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house-of-hoerrors · 6 months

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Warnings: death, depersonalization && derealization, psychological torture (passing the breaking point), minor fantasizing of death && murder. Summary: sierra dies. she spends two years trapped in The Void, and it breaks her. she is angry and numb when she finally reforms her body. Word Count: 7,810

It was raining outside the night Dr. Sierra Karelle died.

A real nasty storm; thunder, lightning, the whole nine yards. Her hotel room was dark, only just barely lit by the flashlight she held between her teeth and the lights from the city outside. The curtains were still open, the view distorted by the water cascading down the other side of the glass. But she was too preoccupied with her energy core to pay the weather much attention.

Her back was starting to ache as she hunched over her energy core prototype. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her neck to try and relieve the tension. It didn’t work.

A soft knock on the door followed by the click of it opening barely registered as Sierra held her breath, willing her hands to be quick and precise and not mess up the mechanics. The muffled step of heels on carpet was drowned out by the rain beating against the window. There was a soft huff before her PA, Evelyn Pierce, scolded her for the millionth time that night.

"Dr. Karelle, we're going to be late."

Sierra spared Evelyn a glance paired with a crooked smile around the flashlight between her teeth.

"Again."

Sierra sighed and took one hand away from the core, folding her tools into her palm as she grabbed the flashlight between her index and thumb. "I’m sure the illustrious scientists and researchers visiting S.T.A.R. Labs tonight can make do without me for another—” she glanced at her watch, “—half an hour or so.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow, and Sierra already knew they’d be leaving by the end of the conversation. "We already missed the public ceremonies. I'd really rather we at least make an appearance tonight. It's the entire reason we're even in Central City."

The piece of the energy core Sierra was working on looked somewhat pathetic in her hand, half taken apart with its insides sticking out every which way. She was, admittedly, much farther from completing her own piece of revolutionary tech than Dr. Wells was with his physics-changing particle accelerator. The particle accelerator had been turned on earlier in the night, and physics was already in the midst of being revolutionized. She may as well take the opportunity to see it in action.

She looked back up at Evelyn. “Should I go with the stilettos or the dress boots?”

Evelyn smiled. She knew when she’d won; she did it often enough to recognize Sierra’s white flag of surrender. “Definitely the boots. It’s a tour, there’ll probably be a lot of walking.”

Sierra’s returned smile was just a touch ironic. “What would I do without you?”

“Never show up to anything?”

Sierra rolled her eyes and looked back down at the part she was fiddling with. She should at least align the coils before they left. It would only take a minute, and they could scratch the ionizer if they were shifted too much the way they were.

“I’m just gonna finish setting the coils so they don’t scratch the power source.” Her tools clicked as she lifted the core closer to her face to fix it as much as she could for the time being.

That was when the room was bathed in brilliant yellow light. Sierra instinctively closed her eyes and tried to blink the temporary blindness away. A deep, rumbling explosion boomed around the two women. When Sierra’s eyes adjusted to the new light, she looked up just in time to see S.T.A.R. Labs through the window, engulfed in a fiery column of gold and red light. There was a high-pitched whine, and a shockwave pushed through Sierra. She had just enough time to think ‘oh shit’ before everything went dark.

That was the moment she died. She didn’t even have time to scream.

Vast space opened up before her, around her, within her. And then it collapsed in on itself, into empty black. Hot, pulsing energy shot up Sierra’s arms into her chest. Her fingers felt like they were on fire, and then there was nothing.

She never lost consciousness. She just… didn’t know that she didn’t. Like when you were dreaming. You were conscious, in a sense, but you weren’t usually aware of it. You simply were.

Sierra didn’t know how long it took her to realize that she was, in fact, conscious. That she was awake, even. It was so strange, not having a body. Not needing to breathe, or blink, or swallow. She didn’t feel anything. Not physically. There was a sense of feeling, but it was like nothing she’d ever experienced before. The kind of thing you couldn’t explain to someone who had never experienced it. Sierra felt things, just not physically. It was the best explanation she could offer.

It didn’t even begin to cover it.

Sierra also couldn’t see things, the way you would in a physical body. Existing in a murky void with no physical factor was hard to explain if you’d never been there. It was kind of like dreaming, but it was also nothing like that.

You know how, sometimes, when you fall asleep but don’t dream, you wake up remembering existing in this black void of nothing, just existing in that nothingness? It was a little bit like that.

And then suddenly Sierra could see. Really, truly see. She was in the “real” world, the physical world, but only as an observer. She wasn’t physically there, herself. She could just… see it.

There were two clean, grey chairs in front of dull green curtains. It was dark in the room, but sunlight filtered through the closed curtains, offering the slightest peak of yellow rays to see.

And then she was gone again, back to the void.

The void. That suited the place. The Void. Sierra decided that she was going to keep that. It was a good name, if a bit ominous.

It was hard to keep track of time there. No, not hard; impossible. But it didn’t feel to Sierra like she was there for eternity. But, then again, it didn’t feel like she was there for a short amount of time either. There was no time in The Void. Another thing that was hard to explain. It was just… like that.

She could see again, at some point. She knew that time had passed in the physical world when she was back there. She didn’t know how she knew, just that she did. Like an instinct, or something that you felt in your bones. Intuition was a better word than instinct.

Sierra got a chance to look around, this time. It seemed like she was in the same place, two grey chairs in front of green curtains. They were partially open this time. A dark city skyline sat beyond the curtains, glittering in the twilight.

The lights in the room were on. Sierra could hear a shower running in the bathroom. This was the hotel room that she was in when she died, she realized.

There was a pull this time, just before Sierra went back to The Void. Like she was being consumed from the inside out. She didn’t get a chance to fight it. She wouldn’t have known how to even if she’d thought to try.

That would come later.

Sierra went back to that hotel room a few more times before she figured out how to move away from the pull. It followed her, never completely gone, but she could hold it off for a bit if she tried. Just a few seconds the first time, but eventually she could hold it off for a few minutes, and then a few hours, and then a few days.

It took her a lot longer to figure out that she didn’t have to float around to get places. It was an accident the first time it happened. She was thinking about Evelyn, wondering if she was okay, what had happened to her the night of the particle accelerator explosion. And then suddenly Sierra was somewhere else. No longer meandering down the streets of Central City. She popped into existence in a cozy, modern kitchen. Evelyn had her back to Sierra. Not that she’d see her, anyway. Sierra wasn’t really there. She’d learned that already.

Evelyn was cutting something, her shoulders moving with each slice. Sierra watched her for a bit, happy that she seemed okay. The pull caught up with her when Evelyn dumped the cutting board full of veggies into the boiling water on her stove.

Sierra had a lot of time to think in The Void (relatively speaking). It was about all she could do. She tried to pull herself back to the physical world, but there was no feeling when she went there. It just happened. One second in The Void, the next not. So she just thought.

She was scared at first. Was she dead? Was this the afterlife? Was she a ghost? Was this purgatory? Or hell?

Eventually that line of thought just got boring. All she did was scare herself. There was no getting anywhere worrying about it. She was probably a ghost, whatever version of them existed. Nobody else was in The Void, not that Sierra could sense or communicate with. Maybe they were there and she just didn’t know it.

But there was nothing else like her in the physical world, either. So she was either the first ghost to ever exist, or ghosts couldn’t sense or communicate with each other in any way. Or maybe she was in purgatory.

Whatever the case, there was nothing she could do about it now. So, really, no point in dwelling on it.

The next time Sierra went to the physical world, she thought about Alex. The heart that she didn’t have hurt to think about them. She probably would’ve cried if she could.

It had been a long time since Sierra had died. There were a few ways she knew this.

First, that intuition. Something in her just knew that a lot of time had passed in the physical world since that night. She wasn’t sure how much. Months felt like the right answers.

The second was Alex. Their hair was longer. It had grown since Sierra died, and they hadn’t cut it yet. And they weren’t wearing their engagement ring; their left hand was bare of any jewelry. Sierra didn’t recognize the house they were in, either. It definitely wasn’t theirs.

At first she thought they were just visiting someone else, but then they went to sleep there. Their shoes and bag sat by the door, keys in the dish Sierra’d made them for Christmas two years before. This was where they lived, but it wasn’t where they had lived.

Sierra’s heart broke that day. She didn’t know if any of this was real, if she was a ghost watching the world move on without her or if this was purgatory specifically designed to torture her. She didn’t care. It hurt to see whether or not it was true. Hurt to think about.

She stopped thinking about the people in her life after that. She didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to hurt any more than she already did.

She wished she could turn herself off in The Void, after that. Her thoughts kept circling the drain. Thinking about Alex moving on. Had she died, breaking their heart just like she’d broken her own, and now they were trying to move on with their life without her? Was her family moving on without her, too? Her parents, her little brother, her sister? Had they had a funeral for her, cried for her, stepped up to a podium to talk about how much they loved her and how they’d miss her now that she was gone?

Sierra just wanted to cry. She wanted to scream, to punch a wall, curl into a ball and hold her knees close to her chest until she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to hurt so that her feelings didn’t hurt so much. But she couldn’t. All she could do was sit in her pain and sadness and grief.

Wasn’t it ironic? The person who died was grieving too.

And then Sierra popped back into the physical world again. She tried to push things around for a while. Maybe she could become a poltergeist, if she tried hard enough. She could work through everything if only she could just break something.

It didn’t work.

She didn’t fight the pull that time. She let it take her. She couldn’t think of anywhere to go at the time, anyone she actually wanted to see. Watching strangers go about their normal lives felt depressing, pathetic.

Have you ever been deprived of all stimulation, left to sit with your own thoughts, nothing to distract you or entertain you or give you an avenue of escape, even if only temporary? It wasn’t fun.

Sierra tried to daydream, to think about TV shows or movies or video games or books, anything that didn’t make her hurt. But her thoughts would always wander. It was hard to concentrate on a storyline you only half remembered with no stimulation to keep you focused on it.

The more she tried to distract herself, the more frustrated she got when her thoughts inevitably drifted back to her life. Friends, family, work, even something as simple as going out for a cup of coffee. It was all gone. Taken from her. And not just that, but now she was trapped in this dual existence. Half in a Void of nothing but her own thoughts, half in a world that she could only watch as it moved on without her.

And then Sierra was in the physical world again. At first she just waited, motionless, staring at the ground. Waiting for The Void to pull her back.

What was the point? She couldn’t do anything. Couldn’t talk to anyone, touch anything, do anything. She could only watch. She may as well just… stop.

