him.

“Make it jump!”

Evan obeyed.

“Make it run now! Faster! Make it leap! Make it walk on all fours! Like a dog! Good! Now make it dance! Make it do the wheel! Like a jester! Yes! More! Make it move! More! Faster! Again! Quick!”

Evan obeyed again and again as Tristan’s talking became pure barking. Evan disliked people who spoke too loudly.

“Perfect!” Tristan finally roared.

He turned towards the king.

“I’ll take him, father. He is to my taste! Now, all this running made me hungry! I’ll go the dining hall if official affairs need my attention.”

And thus Tristan left without a goodbye or a look to Evan, his gut jiggling and lifting itself with every step.

The King stood up. Despite being a big, strong and tall man, he certainly wasn’t giving off the same feelings of enormousness and massiveness that his son did. In fact, his size seemed now much more normal to Evan.

“Evan of Hastings, you are now officially our court’s new magician! I’ll have my son’s personal servant show you your quarters.”

“Already? I mean, huh… Don’t you want me to do something for you? I mean, you, the king? I could do things more… impressive. More useful. I could show you much more.”

“No need for that. You impressed my son. That was all that needed to be done. I have knights to meet. We will held a feast for your arrival tonight.”

Evan bowed down.

He was a bit surprised, if not worried, that he got the job so easily. So, master Rummuel was right, huh? Royals just wanted pretty things and show-off tricks. Not real magic. In fact, Aedan had said something in this vein… “It’s a king that’s interested in real magic that is to fear.”

Well, king Ralston certainly didn’t think of any real magic. Evan had unconsciously caught his last thought before he left the throne room – something any user of high magic could do when people were thinking really hard of one thing only.

He was wishing for a lot of good ale and a roasted pig.

XXX

“Here are your quarters, sire. Our master’s room is at the end of the hallway. This bell will ring whenever he needs you.”

“I wasn’t expecting to live near to the king! I thought I would be with the knights, or the other court members!” Evan laughed.

The servant looked at him. That was certainly one tired servant, with bags under his eyes. His face twitched from time to time. His aura was full of worry and nervousness, all blurry and swarming, like a pack of worms. He must have been around Evan’s age, and he was as gangly as him. In fact, he looked a lot like Evan himself, minus the big ear. The most notable difference was their hair: his mop was the color of rust.

“I am talking about prince Tristan, sorcerer. Not the king.”

“The prince? But I am the court wizard – I answer to the king, not the prince.”

The servant started to nervously play with his callus-riddled fingers.

“That’s what they told you?”

“Well…”

“You are prince Tristan’s personal wizard, master Evan. That is why you were brought here. You are a court wizard, indeed, but of the prince’s court. The King merely wanted to please his son.”

“There must be a mistake here…”

“Braden!”

The scream boomed across the hallway. Authoritarian, merciless, hard as stone – but without mistake, that of the prince.

There was a weird gurgle, followed by:

“Come here! I need a belly massage!”

“Yes, my prince!”

The servant bolted towards the prince’s room, running like a terrified rabbit.

Evan looked at him go, then at the door to his quarters.

“No, I’m sure the King will need me. He will call me by his side soon.”

XXX

He never did. Not even after several weeks, nearly an entire month.

Evan finally had to admit the sad truth: he was merely a personal entertainer for Tristan. Only the prince was asking for his services – and always only for low, petty tricks, to amuse either him or his guests. Often nobles or knights, once a princess from a foreign land. There were rumors of an engagement, but she was clearly disgusted by the portly prince.

“Do these things with the cups and the coin!” “Make my shadow move once more!” “Can you change the color of these flowers?” “Can you make this chocolate cake taste like a blueberry cake?” “Make this cup disappear!”

Never a kind word, never a thank, never a please. Only orders, commands and barking. And thus, day after day, Evan was forced to do mere prestidigitation spells. Playing with lights, shadows and colors. Creating reflections out of smoke. Making objects disappear and reappear, which was merely moving them where Tristan couldn’t see them – the prince certainly wasn’t seeing the difference, so Evan wasn’t going to bother. Tristan wasn’t even interested in how Evan did it or to learn some magic basis – for him, seeing Evan do magic on his orders was just like if he did magic himself. Anyway, Evan did not dare to imagine what the boy could do with magic. He shivered at the image of the obese prince turning his servants into human-shaped chocolate cakes before devouring them.

Because the Prince was certainly the embodiment of gluttony. No wonder how he got to that enormous size of his: he was always eating, no matter what time of the day. Waking up, the first thing he asked for was food, in his bed. While taking his bath he ate apples, potatoes and melons – grapes and bread and butter and cheese while dressing up. When taking his princely lessons, he had several veals served to him. After each meal, no matter if it was pigs or boars, he had another meal, either muttons or cows. And when he was doing nothing and got bored, the first think he thought of, before asking for a jester or a musician or a juggler or Evan, was requesting pies and cakes and other sweets. And he devoured all of his food swiftly and quickly – but always with a strange grace, a weird elegance preventing any kind of stain to soil his face or his clothes. Evan kept wondering how the prince could eat so much without getting sick – himself was getting nausea just by watching his meals.

He also pitied Tristan’s young taster. Around the prince’s age, with weird strawberry blond, almost orange hair. Young but already plump and fat, with a prominent belly and an even more prominent stomach. No wonder given how much dishes he had to taste.

“Aren’t you tired of eating all day and following Tristan everywhere?” Evan had asked him.

The young taster – receiving a relaxing stomach massage by one of the lesser servants – answered that, no, he didn’t mind at all.

“I can live in a castle, wear fine clothes and eat my fill of luxurious food!” he said with a smile. “It’s more than I could ever hope for! I was merely a commoner, skinny and sick as a chicken carcass and now look at me!”

He slapped his belly.

“Fat as a goose, spoiled as a pig, healthy as a horse, serving the prince, living with noblemen’s sons! My parents would be proud if they were still alive!”

But he was clearly nauseous and tired. Pale in the face, with bags under the eyes like Braden. He knew the boy was prone to stomach aches. In fact, his belly seemed as hard as a stone and his flesh bore the bright red marks of a skin overstretched by a sudden gain of mass. Evan gave him soothing herbs, for his belly, and started preparing an ointment to repair his skin, but if this went on, he feared the young boy would only get weaker and sicker.

XXX

Evan tried to talk to the King, to attract his attention. Without any results. He talked to him about protecting with magic the royal bloodline from any curse, possession or evil spirit. Not interested. He asked to get a laboratory in order to work on healing potions. The prince wasn’t ill, so no. He brought up the subject of investigating and studying the supernatural and magical inhabitants of the kingdom. He was laughed at. The only time he ever got to have a real conversation with the King was when he asked about the Prince’s taster, either because the subject was more of interest, or because all the beer he had gulped had mellowed him out.

