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nebulaafterdark · 1 year

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Can I get something Aegon x Velaryon(Strong) reader where she is his betroth but when he wears the crown she takes side with her mother. Rhaenyra annuls the betrothal and betrothes reader with Cregan Stark. Reader goes to Storm’s End with Luke to gain support. Well the rest is like in the show but Aemond takes her to King’s Landing forcefully after he kills her brother and when Aegon learns she’s betrothed with Cregan he weds her and makes her his queen no matter how much she resist. If you are uncomfortable you don’t have to make it yandere or dobcon/noncon. There can be smut or something else it doesn’t matter. I trust your imagination. I really love your Aegon x Velaryon(Strong) reader theme. There is no enough content in Tumblr about Aegon x niece!reader. Most Aegon contents are about Aegon x sister!reader and those contents doesn’t fulfill my thirst for enemies to lovers plot.

I love it! Enemies to lovers just hits different. But I feel they’re more like frienemies to start. Aegon definitely pulled her hair as a kid and if anyone hurt her (besides him) may the gods give them rest lmao. Let’s get into it 💜

Storm’s End

Aegon x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

Warning: Targcest, Yandere!Aegon, dark subject matter, mentions of sex, themes of non/dubcon.

Storm’s End. Not a place Aegon’s given much thought to, until now.

Storm’s End. Where the new ruling King sends his brother, Aemond, to retrieve what is his. His half sister’s sweet daughter, Y/N.

Not so long ago they had been betrothed. Before Viserys died and any semblance of ‘family’ shattered. Y/N chose her mother, because she always did.

‘I am no more or less than a vessel tossed about to create the illusion of peace. As my mother’s eldest child, I go willingly, to protect that which come after me.’

That’s what she’d told him. So it came as no surprise when Aegon learned Rhaenyra had betrothed Y/N to Cregan Stark instead. It stung a bit at first, Y/N was the only person he’d bothered getting to know. Unlike his family, affections for him were not guaranteed. Unlike the whores from the pleasure house, she was not required to give him time of day; only to wed him and bear his heirs.

It is no secret that Aegon is intrigued by the Princess. He spent most of his days imagining where she would fit into his life, what their children would look like, how his cock would feel stuffed inside every hole she had. Perhaps it was wrong, perverse at the very least. But so long as she was his no one could stop it. No one would dare.

When word comes that Rhaenyra’s camp has begun flying about the realm, trying to steal his throne, Aegon sees his opportunity and he seizes it. But from the sound of his future Queen, all but growling like a caged animal, something must have gone amiss.

Aemond enters the room, with Y/N kicking and swinging at him, as they go.

“Get your hands off me, you fucking traitor.” Y/N demands, tossing her head back against Aemond with enough force to dislodge his nose.

“Quiet, bastard!” He seethes, shoving her toward his brother to tend his bleeding.

“I told you I wanted her unharmed.” Aegon rushes to Y/N, taking her around the waist. Partly to comfort, mostly to restrain. Her dark hair falls carelessly about her, escaping from the braid trailing down her back. Her cheeks stained with tears, nose running unabashedly. She is inconsolable.

“She did not come easy.” Aemond informs him, through gritted teeth.

“I wouldn’t go anywhere with you, murderer!” Y/N jerks in his arms, lunging for Aemond as best she can.

“What’s she on about?” Aegon demands, attempting to gentle her to no avail.

“He killed my brother.” Y/N wails, the words wrenching from her throat in an inhuman manner.

“Lucerys owed me a debt.” Aemond half smirks.

“He was a baby.” Y/N cries, “he was just a little boy.”

“Leave us,” Aegon commands.

Aemond nods, clearing the room with the other occupants, until only the King and his Queen remain.

Y/N continues to fight against Aegon, wrestling him to the ground.

“Stop it,” Aegon huffs. His body lying over hers, restraining her hands with his own.

Y/N rears back, spitting in his face.

“Oh my dearest love,” he chuckles, “I’ve missed you too.”

Y/N clunks the back of her skull into the stone floor of the throne room. “Kill me,” she pleads, “do it and be done with it.”

“Shhh,” Aegon frowns, “I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to make you my Queen.”

“No,” she shakes her head.

“Wed you in the tradition of our house and Old Valyria, bind our blood forever. Fuck you full of my children. Tear the Seven Kingdoms apart and rebuild them in your image.”

Y/N lets out a sob. “Please, Aegon. Let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll say you helped me escape.”

Aegon click his tongue at her. Leaning down to her ear, “if I can’t have you, no one will.”

————————————————————————

However improper, Aegon is the one to prepare her for their ceremony. Trickling warm water from the bath over the delicate features of her face.

“Lean up, I’ll wash your hair.” Aegon taps her chin with his forefinger.

Y/N shifts forward, curling in on herself, knees to chest. Arms wrapped tightly around them. “Why are you doing this, Aegon.” Her voice is tired, drained as her body.

It isn’t love, it’s too dark, too selfish, too one sided. It isn’t lust, for he wants more than her body. He hungers for her mind, her soul, to become one in every way. Thoughts of her are all consuming. “Because you’re mine.”

“I’m nothing special. Plain featured bastard at best, by all accounts of your mother.”

“I do not find you plain.” Aegon dampens her locks, smoothing through knotted pieces with his fingers. The dark hair he’s yearned to stroke softly in comfortable silence, to brush sweat damp from her skin as he fucks her.

Y/N peers over at him slowly. Here she has the King on his knees, tending her like a prized possession. She would have married him willingly, in another life. She would have loved him. Instead he chose the crown over her. And she chose her mother over him.

He washes and dries her with a devotion Y/N has never known. Helping her dress in the customary gown.

She is not allowed to leave his side until they are wed before the eyes of thousands. Sliding the blade of her late grandsire’s knife over her palm, pressing it to Aegon’s. Allowing their blood to mingle, seeping into the gauntlet between them.

Y/N feels nothing, not the bite of the blade. Nor the split of her lip, the cool metal of her crown. She is Queen. Traitor to her poor mother who has lost her son. Does she know? Y/N wonders as Aegon reels her in for a kiss. Lapping at the cut on her bottom lip, which matches his own. Does my mother know I’ve betrayed her?

Y/N was always meant to be Queen, one day when Rhaenyra was cold and in her grave. Not now, as she lives and breathes. Does she think I’m dead too?

The bedding ceremony is customary. Y/N goes quietly, draping herself dutifully over the mattress, praying that Aegon is quick about it.

Perhaps he does love her with all the pieces of his decrepit heart. Perhaps she does love him with the fragments of her own. But does it truly matter if this is all they have to show for it? Put on display for the small council as they make love for the first time. To breed children who will feed back and repeat the same jaded cycle.

The sound this thought wretches from Y/N causes Aegon to falter and uncomfortable shifting in the viewing gallery. “I am sorry, sweet girl.” He squeezes her fingers in his.

Had he always been holding her hand?

A lifetime passes in that room and yet no time at all. When it is done the crowd clears; they are alone. Y/N cries, Aegon does too.

If only she and Luce had been sent elsewhere that day. Anywhere but Storm’s End.

“I’m going to get you out of here.” Aegon whispers, stroking her hair with an affection he shouldn’t be capable of. “We’re going to steal away on a ship, sail away, never to return.”

Y/N curls her fist against his chest. “Why would you do that for me?”

“I never wanted this,” he breathes. Not the crown, not the stupid chair. “I wanted you.”

Cregan Stark might have been nice. He might have been a better ally to their cause. In time, he might have come to care for her. But Cregan wouldn’t scour the narrow sea in search of her. Aegon would.

Part 2

#house of the dragon #hotd aegon #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen smut #aegon smut #aegon targaryen #aegon x you #aegon x reader #aegon the elder

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feroluce · 8 days

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So I spoke somewhat about my thoughts on Emanator Sampo here, but I never really thought of it from a design point of view or what kind of powers he would have until just recently. But I actually kind of love leaning into it from a "stage hand" perspective?

Because like. Aha's body in THEIR official art is completely black, giving attention to all the fun brightly colored things around THEM. And that's so fitting for Sampo! He usually prefers to be a side character. He likes to act from the shadows. His is a much more subtle hand.

So I wonder if as an Emanator, a lot of his clothes are actually very dark? Not necessarily plain, still extravagant and needlessly detailed in things like cut and quality with lots of different fabrics and textures and ornamentation, but dark. Or maybe even his skin itself becomes blackened further down his body; his hands in particular are dark, as a sort of sleight of hand reference.

The motif of a lot of straps wrapped around him like in his canon design is still present, but they're all loose and flowing off of him like paper streamers now instead of restraining him or holding him together. He is no longer contained! Or maybe they're still a bit more rigid/heavy, but just draped more like red stage curtains!

And this is like. Fully self-indulgent, but I love inhuman designs, and there's nothing in canon to say I can't do this, so screw it! Go for broke!! Maybe it's not visible to normal people, but Sampo having a second set of arms would be really cool, as further sleight of hand reference. One set is almost normal looking, but his hands are a bright, attention-drawing white, and the other is dark, set almost in the shadows of the first arms, to act less noticeably.

He also has something of a broken heart design to him in canon (the front of his black shirt with its jagged shape down the middle; his coat looks like a full heart shape in the back), and I actually like him keeping that element as an Emanator, because I think it suits him. Sampo says his taste in aesthetics and views on Elation involve human dignity,

and the story he helps create in Belobog involves the long and winding road of resistance and survival and eventual triumph in the face of some very adverse, oppressing odds. (I'm pretty sure I heard he once called Wildfire "artless" though, plus the man acts like he thinks Shame is some kind of dessert, so like ndkdjzjskkd) But the point being!!

I think Sampo is someone who can appreciate heartbreak and angst and tragedy in a story, because it makes the victory at the end all the sweeter. And this would be another thing he shares with Aha, because I think THEY did bless the Mourning Actors partly just to be a little shit, but also because Aha does recognize tragedy as part of THEIR Path, too, and you can see it in some of the game. So a broken heart motif can still suit him, and I like him having elements of both comedy and tragedy. Like his clothing having a happy sun/sad moon (like the moon in Aha's art) or him having both of the traditional comedy/tragedy masks in his design.

And as Emanator, Sampo can maybe play with the stage settings environment, too. Like lights sometimes behave strangely around him, appearing blindingly bright to someone or dramatically dark. Sampo wills it and suddenly there seems to be a metaphorical spotlight right where he wants everyone to look. And when he doesn't want to be noticed, his face seems to be cast in shadow, he seemingly just fades into the background, no one notices or recognizes him and he sneaks away easily. He can create smoke or fog literally out of thin air without his bombs now, too, the air will just suddenly thicken until his stage is obscured, and Sampo can set the scene as he pleases or disappear without a trace.