But then she had a thought. The particle accelerator had exploded that night, when she died. Was that what had killed her? The explosion was like nothing she’d ever seen before. It had felt weird, different. She’d never been that close to an explosion before, of course, but still. Something about it had been off.

Maybe she could find some answers there.

Sierra had never been to S.T.A.R. Labs before. The sign on the wall was the only reason she knew that was where she was. It was dark and empty.

She wandered around for a while, trying to find someone, something to help her. She might not be able to touch anything, but maybe if the explosion had caused this she would be able to feel something. Maybe she’d be able to do something here.

Eventually she found people, in a room with what seemed like an excessive number of computer screens. Three on a desk by the entrance, five on the far wall above a closed door, four more on desks to either side of the door, and another two on medical stands near the middle of the room.

Two people leaned over someone lying in a bed in front of the far door. It looked like a makeshift medical setup, but an inexpensive one nonetheless. Music played from a speaker on one of the smaller desks.

The two people leaning over the bed seemed to be arguing about something. Sierra got closer, close enough to see their faces and watch what they were doing. A woman stood to the right of the bed. Long brown hair framed a young face with bright brown eyes. The man on the left side of the bed had shoulder-length black hair and a red vine in one hand.

“I checked his Facebook page. I mean, he can hear everything, right?”

“Auditory functions are the last sensory faculties to degenerate.”

This wasn’t what Sierra was here for. She started to leave when the person in the hospital bed, a young man, sat up with a harsh gasp.

“Oh, my god.”

The machines he was hooked up to started to beep and complain. He was panicking, understandably. “Where am I?”

The woman started scrambling to check on him. “He’s up.”

“Dr. Wells, get down to the Cortex like right now.”

Sierra froze at the name. Dr. Wells.

Dr. Harrison Wells? If he was here, maybe she could figure this out. Maybe he would know something. Not that she could talk to him, but… there was a chance. It was his particle accelerator that did this to her. Maybe he would offer some clues.

So she watched, and she waited.

The two (scientists? doctors? researchers?) fussed over the young man. Introduced themselves—Cisco Ramon and Dr. Caitlin Snow—and answered his questions. Struck by lightning, apparently, and in a coma. For—

“Nine months.”

Sierra tried to fight the pull, but she’d held it off for too long. She was consumed, propelled back into The Void. She wanted to scream. She could have had answers if she could just have stayed there for long enough. Why could she hold off the pull to The Void but not insight popping back to the physical world? Why was she here? Why couldn’t she control anything?

She wanted to scream until her throat was raw and her voice was hoarse. She wanted to screech until it hurt, to punch the wall until her hand was bloody and broken. She was tired of hurting like this. Tired of being sad and alone and helpless. She wanted to feel something. Really, actually feel something. Even if it was pain.

Sierra would have given anything to be in physical pain. It would have been so much better than this hell.

Numbness overcame her. She hated it, loved it, rejected it, relished it. She wished it would consume her. She wished it would go away.

Frustration bubbled over eventually, eating away the nothingness and overflowing into every part of her. She was angry. At the world, at The Void, at herself, at everything.

She was in S.T.A.R. Labs again. This place. This place.

S.T.A.R. Labs had ruined her. She was angry at this place, the people who had been here, who were still here. She was angry at Dr. Wells. Furious. Rage burned in her, a fire that colored everything shades of red.

She imagined herself yelling at him, telling him everything he’d done to her, everything he’d taken from her. She imagined hitting him, pushing him, hurting him so that he could feel even a fraction of her pain. She wanted him to hurt. Wanted him to be afraid, and alone, and helpless.

But he wasn’t, and she couldn’t make him. All she could do was watch him, seething with hatred. Wishing he could feel her pain, picturing him hurting like she did. It wasn’t cathartic. It only made her more angry.

But she couldn’t stop.

She barely listened to anything that happened while she was there, that time. Barry Allan, the one from the makeshift hospital setup, apparently had superspeed. From the particle accelerator. Sierra saw red, when she learned that. He was alive. He had superpowers. Because of that explosion. And what she had gotten? Death. This purgatory. This hell.

And then she was back in The Void.

This wasn’t fair. What had she ever done to deserve this? She wasn’t perfect, of course, nobody was. But she was a good person. Tried to be, at least. She was kind, respectful, she stood up for what she believed in. She changed lives with her work, made the world a better place. She dedicated herself to her studies, to working towards a better future.

But it didn’t matter. None of it had mattered. She was still here, in hell.

Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

Her anger faded in The Void. Hopelessness replaced it soon enough. Emptiness. Deep, vast emptiness. Would she be here forever? Was this some kind of punishment? Had she done something horrible in her life, something she’d forgotten, something she had to atone for? Could anyone ever do anything so awful to deserve a fate like this? Alone, empty, made of nothing but thoughts and emotions for eternity?

She kept watching the people at S.T.A.R. Labs. Barry became a bonafide superhero: the Flash. Sierra’s anger would flare and then fade in cycles. Numbness fought it for dominance in her non-existent heart. She wanted both, and neither. The longer she was in The Void, the longer she watched them during her forays into the physical world, the more she broke. She could feel it happening, could feel herself slipping. She could feel her sanity wane, pieces of her disappearing, being replaced with fear and anger and emptiness.

She let them. What could she do? What was the point of even trying? This was never going to end.

Sierra eventually realized that she could feel Barry. Actually feel him. Energy fell off him in waves, electric and steady. She knew where he was when she was in the physical world, could sense him. And then she started to sense others, too. Metahumans gave off a feeling. Varying degrees of power and strength emanated from them, but they were always more noticeable than normal humans.

Great deal of good that information did. Sierra could already watch someone if she thought about them. What did it matter if she could feel where metahumans were? She didn’t need to know where they were to spy on them. It was useless. Annoying. A reminder of what she’d lost.

She hated it.

Her rage flared up again when Dr. Wells betrayed them. Except he wasn’t even Dr. Wells. Eobard Thawne, some madman speedster that Barry evidently pissed off sometime in the future. It was a real mess. And her life was ruined because of it.

Because of Barry, and his feud with this insane villain. Sierra was in hell because of him. Because of Caitlin and Cisco and everyone that had been a part of this. She was an unintended consequence, an unimportant detail. She was in hell because of them. All of them.

She wanted to hurt them. More than she’d ever wanted anything. Red colored everything she saw for the second time. Blood flashed across her thoughts, the need for pain and violence and suffering. Anything to alleviate the hurt in her, to make them feel what they’d done to her. What they’d taken from her.

Her time in The Void was a coin flip. Sometimes it was filled with images of vengeance. Gore and blood and twisted, evil things. Sierra scared herself in those moments. She didn’t care.

Other times it was a numbness, nothingness, a void within her that made her wonder if she would ever feel anything ever again.

And then something hit her. It was like a shockwave, a pulse overwhelming her. She could feel it in her core, in the center of her being. She watched the physical world from The Void for the first and only time. Something was broken, something had fractured, puncturing a hole between the two existences.

Sierra could feel the pull towards the hole. For the first time in what seemed like years, she could feel something more. She moved towards the hole and almost choked. It was like she could feel herself reaching towards it, actually reaching, with an arm and hand and fingers and everything. She could feel the energy coursing through the hole, through her, the immense pressure as she watched it swallow any matter that came into contact with it in the physical world.

But as suddenly as it had appeared, as the feeling had started, it was gone. It was all gone. The feeling of a body, of her body, was gone. She screamed in my mind, in her thoughts. She had no throat to yell raw, nothing to make her hoarse or tired. So she just screamed and screamed and screamed.

She had felt herself breaking before, had felt her sanity slip. But this was different. This was more. Something in Sierra shattered, then, completely and fully. Whatever she was before, whoever she was, it was gone.

That pull had been a singularity. Sierra found that out the next time she went to the physical world. And it really had broken the universe. There was another Earth, a parallel world. She tried to go there, but it didn’t work. Of course, she would be stuck watching the same Earth when there was a whole multiverse out there. This was hell, after all. Why would she have been given the opportunity to do anything interesting? Fuck her for even thinking that, right?

There were other people that came with this alternate Earth. Sierra didn’t have room for curiosity for them, only contempt. Bitterness started to creep through her anger, jealousy, envy. Shades of green mixed with the red.

Two more speedsters: Zoom and Jay Garrick. If any other speedsters showed up, she swore, she was going to find a way to tear her way into the physical world just so that she could thin their numbers out. Zoom was evil. Apparently.

Maybe she’d get rid of Jay and Barry and let Zoom terrorize the rest of them for her. The thought gave her a twisted kind of pleasure.

And then Harry showed up. Dr. Harrison Wells from Earth-2. Sierra knew that Eobard Thawne had done this to her, but he’d worn Dr. Wells’ face for long enough that it made the red burn hot and bright anyway. She hated this version of Dr. Wells. She didn’t even know him, but she hated him with everything that was left of her.

The Void nursed that hatred. The red bubbled over the green, overshining it until rage seethed in every corner of her being. She wanted to hurt them. To hurt him. She didn’t care what they had done, who they were. She just wanted them to hurt. All of them.

It was only fair.

She was back in the physical world again, but this time something was different. Something was very, very different.

Sierra could feel something. Like how she felt Barry and other metahumans, but more. So, so much more. It was like she could reach out and touch the energy. Just like it had been with the singularity. A massive collection of energy that made her feel again. If she could get close enough to the source, she could touch that energy. Use it. She knew she could. Intuition, just like how she knew the passage of time in the physical world when she was there.

This was her salvation.

She focused on that energy, followed it. It was fast. Almost too fast to track, to follow. It was outside S.T.A.R. Labs first, and then it was gone. She could feel the pull trying to consume her again. She fought it like she’d never fought it before. She had to get to that energy before it was gone, before she went back.

It was all that mattered.

She followed it through Central City. It stopped twice, but both times was just out of her grasp. She felt ethereal fingers that were almost hers close around it. Both times it was gone just as she could feel herself getting close enough to latch on to the energy. And then it was somewhere familiar, somewhere she knew how to get to. Fast.

Zoom held Barry’s bloody, beaten body in the air when Sierra pulled herself to the energy. It was coming from him. It was almost suffocating, this close. She could taste it, feel it surrounding her, pressing in on her. Even without touching it, without touching Zoom, she could feel herself. Like she was real, like she had a body again. She moved closer, ignoring the scene that was playing out in front of her.

Something in her reached out. The moment she was close enough to touch the energy, it was like it was coursing through her. A pulse of white-hot energy shot through her. She felt alive for the first time in years. The world turned purple and gold, and Sierra pulled.