“How come a mere commoner is the prince’s taster? I heard usually the taster was the son of a rival or dubious member of the court, or the son of the chef himself.

King Ralston burped before answering.

“The head chief’s son is always Tristan’s first taster. But he current head chief’s son died when he choked in his sleep. He was so fat it weighed on his throat and crushed his chest. We did the children of all the cooks – all choked up or had their heart merely stop or explode. So then we put the children of the potential plotters and conspirators – they all died. Stomach exploding, poisoning or visceral abnormalities. And they kept lasting less and less… So now we take orphans from the gutter. Easy to raise, and easy to dispose of.”

The King must have noticed the disapproving look of Evan.

“But if you want, you could become my son’s taster! In this way, Tristan would have you at all time. And don’t worry you’ll be paid twice as much! Are you interested?”

XXX

Evan was tired. Tired not only of the petty tricks Tristan kept asking, not only of taking orders from this enormous, flabby mount of pudding that kept laughing like an overgrown baby at any silliness in sight, but also tired of the cruelty the prince was forcing him to perpetrate. For indeed, Tristan had taken a new interest in magic upon learning that it could be a very good way to punish his servants.

It happened when a nervous young man – as nervous and young as all the other servants of Tristan – had spilled some too-hot water on the prince’s fat body while he was taking his bath. The prince screamed and got out of the bath, still naked, looking for a whip to hit the young man. The servant had gotten on the floor, crying, pleading for mercy. Tristan shouted: “Yes, crawl on the floor, like a dog begging for scraps!” And then he stopped, and looked at Evan.

“Can you make him a dog?”

“I beg your pardon, your Majesty?”

“Could you turn him into a dog? That’s what witches and wizards do, isn’t it? Turn people into animals. Well, turn him into a dog!”

Evan was lucky to be quick of thought. He explained to Tristan that it would be hard for him to turn a human into a dog – due to the different of masses, of how he would need to store the excess organs somewhere, of how he should find additional hair to add to the body, how he could encourage the body to evolve into that of a dog but it would be far too slow for any enjoyment… All of which was true. Evan couldn’t turn this man into a dog. At least, not as a mere, humble wizard.

But Tristan was terribly unhappy with the situation. Evan could pick up his thoughts and his mood – the prince right now was frustrated. He thought Evan was without any use or purpose, lacked any talent or ace. He started to doubt the role of Evan here, thought of punishing him, banishing him, discarding him. So Evan had to find an alternative.

“However, my prince… It is possible, as easy as pie, to make him think he is a dog. Convince him that he is not human anymore, make him act like a pet animal. The spirit is easier to mold than the flesh. Of course, it won’t be permanent, but probably enough to fit your… enjoyment?”

Tristan nodded.

“It would be funny to watch. I’m a bit disappointed, because I wanted to eat some dog’s meat, but it could be a punishment humiliating enough. And he would beg for scraps?”

Ignoring the subtle reference to cannibalism, Evan answered:

“Indeed, he would beg for your scraps. “

“And he won’t bite back when I hit him?”

“I can make him into a dog that bites back if you want.”

“No. Make him my slave. Obedient, stupid, weak. Won’t be much work to do, he is already all of these things.”

Tristan got back into the bath, waiting for the magic to happen.

Evan worked on the poor scarred fellow – through whispers, and looks, and hand gestures. He had lie only on one point – he could make sure the hypnosis would be permanent. But he wasn’t going to let Tristan have this pleasure. He would undo it later and pretend it was the natural withering of the spell.

Soon the servant was barking, drooling and rolling on the floor, begging for scratches on his belly.

Tristan had his fun, laughed and applauded.

And soon he asked for Evan every time he needed to punish a servant. Sometimes he even decided to punish them for no real reason, just to see Evan work his magic. Sometimes he had to change the color of someone’s hair or skin. Other times it was making them act like beast, or making them grow too much hair. He had to torture them through petty illusions, like making them believe they had insects crawling all over them, or that the floor was melted lava.

But the real lava, the real burning fire, was in Evan’s heart, swelling up until…

XXX

It happened during a great feast.

The taster got sick. Well, he was already sick before – it was hard not to notice it in the past weeks. His belly had gotten even rounder, his skin stretched over his quickly-adding excess fat. His skin had gotten a yellowish tint. He couldn’t stand the wearing of a belt, for it gave him strong gazes and pain – and his feet had begun to swell, making it harder for him to walk.

But this time, a sudden nausea had taken over him while in the middle of tasting Tristan’s meal. He was yellow and green in the face, his stomach even more bloated than usual. He groaned, whispering that he couldn’t take another bite, that he was too full. Tristan, munching on some bread, didn’t listened and simply ordered him to taste the soups that had just been served. The taster excused himself once more, explaining that one more gulp of anything would make him vomit. Tristan, without any sign of wrath, disdain or concern, merely said. “Don’t waste my precious food. If you can’t taste anymore, you’re of no use. Someone else will take your place. Guards, throw him out of the castle.”

The taster begged Tristan for one more chance. He got on his knees, crying and pleading, which was hard for him between the gurgling and moaning of his belly, ready to expulse whatever he had in him.

Tristan laughed. “You’re only good at eating! Beside that you don’t have any use! You’re wasting my time, and annoying me… My mercy has thinned, I don’t intend on letting you go like that. First give me back what you stole from me!”

Tristan turned his head towards Evan.

“Give me back my food!”

“My prince, what do you mean?”

“Take back my food from his belly! Move it into mine! You can move objects, right? Then do it!”

“My prince, it will be a bit…”

“Do it!” the prince shouted.

Everybody was looking at Evan. The court sorcerer had no choice.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered to the taster.

He could have teleported the food directly from one stomach to another, but it would have been too dangerous – there was a risk of putting it into the prince’s heart or lungs, Evan needed to see clearly where the object was and where it would end up. He had to take another option. A messier one.

Evan used all of his concentration to take the food out of the taster’s stomach, through his throat and mouth, flying into the hair, and then into Tristan’s mouth. Everybody looked with horror at the greasy and gleaming pieces of food, still dripping with saliva and stomach acid, as they flew to the prince’s face. Tristan wasn’t horrified. He smiled and opened his mouth wide – and in the food went! Tristan gulped and munched, his cheeks as stuffed as those of a squirrel, moaning with happiness. The taster was shedding tears – for it was a strange and uncomfortable feeling that to have one’s belly emptied.

Evan saw all of that. The disgust on the courtiers faces. The pain of the taster. The glee of Tristan. Evan got fed up. The fire in his heart busted like a bubble. His wrath took over his magic – and in the food went, quicker, faster, more and more food… Tristan tried to tell Evan to slow down, but he had no time, for the softened meat, the sweet bread, and the mush that was now the food just kept crushing and pushing itself through his teeth, by his lips, down his throat…

“Sorcerer, stop at once!”