And in line with being a stage hand, Sampo can direct attention like no other. He was already extremely good at this as a normal mortal, and becoming an Emanator only took it up to 11, past human limits. Sampo points, and all present feel compelled to follow his fingertip. He looks away, and they all follow his gaze. He can even affect the mood of an audience; he can influence everyone to be calm and placid or he can whip them into a feverish frenzy. Sometimes a crowd will start to become unsettled, agitation stirring until it boils over, until it incites a full on violent mob.

And in the middle of all that chaos will stand one perfectly calm figure, face cast in shadow, until they quietly slip away out of sight.

#sampo koski #hsr sampo #emanator sampo #hsr sampo koski #honkai star rail #hsr #they were talking about Emanator Sampo designs in the Sampard Nation server one night and somehow THAT was what got my mind going fjkdaljfk #there was also talk of him making monsters explode in confetti or making their heads pop off like a jack-in-the-box (my contribution hehe)#which is hilarious but just wasn't super relevant here jfklasdj #(I miss bouncing around ideas like that...if anyone knows another sampard server or even just a sampo-dedicated one hit me up!)#(i would love to join and would probably even have friends to bring!!)#but anyway yes I love Emanator Sampo being stage hand themed haha it's very fun with him #I have a lot of screenshots so I wanna try to use them for things like this more!#I think its in SU where it says Aha isn't as powerful an aeon as some of the others like Qlipoth or Lan or Nanook #so I like Sampo's powers being less direct and not just pure destructive power like a lot of the Destruction Emanators #it lets you get real creative with it <3 #maybe next I'll bring over my thoughts on his mask design? Ooh but I wanna talk about Geppie too...#Geppie protecting his soldiers from Cocolia or the actions he could have taken or his very sweet relationship with Bronya-#-or him being inspired by Serval or his HILARIOUS relationship with Pela...#Decisions decisions...

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monsterunderthesheets · 1 year

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TABLE FOR ONE... OR THREE

a litte Vash x Fem! reader fic I made while I was in the middle of waiting tables as work. got a little baby fever for Vash so please treat this fic with care.

!!TW!! mentions of Pregnancy!

Soft drops of rain and a barely noticeable background music were the only ones accompanying you as you continue to polish highball glasses and coffee mugs. It was an awfully bleak and uneventful week at the Café yet it was not a problem for you in the slightest. In fact, it was a godsent chance for you to be left with your own thoughts and enjoy the peaceful solitude of it all. What’s even better is that you’d only have an hour left till you flip the sign closed. These past few days, the rain hasn’t stopped since the day before. According to the recent broadcast, this weather will continue till about next week which to you was all the better for a news because with it, means less customers to deal with, in turn, less work on your plate. Just the thought of a relaxing week made you heave a small sight of contentment and unconsciously pulled your shawl better up your shoulders.

The door to the café chimes open, indicating a customer had arrived. Your shoulders slumped a bit but you quickly set them square again and wore your best smile. ‘I guess one more customer won’t hurt.’ You inwardly thought.

“good evening! How may I help-“

For a moment, you felt your hearth leap to your throat and your fingers ran cold.

Just standing by the door way, stood a tall man clad in red, with a mop of golden locks atop his head. You know that face all too well. The face that you promised yourself you'd smack when you see it.

" uh..." the man hesitated, already sensing your white-hot rage from across the room "t-table for one please?"

It took only but a few wide strides to get to him, not wasting time and threw the first hand you were able to followed by another one and then another with quick succession. None of which ever connected to their target, of course, you knew how good he was with dodging any forms of danger. The thought just flew over your head at that moment. You did promise to hit him but you never said you'd be confident enough to land a single one on him. All you could do was scream, - partly because of humiliation and the other in great loathing-

"the FUCKING AUDACITY you have to show up here again with that stupid smile on your face you FUCKING bastard!"

Vash cough both of your wrists mostly to keep you from doing more harm to yourself than it would on him. Still not satisfied, you resort to kick his shins but that too, was swiftly avoided. (God knows how he managed to) Eventually, Vash had to restrain you by incasing you in an embrace. "I missed you too, Mayfly." he sighed.

"shut the fuck up and let me go, you asshole" you hissed and a bit out of breath. You hate to admit it but you missed his scent, the faint smell of a rainy musky undertone with a hint of... Iron?

Vash notices and pulled you back to check on you but before he could comment on it, you shoved him off of you and fixed your shawl back on your small form. You used to love how quick he was to notice the smallest discomforts you might have but right now, all you ever felt was hate. You knew what you were signing up for but you couldn't just forgive him for what he did to you a few months ago; disappearing on you in that state without even leaving a simple goodbye note. That particular day still hurt like a fresh bullet wound to you.

"what are you doing back here?"

"I happen to be close by so I thought I'd pay a visit." he sheepishly laughed, completely ignoring the fact you were so close to breaking his bones. You scoffed at his pathetic excuse and waved him off.

"well then, hi, and goodbye." you turned to return to the bar counter to start hanging up the closed sign. "Now get out of my sight before I plant some bullets in your head." you warned.

"Hey now, come on Mayfly-look, I'm sorry, okay? But I really need a -ACK! " Vash hissed in pain, and you immediately stopped in your tracks. You turned back to look at him and hurriedly yanked his red jacket. On his side were two fresh wounds, one a clean shot through the side and the other a deep graze. You also found another wound, possibly made by a sharp object, on his chest. You spew a string of curses under your breath as you dragged Vash into the back in a panicked pace while Vash let out is own string of “ow's” in the process. He knew you were such a worry wart so he made another pathetic attempt to lighten up the mood; “Please handle me with care, doc.-" "shut up Stamped!" you hissed. You know you do hate him but it's not at all in your nature to wish death upon others. Especially not to Vash. He obliged after you snapped at him, but with the way you behaved, Vash wondered what the new change of demeanor was all about. Maybe it was because he left you all of a sudden when he promised you he'd stay? In his defense, he genuinely did. But with a bounty on his head and a reputation for hunters constantly nipping at his ankles, he can't risk getting you involved. But the way you’re acting right now is too different, like you changed so much in over just a few months. You seemed snappier than usual, maybe a bit hotter headed than normal. And this kind of worried him a bit. Has his absence really did that much damage to you?

You both spent the entire time in awkward silence but Vash decided to speak up after getting patched up. Specifically addressing the slight change of personality as of late. But you were too eager to not talk about it and tried to literally avoid the subject by abruptly getting up from your seat. Big mistake. The sudden motion caused you to be light-headed and lost your balance, luckily, Vash had always been quick on his feet and caught you before you hit yourself on something.

Your pride still getting the better of you, you shoved him away, not wanting to be touched by him any more than he already had. This caused your shawl to get caught on his mechanical arm, yanking it off from your shoulders. Vash froze in place. Realizing the turn of events, you couldn’t do much else other than avoiding eye contact.

You held your belly in a pathetic attempt to hide the little bump you’re carrying.

"how... How old is it?" Vash squeaked; eyes glued on your belly.

"... A couple of months." you answered reluctantly. He was too silent after that. You didn't know what was going on in his head. Not when you can't see his face. Slowly, you raised your gaze to meet his but as you did, all you saw was... Pain? You weren't sure anymore but you could have sworn you saw it, just a tiny glimpse and it was gone, replaced by a congratulatory smile that was obviously forced out. Something Vash had been so bad at doing since forever that the sight of it made your chest ache.

"My God, congrats Y/N! Your husband sure is a lucky guy!“ Vash stepped back, his hand finding it's way to the nape of his neck. His voice broke on the last word, a sure tell-tale sign that he was fighting back tears. But he was adamant to bury his heart in hopes that he wouldn't seem upset and an asshole for being bitter about an occasion where people are supposed to celebrate and welcome a new life. He forced out a laugh and added "Have... have you decided on a name ye-OW?!" you interrupted him with a boot finally connecting to his shin, causing him to double down

"god dammit Vash, were you really that drunk that night? IT'S YOURS, YOU STUPID PLANT!"

Your face was flushed red with annoyance, tears threatening to roll down from your face. After all, it was the truth. It was why you were seething with hate when he left you. As a plant he told you that there was no way he could reproduce with a human; That it would take an impossible miracle for a plant and a human to conceive a child.

It wouldn't have been a problem for you when he left, but when you found out you were with child, you felt betrayed. That you were taken advantage of and used. That was why you made a promise to yourself to forget about the man that you thought had loved you and commit to you with no strings attached. That you would raise this child without mentioning a single word about the bastard that left you. But Vash is here. He is in front of you, and within the deepest depths of your core, you have the smallest hoped that he would stay this time. You wouldn’t force him if he doesn’t want the baby… it would hurt you, sure, but he’s the humanoid typhoon, he should always be on the run. What other choice do you have?

For what felt like forever, Vash had barely spoken a word since you broke the news to him. You were dying to know what was in his mind, spare yourself the agony of forever wondering what he was thinking.

“then…” it was barely a whisper but you managed to catch on it and looked up to him.

“then… can I?” he continued, hand slowly raising to touch your belly. You hesitated, but eventually dropped the arm you were using to block your belly. Vash took this as granting him permission and slowly knelt before you; eye-level with the baby inside. His touch was feather-like, as if he’d break you and the child if held both of you the wrong way. His palms were warm and you swore, if you held your breath long enough, you could catch his hand trembling very faintly. He took a deep breath and placed his forehead gently on your belly.

Just before you could ask what he was doing, you felt a faint flow of a peculiar sensation within you. It wasn’t anything you had felt before but it wasn’t anything akin to pain either. Just calm…or at peace? Definitely something you cannot describe in words. Then you witnessed something you’ve never seen happen to Vash even for as long as you’ve known him and his true being.

Before you, Vash’s skin was etched with a soft blue glow of what looked like the same markings that plants would have. From his forehead to his cheeks and jaw, down to his chin and neck. Soon, the same markings are present on your stomach even strangely so, you can see a silhouette of a child floating inside your womb, as if you became a transparent vessel for the child you carry. It too adorned the same markings as him. The whole site was beyond beautiful -ethereal even- that it could possibly haunt your dreams or even for the rest of your waking days. Yet despite the barrage of overwhelming emotions, all you could think about is how you felt nothing but relief and gratefulness.

Seeing the baby’s response to its father’s greeting Vash choked down the forming lump in his throat, tears welling in the corners of his eyes, his smile a mix of fear and hope. Vash’s voice managed to croak out only but a few words:

“hey there, little guy.”

-END-

#vash x reader #vash the stampede #Trigunstampede #babyfever and Vash #baby fever #Vash #Trigun stampere fanfic

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justanotheroutlastfanblog · 10 months

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The Outlast College AU: the cast

Eddie Gluskin:

Eddie Gluskin (also known as "Ed" or "the groom" in a mocking way) is a failed pre-med student who switched over to fashion design and merchandising and is known for his "retro" style of dress along with his misogynistic behavior. He is a social outcast due to how he acts so despite his good looks and "charming" personality, he seldom ever gets dates or even respect from his other peers (functionally making him an incel). He is "friends" with Frank (although this is mostly just because Frank also happens to live with him) and that is really about it. And despite his bizarre standards for women and beliefs surrounding sexuality: he is dating Val who is the polar opposite of all of what he holds dear.