She watched her body reform one piece at a time as she siphoned energy from Zoom. The tips of her fingers turned into her hand, and then her wrist, her forearm, bicep, shoulder, chest. Until Sierra was whole again. She could feel the air on her skin, her hair on the back of her neck, the tips of her fingers against Zoom’s chest. She could feel his heart beating and the energy that flowed through him. The speedforce, but more. So much more. It was different now, felt different through the physical world. Less intense, less pronounced, but she could still feel it.

There was a sharp pain in Sierra’s shoulder and then she was rocketed away from him, away from the energy that brought her back to life. Her back hit the wall with a sickening crack, and true pain blossomed through her body. Her body. She smiled. She actually smiled.

Laughter bubbled up in Sierra’s throat as she pushed herself to her knees. It was so strange, feeling again, moving again. She could breath, could blink, could touch and see and hear in the truest sense of the words. She moved like she’d never stopped, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Somehow she still knew how to be. Her mind was shattered, but her body wasn’t.

And then the energy that had brought Sierra to life was gone. She looked up and Zoom was nowhere to be seen. Seeing was different like this, too. There had been a film over everything when she’d watched the world before, but she hadn’t even noticed. Now everything was clear and real and she was actually here.

She was still laughing as she pushed herself to her feet, crouching but steady. She leaned back against the wall, watching. Barry lay on the floor, unconscious. Maybe dead. Very bloody. Caitlin and Cisco rushed to help him, to stabilize him. Harry had run into the hallway, maybe after Zoom. Sierra didn’t know. It didn’t matter

Nobody was paying her any attention. Could they see her? She shook my head; she didn’t care. She had a physical body. She could touch things. Even if they couldn’t see her, she would take this. She could use this. This was good.

She could feel power flowing through her. Energy flowed through the room, in the electronics, through the air. She could sense it. And she knew that if she wanted to, she could pull it into herself. She could use it for all kinds of things.

An eerie calm settled over Sierra as she looked around the room. Seeing Barry maybe-dead and covered in blood brought a sick sense of satisfaction. They deserved this. He deserved this. For what they’d done to her, for what she’d been through. This was their payback.

Karma was a bitch.

Sierra didn’t do anything as Caitlin and Cisco brought Barry to their little med room. She was so used to watching, it took her a second to remember that she could do things now. She’d fallen into a trance, staring at the blood as it dripped from Barry’s unconscious body.

She was standing, both arms pressed against the wall, when Harry came back to the Cortex. Her eyes darted over to him. He was looking at her. Was he unsure? Or was he scared? He should be scared. A dark grin pulled at Sierra’s lips as she stared at him.

“Who are you?”

There were so many ways to answer that question. Did she want him to know her name? Did she want him to know what had happened to her? What his face had done to her? Did she want him to know who was going to kill him?

She pulled the power pushing in on her into herself as she stepped away from the wall towards him. It flowed into her like water. It was hot and pulsing and strong. The world was suddenly tinted shades of lilac and lavender.

“I’ve been waiting for this.” Sierra could feel her heart hammering in her chest. Tears formed in her eyes as she took it all in. She could actually feel her heart. She could hear it beating.

His eyes went wide, only just slightly, and he lifted his chin a bit. It was cute. Like he was trying to show that he wasn’t afraid, that he wasn’t intimidated. He wasn’t very good at pretending, though. Sierra could taste his fear like a bitter drop at the back of her throat.

“You work for Zoom.” He said it like it was true. Maybe he believed it.

She shook her head, smile widening to show her teeth. “No.”

She took another step towards him. The power was starting to grow in her. Fire burned in her body. She basked in the feeling.

He looked confused at her answer. His brows pulled together, jaw tightening as she continued to get closer. “Then why are you here?”

That was quite the question. So many different ways to answer that one too. Something about the fear in the back of Sierra’s throat made her heart race, though. She wanted more of it.

“To make you hurt like I do.”

She pulled at the power around her. Pulled it into her, over her, onto her. She wanted it all. It got hotter and hotter, and then it started to burn. She faltered one step, pain shooting through her core. The smile disappeared from her face, replaced by a sneer. Anger flared in her. This was not happening. She finally had something, could finally do something to release the pain inside. She would not let the heat stop her. She couldn’t.

Her breathing was heavy, laboured, hard. Fire spread through her, but it wasn’t comforting anymore. It didn’t feel like power. It felt like destruction, like hurt and terror and death. It was overwhelming, powerful, like drowning.

The lights flickered, the machines around the room stuttered, and then they all went dark. Sierra could feel the electricity in the air. It crackled like a storm, prickling along her skin and into her bones. It was like she was choking on it.

Something snapped in her, and a sharp stab of pain rocketed through her. She screamed and felt her legs give out. She dropped to one knee, hands moving to break her fall. The floor was cold on her palms, almost freezing against the heat that coursed through her. Energy pumped through her, and she felt a shudder rack her whole body. Too much energy, far too much. It was like her skin was ready to split apart, tearing at the seams. Chaos reigned around her.

Her heart beat at a gallop, stuttering as energy pushed it to its limits. She tried to focus, to calm down. The heat burned against her skin. Hot, pulsing energy crept up her arms towards her chest. It felt just like the night she died.

This was not good.

Her senses cleared for a moment. She looked up, and everything was colored dark shades of violet. She ground her teeth together, jaw clenched, and tried to focus on pushing the fire out of her. Push it away, put it out, anything to stop the burn.

A violent burst of golden light blinded her for a second, and then there was relief. The burning heat dissipated, replaced with a blast of ice that faded almost immediately. The fire seeped out of her fingers and then there was a chill crawling up her spine. Each breath was hot, but brought a cooling sigh through her.

She pushed herself to her feet after a few deep breaths. Everything hurt. Chills crawled over her skin as the warmth seeped out of her completely. The world faded from bright hues of magenta and lilac to its normal colors.

A wave of nausea came over Sierra as she straightened. She felt sick and weak all of a sudden. The energy that she’d pulled into herself started to dissipate, and she could feel her strength sapping with it. But she wasn’t in The Void. She still had a body, was still well and truly alive.

Sierra looked around, finding only chaos and destruction. Everything on the main desk right next to her was shattered, glass and metal debris covering the surface and floor underneath. The chairs had been pushed to the other side of the room, metal stands twisted as they were slammed against the wall. Wires from the broken lights overhead hung from the ceiling, sparking with leftover electricity.

She turned to the rest of the room. Cisco and Harry were pulling themselves to their feet on the other side of the room. They looked hurt. That brought the crooked grin back to her face. She wanted to hurt them again, more, to pull that power into her and unleash it on them. But she was tired; drained.

Sierra watched as they stood, disoriented and unsteady. She may have been weak, but she could stand strong. They would not see her buckle again. She had been weak for long enough. Maybe she would come back, but for now she needed to leave. To rest, to figure out what this was. What she could do. What she could really do.

“Consider yourselves lucky that I’m not looking for more blood.” They turned their eyes to Sierra as she spoke. They were concerned, afraid. The bitterness was back. She smiled, baring her teeth.

“Tough talk coming from someone who’s not wearing any shoes.”

Sierra paused. She hadn’t noticed the cold tile against her bare feet before. She glanced down at myself; she was wearing a dress. The same one she’d been wearing the night of the particle accelerator explosion. Interesting.

She looked back up at the two of them. Her grin was gone now, replaced by a hard glare, jaw clenched and mouth pulled into a tight sneer. She glanced to the side, at the room where Cisco and Caitlin had taken Barry. She was busy trying to tend to him, uninterested in the exchange the rest were having.

Sierra’s attention snapped back to the two men. They would fear her. They would worry about her coming back. She wanted them to look over their shoulder for the rest of their lives, if she decided to let them.

“Your hero is unconscious. Maybe dead. There’s nothing to stop me from slaughtering you where you stand, barefoot or not.” The bitter slid down her throat like syrup, hot and sticky and strong. “If I ever see any of you again, I will kill you.”

She turned and walked out, not waiting to see their reaction to that. They didn’t follow her. Maybe they were scared of her. Maybe they knew there was nothing they could do to stop her. Maybe they preferred to tend to their precious Flash.

Did it really matter?

Sierra’s body was slow and sluggish as she got to the door of the building. Spite fueled her out and back into the big, wide world. It was chilly and she was less than happy to be in a thin satin dress with no shoes or socks. It was dark outside, night covering the city like a veil.

She wrapped her arms around herself and looked up at the sky. She hadn’t really been able to look at the sky, when she’d been watching. It was like some weird filter covered it, turning what would have been a beautiful sight into a blotchy mess of colors. Looking at it now, she could feel the rage in her calm a bit.

Black gave way to various shades of dark blue, and twinkling points of light dotted the expanse above her. She let out a shaky breath as a shiver racked her body. She was cold and alone and… she didn’t know what to do now. Her time intuition told her that it had been almost two years since the particle accelerator explosion. Almost two years since she’d died.

All Sierra had wanted for so long was to be able to feel pain again, to hurt herself to forget the anguish of being so alone, so hopeless. And then she had wanted to hurt the people that had caused her pain, that had put her through hell. But now that she could do all of things, any of them, was actually here… now she didn’t know.

Sierra had the whole world in front of her. Truly, actually, physically in front of her. She’d given up on ever being here again, on ever being alive again.

What did she do now?

The ground was cold and hard on her bare feet. Tiny stones dug into her heels, sending sharp little pinpricks of pain up her leg. It was a sick kind of pleasure. She stayed away from the main roads, just walked for a while, aimlessly wandering through back alleys and side streets. She relished the feeling of the cold air on her skin, the way her hair brushed against the back of her neck, her fingers gripping her arms, the sting of concrete and rocks against her bare feet. It all gave her the strangest sense of euphoria.

She kept thinking of people, of places, and expecting to be there. It was so strange to be here in the physical world, to really be here. To not be a watcher anymore, invisible, unseen, untouchable.

She started shivering. Her fingers and nose were cold, icy. It felt like frost clung to her heart, growing through her chest and spreading its devastating chill. As much as she got a strange sense of enjoyment from the pain in her limbs and the creeping cold crawling through her bones, she knew she couldn’t keep straining her body like this. The pain distracted her, sure, but it would kill her eventually.

She couldn’t go back to The Void. She would do anything to avoid that. Absolutely anything.

