#how to write suspense

[rozmorris]

Avoid this problem when writing a mystery

I’ve been discovering the TV series Severance. It’s intriguing, enigmatic and compelling, but I have one big anxiety. Will it play fair with all these mysteries? What do I mean by that? Let’s consider what we enjoy in a mystery. It’s the questions. But that’s because we expect we are seeing a glimmer of fascinating and intricate answers. And we’re trying to guess what they are before the big…

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt#148 Part 2

Danny feels himself grow bright red and the two stare into each other's eyes for what felt like an eternity. 

“I- Uh… I’m Danny” He finally managed to mutter. 

“Damian Wayne, its a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Danny's blush grew even brighter as the next moment Damian kissed his hand, Danny couldn’t help but feel flustered. 

After a moment  Danny rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and stuttered out, “It’s nice, to meet you too” He could tell how happy Damian was to meet him and he felt a little bad for feeling nervous in the first place. Danny thought Damian was cute and he decided then that he wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better. First they had to get through the rest of the gala, and soon as he thought about the gala something clicked. 

He realized Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne who at the moment was talking to his own parents. He couldn’t help but stare as he let the information sink in. 

“Ah yes it looks like Father is talking to some of the scientists that were invited.” Ancients, Danny knew his parents couldn’t help being themselves and unfortunately that meant things like accidentally spilling fudge right onto Mr. Wayne's suite. They watched as Mr. Wayne told his parents it wasn’t a problem and then walked out of the room. 

Danny couldn’t help but sigh, “Sorry about them, my parents are a little eccentric. Don’t even get me started on their obsession with ghosts, my dad will not shut up sometimes.” Danny rubbed the back of his neck nervously again as he realized he was rambling a little bit. 

“Don’t worry it looks like Father handled the situation well, although I am curious what kind of inventions two scientists obsessed with ghosts create. That’s what this gala is about, we want to support scientists in untapped fields of study.” Danny listened as his soulmate explained things to him. 

Danny looked over to see Vlad talking to a thin scientist in the corner of the room. He was definitely up to something, a ball like this had Vlad scheming something with a mad scientist written all over it. 

He was brought out from his thoughts as a loud crash could be heard as the wall across the room burst open and none other than the Joker walked through.

Danny tried to make his way to the other side of the gala, strangely Damian had disappeared but Danny didn’t have the time to look for him.  

However when he got to the door staying low to the ground the door burst through and more of Joker's goons looked straight at him and he found himself tied up right in front of the Joker. 

“What do we have here? A new Wayne?” Joker said as he cupped Danny's face in his hand. Danny couldn’t do anything about the situation and he was getting a little scared considering he didn’t have a proper way to go ghost or protect his soulmate at the moment. 

The Joker circled around the tied up hostages laughing, “Of course now the fun begins”

The Joker continued to circle around the hostages thinking for a moment before he grabbed Danny.

He held Danny by the back of the shirt like a small kitten. His obsession was making him wonder if his soulmate was safe living in Gotham. Joker chuckled as he continued to hold Danny.

“This kid will be an example for the rest of you, I don’t want any outbursts like that again, especially when Batman gets here. Do you think Batman will like what I’ve done with the place?” He asked as he gestured around the ruined room. All of the tables and chairs had either been broken or knocked over and all of the food from the dessert and appetizer tables. It was quite the mess. Before Joker could do much else with the teen he had dangling in his grasp something flew out and smacked Joker right in the back of the head causing him to drop Danny.

Danny took that opportunity to get away, his hands may have been tied but his feet were sure free. He stumbled away as Batman dropped down and a fight between him and the Joker commenced. 

Danny ran towards the door and as he got there Robin and Nightwing were there ushering some of the other hostages out of the room. 

“Right this way citizens!” Nightwing said brightly at them but he seemed to brighten up a bit more when he saw Danny weirdly. 

“Have either of you seen Damian Wayne?” Danny asked, he at least wanted to get his number, especially when he was headed back to Amity soon.