Frank Manera:

Frank Manera is Eddie's weed-smoking, whisky-drinking, grunge music-loving culinary school dropout roommate. Unlike Eddie, he is a social outcast by choice and actively chooses not to socially engage with other people or things. Frank is probably the most easy-going person you might meet partly due to the fact he is high all the time but also due to his "I really do not give a shit" attitude he has about practically everything. If it is not about his pickup truck, guns, food, weed, or the bands he likes he could care less. Frank is also occasionally seen at Crust-punk bars and other hole-in-the-wall places around MMU despite not being a student.

Val:

Val is a former member of the hyper-religious cult Temple Gate who once held the role of being the "mother" of all of the bastard children of its leader, Knoth, along with the orphans. She was unable to biologically produce children (functionally be a broodmare) so she took on the role of raising them instead. Val escaped the cult when she was 17 and attempted to bring others with her but was unable to. After her escape, she began to hyper-indulge in sex, drugs, body mods, and all of the other things she was never allowed to even talk about while living on the commune. She never got an education and instead opted to continue partying while also taking a job at a Spencers near MMU. She is dating Eddie Gluskin for reasons not fully understood. And despite her new life of freedom and indulgence, she is still on the run from the cult who does periodically attempt to drag her back. She still misses some members of the cult, specifically the children she cared for and wanted to take with her, but also deeply fears being dragged back too much to do anything.

Miles Upshur:

Miles is a journalism student at MMU who also works at the Spencers with Val. He is yet another stoner similar to the likes of Frank only with a significantly more conspiratorial slant. He is best friends with Waylon Park and frequently pulls him into his strange schemes and ventures (like when he goes ghost hunting in abandoned asylums or attempts to prove aliens exist). And much to his friend's horror: he overall lacks a sense of self-preservation and self-control which frequently results in him getting into a lot of dangerous situations.

Waylon Park:

Waylon Park is a computer science major at MMU and the unwitting best friend/accomplice of Miles. He is a lot more timid than his best friend and spends most of his time locked in his apartment streaming video games or working on various coding projects and actively avoids danger/confrontation. He is dating Lisa, a literature major, and is in a pretty steady relationship with her. Due to his more ambiguous appearance, he was mistaken for a woman and thus pursued by Eddie but that was quickly shut down when the truth was revealed and a restraining order was filed.

Rick Trager:

Rick Trager is an extremely shifty business professor teaching at MMU who may or may not be addicted to cocaine. The only reason he has not been fired is due to his tenure at the university.

Jermey Blaire:

Trager's equally as shifty/douchy TA who practically models himself after Patrick bateman.

Chris Walker:

Chris Walker is a former combat veteran going back to school after his time in the service. His exact major is unclear as it has changed several times. But due to his emence size and overall strength he is also a coveted member of the MMU football team. Chris does not have a particularly close relationship with anybody and only happens to know Miles because he had a class with him once (and in turn grew to dislike him as he came off extremely annoying).

Blake Langermann:

Blake is a fellow jornalisim major along with Miles and is a catholic school survivee. Blake is only mildly acquainted with the likes of Miles and Waylon and instead focuses a majority of his time on working on projects with his girlfriend Lynn who is also a journalism major. These projects are usually Exposes regarding local controversies or drama going on (along with the periodic serious human rights/civil rights violation). However, he will join Waylon and Miles on their bullshit adventures from time to time.

Father Martin:

He is the weird guy standing outside of MMU with a large sign only instead of telling people they are going to hell, he warns of the end times and weird ghost demons coming but it is unclear if he is for or against them.

Sullivan Knoth:

Is the leader of the Cult Val escaped from and one of the main antagonists in Val's life. He is functionally the same compared to how he is in the game minus the radio tower frequencies: he is just crazy naturally.

Marta:

Is funtionally the "Sister Cindy" of MMU. She, unlike Father Martin, does accuse all of the students of being whores and tells them they will burn in hell if they don't repent (and do so to Knoth's teachings). She is also the closest immediate threat to Val's freedom and safety outside of the cult given she is still actively looking for her (dubbing her "the Heretic").

Ethan:

The only person from the cult Val is still somewhat in contact with. He is too attempting to escape given his fading faith had the fact Knoth sexually assaulted his daughter and is denying his wife the ability to get cancer treatments as "only god can decide if she lives". He tried to leave with Val initially but had to stay behind in order to at least allow Val to escape and to protect his family.

Billy Hope:

Billy is a highschooler who has functionally adopted by the MMU football team and is "enrolled" at the school a year early so he can play football. His mother, Tiffany, more or less signed off on it due to the hefty sum of money she was offered to allow her son to play.

"The Twins":

Really creepy townies everybody avoids and can usually be spotted with Martin

Pauline Glick:

The asshole president of MMU who may or may not be taking bribes and doing a bunch of illegal shit along with Blaire and Trager

"Mother Gooseberry (Phyllis Futterman)":

Is a washed-up former children's TV host who later became an art teacher at MMU. She teaches several of the more "technical" arts classes such as sewing and technical drawing. However, she also teaches dental classes at MMU although not that many. It is unclear when or if she even got a degree in dental medicine. But given she is only teaching more "anatomy" based lessons and is not actually practicing medicine: it is looked over by MMU administration.

Leland Coyle:

The campus cop who is activly on a power trip, all of the time.

"The Pusher":

The guy who sells literally everybody drugs. Weed, coke, you name it, he has it.

#outlast #eddie gluskin #val #val outlast #frank manera #rick trager #jeremy blaire #waylon park #miles upshur #marta #sullivant knoth #chris walker #blake langermann #outlast college au #outlast au #college au outlast #mother gooseberry #leland coyle

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aidansloth · 1 year

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{Toilet Stalls - Gareth Emerson X Reader}

Summary: Reader gets their period at a rather unconventional time and Gareth helps.

Warnings: the readers gender isn't specified but they have their period and go in the girls' toilets, period stuff, swearing, they/them and you/you pronouns used.

Words: 1.8k

Taglist: @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @manyfandomsfanvergent

a/n: in this one-shot you and Gareth aren't together yet. I tried making it longer than usual, not sure it turned out okay (feedback is very appreciated). this took me less than a day to write??? ohmygodhow???

"Hey! It's not my fault the bartender stabbed you!"

"Maybe you shouldn't have flirted with him, how's that?" Jeff and Grant were arguing again about the last DnD session while everyone else was either enjoying the drama or having their own little chat at the Hellfire table.

You and Gareth were laughing at their dramatics as Eddie restrained from throwing his pretzels at them, affectionately of course. You had been feelinga bit off today, a bit more irritable than usual but their theatrics did make you feel better at least. Gareth also did, just by being there honestly. You didn't tell anyone about the headache you had, but Gareth sort of knew something was up with you. He even offered you half of the roasted potatoes on his plate, which meant a lot since they're the only edible thing the school cafeteria offered. The others were too invested in the arguement to notice the little gesture.

"I told you, I didn't know she was a changeling!"

"That's 'cause your rolls are shit!"

You tried to suffocate a laugh at the last comment (at which Eddie lost his temper and hit Jeff in the eye with the tiny pretzel), Gareth instead didn't even try to contain himself as he burst into laughter. God his laugh was so pretty.

You winced at the strong pain in your head and then it hit you. Fuck. You felt the glob of blood leave your insides, and your face grimaced. You didn't even have a pad on you, you just had to forget to refill your bag with them. You were truly fucked. You stood up in a rushed manner and told everyone you needed the bathroom. They all nodded apart from Jeff and Grant were truly too wound up in their little bickering to notice you. Gareth looked at you leaving, partly worried at your sudden leave. He knew you refused to go to the toilet during lunch (even when the teachers told you off for going during class) because 'Lunch time is for eating, not pissing. Otherwise they would've called it piss break'. You did get detention when you said that to the supply teacher, but his face was totally worth it, or so you said. Either way, he can't just run after you, can he?

You ran across the semi-empty halls not caring about the weird looks you got, it's not like you weren't used to them by now. As soon as you reached the toilet you flung yourself inside the furthest of the stalls and locked yourself in it. Turning around you remembered that the school's budget was indeed shit, as the toilets were without toilet seats. Quickly, you pulled down your pants and saw a dark red stain on them. Sighing, you leaned on the wall near you and slid down it. Probably shouldn't since these walls haven't been washed in God knows how long.

I'm so fucked. What am I going to do now? I'll probably just stay in here until school is over and rush out after everyone is gone.

Were you being a tad bit dramatic? Maybe, but it's not like toilet paper is going to contain your heavy flow. The guys surely didn't have any pads or tampons with them, and it's not like you can ask the other girls in your classes; apart from not liking you very much, they also didn't have the whole 'supporting eachother' thing down.

You tried to steady your breath when you felt your eyes fill themselves with tears, which began staining your cheeks. You bit down onto your lip and tried to blink the tears away uselessly.

★★★

Minutes had gone by, he didn't know how many precisely, but way too many for a quick piss. Gareth kept eyeing the cafeteria entrance but nothing, you were nowhere to be seen. Sure, you didn't specify that you had to pee, but it's not like you were taking a shit in there, you weren't that brave. Maybe you felt sick. Maybe you had been sick. You looked sick from this morning, he knew you weren't going admit that though, so he offered help from the sidelines. I mean, at least they accepted the roasted potatoes, meaning they aren't that ill.

Anxiety crept up in him, he began bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers on the table. What if you fainted or something? What if you were throwing up by yourself? And he wasn't there to help you.

"What's wrong Gare?" his head shot up at his name being mentioned.

"What?"

"Something wrong, you're fidgeting." Eddie stared at him curiously. Gareth gulped, then spoke.

"They've been gone a bit too long, don't you think?"

"They're probably taking a shit." said Grant.

"At school?" they all looked at eachother and collectively agreed that no one in the right mind would do that in the school toilets. Gareth stood up and passed his Dr. Pepper to Jeff, who had been eyeing it all lunch.

"I'm going to check on them." the others nodded at him and Jeff gave him a pat on the back and a knowing look. He sighed at his best friend and left. He made his way through the corridors and when he arrived to the toilets he froze. He could hear sniffling and heavy breathing; he checked if the hallways were empty before cautiously stepping into the toilets. He wasn't fond of entering the girl's toilets like this but he was sure it was you in that stall, and no way in hell was he going to leave you like that.

"Hey, sugar?" he flinched at his own words, realising the pet name that slipped up. The sniffling and the breathing stopped for a second.

"Gareth?"

"That's me." He could hear your voice muffled and hiccup-y; it made his heart clench.

"What are you doing here?" you sat up unconsciously and tried to dry your own tears, as if he could see you. Gareth let out a surprised sigh at your question.

"You've been gone for like, ten minutes you know. And don't say you've been peeing, because it does not take you that long to pee. It doesn't take anyone that long to pee." Gareth sat down in front of your stall cross-legged. You smiled softly, glad that he was here with you. Before you could get a word in you hear some ruffling and then a hand appears under the stall's door. Gareth just gave you a tissue.