King Ralston had shouted the order and Evan snapped out of his trance. For one moment he had to recall where he was, who he was and what he was doing. He saw the twisted face of the prince, red, his mouth dripping with food, spitting all of it out in a cough.

“You nearly killed me you incompetent… cough!” Tristan cried. “I couldn’t eat all of that at once! I was choking you dumb inbred incompetent idiot!”

“I’m… I’m deeply sorry, my prince. It wasn’t my intention. I… I lost control!”

“I saw that! We shouldn’t have asked for an oaf apprentice! We should have asked for a real magician! You’re not good at high magic, just good at petty entertaining tricks! Be gone, you’re making me lose my appetite!”

Evan swore it would be Tristan’s last insult.

Tristan was a pig – no, even pigs could be kind. Tristan was a big monster. A fat, cruel slob, unfit to rule a kingdom. A would-be tyrant. A spoiled, overgrown, cruel brat. A brat that needed to be taught a lesson.

XXX

Master Rummuel had always told Evan that magic practitioners had the role of teachers towards mundane humans.

“To know, control and wield magic we have to know more about ourselves and other people than anyone will ever know. It opens our eyes and doors to other worlds, other gods, other perspectives. We learn so much… and through this knowledge we know how to act. We can be good, evil, both, of course we aren’t above moral. But we are aware of our own morals, and thus we can enlighten others. We can make them see how they are good, how they are bad. And reward them or punish them according.”

Now Evan understood what Master Rummuel meant. As he was looking through the old tome he brought with him, he understood.

For anyone not initiated to the high arts, this book was merely a collection of childish tales and nursery rhymes, with simple, crude illustrations. But it was much more. It was ancient. It was account of the deeds of old witches and fairies. It was filled with traditional spells, and folkloric rituals, and countryside common magic. And it was a testimony of wonders beyond human imagination.

Evan finally found the story he was looking for.

The tale of “The Boy Who Couldn’t Stop Eating His Soup”. Right next to it were illustrations. A sequence of illustrations, showing what happened to the boy, step by step until… he learned his lesson.

Evan closed the book with a smile on his face. It was the first time he smiled since he stepped into this damn castle.

It was time to play fairy tricks.

XXX

“I wanted to apologize to you, my lord, for the incompetence I demonstrated during… the incident, at the last feast. I presumed too much of my own powers and put you in a great danger – something I will not forgive myself for. If you want to banish me, I would perfectly understand, but allow me first to offer you a gift of apology. A cake I baked myself. I am a poor baker, unfortunately, but I put my hands in the dough for I knew one of your favorite treats was the chocolate fudge cake. I hope you will like it.”

Tristan, sitting on his bed, a plate of dried meat resting on his fat belly, looked at the cake with bright eyes.

“It looks good… Indeed… But take a bite first. We haven’t found any taster replacement yet, and you know how it is, with poison and other things. Here, let me decide which bite you’ll have.”

Tristan took the fork by the side of the cake, took randomly a small part of the cake and handed it to Evan.

“Here, eat this.”

Evan obeyed, with a smile on his face. As soon as he gulped the cake down, the prince took the wizard’s face in his warm, plump hands.

“My prince? What are you doing?”

Tristan turned Evan’s face one way, another, before letting it go and sighing:

“You’re too bony. I can’t have such a skinny man near me, it feels like a personal insult and it ruins my whole outfit. It is dreadfully out of fashion. If you really want to be apologized, put on some pounds. At least get rid of those sunken cheeks.”

“I will, your majesty.”

“No, I don’t think you’ll do. You said it yourself, you are incompetent. I’ll have my personal meal planners put on your back and don’t try to run away from it. You’ll put on some pound or you’ll get kicked out.”

Tristan took the cake and started eating it.

“Oh, it would certainly sadden me to leave your court so soon.”

But Tristan wasn’t listening anymore. When the prince was eating, he only had eyes for his plates and ears for his cook, and all the rest could very well go to hell.

“It’s not very good, but it’s not bad at all. At least it’s decent. I can eat it. That’s already that.” The Prince said between gulps and munchings, as he was eating quickly and ferociously the dessert.

Evan waited until finally, Tristan took one of the mint leaves on top of the cake and ate it.

For the spell wasn’t in the cake. It was in the mint.

Evan clenched his first, looked deeply at the blubbery mass of the glutton, and muttered an innocent-looking little rhyme.

“Creosote and knuckles,

Frog for the ox,

Be the Wawel of Vistula.

Jester of the storm, make balloons of his gore.

The five winds be put in your bag.

You ate the house, be big as one.

If not for the gallows, be the waxing moon.

In the name of the cursed Halfling king.

Teach the moral, learn the lesson.

Become Sunday, and hatch my boy.”

Tristan stopped eating as his stomach emitted a loud growl. The Prince, briefly distraught, put a hand on his belly, and hearing no more, finished the cake, even licking the plate.

“Yeah. It wasn’t such a good… Burp. Such a good cake. Not a… It made me quite peckish, however. Servant! Bring me salted meat! I crave for some salty meat! With a lot of salt! And maybe… two, no, three apples!”

Evan smiled, bowed to his Prince and left.

Now, it was just a question of time.

#weight gain story #fat #weight gain #overweight #commission #my work #my writing

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slipkknuttt · 7 months

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Howdy!

I'm MJ/Spidey, I use she/her pronouns, and I am 22 years old. I like to write xreaders and xoc fanfics from multiple fandoms. For example; Slashers, Marvel, Harry Potter, etc.

I take requests for characters, but I have a right to decline to some request if they make me uncomfortable.

MINORS DNI!

This is a 18+ blog, I will post future smut and other content that may be disturbing and/or not appropriate for younger audiences.

Fandoms I write for!

Slashers

Micheal Myers(1978 and RZ)

Jason Vorhees(Friday the 13th)

Danny Johnson(Dbd!Ghostface)

Stu Macher(Scream)

Billy Loomis(Scream)

Brahms Heelshire(The Boy)

Billy Lenz(Black Christmas 1972)

Amanda Young(Saw and Dbd)

Charles Lee Ray(Childs Play)

Tiffany Valentine(Bride of Chucky)

Carrie White(Carrie)

Marvel

Peter Parker(Andrew Garfield)

Marc Spector(Moon Knight)

Steven Grant(Moon Knight)

Jake Lockley(Moon Knight)

Wade Wilson(Dead Pool)

Peter Quill(Guardians of the Galaxy)

Matt Murdoc(Dare Devil)

Wanda Maximoff(Wandavision)

Pietro Maximoff (Wandavision)

Across the Spider Verse

Miguel O'Hara

Peter B Parker

Jessica Drew

Miles Morales

Gwen Stacy

Hobie Brown

Spider Noir(Peter Parker)

Bruce Wayne

Dick Grayson

Jason Todd(Any Vers.)