Her feet started to go numb. They felt like wax, like they weren’t really her feet. It was the beginning of frostbite, she knew that, but it scared her. Made her think of The Void, of feeling nothing. She needed to get warmer. She needed to get shoes, a coat, food, literally any other clothes.

It was late when she wandered back to the main streets. Most things were closed by this point, dark shop windows lining the sidewalks. She stopped in front of an outlet store and stared through the front door for a minute. Should she just smash the window? Should she risk trying to use her powers to break in? She was freezing and tired and sore.

That probably wasn’t a good idea.

Sierra didn’t have anything to wrap her arm in to protect it from the glass. She looked down at the hem of my dress. It was flimsy enough. She could probably rip through it. Just needed to apply enough force at the right angle, to cause enough fracture energy and…

It ripped. Perfect.

She tore a long enough piece and wrapped it around her arm. A quick glance to make sure no one was around, and…

Smash.

Sierra shielded her eyes as she drove her elbow through the glass. The store’s alarm blared almost immediately. She’d need to be quick, then. She was careful to move the torn fabric from her dress to her hand and wrist as she cleared some of the stray glass away before stepping through the broken door.

There wasn’t time to browse or be picky. She searched through the first section of boots that she found and grabbed her size. Next was a sweatshirt and track pants off a rack. Their size didn’t matter as much. They were big, they’d be good enough. And then she was gone.

She ducked into a side alley to change and pull the boots on. Next was food, and then maybe she could find a motel and pick a lock. A convenience store saw the same strategy: elbow through the window, in, grab the closest thing, and then out and away down an alley.

Central City wasn’t entirely familiar to Sierra, but she knew enough to make her way through back ways, routes people didn’t often take. She was still cold, but the new clothes worked wonders. Next: somewhere to sleep for the night. Didn’t need to be anything fancy. In fact, the more run down and off the beaten track, the better. The easier it would be to break into a room undetected.

It wasn’t hard to find an old, seedy looking motel not too far from the off ramp. It was completely hidden from the main road unless you took a wrong turn, which just meant it wasn’t a tourist destination and she’d be away from prying eyes.

The cold was starting to seep out of her just as the heat had earlier. She was… tepid. Not hot, not cold, just okay. It was better than the alternative, maybe, but she didn’t like the feeling. Still, it beat feeling nothing.

Sierra looked back up at the sky as she walked up to a row of rooms and felt the last of her anger start to fade away. It was replaced with a familiar, vast emptiness. Numbness took hold of her. She was just so tired. She didn’t want to fight anymore, didn’t want to be anymore.

But the thought of death bringing The Void back lit a burning pit of fear in her stomach. She wasn’t going back there. She would never go back there. If she was going to die, it would be kicking and screaming and fighting.

So she found a room with open curtains and nothing beyond it, knocked just in case, and then jimmied the door open with a couple bobby pins from her hair when nobody answered. It took a few tries and some nervous looks around to make sure no one was coming to investigate why she was still standing there, but she finally got it.

The door creaked open, sickly yellow light spilling onto the beige carpet in the room. She closed and locked the door, closed the curtains, and then pushed the dresser in front of the door.

Everything was sore when Sierra finally collapsed on the bed. She didn’t think about whether or not it was clean; she honestly didn’t care. She was beyond not worried about how clean her broken-into motel room was. She could think of a million worse things that she’d already been through.

The past two years of hell were top of the list.

#sierra karelle.#i am still Debating whether i keep sierra rooted in the d.c/fl.ash universe like this but #im Definitely Not rewriting this to remove it lol #i may just use it as a jumpoff point for her bio but yeah this. This is why she is the way she is

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gayyytripper · 2 years

Text

#i have a lot of thoughts after seeing harry tn #first time seeing harry solo #i was shocked by how many straighties were in the audience #the crowd was so homogenous in terms of demographic #like WHERE WERE THE HOMOS #the girl next to me was literally foaming at the mouth for harry #being like “my bf hates him bc i want to marry him #like girl 🤣🤣#so delulu #i just wish harry’s own fans could see the person he’s so clearly showing himself to be #it makes me a little sad #but it also makes me want to get closer seats to another show and go fulllllll lesbian #in solidarity #flags and shit the whole nine yards #just so he feels a little more in his own company #cuz man it reeked of hets in there #but all in all i’m so grateful and happy to have seen him #and i would do it 1000 times over!#more thoughts coming later

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rynwritesstuff · 2 years

Text

Period Comfort - Eddie Munson Headcanons

Eddie Munson x Reader who gets periods

Warnings: Blood, cramps, irritability, slightly NSFW, implied fingering

You get your period right before coming to Eddie's trailer, and he wants to make you feel better.

(A/N: If you guys want a full 'period fingering' scene, I'd be happy to write it. I am nothing if not a people-pleaser :))

When you arrive, you aren't smiling. That's the first red flag.

You're always happy to see him, and you are, it's just that . . . Today you feel like shit.

Cramps, bloating, self-esteem issues, the whole nine yards.

"Sweetheart," Eddie says, greeting you when he opens the door. "How are youuuu?"

You make a noise, a tired, grumbly, unexcited noise before flopping down on his couch, which reeks of weed and always gives you a headache. A headache, you decide, is the last thing you need right now, and you turn onto your side as you curl into a ball.

Eddie's concerned immediately, and he follows you before sitting down on the floor in front of you.

"Talk to me," he says. "Who pissed you off?"

You shake your head as he rubs your back.

"No one pissed me off, baby, I got my period this morning."

"Oh," Eddie says. Yikes. He wasn't expecting that. You grumble again.

"You're such a boy," you tease, covering your face with your hand.

Eddie laughs.

"What does that mean!?"

"Means that you don't know how to handle shit like this."

"I know how to handle it!" Eddie argues. "What do you need?"

"Nothing right now," you tell him. "I took painkillers, I've got a tampon in . . . There's not much -- son of a bitch -- that can be done, now."

"Are you in pain?" Eddie asks, concerned as he continues to rub your back. You nod. "Shit, sweetheart, I'm sorry."

You shrug, cringing at the cramps that have suddenly gotten much, much worse.

"Not your fault, don't be sorry."

Eddie sighs.

"I'm gonna use the bathroom, okay? I'll be back."

You get up and walk to the trailer's bathroom. You should've changed your tampon before you left, but you were in such a hurry . . .

"Fuck!" you hiss "God fucking dammit!"

Eddie hurries down the hall.

"What!? What's wrong!?"

"I f-forgot to . . ." There are tears in your eyes as you look through your bag. "I forgot to put more tampons in my bag . . . "

"It's okay, I'll uh . . . I'll get you some."

"No, it's fine, I have a few pads, just . . . Goddammit . . ."

Eddie hates seeing you upset, and even more than that, he hates seeing you in pain. He wants to help you so badly, wants to pull you into his arms and kiss you and love on you.

"You're sure you don't want me to run and get you some?" he asks.

"I'm sure, baby, I've got plenty at home, I just forgot to put more in my bag."

"Okay. 'Cause it's no big deal--"

"It's fine!"

Eddie takes the hint and shuts his mouth.

You come out of the bathroom a few minutes later, an apologetic look on your face.

"I'm--"

"I know," Eddie says, offering you a smile. "C'mere. Can I cuddle you?"

You nod eagerly, and you follow him to his bedroom. He lies down and pulls you close, his heavy hands resting on your abdomen. It provides you with some relief.

"Y'know . . . " you say softly, nudging your nose against Eddie's after about ten minutes of cuddling, "I read that orgasms help with cramps."

"Really?" Eddie asks, eyebrows raised.

"Mmhmm."

You were joking. Wholeheartedly joking. The article was real, but you certainly didn't mean for your boyfriend to--

Eddie slips his hand down the front of your pants. Your eyes widen.

"What are you--!?"

"Giving you an orgasm!"

You look back at him.

"Eddie, you don't actually have to--"

"No, no, I wanna make you feel better!"

And before you can even say anything else, his ringed fingers are circling your clit, and you moan, head tipping back against his shoulder.

#rynwritesstuff #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fandom #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things

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waitineedaname · 3 years

Note

Can’t remember the number but the prompt about hearing a song meant for their crush from their roommate’s room???

7. I have work in the morning and I can’t sleep while you’re making music next door, composing love songs for your secret crush.

Gordon was not a stranger to insomnia. Even before all the bullshit that had been thrown at him in Black Mesa, he’d had his fair share of sleepless nights. Anxiety and ADHD would do that to you. Of course, that had gotten significantly worse after he lived through his worst nightmares. It was easier to deal with these days, though. Time had passed since the Resonance Cascade, and he had spent a long time putting his life back together. Learning coping mechanisms, getting a much lower stress job as a physics professor, reconciling with Benrey, the whole nine yards. The night terrors and insomnia came far less frequently than they had when he was fresh out of the birthday bash at the end of the world. That didn’t mean they stopped coming all together, though.

It was one in the morning, if the glowing numbers on his alarm clock were to be trusted, and he had yet to fall asleep. His mind was racing, and not even in the typical anxiety way; he just couldn’t get it to shut up. It didn’t help that he had a class to teach in the morning. He was begging his brain to let him rest, but instead it decided to fixate on anything thought that passed by, like midterms coming up or the TV shows he loved as a child or all the noise coming from Benrey’s room.

Gordon ran his hands down his face and groaned. Yeah, Benrey deciding to compose music in the middle of the night definitely wasn’t helping his sleep. What the hell was that guy even doing? Fuck it, Gordon decided. He wasn’t getting any sleep anyway. Might as well ask Benrey about their music.

He shuffled down the hall, mumbling curses when he stubbed his toes on the furniture barely visible in the dim moonlight. He paused outside Benrey’s room and listened a moment. Some of the sounds were the tell-tale tones of Sweet Voice, sometimes low and resonant, sometimes sweeping to high flute-like notes. Behind the Sweet Voice beeps was the sound of a piano, played with inexperienced hands but still harmonizing surprisingly well. Occasionally, one of the piano notes would come out sour, a key clearly being missed, and the Sweet Voice would be cut off with a non-melodic noise of annoyance before being picked up again.

Gordon had planned to knock on Benrey’s door, but he couldn’t help but stand there a while longer. The song Benrey was putting together was… really pretty, actually. He didn’t know a damn thing about music, but something about Benrey’s song struck a chord inside his chest.

He suddenly realized how weird it was that he was just standing there outside their door, and he shuffled awkwardly before knocking. The music immediately came to a screeching halt, and the silence that fell over the apartment was momentarily deafening. Then there was the sound of Benrey getting up, and then the door opened a few inches, allowing Benrey to peer out.