"Thank you." you said chuckling.

"So, you going to tell me why you're crying in the school toilets like this is a teenage drama?" he tried to soften the mood, earning another chuckle from you. You stared fondly at the tissue before wiping your tears away.

"I, ehm-" you gulped and steadied you breathing, "I got my period." There was a moment of silence.

"Can I come in?" you were shocked at first, that he wanted to see you now, at all times. You agreed and unlocked the door for him; he got in and sat next to you, giving you a smile.

"Does it hurt really bad? Or is it like, a heavy flow?" you were happily surprised at his words, that he even knew those words honestly. Thank you Mrs. Emerson.

"No- well yes, but that's not the reason I'm crying."

"Why are you crying then?" He looked even more worried than before. You looked down at the dirty toilet floor and started fidgeting with your hands.

"I don't have any pads. Or tampons, for that matter. Toilet paper around my underwear is not going to be enough for the rest of the day and my pants are already stained. It's not like I can just ask the other girls for pads you know," you were starting to ramble and the tears were building up again, "and- and I'm just going to... stay here. For the rest of the day you- you know, 'cause what can I do? I should have remembered to bring pads, fuck! I'm so, so stupid-"

"Hey! You're not stupid, alright? You forgetting something does not mean you're stupid." He turned to you and cupped your face as if you were going to break apart any minute. His thumbs caressed your cheeks, wiping the last tears away. You just stared at him, unable to speak; suddenly Gareth's eyes lit up.

"I think I have a solution to your problem, I just need to go and get it, okay sugar? I'll be gone for just a minute." He quickly stood up giving you a kiss on the top of your head and left running, while you pretended that your heart didn't just skip a beat at the pet name.

As he promised, he came back running and got in your stall rushing.

"Here." You looked at what he had just handed you, it was a pad. You kept your gaze on it, blinking with your mouth agape, unable to form words. Now that you stared at it a bit more, you noticed it was a heavy flow pad, and one of the top brands too. Where did he find a pad?

"Where- who- how, how do you have this? Who did you ask?" your gaze switched between him and the pad.

"No one. I had it in my bag."

"You- you carry pads? In your- your bag? With you?" He chuckled and nodded.

"I usually have them with me in case my sister gets her period and doesn't have any on her, but I thought it was better to carry them all the time, if anyone was ever in need of one." He smiled proudly, happy that his good thinking managed to help someone, especially because you were that someone.

"God, remember me to thank your mom next time I see her." This got a laugh out of him, a sweet, warm laugh that made you all tingling inside.

"Well, I'll let you get changed." He stood up, dusting off his knees and as he was about to open the door you stopped him.

"Wait, what about my pants? They're already stained."

"Right, forgot about that. Here," he took off the sweater he was wearing and handed it to you, "tie it around your waist." You nodded and as you followed his words he noticed how cute you looked with his sweater around you, his cheeks began to darken. God, they're not even wearing it and you're this flustered? You're so whipped.

"Thank you so much. I'll give it back to you tomorrow, okay?" You can keep it if you want. Gareth refrained from saying those words, instead he just nodded. The two of you exited the toilets and stopped in the corridors. You thanked him again and hugged him real tight, his arms around you felt right. Like they were meant to be there, to protect you. His lips turned into a tiny smile and he kissed your cheek. Then the hug broke.

"Well, see you later sugar." You said as you started walking backwards in the opposite direction. You smirked to yourself as you noticed his cheeks getting more red than ever. God, you're whipped.

#gareth emerson #hellfire club #corroded coffin #gareth emerson x reader #the inspiration hit #hope you liked it!#feminist gareth is best gareth

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mediocreanomaly · 10 months

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Domestic Legato Drabble

Authors note: *No one writing for Legato* me: “Fine...I’ll do it myself.” no in all honesty I just need to see more post with Legato actually happy and healthy for once, like this man has been through too much to be left in the dirt (╥﹏╥)

(plus I had to feed the Legato enjoyers, there's like??? Hardly any drabbles for him, I was shocked when I found out!) Hope you all enjoy!

**Trigger Warnings: General Legato things, complicated relationship with hair, complicated relationship with food, complicated relationship with body, implied past s/a, implied past abuse**

Legato changes when he leaves the Gung-Ho-Guns. Not all at once, in fact to an untrained eye he’s exactly the same, but to you it’s like looking at a completely different man.

It’s the hair that changes first. He doesn’t like it long you’ve come to learn, it reminds him of when he couldn’t cut it, of hands that weren’t yours grabbing fistfuls of it. So he keeps it right at his chin, no longer than that. You can tell when he needs a hair cut because he’ll be in a more irritable mood, he’s a bit too harsh and a little cruel. The second sign is the overstimulation. He’ll insist every light is too bright, every sound too loud, every fabric too scratchy, for some reason he never seems to guess that it’s his hair causing his distress. The final straw, if you have some how not yet caught onto his less than agreeable mood, is his own hands. He’ll grasp and ungrasp the strands, tugging at them as if it’ll make it go away.

Days like this you gently grab his hands moving them away from where they claw against his scalp, then you guide him to the bathroom. Only then will it click for him what’s happening as he relaxes on the edge of the tub while you make quick work snipping away the pesky length that’s grown. It’s not exactly a clean cut, you had warned him on many occasions that you were not a hairstylist but you were the only one he trusted to do it, so you persisted none the less. Besides, he enjoyed the imperfect haircuts you gave him, he was tired of being treated like a doll, of being meticulously picked over and groomed. There was a sense of rebellion in hacking the blue hair off without care of how the end result looked, so he closes his eyes and finds a melody in the snipping of scissors. Then when you’re finished, He’ll look in the mirror, and with one hand, push his hair back. You remember the first time you woke up to him with his hair pulled out of his face, you hadn’t asked him about it. You knew better and you’re sure your heart would break if you were the reason those gold eyes were partly covered again, so instead you silently take in his new look then turn to sweep up the blue dusting your bathroom floor.

The next thing to change is his body, if only slightly. You had always known Legato liked to eat, it was rare to see him with out some sort of snack in his hand but you aren’t sure you really realized how complicated that relationship with food was until the two of you moved in together. The first meals you had made him had been gorged down as if he hadn’t eaten in days despite the fact you knew he had been fed just fine. Maybe it was a sort of control thing, after all there was so little he was used to being in control of, so maybe this was another act of rebellion. After awhile Legatos physique beings to shift, he’s fuller, thicker, he looks more whole, more complete. You actually begin wonder how he had originally managed to stay so slim with how much he ate. Perhaps it was the stress that restrained his body from keeping the nutrients it was given or possibly he had ran more missions for Knives then you had realized.

This too, Legato enjoys. The extra meat and fat lining his body just confirms he is no longer who he once was. No longer an object to be oolged at, no longer a dog to starve, he simply is. With this realization along with the sense of peace he’s found in your household, his eating habits change. He still eats but now it’s with more care, as if savoring each flavor rather than consuming as much as possible. Sometimes if you watch him closely, you can see him dip his head slightly as if giving thanks. To whom you aren’t sure, he doesn't believe in god, but when he puts the fork in his mouth and quietly mutters, “...it’s good.” you think you might know the answer.

After that the changes come in the form of his personality. When Legato had first left he seemed...lost. There where times you’d find him around the house simply standing, as if waiting for a command and when he didn’t get one he’d focus on busy work, cleaning and recleaning the house. He wasn’t use to someone not telling him what to do or how to behave. At first this caused tension, he’d snap at you when things weren’t done the exact way he was taught, or argue over actives he’d deemed pointless. You never swayed though, you took the words in stride knowing they came out of stress rather than any real malice. In the end it payed off, because there were days when Legato simply did nothing. To an outsider this wasn’t anything to write home about, perhaps even normal, but to you it was progress. Days where Legato allowed himself the freedom to not get anything done, just because he didn’t feel like it. It felt foreign to him, sometimes he’d still get nervous expecting a voice to soon scold him for wasting time, but the only voice that ever came was yours, and only to speak sweet words into the air around him. So he’d put whatever tedious work he had had planned for the day aside knowing it would always be waiting for him tomorrow.

Finally came touch. This, was perhaps the biggest change in Legato. Ever since you met the man he’d kept you at an arms reach, even when you were dating. When he had confided his past to you one night, it was easy to understand why. You never pressed him on it, never attempted to push more than you should, you had been graced with having him by your side, why ruin it? Until one day the two of you had gone to the famers market together, needing to pick up some food from the stalls. You had begun to drift off, a stand of fresh fruits caught your eye which where rare on Gunsmoke, before you heard Legatos smooth voice say, “You shouldn’t wander, there's lots of people here today” as he guided you to the side with a firm hand on your back. You knew better than to ask him about it, you were sure it had taken a lot to even show such a display of affection but rest assured you were thinking about it for days.

The next time followed only about a week later. You were upset, to be honest you can’t even remember what you were upset about now, it had simply been one of those days where when you come home all you want to do be mad. Legato watched you as you paced the kitchen going on about the sequence of minor bad things that had added up to your current bitter mood when your words were stopped short as you felt a hand slip into yours. You blink down at your intertwined hands, as if you weren’t 100% convinced it was happening before he simply said, “Go on” insisting you continue whatever rant you were on. Although, after this, everything that had upset you seemed to fizzle away into thin air.

“I don’t...remember” you had said slightly embarrassed by the fact his touch had gotten to you so quickly. He had nodded and in turn offered you his story of what he had done for the day, holding your hand the entire time. Once Legatos small affections had become more frequent you found yourself more adventurous than before. The two of you were sat next to each other on the couch while Legato read a book, focused on the words as you busied yourself by studying his face.

The curve of his nose, his jaw, his lips, his-

“What?” Legato asked deadpan not looking up from his book as his flips the page. You are a little thrown off at being caught so obviously staring but you’ve come this far and don’t have much more to lose.

“Can I touch your face?” you say it before you can really think of what the repercussions might be but instead you’re met with a slightly confused stare as he looks up.

“What?” he says again, this time with a bit more bafflement.

“Your face...I mean- can I hold your face in my hands?” you clarify. He watches you for a second as if trying to decide if you have ulterior motives or perhaps he’s just wondering why someone would want to do something like that at all, but he reluctantly nods setting his book down to see how this will play out. You carefully reach out and take his face in your hands, he’s warm. Obviously he’d be warm but for some reason it never fully clicked in your head how warm he would be until now. You run your thumbs gently under his gold eyes, he’s so close, you forget how pretty eyes are up close. You gently push the loose strands of his blue hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear and continue, softly tracing out the curves of his jaw, then cheek, then his nose, and finally you run a finger over his lips.

“Stop.” he says quickly. In an instant your hands are pulled back to you, scared you’ve pushed him too far.

“Sorry” You say weakly a bit ashamed of asking that of him but he shakes his head. “No it’s wasn’t bad” you look up surprised.