Tim Drake

Barry Allen

Clark Kent

Konner Kent

Koriand'r

Rachel Roth

Selina Kyle

Pamela Isely

Harley Quinn

Marauders

James Potter

Sirius Black

Remus Lupin

Lily Evans

Marlene McKinnon

Dorcas Meadows

Regulus Black

Serverus Snape

COD

Captain Price

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

John 'Soap' MacTavish

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

König

Mortal Kombat

Lui Kang

Kung Lao

Raiden

Kenshi Takahashi

Johnny Cage

Kuai Liang

Tomas Vrbada

Bi-Han

Mileena

Kitana

Sonya Blade

I might not post often, but I'll try to get a few stories in. I have work and other matters I need to attend to, so please be patient. I might want to note that most on my stories will be oc inserts, I only have like 1 or 2 ocs, so I might make more depending the fic I write.

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daughter-of-melpomene · 1 month

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𝐝𝐜 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭.

another list of all my fancasts this universe, since i’ve just revamped my dc ocs too! please note that these fancasts only apply to my ocs who are specifically stated to be for the dc comics universe, as my recasts for the dceu are a completely different thing. this list is made up of a combination of my own ideas for recasts and popular castings that i’ve seen on other platforms, and also that not every character has been included here because there are several that i like with the actors currently portraying them. you all can definitely feel free to use any and all of these for yourselves!

oscar isaac — bruce wayne a.k.a. batman.

simu liu — clark kent a.k.a. superman.

lupita nyong’o — diana of themyscira a.k.a. wonder woman.

alfred enoch — barry allen a.k.a. flash.

taron egerton — hal jordan a.k.a. green lantern.

charlie hunnam — oliver queen a.k.a. green arrow.

dichen lachman — dinah lance a.k.a. black canary.

dev patel — arthur curry a.k.a. aquaman.

sinqua wallis — victor stone a.k.a. cyborg.

mahershala ali — j’onn j’onzz a.k.a. martian manhunter.

jessica chastain — pamela isley a.k.a. poison ivy.

eiza gonzález — selena kyle a.k.a. catwoman.

dylan o’brien — dick grayson a.k.a. nightwing.

thomas doherty — jason todd a.k.a. red hood.

ryan potter — tim drake a.k.a. red robin.

aramis knight — damian wayne a.k.a. robin.

khylin rhambo — duke thomas a.k.a. signal.

katherine mcnamara — barbara gordon a.k.a. oracle.

lana condor — cassandra cain a.k.a. black bat.

kathryn newton — stephanie brown a.k.a. spoiler.

colin firth — alfred pennyworth.

evan rachel wood — kate kane a.k.a. batwoman.

benedetta gargari — zatanna zatara a.k.a. zatanna.

matthew mcconaughey — victor sage a.k.a. question.

diego luna — floyd lawton a.k.a. deadshot.

tagging my dc babes @ginevrastilinski-ocs and @xoteajays!!

#randomness #fancasts #dc fancast #dcu fancast

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frogyjones-writes · 8 months

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General info:

I'll only do requests that interest me this is something I do for fun in my free time so you might get an answer awhile after a submission :]

Most likely to get through headcanons/short prompts done first!

Characters I write for:

Don't be afraid to ask for a character from the same Fandom however! I'm just better with these guy's characterization :]

The Last of Us: Ellie Williams, Dina, Abby Anderson

Dead By Daylight: The Trapper (Evan MacMillan), The Nurse (Sally Smithson), Ghost Face (Danny Johnson), The Huntress (Anna), The Pig (Amanda Young), The Plauge (Adiris), The Onryō (Sadako Yamamura)

Silent Hill: Lisa Garland, Maria, Mary Shepard-Sunderland, James Sunderland, Angela Orosco, Harry Mason

Misc: Sadako Yamamura (ringu), Selene (underworld), Carol Aird (Carol),

Resident Evil: Alcina Dimitrescu, Bela Dimitrescu, Cassandra Dimitrescu, Daniela Dimitrescu, Donna Beneviento, Jill Valentine, Claire redfield (games/movies), Alice Abernathy (movies), Rebecca Chambers, Helena Harper

The Quarry: Emma Mountebank, Abigail Blyg, Kaitlyn Ka, Laura Kearney, Max Brinley, Nick Furcillio, Jacob Custos, Dylan Leviny, Ryan Erzahler

Until Dawn: Sam Giddings, Ashley Brown, Emily Davis, Jessica Riley

Life is Strange: Maxine "Max" Caufield, Chloe Price, Rachel Amber, Kate Marsh, Victoria Chase, Dana Ward

Tomb Raider: Lara Croft (better with the survivor series), Sam

Saw: Amanda Young, Adam Faulkner Stanheight, Lynn Denlon

(More to be added later!)

Do's:

Character x Reader, Character x Character, Some OC X Characters, Polyships, LGBTQ+

Heavy angst/sensitive topics

AUs and alternative settings

Accept headcanon requests for multiple characters

Dont's:

NSFW (suggestive stuff is fine but I'm not writing smut)

Incestual/pedophilic ships (yes this includes adoptive family or parental/sibling figures don't test me)

Any dead dove sort of shit

General NoNo's

Writing examples

#writing requests #the last of us #dead by daylight #resident evil #the quarry #silent hill #until dawn #tomb raider #x reader #resident evil x reader #dead by daylight x reader #the last of us x reader #the quarry x reader #until dawn x reader #headcanons #ficlet #requests #saw

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bobbinalong · 7 months

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little brother.

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maccreadysbaby · 1 month

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A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: death and gore

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

here’s bentley and his friends going through it™︎

part thirty-one

❝ HOMEBOUND ❞

MONDAY — AUGUST 17 — 10:42PM

BENTLEY, ASTEN, NICO, AND DAVIS DIDN’T MOVE AN INCH. Instead, they all stared at the bodies of the guards that had just choked to death on nothing.

Nico’s glowing white eyes faded back to their normal blue, rolled back into his head, and he fell over without a warning. Thankfully, Asten was quick and close enough to keep his head from hitting the white tile of Dr. Keene’s screwed-up child experimenting facility.

Bentley blinked, taking several moments to look back and forth between the pile of dead guards in the doorway of the sterile white room, and Nico. Had he just… killed them all? With superpowers?

He turned back to Nico and Asten — the latter now had the former’s head on his lap, and he was staring at him, stunned. So many people were… dying. Bentley had to have seen at least twenty people die right before his eyes in the past, what? Thirty minutes? And each one at the hands of people he knew as friends. The thought made him kind of dizzy. He’d seen so many people die.

He flinched when Davis’s metal glove landed on his left shoulder, and when he met his eyes, the green orbs were dancing worriedly across his face and bloody frame. Bentley looked away and sniffled quietly. “You think you can walk so I can carry your friend?”