“Whuh?” They said, squinting up at him. “Thought you went to bed, man.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Gordon glanced over the top of Benrey’s head and saw a few Sweet Voice orbs still illuminating their otherwise dark room. The bubbles painted the room in a warm orange and pink glow, like an extremely localized sunset. “What’re you doing?”

“Nothing,” Benrey said immediately, then thought better of it. “Just making music. Dumb, uh, dumb idiot doesn’t even know music? Only listens to Linking Perk? Pork Links? Not very kosher of you, dude.”

“Shut up,” Gordon said, despite laughing. “Can I listen?”

Benrey visibly hesitated, almost to the point that Gordon considered retracting his request and shuffling back to bed, but they eventually nodded and stepped away from the door so Gordon could follow them into their room.

Gordon had been in Benrey’s room a few times before, usually to grab something they’d forgotten and couldn’t get themself or something, but usually he didn’t intrude. It was their space, and everybody needed their own space. Benrey inviting him into their room in the middle of the night felt like an expression of trust that still baffled Gordon every time he thought about it too much; how had they come this far? Benrey sat down on the small piano bench in front of the keyboard Gordon had bought them when he realized they needed some kind of constructive hobby, and after a beat of consideration, Gordon settled down at the other end of the bench.

“Don’t be a dick, okay?” Benrey warned him. “This is a once in a lifetime concert. I don’t perform for just anybody.”

“Alright, alright, I get it.” Gordon put his hands up in surrender. “I’ll keep my comments to a minimum.”

Benrey huffed but apparently deemed that response acceptable. They cleared their throat, put their hands on the keys, and began singing. Gordon was immediately entranced. It started as a low orange note, sustained with a major chord on the piano. Slowly, it was accented with notes of pink and shimmering blue. It sped up, becoming playful, then took on a treacherous minor key peppered with discordant notes, before resolving into a major key that exuded warmth and comfort. All throughout the performance, Gordon was transfixed by the Sweet Voice filling the room, enshrouding him and Benrey in light. The more he watched and listened, the more he thought he might recognize the Sweet Voice colors. There, the orange tone Benrey occasionally sang directly into Gordon’s face by way of greeting, followed by an orange-blue gradient Benrey sang when they were excited to go on an outing with Gordon. The playful pink Gordon learned to associate with Benrey’s laughter, the soft yellow they used when Gordon was too stressed to sleep. The bruised purple color Gordon remembered from bad nights, thankfully distant memories now, and then the gentle lavender of the comfortable mornings that replaced them. Then laced throughout it all, the pink to blue gradient that always embarrassed Benrey and reminded Gordon of the bi flag, hidden under other layers of music as if Gordon wouldn’t notice.

Gordon wasn’t sure how long the song went on, but eventually, it faded into silence as the last few bubbles of light escaped Benrey’s mouth and their fingers stilled on the keys. Gordon didn’t dare say a word, awestruck into silence. Benrey, however, fidgeted and felt the need to speak. “It’s not done,” They said, as if defensive. “It’s still… I gotta make it perfect, you know?”

“I think it’s perfect,” Gordon said, and he meant it. Benrey immediately looked embarrassed and turned their head away to sing that pink to blue string of Sweet Voice. “What is it about?”

“It’s, uh…” Benrey trailed off, rubbing some dust off one of the lower keys. “It’s about… I dunno, life? Living here. With you. And being your friend. And, uh. Yeah. Mostly about you.”

“...Me?” Gordon asked, shocked. Benrey continued to avoid his gaze. “Holy shit. I don’t think anyone’s made a song for me before.”

“Mm. Well, feel grateful. Asshole,” Benrey’s heart wasn’t in the insult for once, clearly deflecting. Gordon smiled and scooted closer on the piano bench, leaning against them affectionately.

“It was beautiful. Thank you, Ben.” Gordon pressed a kiss to their cheek, then stood. “I think I’m gonna go to bed for real now. Good night.”

Benrey had their lips closed tightly, holding back Sweet Voice, and nodded instead of responding verbally. When Gordon closed the door behind him, he could still hear and see the pink to blue Sweet Voice from under the door. He wandered back to bed, soothed and happy, and fell asleep to the sounds of Benrey’s composition drifting down the hall once more.

#hlvrai #frenrey #benrey #gordon feetman #my writing #okay to reblog #THIS ONE IS REAL SOFT <3 #sorry this took me a bit to get to #I'm visiting my mom for her birthday this week #hope you enjoy the fic :]#I love playing with sweet voice stuff. nonverbal language hell yeah

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hartigays · 3 years

Note

I’m laughing thinking about Ward going through the 5 stages of grief after learning Rafe has a boyfriend

ward cameron when rafe tells him he’s a raging homosexual:

fic under the cut!!

the dinner table is silent, save for the noises of forks and knives clinking against porcelain.

rafe stares down at his steak, mouth watering but refusing to eat it. he has plans later, after all, and steak is not kind to his bowels, despite how delicious it may be going down.

his bowels do not need to be in a twist for what’s in store for him later.

barry would probably murder him in the front yard of his trailer - it has been a week since they’ve been able to see each other, after all. and as barry had so eloquently put it on the phone earlier, rafe needs to be prepared to be “taken down to pound town, back around, and down again”.

not like anyone at the table needs to know this, but rafe imagines he’ll get questions soon enough about his lack of enthusiasm towards his meal.

almost as if she could read his mind, rose fixes rafe with a calculating look and asks, “rafe, why aren’t you eating? that’s a perfectly good steak, i don’t want it going to waste.”

going to waste, rafe thinks with an internal snort. everything in this house goes to waste - it’s just part of living on figure eight. everything is disposable, everything is replaceable.

“rafe, eat your steak,” ward insists with a sigh, not looking up from his plate. “i’m not in the mood tonight.”

in the mood for what, rafe has no idea. ward is acting like rafe is a fussy 4-year-old who he has to constantly battle with to eat his peas, when in reality ward couldn’t give less of a shit about what rafe does or says or eats on a daily basis, so long as it’s not making the family look bad.

the thought alone has rafe gritting his teeth, glaring across the table at his sorry excuse for a father.

“i’m not hungry,” rafe lies, folding his arms across his chest.

ward sighs again, like this 2-second conversation has pained him greatly, still not looking up. “i’m not arguing with you, rafe. eat the damn steak or leave the table. no one is in the mood for your sulking.”

rafe makes a face, then rolls his eyes. “i’m not sulking. but whatever, i have to be somewhere anyway.”

he scoots his chair back, ignoring sarah eyeing him warily from the seat adjacent to his.

“be somewhere? it’s almost nine,” rose questions. she raises her brows at rafe expectantly.

rose is looking at him like the stern stepmother she pretends to be, acting like she actually gives a shit where rafe is going, when the question was really only asked to ensure that whatever rafe is doing, it won’t reflect poorly on everyone else.

never mind that rafe is nearly 20 years old and can go wherever he pleases. he’s also gotten sick of this notion that every move he makes will somehow make them all look bad and tear the family apart. despite the fact that sarah is the one who’s openly dating a pogue, one who’s basically a walking red flag.

barry may live on the cut, but at least he doesn’t brand himself the king of pogueland.

rafe narrows his eyes at rose before making a split-second decision.

“well, my boyfriend gets off work late, so yeah. i have somewhere to be at nine,” rafe says offhandedly, like it’s no big deal, like everyone already knew he was a massive fruit who’s been on his knees for his local coke dealer for the past six months.

the sounds of silverware clattering onto plates fills the room, and rafe feels ridiculously satisfied with himself for getting a reaction. he loves to see these idiots squirm.

he’d rather see them all choke on rat poison, but barry is insistent that he won’t continue fucking rafe if he goes off and kills his whole family.

barry is lucky rafe loves him, because honestly, not being allowed to murder people who irritate him is kind of a buzzkill.

“you- who- your what?” ward sputters, the first to break the heavy silence.

“my boyfriend,” rafe repeats slowly, enunciating, treating ward like he’s the stupid, petulant child he constantly claims rafe is.

rafe watches ward’s face go from pale, to pink, to violently red. there’s a set to his jaw and rafe just knows ward would give anything to leap across the table and wring rafe’s neck right this very moment.

“no, nope, absolutely not,” ward snaps, furious in his denial. “not my son. no.”

“ward- ” rose starts, but ward cuts her off with a swift wave of his hand.

“do you realize how this will look for us if anyone finds out?” ward spits, holding his fork in a white-knuckle grip.

sarah actually speaks up on rafe’s behalf, which is probably the most shocking reaction rafe has gotten so far.

“dad, come on. it’s 2021,” she says with a sigh, shaking her head. “besides, rafe being gay is probably one of the only good things about him. or, wait, are you bi? or gay?”

sarah questions rafe casually, like this information doesn’t come as any kind of shock to her. rafe makes a mental note to revisit that later, along with her comment about it being one of his only good traits. she’s looking at him almost in earnest, and for a brief moment rafe is transported back to a time when he actually liked his sister.

“not that it’s any of your business,” rafe starts, glancing at her, “but i’m gay. thanks for asking. anyway, like i said, i have somewhere to be, so- ”

“not a big deal?” ward hisses, cutting him off, clearly still stuck on sarah’s surprising defense of rafe’s sexuality. “not a big deal? sarah, it’s- no, see? no. we aren’t talking about this.”

Despite his own declaration, Ward continues, “what about all those girls? all those girls you hung around with? the ones you brought around? you know you can still have them over from time to time. i know we talked about respect and responsibility, but i suppose a man does need to let loose every now and then, and if it’ll help- ”

this time, rafe is the one to cut ward off, not in the mood for his pathetic attempt at bargaining.

“dad. dad. i’m gay,” rafe says firmly. “forget about the girls. it wasn’t what you thought.”

ward opens and closes his mouth several times, trying to form some sort of coherent response. then, he buries his face in his hands, groaning.

“why is it always something with you, rafe?” ward mumbles through his hands, sounding defeated. “can we not just have one day? one day without your life overshadowing everything we’ve worked towards?”

rafe rolls his eyes at ward’s dramatics. “how does me liking dick ruin anything for this family?”

“rafe, wheezie is right here!” rose admonishes. wheezie just chokes on her water, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“sorry, wheeze,” rafe tells her, feeling only a little bad. “but i’m just saying. half the guys on figure eight go both ways. it’s seriously not a big deal.”

ward finally looks up at rafe, crossing his arms before staring for a long stretch. long enough that rafe starts to turn to go, itching to get away and back to the one person who doesn’t make him want to rip his hair out.