“It wasn’t?”

“No just...different. I needed a break is all”

You nod understanding and relax once again against the couch.

“Maybe...tomorrow you could do it again.” he offers, and despite the fact he doesn't meet your gaze you know this is the most vulnerable he’s allowed himself to be in a long time.

“I’d like that” you say softly, as a comfortable silence once again falls over the room.

Legato changes when he leaves Gung-Ho-Guns. Not all at once, but even to an untrained eye you can just tell....it’s been for the better.

#legato x reader #legato x you #legato bluesummers #trigun x reader #trigun x you #legato makes me depressed

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meggannn · 7 months

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miles to peter in the BTSV confrontation: "is that why you're here? to let me down easy? it worked last time, so why not run it back, huh?"

because it was peter's decision to not have miles go to the collider, and all the spiders in ITSV prob agreed he should be the one to tell him. and miles clearly knew he was being handled at that time, like he knows he's being handled in the "intervention." so. i guess it's no wonder peter didn't want to be the one to break the bad news to miles again in BTSV, because the last time was so emotionally charged for both of them and it also was frankly humiliating for miles to get tied up and left behind. and peter clearly didn't enjoy telling miles he wasn't ready for the realities of being spider-man, and wouldn't want to do it AGAIN if miles didn't take the news about canon well. much less if he also paired it with the news about him being an anomaly, yikes.

(i still think peter absolutely should've been the one to tell miles everything though. in a calm, neutral setting with no strangers around to watch his reaction while he's being told his dad is gonna die. and then gang up to take him down if he reacts in the wrong way, because. what the hell.)

i think peter trusted miguel to explain canon events to miles calmly like he would a coworker, and peter would be there for backup as "good cop," like miles suspected. i do not think peter expected miguel to lock him up tho lol partly because i don't think he would be on board for tying miles up again; he knows from experience that won't work anyway, and also because i think he doesn't want to restrict miles's autonomy... at least not by physically restraining him. (miles breaking out of peter's last attempt to tie him up brought only benefits for everyone, after all.)

#spiderverse stuff #spiderverse spoilers #peter b parker #miles morales #across the spiderverse

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trensu · 2 years

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Okay, as much as I love vampire!Eddie AUs (and I do; I love them) I think it's time to mix it up a bit.

Siren!Eddie needs to make an appearance.

Eddie's dad used to be a fisherman and he caught himself a siren. He was an awful person so when he found out what exactly it was he caught, he took the siren and traveled as far from any large body of water as he could.

She was lucky in that, eventually, she was able to escape and return to her home-waters but not before she had to make the dreadful man a son. A son that was left behind because there was a risk that he was too much Land and not enough Sea. She couldn't risk being tied to Land at all. Not after everything she went through; she never wanted to touch Land again.

But she made sure to teach her son, her little boy Eddie, how to hide. She gave him rules to keep him safe once she was gone.

Never go in the water, Eddie. Yes I know it whispers to you, but you can never go in the water okay? Bad things will happen to you if you go in the water.

She expected this; that he'd hear the Call. This was something she needed to tear out of him as soon as possible. It would hurt less that way; it would be easier to ignore the Call if he never submerged in natural water. She took them to the lake. They sat on the shore. She would smack him every time he edged too close to the water. The first few visits involved a lot of hitting.

She would bundle him into her arms, and kiss his head, and murmur consolation afterwards when he was in tears and hiccuping from the need to go in the water. Eventually, he learned to flinch whenever water lapped too close to him.

I know you love music but you can never sing for an audience. No one must ever hear your voice like that. I don't care how much you like it, Eddie, you will listen to me. Bad things will happen if you sing for others.

She knew the urge to sing would run through his veins. It was as natural as speaking was to humans. Natural, however, did not mean vital; it did not mean necessary. All it really meant was risk. Any time she caught him so much as humming in public she'd pinch his ear until his hum turned to a whine of pain. She'd do it even when his hum was audible only to sirens ears. He didn't always notice when he did that but he learned to pay attention and stop himself.

She rewarded him sometimes when he was especially restrained. She allowed him to sing only when mama sings with him. When she was free in the waves, one of the few memories of Land she permitted herself to keep was the handful of times she and Eddie found themselves a lonely, quiet place where they could sing along to a battered old radio together.

Don't go near anyone who is bleeding. Do you hear me? Never get near human blood. Oh, and don't eat fish.

The teeth were a surprise. Her baby was born as toothless as a human. His teeth later sprouted as dull as human teeth. But then her captor hit her on a day that she was already on a knife's edge and Eddie was squirming and grumbling in her arms. She raked her claws across the man's face and as he screamed at her, her little Eddie gnawed at her bloodied claws with little gurgling growls, his small teeth pricked at her fingertips, sharp as any of her kind. It took a while for her boy's teeth to blunt again. The only other time his teeth sharpened was when the man brought home cheap, stinking sushi. To mock her, probably, as if such food could compare to the relish of tearing her teeth through the belly of a writhing living fish.

She did not punish Eddie for this rule. She could not bring herself to punish him for his hunger. No one can help their hunger. She lied instead. Told him he would sicken and die if he ate fish or touched another human's blood.

Eddie loved his mama. He cried for ages and ages when she disappeared. Mostly because he missed her. Partly because with her gone, he'd never be allowed to sing again.

As Eddie grew older, he learned to hate his father. His mother had been violent with him on occasion but her violence felt different. When his father hit him, something in Eddie thrashed in indignation that someone like his father would dare strike him. But that thrashing thing in him was the same thing that urged him to the water, that urged him to sing, that craved to slurp up the flickering fish he'd seen during the school field trip to the aquarium. The thrashing thing that wanted to bite and tear into the man that hurt him was the same thing that wanted to do all the things his mama taught him not to do because bad things would happen if he did.

So he tied down the thrashing thing in him because his mama would have wanted him to, he thought. Instead he did what his father told him to do; learned some of the things his father wanted him to; did his best not to incur his anger. It worked for a few years. But there came a day when the thrashing thing escaped for just a moment, a scant few seconds, and drew his father's blood. The smell of it made the thrashing thing in Eddie so very hungry. He learned the thrashing thing was also a starved thing, and it terrified Eddie.

Eddie learned young to run when scared.

So he ran. He ran to the man that his father ranted about; the man his father screamed was the reason his whore of a mother was gone. The man his father had called a traitor of a brother.

Wayne opened the door to his trailer one stormy evening to find a boy, barely in double digits, with sharpened teeth and reddened claws. The boy shivered in rain, though Wayne knew immediately that it was not from the cold or wet. He looked into the boy's wide panicked eyes, dark as his mother’s had been.

"Unc-," the boy hiccuped in distress. "Uncle Wayne? 'm Eddie. Y-you knew my mama? You h-helped her?"

"Yeah. Yeah, kid," Wayne said softly, taking in Eddie's dripping hair and bare feet. His toes were pale but not blue as they should be with how cold the rain was in the fall. "I helped her once. Should've helped her sooner. But I worked up the nerve eventually."

"Could you," Eddie's voice cracked. "Could you help me, too?"

"Yeah," Wayne said around a lump in his throat. "Yeah, Eddie, I'll help ya." He clears his throat. "Come in out of the rain. I need to ask you some questions so I can help you."

Eddie told Uncle Wayne about his mama's rules. He told Uncle Wayne about the thrashing starved thing that lived in him. He told him how he clawed his father and the thing wanted to devour him. He told him how it scared him so much he ran without looking back.

Uncle Wayne said that the rules his mama gave him were very important but that maybe it made the thrashing thing worse. He told Eddie that they should find ways to keep it calm without breaking his mama's rules. Eddie was not allowed to go into lakes or rivers or ponds but once in a while Eddie could take a bath in the old stained tub Uncle Wayne had in the trailer. It's not exactly what the thrashing thing wants, but when Eddie lays at the bottom of the full tub, it gets quiet for a while.

(Wayne was relieved to see that even submerged in the bathtub, Eddie still looked human. He was relieved that Eddie didn’t seem to notice that he was able to stay under the water and not worry about being able to breathe).

Eddie must never sing. Ever. But Uncle Wayne thought music in general was good. He gave Eddie his old acoustic guitar. Eddie learned the few chords Uncle Wayne knew, and learned more from secondhand music books his uncle gave him. He had Uncle Wayne's permission to play the guitar whenever the urge to sing felt overwhelming. It wasn’t the same, but it still helped soothe the thrashing thing.

(Wayne was relieved to find that the one time Eddie slipped up, his voice didn’t affect him the way he dreaded it would. Blood recognizes blood, he remembered Eddie’s mother saying. The song still fogged his mind and that by itself scared Eddie enough that he never sang in front of Wayne again. Wayne doesn’t think Eddie fully understood what happened other than it was something bad that came from his singing, just as his mother had told him.)

Uncle Wayne said there’s no way around Mama’s last rule. Eddie must avoid blood and fish. However, Uncle Wayne added an excessive amount of red meat to Eddie’s diet. There was always plenty of pork and beef for Eddie to eat. The thrashing thing in Eddie was always full, even if it never felt quite satisfied.

It wasn’t until he was older that Eddie discovered something that makes the thrashing thing…sleep? Sleep. If only for a little while; just long enough for Eddie to get his head straight.

“Weed?” Uncle Wayne said around a cigarette. “What’s wrong with a good old fashioned cigarette?”

Eddie breathed out a plume of smoke. “Tastes bad.”

Uncle Wayne scoffed. “And marijuana doesn’t?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know. It’s different. It feels…like I'm grounded?”

“Thought the goal was to get high,” Uncle Wayne snorted in amusement.

Eddie giggled. “No, yeah. ‘M not saying it right. It feels like…it sounds stupid. Doesn’t make sense. But it feels like Land.”

Uncle Wayne sombered. “That makes perfect sense,” he said after a long pause.

“...is this a mom thing?” At Uncle Wayne’s nod, Eddie frowned. “Are you ever gonna tell me anything about her? I don’t even know her name.”

“Neither do I,” Uncle Wayne said. “Your father called her Sarah. She hated it but she never told either of us her name. Said we’d never be able to pronounce it with our weak tongues.”

–

It wasn’t a lie when Wayne told his boy that he doesn’t know much about his mother. He doesn’t know anything about her, really, but he suspected quite a bit.

His brother brought her home after a fishing trip. She was…strange. Her eyes seemed too big and fathomless for her pale face. Her body moved as if it was expecting to meet resistance with every motion. When she spoke, her words seemed almost lyrical.

His brother would beat her terribly if she strayed too close to singing. The fury in her eyes after each beating made icy fear bloom in Wayne’s chest, and to this day he doesn’t understand how his brother never seemed to feel it; the fear of a prey animal that knew the only thing keeping the predator from ripping into them was a set of bars that seemed too narrow to last.