They seemed to share a look before looking back at him, “Damian left, he’s headed safely back to Wayne manor.” Robin said but he held out a piece of paper. On it was Damians signature and his phone number. Danny sighed a little annoyed he had left but he guessed it was common to head back home after a rogue attack in Gotham. 

“Danny!!” the booming voice of Jack Fenton was suddenly heard and Danny felt himself getting pulled into a very familiar bear hug. 

“Did you have fun at the gala? Your father and I saw you talking to Mr. Wayne's son,” His mother said after his feet were back on the ground. 

“Yeah, actually can we talk about that after we’re back in our room?” He wanted to tell his parents he found his soulmate but saying that outloud when Damian was the son of Bruce Wayne sounded like a bad idea. 

They headed back to the hotel room and all Danny could think about was how lucky he was to have met his soulmate tonight, even if he was nervous about everything.

Master Post:

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[purplecelestial-buddy]

Allow me to go insane about perhaps the entirety of chapter 28

First and foremost, we are in it since page 1.

The fact that we are watching this interaction develop from the pov of the guys (since we are watching Hirano from above, like Kagi would and we are watching Kagi from below, like Hirano would) is totally insane.

This exchange is kind of so funny because Kagi says Hanzawa is gone and Hirano, who I would argue is still kind of processing the... straightforwardness and "strengh" (that's the only word I have rn) of the hug request is standing there like "and what does that even have to do with us?" and to some degree this is very important to me because this is Hirano we are talking about. Marriage = civial law Hirano. The 10 secs rule cannot exclude hair because it's made from protein just like skin, Hirano.

I need you to understand that this man has one hell of a convoluted thought process and in other situations he has taken mere seconds to come up with some weird analysis just so he can win whatever debate him and Kagi are having. AND REGARDLESS here we head a head empty no thought Hirano, he's thinking of one thing and one thing only, that being the hug and how it will fit in the puzzle that is his relationship with Kagi. And the hand clenching. Gosh the hand clenching. If only I had a nickel for everytime Kagi closes his fist or grabs at stuff to physically stop himself from crossing the line I would be a millionare. The hand clenching even makes me wonder if he actually belives no one will see them. In fact this is such a funny scene in the sense that Hirano is completely focused in their interactions and Kagi is the one coming up with unexpected loopholes to validate his actions.

I always think back on the "that passion... is focused squarely on me" scene whenever I see this expression on Kagi.

In fact it's interest to see how his expression has changed along with his feelings, desires and expectations about Hirano.

Let's do a timeline:

This was the first instance in which Kagi ever thought about kissing Hirano:

This is the passion scene I was referencing:

And then there's Kagi now who always looks five seconds away from devouring Hirano.

So it's no suprise that Hirano looks uncomfortable. This is the same passion and drive he has always admired from Kagi but now it isnt a driving force used to put effort in basketball or to study so that they can remain roomies, it's being used to expose Hirano to as many romantic situations as posible in hopes that he can reach a conclusion, hopefully a romantic one. And that a very complex expectation because romance and dating are uncharted terriotory for Hirano so ofc he's even more cautious than he tends to be and gosh I'm projecting but I dont think people get how GODDAMN frsutrating and tbh scary it is to know people are expecting something from you when 1. you arent sure what that would even entail and 2. you arent sure if you could perfom even if you knew it.

So anyway, what happens next is very important: (but there's also the whole translation deal so... let's take it with a grain of salt(? (I'll put in italics all the comments/analysis that was biased by the mangadex translation)

Kagi makes his request, Hirano is squeamish and he begrudgingly agrees because that's isnt he kind of thing he "cant's say no to"

As in, he isnt allowed to stop each and every of Kagi's advanced even if they arent directed towards something he's comfortable with simply because theirs is a delicate situation and first and foremost he wants to keep Kagi close. And keeping Kagi close and remaining as roomies is heavily dependant on him not breaking Kagi's hard so he can't refuse all advances right? Because he's pretty much uncomfotable with all things romantic but he can't properly deny Kagi a relationship unless he knows how a relationship would work, right? (I think that fron here onwards the things would remain the same regardless of translation)

And I love that here Kagi inmediately panics and backtracks. Because many things can be said about Kagi, he's passionate, he's intense, he can come on to strong but he would never want to hurt Hirano. He would rather lose sleep and study than stop having his presence close, he would rather clench his fist and stand at the line than ever cross it. Because ven if he would get what he desired he would lose the person he loves the most.