Honestly, Bentley was running on nothing more than fumes and fear, and had been for at least a solid few days. The added pain and terror from the gunshot was almost inconceivable, blending into one big blur of full-body agony that he couldn’t stop crying over. Even though Davis said the shot wasn’t that bad (he knew it would be a very different situation if he had been shot in the chest or head), keeping himself from falling over seemed to be the most laborious task he’d carried out in a long time.

But… Nico was passed out, and Bentley wasn’t yet. He wasn’t sure how many steps he’d get in — but if worse came to worse, he was probably small enough that Asten could get by with dragging him or something. So, as much as he wanted Davis to keep carrying him around, to hide his face from the world and pretend he was in Bruce’s arms, he wiped at his furiously leaking eyes and nodded for him to carry Nico instead.

With that, Davis moved across the room to pick him up, which he did while enduring the longest death glare Bentley had ever seen Asten throw in someone’s direction. He didn’t argue, though — much to their surprise. He just stood up once Nico was securely in Davis’s arms, eyes flicking over to Bentley, around the sterile white room. He also sent a glare to the Synchronizer that surely would’ve made it wither had it been anything but metal and machinery.

“We have to get to Titus. He’s on the other end of the facility,” Davis said, shifting Nico around until his head was securely against his shoulder. He was holding him bridal style like he’d been carrying Bentley, and Nico looked really small in his arms.

Asten breathed in, brushing a hand over his blue and black hair. He was still standing ahead of the Synchronizer where Nico had hugged the life out of him. “Titus. The one who can teleport?”

“Yeah. He can get you guys out of here, if we can get to him. If. I’m not sure how far we’ll make it with no self defense. I would offer up my hands, but they’re kinda full,” Davis glanced down at Nico momentarily, something like the vaguest hint of nostalgia or deja vu swirling in his green irises. “We-“

“I can help with that,”

Bentley, Asten, and Davis all flinched in tandem when a fourth voice came — a disembodied female voice that had no obvious user. The voice had come from near the back wall, across from the door, but… there wasn’t anybody there.

Bentley wasn’t, like, losing his mind, was he? The thought made more silent tears slide down his face. He’d lost so much blood he was losing his mind.

“Who’s there?” Davis questioned, taking a few steps past Bentley in the direction of the mysterious voice. Asten moved toward them, ever so slowly inching away from the Synchronizer and ending up at Bentley’s left side.

Suddenly, eliciting a flinch from Asten and a gasp from both Bentley and Davis, the redhead girl that they’d ejected from a Synchronizer on their search for Asten and Nico appeared out of thin air. She was standing against the back wall of the room in a hospital gown that mirrored theirs, picking at her nails. Her light blue eyes seemed to be an odd mixture of color that made them look silver, and her red hair was long and wavy down her back. Her face had much more color than it had earlier.

Davis glowered dangerously at her, tugging Nico closer to himself. “Who are you?”

She stepped forward, a ghost of a smile growing on her petite face. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt your little sheep. I’ve been following you since you let me out of the machine, which I’m here to repay you for. That is, if you can get your teleporty friend to get me out of here, too.”

“How are you going to help us?” Davis questioned, his voice layered thick with uncertainty and doubt. The girl smirked — smirked.

“I might be straight out of the mad scientist’s oven, but I have a pretty good handle on this whole superpower thing,” She explained, glancing down at her own blank nails, strangely nonchalant now — way calmer than she was earlier. “The names Lydia. Lydia Venice. And with me at your disposal, you’ll be able to walk your happy selves straight to the other side of the compound without a hitch.”

Her freakishly calm demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by Bentley. Either she was adapting extremely well to being kidnapped and experimented on, or…

“And how am I supposed to know if you’re being mind controlled?” Davis questioned, mirroring exactly what Bentley had been thinking. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. What if she was just going to take them back to Dr. Keene? Put them back in the machines to finish the process?

“I guess you don’t… but I feel like myself right now. Making my own choices and all that,”

Bentley would’ve been intrigued in the conversation, had the blood loss been taking less of a toll on him than it actually was. The floating feeling was now putting a fog over everything in his mind, and he was really cold. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, and it seemed to be going way too fast even though he was literally just standing there.

That’s about when his legs decided to give out beneath him.

Thankfully, a pair of arms looped around his middle in a rather un-graceful way, catching him in a position that made his shoulder momentarily set itself ablaze with agony. He let out a cry. Why? The pain? The trauma that was being burned into his head for the rest of his life? He wasn’t sure. But he was pretty sure it was enough to cry about.

“Whoa, whoa. I’ve got you, red,” Whispered probably the most comforting voice in the room.

Voices were running in the background, Davis and Lydia, but the Bentley was too focused on the fact that Asten had wasted no time pulling him gently back onto his feet. He slung Bentley’s arm around his shoulders, looping his own arm around his torso so he could hold him up. Nearly all of his (minimal) weight was leaning into Asten’s right side, which might’ve felt bad about if his mind wasn’t floating like he was fresh off of anesthesia. He noted the fact that he kind of felt like he wanted to hurl. He also noted the fact that everyone was suddenly looking at him.

Davis stared at him for a solid ten seconds, before he huffed and looked back at Lydia with a tense: “Fine. How are you going to help us?”

She smiled. “Observe.”

She walked over to the Synchronizer in the room, and with the cock of an eyebrow, put her hand on it. She disappeared. The entire Synchronizer disappeared with her.

“Whatever I touch turns invisible, too. If you hold onto me, no one will see us,” Her voice came from the nothingness in front of them.

“Alright…” Davis sighed to himself, blinking a few times to right his mind. “But if you try anything-“

“You’ll kill me?” The girl reappeared and cracked a strangely genuine looking grin, cocking a hip to the side. “I’ve seen quite the spread of bodies you’ve left in your wake, Reaper. This time and last.”

Davis scowled, a far-off look growing in his eyes momentarily. Bentley remembered hearing about the last time Davis had killed a bunch of people — if his brain wasn’t so foggy he might’ve even remembered what Dr. Keene said the reason was. But he couldn’t. He felt like he was drifting away into darkness. Like the agony was fading and so was he. Even the crying he’d assumed would be endless was tapering away due to the haze he couldn’t get out of.

“Asten,” He whispered, breathing deep despite being relatively still. The Brazilian immediately whipped his head around, his hold on him tightening the slightest.

“What is it?”

Bentley sniffled, batting away the wetness in his eyes to no avail. “I don’t feel good,” He muttered, but he couldn’t bring his gaze up to look his friend in the eyes. How was Asten so warm and everything else was so cold? Bentley was freezing.

The blue haired boy grimaced, glancing back up at Davis and Lydia. “As much as I love spitting empty threats at people, you seem to have forgotten that ginger over here is literally bleeding out. Let’s get this trainwreck on the road, yeah?”