“fine,” ward finally says just as rafe turns on his heel. “fine. but don’t- don’t expect me to meet him. or like him. and for the love of god, don’t bring him to important events. whoever he is, he’s bound to draw attention.”

that’s very, very true. and rafe has every intention of dragging barry to the next auction or gala or what the fuck ever, clad in one of his stupid sleeveless t-shirts and basketball shorts and his hair in a messy, tangled bun - the whole nine yards.

he’s dying to see the look on ward’s face when he shows up to some black-tie event with barry the cocaine king slash dirty mechanic slash army vet in tow.

“so is that it?” rafe asks, sounding bored even to his own ears. “can i go now?”

ward still looks like he wants to slam his head through the nearest window, but he nods. accepting the truth that rafe has forcibly laid out before him, albeit reluctantly.

rafe nods back, turning and walking away with his hands stuffed in his pockets, whistling a tune that’s far too cheerful given the looks on everyone’s faces as he exits the dining room.

his favorite is ward’s, still looking angry and defeated and resigned to his acceptance of rafe’s preferences all at once. rafe hops onto his motorbike, yanking on his helmet with a smile.

barry will be proud of him, he thinks. not only did he finally come out to his family, but he also didn’t feed them rat poison during the process.

baby steps. he’s taking them one at a time, very carefully, and he thinks that’s something at least.

maybe barry will reward him for his efforts, rafe wonders, just before revving his bike to life and speeding off the property.

rafe deserves a reward, in his own personal opinion. and after all, his opinion is the only one that matters, really.

maybe barry’s, too, but only when it suits rafe. if that happens to be more often than rafe would care to admit, well. that’s between him and Jesus.

the night air is cool as it whips around him, and rafe looks forward to the warmth of barry and his shitty little trailer, not sparing a single thought about the mess he just left in his wake.

rafe presses harder on the gas, heading towards home.

#rafebarry #outer banks #i hope this along the lines of what u were wanting nonnie!!#thank u for the req mwah 💋#my fics #ask #anon

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kitsunefyuu · 3 years

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How I write a young All for One and a 200 year old AFO is vastly different from each other. You wouldn’t think they are different characters. At least at a glance.

A young one is much more dramatic, loud and proud with hints of paranoia. He definitely is charming and charismatic with his villain group. But when with his family, Yoichi, his unstable nature a bit more obvious. He doesn’t trust ANYONE and forces all his emotional needs onto Yoichi. That can’t even entertain the idea of the other leaving and dying.

Thus jumps to the logic of LOCKING HIM UP- This man acts like a calm and cool villain but he tends to jump the gun. Like he tries to force a quirk onto Yoichi to make him some how submit your him. That is not exactly sound logic regardless only an insane person would do that.

But he truly believes in his own hype and fears that it overrides the family members he claims to care about. So goes absolutely mental the moment they are gone. This version of AFO is a hot mess, clingy and possessive bastard. Tho I gotta say if you can some how ignore all those red flags there.

He’s super affectionate. I made Yoichi call him out on the one time cried because was denied hugs for a reason. LOL!

Then you have this 200 year old AFO. He’s tired. He has been at this for so long and has been incredibly lonely. He still tries to enjoy himself and have a good time but it gets boring. The closest thing this guy has for friends is that crazy scientist and Machia. Like sure they are his friends but even he got to acknowledge it not the best.

Likely at this point is living with regret since everyone he loves has died. Still he toppled many other evil empires, works the black market makes quirk drugs, the whole nine yards. Yet he still isn’t in charge of the world because he is so damn focused on his brothers quirk.

But he is calmer, age has allowed him to think better and clearer. Doesn’t mean he can’t go crazy or feral. He just has enough awareness to not broadcast that shit. He takes out Nana but of course All Might leaves the country. So he goes for easier targets, he plans-

Then he meets Inko. It was definitely NOT love at first sight, he planned to get close just to user her against All Might. Because I like the idea that Inko is Shimura. But since she was orphaned and forced to grow up quick- she’s surprisingly understanding toward him.

Since he can act kind, he is startled by her own kindness. The way she opens her heart to him and there is no expectations. She allows him to speak- Then some how they date and marry with a kid and he is realizing he kinda likes being normal a hint more then evil. And the dread of them finding out and turning on him.

Suddenly he’s afraid again. But not for himself but for his family- But unlike in his youth he knows better now. He separates his lives of hero and villain yet knows it only a matter of time but he doesn’t want to WASTE all he worked for. It also where his money comes from.

Also can’t forget All Might, because by that point the guy is back and is DESTROYING his empire in Japan. Gunning for his head- So decides to use plan B since no way he is using Inko. He loves her.

But the brothers family… he plucks Tenko to basically groom him as his evil overlord replacement. Kinda like his kid but kinda shoved him onto Kurogiri to focus on his actual family… You get it.

Basically no that he’s older he has enough awareness to care about his families feelings. Also he would god damn murder his past self for all the mistakes made to lose Yoichi. As it was in a blind anger made Yoichi run away then get killed.

I like to believe he isn’t the same but he still isn’t a good person. Just a bit more ‘aware’ that maybe forcing quirks onto family or throwing them into vaults isn’t how you get those you love to stay with you.

I mean based on canon if is Izuku dad he is clearly aware and thus why is avoiding revealing his identity to his kid.

#yoly's fanfics #yoly writing #dad for one mha #dad for one fanfic ideas

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sapphicambitions · 4 years

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I have this fantasy that I’ll be the assistant to a congressman one day, and he’s a Democrat but he kind of sucks but it’s a job so I do it. And I’m always very Feminine Presenting at work. Dresses, heels, hiding the tattoos, hiding the undercut, all smiles and perfect posture. But like, the Congressman has a daughter about my age who just hates me. She’s obviously queer, either cause she doesn’t hide it and talks about it loudly all the time or because she’s obviously flagging in the way she dresses. And she hates me because she thinks I’m like pushover who doesn’t know how to fight back and is always wearing pretty pink dresses and roses in my hair and she’s truly just angry at her dad and the world and takes it out on me. But I don’t mind. Part of me finds it kind of endearing. Because I know she’s queer. I know that we’re more alike than she knows. It’s not that I’m Not Out at work or that I’m trying to be closeted, I just don’t talk about my personal life with my boss or my boss’s daughter, so she has no idea. And honestly, she’s kind of hot when she gets all flustered and pissy and scrunches up her eyebrows. Plus she’s not like mean to me, and I could probably own up to egging her on but playing innocent about it. Anyway, she thinks she has me all figured out until she goes to the lesbian bar in town one night with her friends and there I am. Hair up in a high bun, undercut exposed, a button down that is sexily unbuttoned enough to expose my lace bra, ripped jeans, clunky boots, tattoos out, rings on, silver chain necklace draped around my neck, the whole nine yards. And she is stunned. She was probably gonna hit on me before she realized who I was. And I do the natural thing and order us both drinks, handing it to her, winking and saying: “maybe don’t tell your dad about this,” and she says back “yeah, no shit”

And then of course we become fuck buddies in secret until we realize we’ve fallen in love

#lesbianlaynie #might write this book one day

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florenceandthemachine · 4 years

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and finally, because i’m a basic bitch and i love a classic cliche trope, stackson and fake dating (◕‿◕✿)

I’m making this a Part One. Why? Because I’m a messy bitch.

If I ever wrote anything on AO3, this would be the first chapter, but I don’t because that’s too much responsibility.

SO.

Fake Boyfriends. Lets go.

“My parents are taking me to England for Christmas.”

Jackson was never great with hellos.

“What?”

Stiles, on the other hand, wasn’t always that great with comprehension.

To his credit, though, he had been eyes-deep in several books about the history of Quetzalcoatl, a feathered, snake-like, flying deity of Mesoamerican culture that he was writing a history report on. He was also about 80% sure that was the thing that Scott had been in a fight with last week, so… well. It was just a wonderful way to double dip, get twice the work done and get graded for doing the research that he would have to do to save their own skin in the first place.

So, his eyes were a little crossed and his head was probably spinning a little bit as he looked up to see Jackson, standing there, his hair messy (that was red flag number one) and his eyes bright blue (that was red flag number two) and—

“Stiles, pay attention. My parents are taking me to England for Christmas.”

—and Jackson was using his first name, which was red flag number three.

Shaking his head clear of thoughts of feathered snakes, Stiles rubbed his eyes with one hand, sweeping aside some of the books and papers he had laid about the table with the other, effectively making room for Jackson to sit.

And sit Jackson did, looking like an angry, deflated puppy. Stiles had to quash that mental train of thought—yet again—about how cute Jackson could look while he was angry. He knew better than to speak when those thoughts were swimming around in his head, but that was okay, because he knew that there was no amount of prodding that would be successful when Jackson was in A Mood.

But seriously—what the fuck was wrong with England? It seemed like a very Whittemore trip, and even then, it—

“I don’t think we’re coming back.”

Feeling his heart skip a beat as panic quickly focuses him on the task at hand, Stiles gapes for a half second before forcing his mouth shut, Quetzalcoatl long since forgotten as he took on this new… threat. At least, it felt like a threat. Jackson was pack, after all. “Jackson, that’s… insane. They can’t do that.”

Jackson’s eyes flick over to him, his eyes hard and unforgiving, and Stiles pales.

“Can they?”

Jackson spends the next half hour going over everything (and honestly, if the situation weren’t so apparently dire, Stiles would have been on cloud nine, knowing that they apparently had long since moved past enemies)—how his fathers law firm had opened up a branch in London almost three years ago, how they had been dogging Jackson’s father to basically run the joint. Apparently, it escalated over the past year (“after Lydia and I broke up, which apparently means that I’m fine to go and have no other fucking attachments”) and Jackson had stumbled upon an entire itinerary, moving quotes, property listings, the whole nine yards.

Stiles let his angle loop around Jacksons as the other started to wind down, pulling from some old Scott knowledge, giving Jackson some physical contact to ground himself with—even unconsciously.

“…and now I think that we’re going to go up there for our little fucking vacation, and suddenly I’m going to wake up and there’s going to be a moving truck outside with all my shit.” Jackson is out of breath when he finishes, his head in his hands in frustration, voice muffled through what Stiles can only imagine is a mouth full of fangs and his own deep breathing exercises.

The silence between the two lingers in the air for the moment as Jackson works to get his breathing under control, and Stiles squares his jaw as he nods his head.

“When do you leave?”