And this whole thing was a kinda tense so when Hirano finally exhales so can we as an audience. And we proceed to get back to typical hrkg antincs of "but are you 100% sure that I'm not presurring you into doing this because I wouldnt want to do this is you arent on board" x "stop whining and going in circles, let's do this and get over with it"

And once again we get Kagi's pov of Hirano. And I dont know if it would be crazy to say that it feel different than the first one but for starters now we see more of Hirano, other than his face and you can see the uncertainty in his hands.

Then comes the hug which is honestly the one and only reason I started this whole ramble.

First, let's look at past hrkg hugs: We have the famous infirmary one. And I want to draw your attention at a few points; first Kagi grabs Hirano sort of by the shoulders, in the 2nd page at the 3rd panel of the sequence Kagi pulls Hirano into the hug, a futile attempt to make it feel more reciprocal I would say and then he squeezes Hirano.

Now, this chapter's hug has much more movement.

In fact it's six pages long

Its starts fairly similar, with Kagi sorta holding Hirano by the shoulders

and it goes down from there

This... this panel haunts me. This is not the face of someone that's comfortable. We can guess that the culprit might be Kagi's hand on Hirano's waist since it's much more lower than where he usually puts his hands.

And no one is comfortable with this so, Kagi soon realizes and again, he backtracks

We finish with the usual hearty squeeze, this time there's no need to get pulled for it to be reciprocal since Hirano relies/lays on Kagi.

And then of course we have the guilt and crisis of feeling uncomfortable ("repulsed" is one of the word choices being questioned)

I don't have much to say about the rest, Hirano gets thinking thoughts, realizes that maybe it can work out if he's the one doing the hugging and we all celebrate.

(also, I find it so funny that all of their "realization" moments have literally the same page composition. I wonder if it's a Harusono quirk of if there's deeper meaning. In fact, the line gets straighther each time so maybe it's all about how they are reaching an understanding of each other )

Then he have a much more comfortable hug and perhaps some of the most kira kira sparkly pages we've ever had

In summary this chapter is very important cuz:

1. We (Hirano included) see Kagi backtracking. This is important because Hirano has gone from not realizing the dept of Kagi's desires to being aware that Kagi will never push him to do anything he's not comfortable with.

2. Kagi says that he knows how much care, which surely lifted a heavy weight from Hirano's shoulders and will helps us in the future

3. Hirano basically learned how to say no and that he has a right to work things in his own way (can be debated based on the translation but I feel the point would still be something to worry over in general(?)

[fishhateme]

So... LinkedIn au part two, anyone?

this morning @adimouze got an actual linkedin notification while reading part one and a sign is a sign, so here goes part two of the linkedin au (btw if you think there's suspiciously not enough linkedin in here it's because i genuinely hate that capitalist hellhole with all my heart <3)

“Don’t worry, mate. People on LindkedIn are a bunch of cunts, anyway”

Max would have gasped, if he’d had less dignity, as he watched the man - Daniel, Daniel, Danyul in the flesh, the little icon from his LinkedIn feed, now sitting in the shitty bar, in front of him - swirl his $12 glass of rosé and sip it, scrunching up his nose the same way Sassy did when Max didn’t get her those little overpriced packets of turkey flavored wet food.

“Uh- I would say of course not everyone on LinkedIn is a cunt, maybe” Max said, completely and utterly dumbfounded, half because he was more than a little buzzed and half because he’d spent so much time thinking about finding Daniel that he hadn’t actually thought out what he’d do then (didn’t think he’d get this far, really). He could almost picture Lando laughing maniacally at the blush that was spreading all the way from his chest (thankfully hidden by his plain, black tee) to the very top of his ears, and he thanked whatever God was out there (Sir Isaac Newton, can you hear me?) that the younger engineer was too busy trying to pick up some Spanish car designer on the other side of the convention.