Davis and Lydia’s eyes flicked between each other, Bentley, and Asten, before the former nodded. “It’s now or never.”

Lydia walked toward the door, grabbing onto Davis and Asten’s hospital gowns as she went, tugging them along. Bentley and Nico didn’t have much of a choice but to join them. “You’ll still see yourselves and each other, but no one else will. They can hear and feel us, though, so don’t be idiots.”

Bentley walked along, and he was thankful for Asten baring most of his weight — the strangely dull agony of the gunshot was sending waves of pain pulsing through his muscles, and it made his legs not want to work. It made nothing want to work, really — not even his brain, which was still getting fuzzier.

They left the Synchronizing room and moved into the long, sterile, white hallways, Lydia’s hand staying on the others’ gowns all the way. For now, the corridors were empty, but they branched off into other halls and areas not too far ahead of them, and Bentley wasn’t sure those would be so vacant. Red alarm lights were flashing in the halls, but there were no alarms.

“Titus is in the medical sector,” Davis nodded to the left, down the long hall. Thankfully, they weren’t facing all the dead people left in Davis’s wake. Bentley wasn’t sure he could stomach staring at them all again, black growing and writhing under their skin like a parasite.

Lydia nodded. “Don’t pull away from me, and keep your mouths shut,” She ordered.

Bentley had no problem with that. The rag-tag group of five, one shot, one unconscious, all supposedly invisible, wearing matching hospital gowns made down the white hallways with Lydia at the lead. Bentley was hardly able to focus on anything except keeping his own two feet under him as Asten walked. Why was it so hard to move his feet the right way?

At one point, a group of guards with guns walked right past them without batting an eye, which meant they really were invisible. And Bentley had never been more grateful in his life.

For a long time, all Bentley saw was bright white and flashing red moving around him. The occasional guard or few passed every now and then, paying them no mind at all. Lydia’s plan was going, dare he say, good. Maybe he would actually make it home.

They were just about to pass a group of six, solid white, armored and gunned guards when Nico decided to wake up.

Screaming.

“No! No, I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to!”

Bentley was shocked back into reality at the noise, and everyone began to move. The guards whipped out their weapons, Nico flailed in Davis’s arms, Lydia whipped around to see what was going on and Asten flinched so violently he nearly dropped Bentley on his face.

“Hey, hey, shh, shh, shh,” Davis tried to hush Nico. He was squirming to the point where Davis had to set him down in favor of not dropping him, his eyes wide and brimming with tears, and the guards were aiming their guns around the hallway in a blind panic. Lydia hadn’t let go of them, and the men in white looked confused, which was a good thing, Bentley thought.

…Until it wasn’t.

Until they began to pull the trigger of their guns blindly, one shot after another, each one aiming in the group’s general direction. There were probably ten or twelve gunshots that erupted from the group, at least two of which were aimed pretty darn close to Bentley and Asten. Lydia let go of everyone in a panic, making them visible to the world.

Bentley was overtake by dread at the realization that he was really dead now. And so was everybody else.

There was a flash of yellow lightning.

Everyone stood, frozen, unmoving, unblinking. The guards didn’t move. None of Bentley’s group moved. Not a single one of the five captives hit the floor, screamed, or started bleeding like he’d anticipated. Bentley looked down at himself and Asten, examining for blood or gunshots hidden by adrenaline, but there was nothing. At least a couple of those guns had been aimed freakishly close to them.

Nico was now standing directly in front of Bentley and Asten, his chest heaving and eyes sparking with an ever present yellow electricity. His right hand was balled into a fist.

When opened it, all of the bullets that had just been shot fell through his fingers and dinged on the tile.

Suddenly, it all seemed to make sense in Bentley’s only half-working mind. Nico’s hands moving so fast he couldn’t see them, the yellow lightning, the letter from his real parents talking about the Speed Force — Nico had super-speed. Super-speed that was so fast he’d just caught a dozen bulletsthat had been shot not ten feet away from them.

The guards were stunned, and Davis used the moment of confusion to his advantage, flicking a glove off with one resounding click.

Bentley jumped when more gunshots rang out — directed right at Davis. There was another flash of yellow lightning and Nico was in front of the men with the guns. He dropped another handful of bullets on the floor.

Bentley made sure to look away when Davis used his hands to kill the guards — just like he’d told him — but Asten watched in some mixture of horror and intrigue. Bentley saw Davis move in his peripheral, heard the dull thuds of the guards against the tile.

Nico stumbled back away from Davis, knocking into Asten, who almost dropped Bentley again.

“Dude, that was awesome! You’re like the freaking flash!” He heard Asten mutter, like he wasn’t literally shot at twenty seconds ago.

Suddenly and silently, Lydia hit the floor in front of the three of them.

They all flinched and peered down at her — she had small streams of blood dripping from her nose, her eyes, her ears. She was staring at them… but wasn’t really looking.

Bentley inhaled sharply when he realized that she wasn’t looking at all. That her chest wasn’t rising or falling, that she was laying eerily still. In his peripheral, he could see someone standing a ways off in the hallway. Someone with platinum hair and glowing yellow eyes, a twisted stitched smile that would forever be engraved in his mind.

Nico let out a strangled whine at the sight of Lydia’s body, and then promptly threw up in the floor. Asten had a grip on his shoulder with the arm that wasn’t around Bentley.

Davis was suddenly in front of them, obstructing their view of the Secret Keeper. He thrusted the keycard he’d been carrying around toward Asten. “You’re almost there! You just go to the next hall and turn left — you’ll be looking right inside his cell. That should open it. Go!”

Bentley’s heart was hammering in his ears, threatening to split his ribs clean open. Nico looked so pale he might pass out, he was crying again, arms wrapped around himself and looking really tiny. Asten took the hand off of his shoulder to grab the keycard.

Davis un-latched his other glove, but didn’t let it hit the floor yet. He pointed down the hallway when not one of them responded, glancing behind them. “Go!”

“What about you?” Bentley croaked, the sting of tears behind his eyes starting up again. He didn’t have much of a response when Asten rubbed his back. He wasn’t sure he could take any of the self sacrificial bullcrap — he wanted to survive and he wanted Asten to survive and Nico to survive and Davis to survive. Davis had to survive. He’d saved Bentley so many times and death was how he’d repay him?

“What’re you gonna do?” Bentley choked.

Davis turned, moving just enough so Bentley could see the silhouette of the Secret Keeper standing eerily still at the other end of the hall. Then the waiter smiled fondly, green eyes sparkling a little even despite the circumstances. “I’m going to try and have a conversation with my girlfriend.”

Bentley blinked. They all blinked, and he looked at Asten, who look at him, and then at Nico, who looked at them.