Wayne doesn’t know anything about Eddie’s mother except that his brother named her Sarah and once, during a drunken rant, called her a siren. But sirens were a fisherman’s fairy tale. They weren’t real. Eddie had imagination enough without Wayne filling it with his brother’s tall tales.

–

Eddie hissed as Uncle Wayne dabbed antiseptic on the cut across his cheekbone. The thrashing thing in him echoed the hiss in fury. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to keep the fury from bleeding into the rest of him.

“I could’ve beaten them, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie snarls. “I know I could’ve. Why can’t I hit back?”

“...do you remember the last time you hit someone?”

Eddie scrunched his face. “Not really. Was that when I ran away from Dad? I was, like, ten. I can’t remember stuff that far back.”

“It wasn’t that long ago,” Uncle Wayne huffed, and placed some gauze on the cut. “Doesn’t matter. You can’t risk touching someone’s blood. Mama’s rules, remember?”

Eddie growled. The thrashing thing in him roiled. “I hate those stupid rules. I hate them.”

“I know you do,” Uncle Wayne sighed. “But I’m proud of you for following them.” He ruffled Eddie’s hair and Eddie felt the fury start to fade. “Why don’t you go practice on your new guitar for a while?”

Eddie nodded and hopped off the stool, relenting.

“Love you, kid,” Uncle Wayne calls as Eddie closed his bedroom door.

“Love you too, old man.”

–

Eddie had years of experience controlling the thrashing thing and it had been much easier to keep it calm once he joined a band as the lead guitarist. He made time to take long baths whenever he started to feel agitated with life. He still ate a hellish amount of red meat.

Eddie could almost forget the thrashing thing existed most of the time. Things were good.

Until he met Steve Harrington and his veins were almost violently flooded with wantwantwant and the thrashing thing screamed at him to open up and sing, sing, bring him near, SING.

His mouth was already dropping open and a sound was clawing to escape his throat. In the panic that followed the wave of covetous desire, Eddie sunk his teeth into his own forearm to stave off the sudden song pooling in his mouth. He fled the store and ran in to the abandoned alley two blocks away.

Only then did he unhook his teeth, which felt so odd in his mouth, from where he bit into his arm. He panted around the blood dripping from his lips. “What the fuck. What the fuck was that?”

#trensu tells stories #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #sirens #cw: domestic violence #nothing too detailed though #this thought hit me in the middle of my work day and totally consumed my brain #from this point on eddie has to bite down on his tongue whenever he catches even a glimpse of steve #otherwise he'll sing #eddie doesn't really know he's a siren #kinda like how a queer kid doesn't really know they're queer #bc to know is dangerous #idk if the upside down exists here btw #but eddie and steve are both def not in high school anymore #eddie still does dnd #and dustin is the one who figures out eddie's a siren #obviously #idk what steve thinks of all this #probably that eddie's weird and doesn't like to talk for some reason?#he swears he's never heard the guy utter a peep #dustin's definitely pulling his leg when he says eddie is great with words and so dramatic in the best way #also? eddie's teeth itch with how badly he wants to bite steve #it's the worst #uncle wayne's google search history now has My Siren Nephew Is In Love With a Human Boy What Do I Do #because mama munson didn't leave behind a siren parenting handbook #also also #although i labeled it as abuse i don't actually see eddie and his mother's relationship as abusive because they're sirens #kinda like how some animal behaviors can look violent/aggressive to us but aren't read that way by others in the species #which is why eddie doesn't view his mother's violence the same way he views his father's violence

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mrscoulter5ever · 1 month

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Double Dog Dare You Chapter 3

Eric's POV

Eric stood next to the net, a bored expression permanently plastered onto his face. When he was promised a leadership job right out of initiation, he had grand hopes of sitting in some gilded office, holding secret meetings and making high level decisions. Guess that was the Erudite in him. He sure as hell wasn't expecting to have to babysit a bunch of snot-nosed kids (sure, they were only a year younger than him, but who's counting?) and writing a bunch of cringe ass names on a chalkboard. Seriously, these soon-to-be-Dauntless kids were so uncreative. Wow, another Inferno. Great, not like we don't have five thousand of those running around this faction.

Eric watched with the same boredom as a girl in a Candor outfit fell into the net with her eyes shut. Here comes our second jumper. God, somebody put a .38 to his head already. "What's your name, initiate," Eric asked, fighting the urge to yawn.

The fact that she took a minute to think meant she was going to be picking yet another stupid ass "courageous" Dauntless name. Great. Yet another beacon of originality for this faction.

"Ariel. My name is Ariel." Seriously? Like the little fucking mermaid? That's not even badass. Also she wasn't even a redhead. "That's a stupid name," he scoffed, partly for the release of letting his increasingly more intrusive thoughts win, and partly because Eric was a massive sadist (and owned it!) who took great pleasure in putting others down.

"Really? What's your name? I bet it's so much better." Damn, bitter much? Eric must have really struck a nerve with that one. Nice. "Eric," he replied, leaning in. "You'd better remember that name because I am personally going to ensure that your new life here is a living hell."

"Eric?" she asked curiously.

"Hm?" he replied, pleased by the more subservient change in her demeanor.

"You'd better remember to use some Tic-Tacs next time," she smirked. Excuse her? What the fuck did she just say to him? Oh no. Hell no. No no no. He could verbally beat people up but he was a Dauntless leader and this little bitch was not about to disrespect him. Uh uh.

"You're going to regret ever opening your mouth, initiate" he threatened, getting as close to her as he could while the members behind him restrained him from actually touching her. He made a mental note to fire them later.

As soon as he had finished that sentence, she brought up a can of something and sprayed it into his open mouth. Minty. Wintermint, perhaps? Well, she'd be begging for winter when he sent her down to the fiery depths of hell where she belonged.

After showing the rowdy bunch of ragtag miscreants to their dorm rooms, Eric couldn't give less of a shit about being the next Dauntless HGTV rep and giving them some grand damn tour of the place, so he led them straight to the training room.

He needed to blow off some steam, so he grabbed his favorite Rock Island 1911 and began to show them some basic shooting stances. He fired off a few rounds, all of which hit the center of the bullseye, of course. Eric was practically the Annie Oakley of Dauntless and he took great pride in that fact.

He walked around the room observing the initiates as they pitifully attempted to handle a loaded gun for the first time, thankful yet also somewhat disappointed that no one had managed to blow off a body part just yet.

Then he got over to that mermaid bitch, observing the holes in the outer rings of her target. "Figures you wouldn't be able to get anything right on your first day," Eric sneered, towering over her to intimidate her. "Here," he said, roughly shoving her limbs into position, grateful for the opportunity, however slim, to pull that smart-mouthed bitch apart without some tight-ass security guard holding him back.

"A thank you seems to be in order, initiate," Eric toyed with her. She took a deep breath as he smirked. Finally this bitch was learning. "Eric, go to hell."

Ha. Ha. Ha fucking ha. Oh wow she should be doing stand up at the Apollo. God, she was just the next fucking Robin Williams wasn't she?

He grabbed her arm and yanked her over to the ring. Let's see how funny she was when he was pummeling a fist into her mouth.

He announced the fight to the rest of the audience, taking great joy at their fearful expressions. Ah, if only he had riled the same anxiety out of her. But no matter. All in due time. He just needed to show her that he could beat the living shit out of her in 10 seconds flat. Then the fear would come.

He sent some very powerful punches her way, but her lithe body enabled her to have quick reflexes such that she managed to dodge all of them. Eric was growing increasingly frustrated, until he had a nice little haymaker in line to make a perfect beeline to her temple. Bingo.

He felt her hand grab his wrist and in the next instance he was lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling trying not to groan at the throbbing pain in his head. Well she wasn't the only one with some tricks up her sleeve.

Eric kicked up at her and jumped up to his feet again. He tackled her to the ground and jabbed her in the ribs. He was absolutely going to win this fight, but he had to admit, no one in Dauntless, male or female, initiate or member, had ever lasted that long in a round against him. Had Eric been a stronger man, he would have tamped down the erection that thought gave him, but as this fight seemed to be demonstrating, Eric was a very, very weak man.

"This fight isn't nearly over," he whispered, trying to reclaim his fragile masculinity. She gave him a smile that make his southern friend expand while she leaned in as if she were going to kiss him. Eric couldn't help but hold his breath in anticipation. A woman who could almost (almost being the key word) kick his ass and also wanted to fuck him? Hell yes. He needed a good lay, and Eric never told anyone, but he loved fighting as a form of foreplay.

"Eric," she whispered in a breathy voice that gave him a quick vision of what their night would be like, "go to hell."

Eric lie flat on his back. Unbelievable. Well, it certainly took long enough. Finally, he had a real challenge.

#candor #dauntless #divergent #enemies to lovers #eric coulter #humor #oc #romance #language

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dustedmagazine · 5 months

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Chris Forsyth — Solar Motel (Expanded) (Algorithm Free)

Chris Forsyth marks the ten-year anniversary of his turn from towards rock with this expanded edition of Solar Motel, augmented with two previously unreleased studio tracks and a side-long live WFMU recording of “Paranoid Cat.” The two newly released tracks are a revelation, solidifying and reaffirming Forsyth’s connection to Television (he studied with Richard Lloyd) with cartwheeling guitar riffs and roiling, surging percussion in the epic vein of Marquee Moon.

Forsyth was just off his 2011 release of Paranoid Cat when he made Solar Motel, stillstruggling for a way to incorporate a palette of influences—Television, Takoma-style fingerpicking, psych and drone—into a coherent aesthetic. Our own Bill Meyer saw him as only partly successful at this on the previous album, calling Paranoid Cat, “an album that is full of good ideas lifted from other people’s work, but he makes such good use of them that it’s easy not to care.”

Solar Motel, Forsyth’s first full-band album, was a big step towards the driving, boogie-ing, rock-leaning long grooves that we have since come to associate with the guitarist. In the notes, he says, “Solar Motel is the first record on which I overtly took rock tropes and twisted them into new shapes, incorporating so many of my interests and influences - the twin-guitar elegance of Television, the sprawl of West Coast psych, the boiled down Rock Minimalism of Rhys Chatham, the abstract tangles of free improv, an undercurrent of ecstatic jazz energy, and the studio textures of Eno/Cale/Roxy ‘70s art rock.… Solar Motel basically set the template for much of what I did for the remainder of that decade.”

The band for Solar Motel included Forsyth, drummer Mike Pride, bassist Peter Kerlin and keyboard player Shawn Edward Hansen, all musicians that Forsyth had worked with previously in various roles and configurations. It was recorded mostly live, though Forsyth put in additional guitar after the fact to build up Television-like layers of interplay. The music took shape in four numbered tracks Solar Motel I through IV. “Part I” opens with tense, staccato guitar, at first alone, then joined by a second guitar and bass. The groove is insistent, cleanly minimal, and over it, Forsyth improvises warm, fluid arcs of solo guitar, and as it goes, the texture becomes less of a drone and more of a warm, living jam. This becomes a pattern over the next three track, as taut, disciplined motifs blossom into full-band free play. Repetition becomes a launching pad for the wildest swirls of improvisatory ornament, with sweet lyrical mid-range guitar vaulting over motorik grooves.