Max could blame the blush on the g&t’s, and not on the fact that his little virtual networking crush (what had his life come to) had the most dazzling smile he’d ever seen, staring him straight in the eyes.

“I would say that they are, then, if you don’t have the balls to” Daniel, who still hadn’t introduced himself, responded with a cheeky smirk, “They’re all stuck up pricks. They act like they only care about furthering physics and science and the greater good when all they want is their name on a plaque somewhere and a couple of sports cars so they can wank off to the airflow of the diffusers or some shit”

Max thought that was such a ridiculous notion, that respected aerodynamics engineers would spend their entire careers longing for a luxury car (and- okay, yeah, his desktop was an Aston Martin Valkyrie, but that was different, he knew that was just as out of his league as the guy standing in front of him right now). Furthermore, a pesky voice in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like Jos was telling him that this guy was an ingrate, a disrespectful, unprofessional man who’d get nowhere, but Max bit his tongue and then washed it away with a gulp of his g&t, letting Daniel speak because he clearly wanted to rant.

“I’m serious, mate, all these people ever come to do to conventions like this is flaunt their achievements. Like-” he adjusted his stance, wiggling his body so he could move the shitty bar stool without actually getting up, suddenly getting very, very much in Max’s personal space, his thick, meaty thigh (who wore shorts to a networking event? This guy was crazy) almost brushing against Max’s knee as he leaned over to whisper and point, “See him? That’s Zak Brown, he owns McLaren Aerodynamics.”

Shit, wasn’t that Lando’s boss? Now Max felt ever so slightly guilty for nodding along to the Brit’s rants about his work, without actually ever hearing anything. “If you talk to him, he’ll invite you to a game of golf, and if you say yes he’ll take you there in a Lambo and offer you a round of Chandon or some shit, his treat. You know how he gets all that money? Because people love to spend it, shit, I love it too, but don’t you ever stop to think about where it comes from?”

Daniel leaned in even closer, his hot breath against the scorching heat of Max’s helplessly flushed ear, his words ever so slightly slurred like maybe it hadn’t been his first rosé. Maybe he’d started off with something stronger in his car (was pregaming work conventions... a thing?), and now he was trying to look semi-dignified and failing.

“He gets it from defense contracts”

Max blinked owlishly at that, like maybe he’d heard it wrong. Surely he didn't mean to say what it sounded like he was, at the very least, implying. “Uh- what? I thought they made, like…” he tried to concentrate, genuinely wrack his brain to remember what Lando had mentioned “Uh, trains? High speed trains, don’t they- isn’t that what they make?”

Daniel laughed at that, a honky, unabashed laugh, throwing his head back and showing off those pearly whites as his curl bounced. “That’s what they’ll tell you on their website, mate. That they care about the environment and are working with the UK government to make-” hic, “Make uhh, a- a greener future or some shit. And- yes, they’ve got contracts with the UK government, plenty of ‘em, but most of them are defense”

At Max’s shocked expression, at his gaping mouth, Daniel sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, and yeah, he was definitely more drunk than Max, somehow.

“Missiles! They make missiles, Maxy”

Max didn’t think Lando was capable of even designing a missile for a fruit fly, much less for… actual humans. Fish, maybe. But humans seemed odd. “How are you so sure?”

Daniel seemed to deflate at that, like everyone had said the same thing. He pulled back, elbows on the bar and head hung low between his sagged shoulders, and Max found himself missing the warmth of his tattooed thigh against his knee, even though he still felt feverish from the alcohol and the flusteredness of it all.