“Stilinski, you can’t just fix this, you—“

“I’m not fucking with you, Jackson. When do you leave.”

Jackson turns his head, his eyes shockingly human.

“…after finals. Saturday evening.”

“Good. I have some time then.”

And with that, Stiles stood and walked out of the room, leaving Jackson overall confused—and, weirdly, missing the weight against his ankle that he didn’t even notice was there. He only had a moment to miss it, though, before his attention was taken over by the stacks of shit left behind on the table.

“….wait! Stilinski! What about all of your shit?!”

Jackson may not have had the strongest belief in Stiles fixing this, but once they had completed their final exams, that small flicker of hope had basically been doused in water. He was positively miserable by Saturday morning, more or less moping around his house, and he would have been almost angry to hear Stiles’ jeep pull up if he wasn’t so fucking resigned to it all.

Hauling himself down the stairs, he throws the door open before Stiles even has a chance to knock, and he’s… carrying a suitcase.

“…Stilinski, what the fuck.”

Because Stiles is beaming at him like the sun, like he had just solved all of Jackson’s problems, and that is a concerting look. He flips his suitcase around with a grand flourish, backpack slung over his shoulder, the Jeep parked off to the side of the driveway.

“I’m coming with you.”

“The fuck you are.”

“Yes, the fuck I am.”

“Stilinski—“

“You said it yourself, Jackson. Lydia acted as the perfect buffer. So I’ll take that position. And I’ll have to come home at some point, so I’ll just make sure I bring you with me.”

God, he was making it sound so easy—but Jackson wouldn’t let himself hope, for an instant, that it would be so simple.

“Stilinski, you can’t just leave your dad alone for the holidays.” Jackson snapped, slightly concerned as Stiles just shrugged that off. “He won’t be alone. He has Scott, and Melissa, and the pack. And the pack includes you too, asshole. So, I’m going.”

Jackson felt his scowl deepen as he tried again, worry sparking in his stomach. “This isn’t a simple day trip, you idiot. You don’t have a ticket, you don’t even have—“

“I have my passport, dumbass.” Stiles snarked as he pulled it out of his backpack, smacking it against Jackson’s chest. “And you’re a Whittemore. Do you really mean to tell me you can’t get another ticket last minute? Are your connections really that useless?”

Jackson gaped at him, his irritation spiking again. Of course they could get another ticket, that wasn’t the fucking point.

“That isn’t the fucking point.” So maybe his eloquence was lacking in his current state, sue him. “It won’t work. Lydia wasn’t a buffer just because she was there, she was a buffer because she was—“

“Jackson, who was at the do… oh, hello, uh… what’s going on?”

Stiles and Jackson both looked up in near perfect sync as Jackson’s mother descended the stairs, his hand still pressed against Jackson’s chest, suitcase still lingering in the doorway.

Jackson snapped his eyes back to Stiles with a glare, brow moving in a truly impressive (and vaguely Hale-esque way, Derek would be so proud).

Stiles, the bastard, only smiled, watching Jackson’s jaw tic as his mind moved a thousand miles an hour. After what felt like an eternity, Jackson nodded curtly, pulling Stiles’ arm as he turned back to the stairs. His other hand slid around Stiles waist, tugging him close, and Stiles only had half a moment to go into shock before Jackson was speaking.

“Uh, you remember Stiles, right? I invited him along for Christmas this year.” Jackson started, his press-polite-fake smile plastered on his face, and… wait, when did Stiles learn the difference between his real and fake smiles?

“I’m sorry I didn’t clear it with you, I spaced it out. But it would mean a lot to me if he could come with us.”

Stiles felt his heart sink a little, guilt weighing on him in the slightest way—he couldn’t put into words how uncomfortable he was with Jackson apologizing for his own lie. Jackson could smell it on him, and he squeezed Stiles a little tighter, already accepting the unspoken apology.

“Can you see if Dennis can add another ticket and room, last minute? It would mean a lot to me to be able to spend Christmas with my boyfriend.”

…

Wait, what?

Stiles must have been as shocked as Jackson’s mother looked, but thankfully, she recovered far before Stiles could even process what was going on. She was off in moments, talking about how lovely it would be to have company with them, her smile seemingly genuine as she went back upstairs.

Stiles, on the other hand, was stuck in place, gaping at Jackson like a fish out of water, and Jackson, the asshole, was watching, a smirk slowly spreading on his lips.

“I was saying that it wouldn’t work, you fuckhead, because Lydia wasn’t just a buffer due to proximity. She was the perfect buffer because she was my girlfriend.” Jackson’s smile was sweet but his words were pure poison, and Stiles closed and opened his mouth a few more times before he found his voice again.

“Who the fuck is Dennis?”

Jackson actually did laugh at that, a curious expression on his face, explaining the wonders of being on a first-name basis with a travel agent as he snatched Stiles passport, took a picture of all of the relevant information on it, and sent it to… well, Dennis, Stiles assumed.

His gape turned into a grimace, though, when Jackson turned fully to him, already starting to shutter himself.

“Look, I know this wasn’t what you had in mind, at all, and don’t even lie to me and say you’re fine with it. So if you want to back out, this is your… only chance, Stilinski.“

“Stiles.”

“What?”

“Dude, if I’m your boyfriend now, it’s Stiles. No last name crap.”

“….fake boyfriend, if anything, and what I’m saying is—“

“Jackson, shut up and listen to me.” Stiles said, grabbing Jackson’s hand and putting it directly onto his heart. Jackson, blessedly, shut up as requested. His tongue suddenly heavy in his mouth—he swallowed, all too aware that he probably wasn’t going to be a huge fan of whatever came out of Stiles mouth next. He was never a fan of people forcing him to hear what they said as truth, but something in his gut told him that it wouldn’t be quite the sucker punch coming from Stiles.

“You are pack.” No lie detected.

“You’re important to the pack.” …no lie detected.

“And I am never, ever, letting anyone take you from the pack.”

Jackson didn’t even need to feel Stiles heartbeat to know he was telling the truth.

Hearing it so blatantly laid out before him wasn’t the sucker punch to the stomach that Jackson was expecting, it was so, so much worse. Jackson would have preferred the sucker punch to the sudden feeling of butterflies.

#I can never finish anything so here's the first thing.#stiles stilinski #jackson whittemore #stackson #teen wolf #fake dating #trope #fic #hahaha help #flospeaks #mutually assured devotion

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blaineisnotyourvalentine · 3 years

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Killer in the Mirror || Self-Para

Where: Pure Iron Gym, Santa Monica, California

When: April 11, 2021

Featuring: Tim Özdemir (gym owner/Blaine’s boxing trainer)

Triggers: Violence

“You ready to spar, kid?” Tim asked, jumping into the ring.

“Yeah, but I’m picking the music this time,” Blaine answered, smirking. He connected his phone to Tim’s Bluetooth speaker and opened up Spotify, shuffling songs by the band Set It Off. Blaine placed his phone down on a chair, grabbed his gloves, and jumped into the ring. Once his gloves were on his hands, he got into his fighting stance. Right foot in front of his left, right foot firmly on the ground, left heel up, both knees slightly bent, chin down, hands up.

His trainer gave him a nod, which indicated to Blaine that his stance was improving. Blaine had a bad habit of keeping his legs too far apart, which hindered his speed and caused him to trip up. “Atta boy. You know, I’m not gonna go easy on you.”

“I expect nothing less,” Blaine responded, lunging towards the older man to get the first punch in. His first punch was a jab, but Tim saw it coming. Tim skillfully ducked, then hit Blaine with an uppercut. The two went back and forth for several minutes. Jabs, crosses, hooks, uppercuts, bobbing, blocking, the whole nine yards. Tim got a few good hits in on Blaine, but the younger man wasn’t giving up. As the music blared through the nearly empty gym, Blaine felt all the rage that was pent up inside of his mind

Knock 'em in the teeth now Never let you guard down Get some of what they've got "Have its" and the "have nots" Knock 'em in the teeth now Never let you guard down When they step in your house Knock, knock, knock 'em all the fuck out

Using Tim’s own moves against him, Blaine ducked and went in with an uppercut, followed by a jab and a cross. Tim stumbled backwards, taken aback by the young man’s sheer force. Blaine then went in again, firing a series of jabs and crosses at his mentor. Tim managed to block most of the hits, but took some damage. The older man backed away from the younger, holding his hands up in defeat.

“Jeez, Valentine, you’re out for blood today,” Tim commented, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “I’m putting up the white flag. You win this round.”

Even though Blaine had won, he was still seeing red. Without a word, he hopped out of the ring and went over to the nearest punching bag. He got back into his fighting stance and started jabbing away at the bag.

“Hey bud... you good over there?” When he got no answer, he approached Blaine, but didn’t get too close, knowing the risk of getting knocked out was high. “Yo, what the fuck is up?”

After a few more jabs, followed by a loud, incoherent yell, Blaine finally answered, “I didn’t make the law review editorial board.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Tim didn’t know a lot about law school, besides from the complaints he heard from his younger brother, Julian, one of Blaine’s study partners, but figured this must have been something important to Blaine if he was this frustrated over it.

“I don’t even want to be on law review. I’m paying to be on this journal, and the school is getting the credit for my months of work! And the editors are pretentious pricks and they keep giving me poor grades because they don’t like me!” Blaine ripped his gloves off in frustration, chucking them onto the ground.

Tim blinked at him, confused. “... So why are you still doing it?”

“Looks good on a resume,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

“Look, I don’t know shit about all this law stuff. That’s what I have Julian for. But if you don’t like what you’re doing and the people in it are assholes, maybe you shouldn’t do it...”

“Mind your business, Tim,” Blaine hissed.

“Fuck, fine. I’ll drop it. I’m gonna go shower.” He looked at his watch, then back at Blaine. “You got half an hour.”

Once Tim was out of the room, Blaine went back to punching the punching bag, only this time, he was gloveless. He punched and punched until his arms were sore and his knuckles were bruised. When he physically couldn’t handle standing any longer, he collapsed onto the gym floor, and stayed there until Tim came out of the shower and carried him to his car.

#self para #Tim Ozdemir

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iwillgivebirthtoyou · 4 years

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you know... full disclosure here. my blog, tired of catering to people who don’t care about me ^__^ as a bisexual person seeing the pan flag and the whole nine yards of all the awful biphobic & transphobic rhetoric plastered up and down every fucking pride (ESPECIALLY BY CISHETS / NON-BISEXUAL PEOPLE) is. depressing. we go on and on about how fucking shitty and harmful it is and they just don’t give a fuck. like what does that say about your morality? honestly if u emphasize with this shit at this point i’m just blocking u too many people have spoken up about it you have no excuse other than being a willfully ignorant little asshole <3

#words

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master-sass-blast · 5 years

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Alright. @mooleche done did throw the gauntlet down.