“Charlie?” Asten muttered, eyes falling to the tile. “My God, you must’ve thought she was… for two years…“

“You guys need to get out of here. Get to safety,” Davis replied, agilely avoiding Asten’s statement. “Remember, the first hall that branches left, Titus will be straight ahead.”

Bentley pulled himself out of Asten’s hold and managed to stumble forward just far enough to wrap his arms around Davis’s torso with a poorly stifled round of crying. “Please don’t die.”

Davis patted the top of his head with his still-gloved hand. “You heard it yourself, kid — I am death. Now go.”

Bentley was gently pulled away by Asten’s hand, and despite everything that was screaming for him to stop, they ran. (Well, as much as Bentley could. He was more or less being dragged around by Asten, who had resumed their previous position.) They booked it down the sterile halls and turned down the first one to the left. This one was different — lined with large viewing windows that were accompanied by metal doors. At the end of the hall was a window and door, larger than the others. There weren’t any guards or scientists around. Not that they could see, anyway.

The three of them slowed to a walk, peering into the windows as they passed. Most of the rooms were empty, filled with cabinets of medical supplies and gurneys, but every now and then the gurney would have a human shaped bag that Bentley refused to look at any longer than he had to. Each room had a little plaque on the front, but none of them had any words on them.

Not that he would be able to read them anyways. His crying had ramped back up to a ten at the very prospect of Davis going head-to-head with the Secret Keeper. He wasn’t… he couldn’t… Davis… he had to touch to kill. As far as Bentley knew, the Secret Keeper — Charlie — didn’t even have to seeher victim to kill them. It was a battle that was already lost, and Bentley already knew the winner.

He could barely breathe.

Asten dragged the heap of crying disaster until they made it to the dead-end, to the largest room. Bentley managed to see that, through his tears, the plaque on that door read: Titus Lancaster.

But the room was empty.

Asten stepped right up to the widow, so close that it fogged up the glass under his breath. “Merda.”

Any shred of hope Bentley had dissipated at the sight of the empty cell. Dr. Keene said on video that had to make it especially so Titus couldn’t teleport out — why would they take him somewhere else? It wasn’t time for his mind control surgery yet, unless Bentley had been in the Synchronizer for a longtime.

They were all going to die.

Nico anxiously ran his hands over his hair, a few quiet sobs wracking his whole body. “This is hopeless!”

Bentley hiccuped, trying his best to choke back the endless crying, trudging through the fog in his brain to try and remember anything else that might help them. Nico plunked himself down against the wall and cried unabashedly, just like he had at the bus stop. Asten stared into the room like, if he looked hard enough, Titus would materialize there.

Even through the crying and agony looming over his head, Bentley managed to remember Dr. Keene talking about when Titus got sick. He remembered seeing him in the hospital bed on the video, and he remembered the second video, where he made him perform his abilities so Bentley’s father could see. And at the end of the video, he said…

Bless him; he prefers to stay in the rafters of his enclosure like some kind of bird at the zoo.

Bentley suddenly leaned forward, peering through the glass up at the ceiling. There were metal beams that spanned the length of the room, and there was a dark blob resting on one. “Titus,” Bentley said, pointing toward the ceiling.

Asten followed his finger with his gaze, and Nico threw himself off of the floor, both peering through the glass. They seemed to visibly relax when their eyes landed on the blob.

“Good eye, red,”

If Bentley were more lucid, he might’ve replied.

Just like all the other doors, there was a blue light next to the entrance to Titus’s cell — the one Davis had always tapped the keycard on. Below that light was a little screen, no bigger than Bentley’s hand, that read: EM Field Activated.

He and Asten shuffled toward the door, and the latter tapped the keycard on the light just like Davis had. After a moment, it turned green, and the words displayed on the screen changed — EM Field Deactivated.

The door slid open.

None of them moved for a moment, peering around, checking if there was a chance anyone had seen that. Through his own tears and now-slightly-blurry vision, Bentley couldn’t see much of anything except white.

Asten cleared his throat. “Titus?”

Quickly, the blob in the rafters shifted around, presumably to get a good look at them.

“A guy named Davis sent us. He… said you can teleport us out of here,”

In a whoosh of wind and color, Titus appeared in front of them. He looked worse than he had in the video — he was twelve, Bentley remembered, but looked like he didn’t even weigh sixty pounds soaking wet. The hospital gown swallowed him. He was only a little taller than Bentley, Nico’s height, but really frail looking. His skin was pale as a sheet of paper, and his deep gray eyes were sunken into his face, his nearly-black hair frizzed up in all directions.

Bentley wasn’t sure which of them was worse off.

Titus’s eyes flicked around warily, from Asten’s calculating stare, to Nico’s sobbing form, to Bentley’s half-red hospital gown. Then he looked at the door behind them, taking a few steps to comprehend if it was actually open or not. He seemed almost… afraid of it. Like he’d been tricked before, or something.

“Yeah, hey, we kinda need a fast exit here,” Asten said, glancing between Nico and Bentley, then looking back at Titus. “Will you help us? You’ll be able to escape, too.”

Titus’s deep gray eyes flicked between the three of them. “Don’t lie.”

“Wha- I’m not lying! We were kidnapped and put in a freaking oven and my friend got shot and we need to go!” Asten replied. Titus flinched backwards at the smallest raise of Asten’s voice, which Bentley didn’t much like.

Asten noticed and took a breath. “Please, Titus. We won’t hurt you. We need your help.”

“You’re just another test,” Titus muttered, backing up until he came in contact with the wall, sliding down until he could curl up on the floor and lacing his hands in his hair. “I’m not gonna try and escape, you can stop making me see things now.”

It made Bentley kind of sad how absolutely… broken Titus seemed. Like a kid that had been stripped of his entire personality and left with nothing but dread. What did he mean by seeing things? Had Dr. Keene been training him into submission like some kind of dog?

“Titus, hey,” Asten tried, looking to Nico for help. “We aren’t a test, we aren’t. You see the alarm lights in the hallway? We need your help getting out of here before guards come.”

Titus looked back up at them warily, his gray eyes watering. “Please go away.”

Gunshots came, making all four boys jump violently in their spots. There were no guards in their hallway yet, but Bentley could only assume the worst — that those had been aimed at Davis.

“Please!” Asten begged, looking out the window into the halls. “Please, please, please. Nothing bads going to happen, I promise. Just… please. We need out of here. Bentley needs a hospital.”

Panic shot through him like an arrow at those words, and he exclaimed: “No! Not a hospital — Wayne Manor.”

Asten didn’t seem to find it in him to correct him.

“Please, you’re the only one here who can save us. Our friend Davis — you know Davis? — he’s fighting the Secret Keeper right now and-“ Asten breathed in, glancing into the hall anxiously. Bentley was getting so floaty it got kind of hard to tell what he was saying. “-take Bentley to the Manor, and you can take me to Crime Alley. Nico-“

“I’m going to your house,” Nico replied firmly, hazy gaze fixed on Asten. “I can’t… I can’t let my parents see me like this. All screwed up and played with. I can’t.”