All that is still there, still striking in the way it marries austere experiment to lighter flaring guitar solo. If you haven’t heard it—or haven’t heard it in a while—all four original tracks remain very much worth a listen. However, it’s the new stuff that you’ll want to spin right away, because these two unreleased tracks take the basic experiment and launch them into richer, more exciting directions.

“Harmonious Dance,” at just under nine minutes, is the expanded release’s best tune. A slow chime of guitar notes hitting turbulence early on in Pride’s swelling drum roll. The notes get bigger, more resonant, more sustained as they go, taking on the burnished glow of Lloyd and Verlaine in tandem (though without the trebly yelp of vocals). “Long Warm Afternoon” starts out with warmth and sustained tones, building shimmering textures of guitar over a steady thump and roll. Both cuts feel less restrained, less tightly disciplined than the original Solar Motel cuts. It’s as if Forsyth had a concept for setting down guardrails and eventually swamping them with sensory data, and it took him a while to implement it fully.

The WFMU recording is fine, too, letting the twitchy glamor of “Paranoid Cat” stretch out, catch fire in a truly insane instrumental freakout and somehow stuff all that back into the bottle for a reprise of the original melody. But if you need a reason to check out this ten years after reissue, I’d look at the two unreleased tracks, where Forsyth and his band hit a groove they’ve been riding ever since.

Jennifer Kelly

#chris forsyth #solar motel #algorithm free #jennifer kelly #albumreview #dusted magazine #reissue #television #guitars #jam #peter kerlin #mike pride #shawn edward hansen #jeff ziegler #philadelphia #psych

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the-irken-pony · 1 year

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That post from the other day about thsc character age headcanons got me wondering why it is that I headcanon Reginald and RHM as young as I do (age 26 and 29-30, respectively) and I think I’ve got somewhat of a grasp on why it is.

Reginald, to me, reads less as someone who’s older and matured and more as someone who’s younger but stuck in a position where he’s not exactly allowed to act young, if that makes sense? I’ve got a couple reasons for this.

Reginald was the person who overthrew and replaced Terrence Suave, stated in one of his bios to be one of the worst leaders in Toppat Clan history. To be in such a position would put on a lot of pressure to be Not That Guy. This sort of mindset would likely lead Reginald to mask and act mature in order to garner approval from the other Toppats.

I don’t doubt that Reginald would’ve been able to overthrow Terrence as a young adult, given how nonchalant the Toppat Clan is with letting just about anyone take over leadership. They even appointed Ellie Rose as leader, when she only just showed up and when the only reason she showed up at all was just to confront Henry with his behavior.

Reginald seems to be a well composed person who can stay calm even in an emergency......... unless his Right Hand Man isn’t available. If he had several years of leadership under his belt, then there would be at least a few instances of him and RHM being separated, so he would need to be prepared in such situations. Instead, he’s very quick to start panicking the second his Right Hand Man is MIA (such as in RPE/RBH, TK, or SSR), suggesting some level of under-preparation or even codependency on Reginald’s part.

Reginald is also more prone to making impulsive decisions that indirectly harm the Toppat Clan when he’s in such a panic state. Not only does he hand over the Toppat Clan to an intruder upon being captured, but he’s quick to fire a giant death laser at Henry for stealing the Norwegian Emerald, and his jealousy lead him to kill Henry when he knows full well that cybernetic revival is a possibility. With how poorly he seems to handle not having his Right Hand Man available, it would surprise me for him to have not run into issues sooner if he were a longer running leader, given the above.

When he’s not separated from his Right Hand Man, he often swings to the opposite extreme, going so far as being nonchalant when faced with an intruder (in SSR and JB, for example, and to a lesser extent in PP/TR), essentially not taking the situation seriously until it reaches the point of being Urgent.

He knows how to competently have discussions about work. Outside of work... ehhhh? Not so much lol.

He's the only person to refer to the Orbital Station's giga laser by name, suggesting he was the one who named it. What did he decide to call it? Supreme Dominance, that's what he called it. I rest my case.

As for RHM, my reasoning is more of a comparison to Reginald.

I see him being in a similar age range as Reginald, partly for copperright reasons, and partly because they have similar enough maturity levels that it's hard for me to see them having drastically different ages.

He’s more likely to stay calm during emergencies, but still treats them as serious issues, which makes me think he's a little bit older than Reginald. Or, if not older, more stable.

At the same time, he's impulsive like Reginald but less conditionally, and his tendency to respond to anger with lasers or yelling makes me think that he hasn't had a lot of time to work on developing healthier coping mechanisms, which makes me think he's still fairly young (again, not young young, but younger than middle age). Unlike how he's unconsciously Reginald's (sole) source of stability, Reginald more directly keeps him in check by restraining him by the arm or giving orders as needed.

None of this is to say that them being older is unrealistic, but this is just me dumping my own thoughts and headcanons

#reginald copperbottom #right hand man #henry stickmin #the henry stickmin collection #thsc #mine #random #headcanon #analysis #(?)

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essayofthoughts · 8 months

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Sylas was a vampire, with super strength and speed and generally nigh-unkillable bar getting on the wrong side of Keyleth/Pike. With him being shunted, quite suddenly, back to being a pretty normal human... how does he take it? He has to grapple with the possibility of death, of not being able to protect Delilah, in ways he hasn't since before he got sick. And now there are *ancient dragons* on the loose, and a being near to godhood loathes them personally for shucking his influence, and he and his wife live in a space that quite rightfully hates them and only barely offers any grace for redemption.

It's likely Sylas was fine being the weaker link in the relationship on Wildemount, where Delilah had enemies but also had sizeable influence of her own and was on pretty even footing with her coworkers. But now he can't easily protect her, with so many more threats around. Worse - he got *habituated* to being able to be reckless and defend her, but now he's a vulnerability more than anything. He's just a guy - he doesn't even have guns like Percy.

All this to say... Sylas multiclass? Sylas training montage? Sylas reduced to househusband? What does he do?

I mean... Sylas is also dealing with the regaining of all kinds of messy human instincts like "Needing to eat" and "needing to go to the toilet" and "actually having to breathe as a necessity not a hobby".

He's also having to deal with the fact that he was a significantly worse person as a vampire, only restrained by his love for his wife and the fact if he was too different from who/how he was it would upset her. Being back to himself and seeing how that vampiric influence was warping him - I think that legitimately fucks him up on some level, how the same magic that was sustaining him was also changing him, not just physically but ... as a person.

Being weaker is something he does hate though, and he absolutely puts in a lot of effort to strengthening himself back to the best he could be. Most of this is done by basically becoming Whitestone's on-call handyman whether he likes it or not - he's human again, but he's still big and strong and that's useful when rebuilding a city. He's not best pleased about it - Delilah is even less pleased because now her newly-human-again, beloved husband is at risk of all of those people who resent and hate them (justifiably!) for everything they did. That said, I think Sylas generally gets more exposure to the general populace of Whitestone and works to actually connect on a human level, partly because I think he's actually not terrible at that and partly because it's just sensible - if they vaguely like him they're much less likely to try to stab him, right?

I do think he's mostly a househusband for Delilah - I don't think he's likely to multiclass. Honestly, I kind of like the idea that, like Percy, Sylas actually has no innate capacity for magic? That if he wanted to gain magic he'd need to use divine magic or a warlock pact (and I think after Vecna, neither Briarwood is keen on being bound to another entity again), so I think he's the Whitestone handyman and Delilah's househusband and is occasionally called on to be a people person and help deal with diplomatic shit.

I also kind of like the idea that he sometimes spars with Grog, because it's actually a challenge now he's human again and reminds him why he can't throw himself in harms way. It also forces him to get better which is what he really wants, because if he's strong enough again, he can be there for Delilah.

#delilah briarwood #sylas briarwood #sylas briarwood gets to live au #blorbologist #ask

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thornfield13713 · 4 months

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2, 3, 4, 13, 18 for Ned

What would their blood taste like to vampires?

This is actually something Ned has had to deal with in detail, since they're the first of my Tavs to go for the 'Astarion regularly feeding from them instead of just eating anyone they happen to get into a fight with' option.

Cliché as it is, I suspect that Ned tastes a bit like drow green wine. Just because it's made and fermented with Underdark mushrooms and vegetation, and that is what Ned has mostly been living off for over a century. Not the fizzy variety, I don't think, but possibly an older, subtler vintage, the sort of thing that gets brewed by drow commoners who can't get the fancy stuff but are quite capable of gathering mushrooms and fermenting them.

How would they kiss their LI?

This one changes over the course of the game. In the beginning, Ned is very cautious about it, because they're not...really used to intimacy. The nearest thing they've had to an adult relationship was almost entirely chaste, and very cautious on account of...well. Quaggoth. Or elven prince in the body of same. Before that, it was safer not to indulge, as every potential lover in Menzoberranzan would inevitably want something, and often that something was to remove Ned as competition.

As such, in the beginning, they kiss as though trying to learn a difficult page of notes by heart - carefully, thoroughly, and with a great deal of attention to detail. They get less careful, over time, but the slow, thorough, as-if-trying-to-memorise-their-partner quality never quite goes away.

How do they sleep with their LI (what position, does one steal the blankets, is one too hot/cold, etc)?

Astarion is too cold, on account of being undead, and compounds the fact by warming his cold extremities on Ned's. His cold toes in particular are a constant torment, once he gets comfortable enough in their relationship not to fear getting kicked out of bed over it. Both Ned and Astarion, however, are a lot cuddlier than they are willing to admit, or even really expect. This is partly due to years of touch-starvation for both of them, and now they have someone they can touch relatively freely, both of them are greedy for it - though, sometimes they go a bit too far and can't stand to be near each other because it's just too much. Astarion in particular, given how unrelentingly negative his associations with touch are. There's a reason they maintain separate beds/bedrolls even if they do like to sleep cuddled up, after all. Generally speaking, they're facing each other. Astarion is generally on top, but doesn't like positions that make him feel trapped or restrained, so they've had to do a lot of trial-and-error with their cuddling positions to find the right combination of security and freedom of movement.

What makes them laugh? What does their laugh sound like?

Ned doesn't laugh much. Not because they don't have a sense of humour, just because they aren't particularly expressive about it, a side-effect of having grown up in first Ched Nasad and then Menzoberranzan as an aristocrat, and being expected to control emotional responses to avoid giving themself away to their enemies. It was a more serious concern in Menzoberranzan, when they were no longer the child of a house Matron, but of a distant cousin taken in after their branch family were, so far as anyone knew, wiped out in the fall of their city.

That said, there are some things that can do it: puns, weirdly, work embarrassingly well, which Astarion will never stop teasing them about. Particularly bad puns. Ned can't really explain it, but awful puns and even worse knockabout humour have a tendency to get to them even when they admit that they don't know why they're laughing and, objectively, these things are every bit as terrible as the rest of the party (except for Wyll, who admits a fondness for clowns, and Jaheira, who also laughs at the clown performance) say they are.