And, because I am an Aries and THIS IS MY SEASON, I can’t not answer.

So, here is OC stuff list one for Miss Dakota Contreras.

She’s beauty, she’s grace, and she will KICK YOUR ASS.

*cracks knuckles* Alright. Les do this.

[Incoming trigger warnings for: mentions of rape, kidnapping, death, parental abuse, and running away. She had a rough go of it as a kid.]

Does your character have siblings or family members in their age group? Which one are they closest with?: Dakota does come from a decently sized family, but she isn’t particularly close with any of them. The only exception is her elder sister, Maria, whom she occasionally meets up with for a cup of coffee.

What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?: Largely estranged. Dakota ran away to her grandmother’s home as a young teen after an extremely traumatic incident (which I will explain more in the next question’s answer) and after her mother (and her father) made minimal effort to see if she was alright, she decided they weren’t worth her time and wrote them off.

What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?: Extremely estranged. (Traumatic incident explanation coming in, includes trigger warnings for rape, kidnapping, running away, death, and parental abuse.) So, when Dakota was thirteen, she was kidnapped by her eldest brother’s friends and, unfortunately, raped by several of them. After managing to kill one of them in self-defense, she escaped and ran back home, only to be rebuffed by her father. He refused to believe her, then went as far as to blame her for the incident. Subsequently, Dakota ran away the next night to her grandmother’s home. Since she was the “rebel” child, her parents decided to wash their hands of her and just send the rest of her stuff to her grandmother’s place. Dakota hasn’t spoken to her father since.

Has your character ever witnessed something that fundamentally changed them? If so, does anyone else know?: Seeing the body of the guy she killed (in self-defense) after she was raped definitely changed her on a deep level. It subdued the wilder parts of her personality, caused her to largely shut herself off from the world and everyone in it. Her grandmother knows, as does her sister Maria, and Frank (Castle, yes, she’s paired up with him, and yes, I have a problem shut up), and that’s about it. Technically, her parents know as well, but she doesn’t count them since they abandoned her when she needed them most.

On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?: Cellphone, earbuds, loose change that she keeps forgetting to put in a jar, little pack of Kleenexes.

Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?: She’ll dream that she’s back in her old room or back on her grandmother’s farm, but that’s about it as far as “recurring” goes.

Does your character have recurring themes in their nightmares?: Obviously, a lot of the night she was raped and forced to kill to defend herself, but she also dreams about being locked in the house she grew up in and being unable to escape.

Has your character ever fired a gun? If so, what was their first target?: Yes. She helped hunt when she lived on her grandmother’s farm. The first targets were old cans or paper targets, to make sure she could actually hit something. After that, it was mostly rabbits or deer.

Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?: Yes, very. She didn’t grow up super poor, but money was definitely tight growing up. Now, as a professional MMA fighter, she makes a lot more money than she ever had growing up.

Does your character feel more comfortable with more clothing, or with less clothing?: She genuinely doesn’t care one way or another. She has to wear a sports bra style top and a pair of shorts in a ring, with cameras pointed at her, so she really isn’t fazed by being seen in more or less. As long as she’s comfortable, she’s good.

In what situation was your character the most afraid they’ve ever been?: The grand, obvious answer is the night she was raped, but it’s true. She was scared out of her mind, and there’s nothing she’s faced since that’ll scare her more.

In what situation was your character the most calm they’ve ever been?: Arguably, the moment she caught Frank Castle snooping around in her apartment. She already knew his reputation --and that she didn’t have anything going on that would put her on his ‘bad’ list--so there wasn’t really anything to be scared of, in her mind.

Is your character bothered by the sight of blood? If so, in what way?: Nope. MMA fighter. Blood kinda comes with the territory.

Does your character remember names or faces easier?: Names. She sees a lot of faces, but she’s learned from experience that forgetting the wrong names can spell t-r-o-u-b-l-e, so she made a point to make sure she remembered names not matter what.

Is your character preoccupied with money or material possession? Why or why not?: Nope. She thinks there’s security in living within one’s means --and, since she lives on her own and mostly avoids the “party life,” there isn’t much she needs.

Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?: Neither. Neither’s going to get you anywhere if you don’t have the drive to do anything with them.

What was your character’s favorite toy as a child?: Her eldest brother’s “legit” punching bag. Her love for fighting started young.

Is your character more likely to admire wisdom, or ambition in others?: Ambition. Wisdom is something that’ll come with time, but not everyone has ambition.

What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?: She tends to keep her private life very secret, which can make her a difficult person to get to know --and be hard on the partner in question, since she’ll run the end of keeping them completely secret from her fans and the news. Her schedule requirements --training, traveling for fights, etc--can be hard to deal with, as well. So far, that’s been the biggest bone of contention in her previous relationships.

In what ways does your character compare themselves to others? Do they do this for the sake of self-validation, or self-criticism?: She genuinely doesn’t. As far as she’s concerned, it doesn’t matter who she sizes up against if she can’t fill her own shoes.

If something tragic or negative happens to your character, do they believe they may have caused or deserved it, or are they quick to blame others?: She’s... quick to go and put on her gloves so she can maul her punching bag for a bit to sweat her anger out. After that? She’s usually got a pretty level look at things --but, she is a little faster to blame others. After being blamed for her own kidnapping and rape by her parents/father, she’s wary of taking shit that isn’t hers to own.

What does your character like in other people?: Ambition, sense of humor, grit, willingness to stand up for others.

What does your character dislike in other people?: Cowardice, close-mindedness, arrogance, judgmental behavior.

How quick is your character to trust someone else?: Like, with super personal stuff? Dakota’s the opposite of quick. She’s a tortoise. She’s a sloth. She’s a fucking snail. She’d rather do a day full of interviews than open up quickly. Stuff that she classifies as basic (are you gonna be a decent fucking human being sorta shit) depends entirely on the person’s reputation. She’s usually pretty reserved, but if she knows someone’s worth their word (or, case in point, she knows the Punisher is going to be a rapist, which is the only reason she doesn’t whack him over the head with a bat when he breaks into her apartment) or if someone’s in with someone she trusts, she’ll roll with them. The two exceptions to this all being: 1.) if she knows she’s really helping someone by opening up (like talking about her experiences as a bisexual woman of color helps other members in the queer community) or 2.) if she’s working with kids. Dakota’s a firm believer that if you’re an asshole to kids, you deserve whatever shit comes your way.

How quick is your character to suspect someone else? Does this change if they are close with that person?: Despite the fact that she trusts at the speed of a glacier, she’s not overtly paranoid. If she sees something suspect, she files it away and sits back to watch and see what comes of it (if something’s a big red flag, she’ll make more drastic moves, though). Chances are, if she knows someone, she’s already figured them out well enough to know what she ought to worry about and not, so yeah.

How does your character behave around children?: She treats them with the utmost respect. Eye contact, clean language, encouragement and praise, thoughtful answers, happy smiles, the whole nine yards.

How does your character normally deal with confrontation?: Depends on the situation. Normal stuff (or, later, “Frank stuff”) gets handled with a calm voice and a cool head because, to her, it’s not worth freaking out about because freaking out won’t change anything. If it relates to her parents? She’ll dodge it to the end of time. She wants nothing to do with them. Ever. If someone’s being an asshole (ie someone’s saying something homophobic or a someone’s beating up on their date)? You can meet her the fucking pit. Right now, actually. Oh, you weren’t ready? Too bad.

How quick or slow is your character to resort to physical violence in a confrontation?: If it’s something that can be talked about, not very. If it’s on her “meet you in the pit list” there is only one stop, and it is violence.

What did your character dream of being or doing as a child? Did that dream come true?: Dakota wanted to be a rockstar as a kid. So, no, that dream didn’t come true, but she’s not displeased with where she ended up, necessarily.

What does your character find repulsive or disgusting?: Locker room talk and guys that don’t at least rinse off once they’re done working out.

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.: Either in the ring, smashing someone’s lights out, or in her apartment, watching Netflix. No in between.

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most uncomfortable.: Specifically, when she has to do interviews or panel interviews. She doesn’t like being on the spot.

In the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?: Her job hinges on taking criticism and being willing to improve. You can’t be a top-slot MMA fighter and not take criticism.

Is your character more likely to keep trying a solution/method that didn’t work the first time, or immediately move on to a different solution/method?: She’ll keep trying the first method a few times, but if it’s the method that’s ineffective, she’ll trade it out for something else.

How does your character behave around people they like?: She relaxes and actually gets more quiet. When she’s around people she likes, the persona she puts on during interviews completely goes out the window.

How does your character behave around people they dislike?: She usually pulls a full Bianca Del Rio. Nonstop reads/roasts, throwing shade left and right, usually doing whatever she can to make her feelings one hundred percent clear. If she’s really pissed at someone, though, she’ll glare them down and move past reading to just psychologically destroying them.

Is your character more concerned with defending their honor, or protecting their status?: Dakota’s pretty ambivalent about both. As far as she’s concerned, her reputation and actions speak for themselves.

Is your character more likely to remove a problem/threat, or remove themselves from a problem/threat?: Depends entirely on the problem/threat. If it’s related to her family, she removes herself. If it’s anything else, she usually removes it or has it removed.

Has your character ever been bitten by an animal? How were they affected (or unaffected)?: Nope.

How does your character treat people in service jobs?: With the utmost respect, dammit. Best manners, eye contact, patience, good tips, the whole nine yards. People in service jobs are like kids; if you treat them like shit, you deserve whatever comes your way.

Does your character feel that they deserve to have what they want, whether it be material or abstract, or do they feel they must earn it first?: Dakota’s all about earning it. A treat here and there is fine, but having everything handed to you on a platter just makes you lazy.

Has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?: Nope. The only person outside her parents who ever raised her was her grandmother --who is, obviously, related to her.

Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?: Again, nope. Her job/life make that kind of impossible.

How easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?: Not hard, but she won’t say it if she doesn’t mean it.

What does your character believe will happen to them after they die? Does this belief scare them?: Dakota’s an agnostic, so she’s not entirely sure what’ll happen to her. She’s more worried about suffering in death than actually dying, though.

#sass speaks #oc stuff #the punisher #i love it when i get to talk about my ocs

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