The Aussie hiccuped again, blinking a couple of times. “Worked there” he said, and he sounded almost beaten down as he added, “Then I quit. Eeeh, not true, actually, got fired. Publicly it was a mutual agreement. Doesn’t matter” he stopped to down what was left of his rosé, grimacing although it must have been quite a pleasant, sweet taste, not at all a man’s drink, like Jos would say. “Now I make about a tenth of what I did and I teach the next generation of missile designers how to maximize… missileness”

Max hummed, quietly. He didn’t quite know what to say at that - he made a mental note to ask Lando about some things on the drive back, sure, but other than that. He got a sense that maybe the funny LinkedIn man had turned into a sad, hot, somehow still funny LinkedIn man.

Maybe he just needed a friend. Someone to listen.

Max grimaced at that last thought, scrunching up his face and staring down at his g&t with hatred, like his favorite drink had been tainted with feelings, and they were rapidly making his way into his bloodstream.

What was he even thinking?! Sure, the guy was funny and clearly had had some success at some point of his career and he was kind of possibly the hottest man Max had ever seen but he was also clearly a loser. Besides, they were strangers! They hadn’t even introduced themselves to each other! Daniel didn’t even know Max’s-

Wait.

“How do you know my name?”

Daniel’s eyes, previously fixed on a poster of a cowboy that advertised some sort of insurance Max couldn't care less about, widened almost comically. He stared at him for a beat too long before chuckling awkwardly. “Uuuuh, what?”

“You called me Maxy. You said, they make missiles, Maxy” Max said, finally feeling the expected effect of his g&t’s, that was, some fucking courage. “How do you know my name is Max”

A second passed.

Then another.

Then a third, and by the fourth Max had just now noticed the convention was blasting some shitty, outdated jazz music, which worked more as a sleep inducer than a mood setter.

By the fifth, Max was thinking maybe Daniel wouldn’t answer, so he doubled down and looked eyes with him, but Daniel immediately looked away, flustered and biting down on his plush, pink lip, frowning as if deep in thought. “Uuuuh” he stammered, rubbing his face with the heels of his palms again, chuckling awkwardly, “Would it be too lame to say I follow you on LinkedIn?”

part 3

[here-comes-the-moose]

When I’m writing my Modern AU but then try to figure out and calculate how the life I gave the Batch is financially possible:

[nethnad]

rewatching the swordfight scene from the sea devils right now and

this has got to be the strangest en guarde position i've ever seen. sir what are you doing

[qoldenskies]

How do you write the psychological aspects in canary continuity so well? I want to write something involving that topic but it’s not nearly as eloquent and impactful as yours. (My personal guess is either you’ve spent hours researching or you’re a psych major.) Any tips/advice for those just starting to write about that sort of topic, as well as just possibly writing better in general? Ty!!

(Also canary continuity it was so good I finished it in a day and a half and stayed up till 3 in the morning bc I was so addicted before I forced myself to stop and go to bed)

i did some research on how to write horror, mostly (very hard to find good sources for it iirc, which sucked and i blame google), while the emotional stuff came from my own experiences (ocd + what i think is pretty severe generalized anxiety) and just me kind of winging it. its very sweet to assume im a psych major because i didnt even graduate highschool 😭😭😭 dropped out in my junior year!

i dont have any really good advice because its been so long (coming up on 7 months?) since i wrote CL in particular, i cant remember a lot of the research i did. i think it's just a matter of finding your muse and trying to put yourself in the moment instead of writing what'll feel like summaries of scenes.

[tiptapricot]

Fascinating to see Jed “brought on a system consultant and wrote some of the most grounded discussions between moon knight system members that directly called out those who see Marc as the ‘core’ or only person who is moon knight as not understanding how systems work” MacKay completely revert back to writing Marc like a singlet who had occasional comments from his off screen peanut gallery who never front anymore or have plot importance besides vague motivation. Like what are we doing here man. We learned this already. You wrote about this already.

[hom3landr]

Movie Night

18+

An earnest attempt to share the Halloween spirit with your ungrateful boyfriend backfires

You’re trying to concentrate on the screen where Michael Myers peers ominously through some bedsheets, the sharp sting of the music cue not even registering over the buzzing in your ears. Your nails dig into the rich leather of the sofa as your chest heaves. You’re not even halfway through the movie and the tension is already enough to have your heart pounding wildly out of your chest.