Their laugh itself is...awful. Horrible. It sounds like a rusty iron hinge being jiggled by a child swinging on a door, or someone putting a spoon through a meat-grinder. It creaks, and rasps, and has been known to make small children cry just hearing it. Indeed, nobody was quite sure the doppelgangers at the circus didn't attack them just because it was preferable to hearing more of that laugh. It only really comes out when they're in absolute, uncontrollable mirth - most of the time, they express amusement through a sort of soundless huff of air.

What modern day tv show would they binge over a weekend? do they get their LI to watch with them?

Hm. Haven't really thought about their taste in television, but I...I could actually see them being a big fan of Hello From the Hallowoods, if I'm allowed to broaden the category to podcasts. Not just as a nod to their voice inspiration, but because the setting of this creepy, dangerous, wonderful forest at the end of the world, the cast of well-developed, flawed but very loveable characters, everything about Nikignik, the messages about religious trauma and love and identity...all of it would just get them right in the heart. I think their favourite character would end up being Polly, though, for some reason. They are probably rather private about their tastes, right up until they have to go on some sort of long journey and get control of the radio/AV cord to put Hallowoods on. Astarion is hooked within a few episodes, and has Strong Opinions about how much the Instrumentalist needs to die screaming.

In terms of actual television...I could see Ned developing a weird, vicious rivalry with a TV gardener. Not sure which one, but the image of them hate-binging gardening shows and scoffing at the answers will not leave me alone. They would drag Astarion into it, if only because he is much better at being scathing than they are. Astarion does not get it, but gamely insults his enbyfriend's gardening nemesis with them regardless, and is delighted at discovering such hitherto-unexplored depths of bitchiness behind Ned's mild-mannered exterior.

#baldur's gate 3 #ned

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dragonthusiast · 2 years

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Break the Day: Proper NaNo WIP intro

I finally got around to writing a proper blurb for the first book in this series, and also it’s developed even further since my last one so I thought I’d compile a proper post about it. Still excited about this to dangerous levels.

I’ll update this post as things develop.

Genre: Fantasy, LGBTQ+

Status: Writing book 2

Short Summary:

This series is set in a medieval-ish fantasy world, partly inspired by slavic language/culture, about magic users called the az-ari/the priori, particularly two of them called Fennrin and Ainreth, who can control shadows and light respectively. They fall in love while trying to navigate a world of politics, war, the ramifications of individuals being given too much power, and also their own complicated feelings because they’re idiots.

Proper Blurb:

Fennrin is a shadowforger, a type of az-ari who have mastery over shadows. But all it's ever brought him is misery. People are afraid of the power that he himself barely understands, seeing his shadows as omens of bad luck and death.

Forced to barely scrape by since his parents disowned him, Fennrin's life takes a turn when he is approached by Ainreth, a lightweaver and famous general, asking him to come with him to the royal court to be trained and help him stave off an assassin who's made an attempt on Ain's life, somehow able to counteract his powers.

Even though Fennrin is suspicious of Ainreth's flirting and his arrogant attitude, Fennrin decides to go with him because his life can't get much worse.

Thrust into a world of politics and power, Fennrin quickly learns just why shadowforgers are so infamous and how strong he could become, while, much to his chagrin, starting to fall for Ainreth. However, unwelcome feelings are only the start of his problems as the neighboring, tyrannical monarchy is preparing for war. And if Fennrin wants to survive, he will have to fight it.

Map and Geography:

There’s two countries in the story (though I’m sure I’ll add more to mention on the side later). Orinovo - the somewhat slavic country on the left, and Lys-Akkaria on the right. Lys-Akkaria used to be part of Orinovo, but freed itself over a century ago. Now that Orinovo has a new monarch, a new war has started to try to regain Lys-Akkaria back.

Orinovo is a monarchist dictatorship where az-ari are hated, while Lys-Akkaria celebrates them, and is ruled by 4 elected leaders: the Bulwark of the Royal Guard, who manages the army, the Patron of Treasury, who deals with taxes and money in general, the Arbiter of Law, who deals with law, unsurprisingly, and the High Herald, the guy who keeps an eye on the other 3 to make sure everything runs smoothly.

And here’s some flags for the two nations. Lys-Akkaria’s the first one because they’re cooler of course:

Magic System:

The az-ari can control various aspects of nature, but they’re all limited to their specific talent. What exactly they can do is still up for changing, but so far the types of az-ari are lightweaver (controls light, especially sunlight), shadowforger (controls shadows), sproutkeeper (can either control plants or mushrooms, there’s two types), flamewielder (controls fire), ironspinners (control iron, so far not officially added, may be deleted at any point :D), and so far unnamed ability to take the powers of others.

To be able to use their powers, the az-ari have to be able to move their fingers, which is why special finger clamps exist to restrain them if necessary.

The powers are inherited from ancestors, but it’s not super likely for someone to receive them, and the longer a family line goes without them the less likely it is for someone to have powers. Shadowforgers and lightweavers are incredibly rare because their powers are tied to only one family line each.

I would list characters here but I compiled a character introduction post here for anyone interested.

#writeblr #amwriting #creative writing #original writing #nanowrimo #wip intro #fantasy #my writing

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iztopher · 1 year

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⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ five of them. be free

SHEBA THANK U SO MUCH (also!!! i feel like it's been a while hi i hope u are doing well <3) since there are so many I am going to put the first one above the cut and the rest under

from don't you dare go down:

Te’ijal attempts to inspect her husband’s injury. The fabric of his padded jacket, while thoroughly sliced, is thick enough around the surrounding skin to prevent her from getting a good enough look at it. She purses her lips, frowning.

“I can’t do anything with this fabric in the way,” she says, and finds her voice is uncharacteristically sheepish. She’s at an impasse; she certainly knows better than to ask him if she can take off his breastplate. She’s not even sure she wants to– there’s something about her mental image of Galahad that belongs in shining metal, like if she stripped off too much armor he would disappear right along with it.

He surprises her by saying, the stiffness in his voice betraying some slight discomfort, “the sleeves on this one unlace. Check the shoulder.”

SO, that middle paragraph is perhaps still my favorite thing I've ever written, and one of the things that makes me happiest about it is how the vast majority of people who read this fic singled it out to comment on it.

my intent with don't you dare go down was to write Te'ijal and Galahad slowly but surely meeting in the middle re: their relationship with each other - Te'ijal coming to learn and respect Galahad's boundaries instead of pushing them, and, as a result of that respect, Galahad becoming just a little comfortable letting some of them down. This section was me trying to encapsulate that - that Galahad's boundaries, specifically his insistence on not letting Te'ijal see him without his armor, have become an integral part of how Te'ijal views him and are no longer something she's trying to change.

BUT, funnily enough, the way this actual line came to be is because Te'ijal is technically partly undressing Galahad here, and it's an emotional moment, and I was like, dear god, this cannot be horny, I need to emphasize that this not sexy in any way. And what better way to emphasize that than to be like, by the way, the idea of seeing Galahad in anything less a full suit of armor is weird for her, this isn't something she's like, excited about.

2) re: Freckles:

this is not actually about any scene/line but just the fic in general because it's funny - at the time, I was really worried about the pivotal "compelled to count things" reading like OCD symptoms being played for laughs, so I was like, well, to make sure it's not that, I'll base it off my personal experiences of when I feel like I have to do something! Anyways it turns out I have OCD and I was basing it off my compulsions.

3) from you try so loud to love me (completely SFW excerpt and discussion, I promise):

“Oh, is that your issue, Te’ijal?” he asked, raising his voice on her name as if out of spite. “I focused on our marriage and lost sight of you separate from it? Because you do not get to judge me for that!”

“And why don’t I?” Te’ijal asked, barely restraining her voice from yelling, and she found that goading him felt good, the most she’d felt like herself all night, if not the past year. She wanted him to call her a monster, to remind her she ruined his life, as if she had ever been the one who forgot.

So when his voice dropped, her heart plummeted with it. “Please, wife,” he said, sitting down on the bed and reaching towards her. She drew backwards, and so instead he raised his hands in surrender. “I don’t want to fight you. Not tonight.”

most of the time when i write fic, it's exploring how a small scene gradually/slightly improves something for the characters or their relationship. this fic was supposed to be the opposite! one of the ways I was very excited to do this is have Galahad, for once in his fucking existence, pointedly Refuse to get upset at Te'ijal. because for Te'ijal, that would be cathartic/satisfying, and for Galahad, explaining himself would require acknowledging the ways she hurt him as a vampire, which is something I think he shuts himself off from as a human.

4) from left undead:

Eventually, he sighed. “My last emergency contact was my ex’s father,” he admitted. Te’ijal opened her mouth to question this, but he continued before she had the chance. “You text me daily, live in the same city as me, and from what I can tell, your sleep schedule is sporadic. I knew that if someone called you from my phone, you would answer.”

I was so torn on whether I should include this joke or not considering I refuse to elaborate on it in-fic, but I decided it was bizarre and funny enough to land without context. So here's the director's cut context: this is a nod towards the fic Rhenegade (/its Blanchefleur-centric spinoff Daisy Stains), where Galahad's ex fiancee Blanchefleur was the daughter of the knight he served as squire under. I could not actually tell you why in a modern AU Galahad would be close enough with Blanchefleur's dad to have this set-up, but I did think it would be hilarious and so I put it in there.

And now because I promise I can talk about my fic that isn't te'ijalahad:

5) re: nobody's daughter:

I don't have any like, specific lines that jump out at me that I want to share the director's cut to, but this is a fic I put a lot of thought into and I have a lot of thoughts about. Lydia is canonically defined by her obsession with becoming queen, being selfish and vain, and being kinda girly with her fun dress-up options. But we also see that it's clearly come from her parents, with her dad scolding her for traveling with commoners. Something I am fascinated by with Lydia is the idea of how much of this is she doing because she wants to and how much of this is she doing because it's what she's been told, and the fact that the two didn't have to be mutually exclusive!

So when Ishti suggested a nonbinary take on Lydia I could not stop thinking about taking their gender in that same direction. Obviously, Lydia loves fashion and fancy dresses, but would they love sharp suits or casual clothes just as much if they let themself try? Who knows! They don't!

And that's what I wanted to convey in this fic, the uncertainty and kind of like, stress of figuring out your identity for yourself when you know the one that's been laid out for you works for you but can't get rid of the feeling that something else would make you happier, and trying to figure out what that is. Personally, the reason I'm mostly not out as nonbinary IRL is because I have this needling worry of like, what if the fact that sticking w/ the way I currently present is easier means it feels better? What if changing things makes me feel worse, not better, you know? And I think changing how you present, for gender reasons or not, often has that moment of a leap of faith. And I really wanted to capture Lydia being stuck before making that leap of faith and tie it up with gender feelings.

#dear mel

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