Titus stared at them, and Asten huffed. “Okay. Bentley to the Manor, us to Crime Alley. Then you can go wherever you want. Please. Please.”

That was the moment Bentley promptly remembered that Titus’s parents were dead.

“Please?” Nico added, a desperate attempt at getting Titus to oblige.

“I… can… only go where I’ve seen before,” Titus said softly, carefully unraveling himself from the ball. “I can do… Wayne Manor. Not Crime Alley.”

Asten huffed. “That’s fine, that’s fine. We can figure that out after we get Bentley home.”

Titus let out a puff of air, then stepped forward slowly. He reached out, hesitantly, like they would bite him, and then he grabbed onto Asten and Nico’s wrists. “Don’t let go of him,” He ordered softly, gesturing to Bentley. “It’s gonna feel weird. Might hurt. Ready?”

Bentley wasn’t sure if he could survive any more hurt in one day.

Right then, a group of guards — probably ten — turned the corner into the hall. Bullets clinged wildly against the window of the room, not even making a dent in the glass.

“Go now! Go now!” Asten ordered. Titus closed his eyes, squeezed Bentley’s friend’s hands tighter, and then the world swam.

Bentley squeezed his eyes shut. It felt like he was falling, like he was spinning and whipping around in the air with zero control of where he was going. It felt like he had pins and needles across his entire body — the burn of his atoms being ripped apart and put back together in another location.

It only lasted for a split second, before there was a loud whooshing sound, and the ground seemed to rush into Bentley’s feet so hard he stumbled. It was cold, and Asten wasn’t holding onto him anymore, and he was laying on wet grass. He winced when the impact sent waves of pain pulsing through his whole body.

The only things that kept him conscious were the muted groans came from around him, so he looked up. The first thing he saw was the nights sky — big and black and cloudy. He, Asten, and Nico were sprawled on the dewy grass of Wayne Manor’s front courtyard, and Titus was in the middle of them, just standing there like nothing happened. He was spinning around, though, looking at the sky like he had never seen it before.

The Manor was there, glowing against the darkness of night. He didn’t know what day it was, what time it was, but he was home. Bentley had never wanted to bawl his eyes out more.

He used all of his remaining strength to haul himself out of the grass, his friends doing the same with grumbles of discomfort. His entire body seemed to be throbbing and screaming and he pretty much felt like a balloon with the amount of floating his head was doing.

“Want me to come with you?” Asten questioned, brushing dirt off of his hospital down. Bentley shook his head.

“No,” He replied, bringing his hand up to rest against his injured arm. God, he looked like a disaster. He felt like a disaster.

And Davis might’ve been dead.

“You guys go. I don’t want you to get in trouble,” He forced the words out of his mouth, looking back at them, probably some of the hardest things he’d done. He wanted to pass out so bad. So bad.

“You’re planning on telling them?” Asten questioned, his voice laced with a little tinge of venom.

Bentley blinked, glancing between Nico, who looked terrified, and Asten, who looked suspicious. Even Titus, who was crying now (Bentley guessed it was because he was free?) turned to look at him.

“I… uh…” He did not have the capacity to make a case right then. He just wanted to go inside.

“You can’t tell them, Bentley. You’ll never be allowed out of the house again, and you’ll probably be banned from seeing us for the rest of your life,” Asten stated, throwing a hand to the side. “Plus, you’ll never see the Secret Keeper destroyed.”

“Are you kidding me?” Nico questioned, crossing his arms and peering over at Asten with a dull glare mixed with tears. “We just got kidnapped. Bentley got shot. I got turned into some kind of monster… how can you still care about that?! We could’ve died.”

“Because the Secret Keeper killed my parents! I’m not resting until she’s underground.” Asten shot back, and the lot of them went still. Bentley wasn’t sure if he should pretend he didn’t know that or not, so to play it cool, he just stood there.

“You can’t tell Bruce, Bentley,” Asten directed his attention back to the redhead. “Lie to him; tell him you just got kidnapped and never saw us. We’ll be hiding out at my house, and no one will find us there, so we’ll still technically be missing. It won’t be so suspicious if we don’t show back up at the same time.”

A pit formed in Bentley’s stomach when he thought about lying to Bruce again, after all of that. It made him want to cry. All he wanted was to let them handle it.

He breathed in, stumbling faintly to the side. “I… I don’t…”

“You can’t tell him not to tell his dad, Asten. He got shot,” Nico spoke up, crossing his arms lightly. “That was freaking traumatizing and you’re asking him not to tell his family about it?”

“You’re hiding out at my house to avoid yours!” Asten argued, flicking a hand toward Nico.

“Because they’re not my real family!” Nico exclaimed, and Bentley blinked. Apparently they’d entered into truth-telling hour. “I’m adopted, and I can’t freaking look at them, okay?”

There was a brief moment of silence where Asten sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I know you’re into the whole can’t-tell-anybody-how-upset-I-am-so-I-bottle-it-up-and-act-broody thing, but not everybody is you, Asten. Some people will destroy themselves doing that,”

Asten huffed, looking back at Bentley and tossing his hands to the side. “Fine. Tell them whatever you want, Whittaker. I’m going to beat her with or without you. Let’s go. Gotham Heights.”

On command, Titus put a hand on both Nico and Asten’s shoulders, and without another word, they whooshed away in a mixture of color and wind. Bentley was left alone.

He breathed in the cold outside air, turning back to look at the Manor. He really had intended on telling Bruce everything, but now, he wasn’t sure what to do.

For now, he settled on dragging himself to the front door.

What was he going to say? How was he going to explain? He was pulling himself shot and half dead up to the door of Wayne Manor after hours, maybe days of being missing. He’d run away, broken into a cabin, gotten kidnapped, experimented on, watched one of his friends get turned into a metahuman, and got teleported home by a boy with superpowers. How was he supposed to tell them that?

Plus, he was pretty sure as soon as he saw somebody’s face, he’d start crying.

He made it onto the front entrance, facing those massive wooden doors just like he had the night Nightwing brought him to the Manor for the first time. Why were those doors scarier now than they had been then?

Bentley glanced down at himself. At his half-red hospital gown, his botched shoulder, his bare feet and bloodied skin. He looked like a disaster. He felt like a disaster. He was a disaster.

What was he going to say?

With not much more motivating him than the fact that he felt like death, he lifted a hand and tried the doorknob. Locked.

With a puff of air, he knocked.

A few terrible moments passed where he stood alone on the front step, waiting to see if salvation would come.

And then it did.

The door to Wayne Manor swung open.

“Bentley?”

Like that was the exact moment his body had been waiting for, the darkness he’d been fighting all night finally swept him away. And he let it.

—

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