Your free hand leaves the bucket of popcorn to tangle in the hair of the man between your legs, leaving streaks of butter through his golden strands.

He promised that he’d behave while you showed him your favorite horror films but you should have known better than that. The moment he said he was bored, you should have realized that it was all over. It didn’t matter that the two of you were only ten minutes into the film. You’d joke that him being no better than an ipad kid, completely unable to stay focused, but it wasn’t a screen that held his ravenous attention. With every gripe about how nothing had happened yet, he’d carefully adjust his position on the couch. From cuddling with his arm around you to resting on his knees with your legs perched on his pompous golden eagles, he’d managed to make the transition so smooth that it wasn’t until he slowly began rolling your underwear down your legs that you’d realized his plot.

Now here you are, just innocently trying to show your boyfriend your favorite movie, but ruthlessly made to writhe in pleasure as he devoured you with a single minded hunger. Maybe you should have had a showing of Silence of the Lambs instead, with how hungry he was for your flesh. You want to complain but every gripe was replaced with a choked whimper.

“You’re missing it.” You manage to hiss. He just chuckles into your cunt.

“Babe…this movie has been going on forever and only one person has died. It’s gonna have to get a lot bloodier if you want me to pay attention.” He follows it up with a hearty lap through your folds, amused by the way you twitch as he flicks his tongue over your clit. You huff in a mixture of lust and righteous indignation.

“It’s the tension! This movie is a masterclass in suspense! That’s why it works.” You try to argue despite Homelander not easing up on his endeavor at all. Your hips buck and he holds you down with the gentleness of a feather but the strength of a titan. You’re not moving unless he wants you to. After all, you’re the one who made him stop his business to watch the damn movie. You’re going to stay put.

“Hmmm…so what I’m hearing is that you like being kept in suspense. Maybe I should keep you from coming until something in this movie finally fucking happens.” He smirks before looking up at you with a wicked gleam in his eyes. You swallow nervously at the look he’s giving you.

“FINE! But when it ramps up, it’s gonna ramp up quickly. You’ll be the one looking stupid when you realize how freaky this movie really is.” You retort, bumping him in the side of the head with your knee petulantly. He doesn’t even flinch. He just fucks you with his tongue till your legs lock up.

“In that case, I guess I’ll have to keep making you come until the movie slows back down. Either way, I’m going to be entertaining myself.” He purrs in a tone that is infuriatingly smug.

You’re not even sure which is worse, that he never even bothers to watch the movie, or that you’ll never be able to pay attention during it ever again.

[suspensefulpen]

A Familiar Face

TW: Implied Character Death and Past Torture

Whumper walked amongst the formally dressed guests with a glass of wine in his hand. Ever since he lost Whumpee, this was his only to have any kind of fun. 

But this was slowly starting to get boring. 

Carewhumper was out of town, allegedly doing some business. He was most definitely doing the same thing Whumper was doing. Just last week he said that he’d be free until the end of the month. That suddenly changed three days ago after he received a ‘mysterious message.’ 

Whumper knew the truth. Carewhumper was off having fun without him. Probably gambling every cent in his pocket and going to some extravagant ball more important than the one Whumper was currently at. Too bad he wasn’t invited to tag along. 

He exhaled quietly before leaning against a pillar at the back of the room. Taking a sip of the wine, his gaze roved around the room before landing on a familiar face. Intrigued, he stood straighter and looked at the person more carefully. 

They had beautiful, soft features and an obvious figure outlined by their black pants and flowy white button up. A cute little black bow rested against their chest. 

With a smirk, Whumper instantly made his way over. He appeared on their right as the person they were previously talking with walked away. Humming, he looked them up and down. “It would seem angels really do exist.” 

They looked up at Whumper with a blank expression. They briefly narrowed their eyes before speaking. “Excuse me?” 

“A face like yours can light up this whole place without all these chandeliers.” 

Their eyes narrowed again as their brows knitted together. He couldn’t tell if it was in confusion or in disgust. Their eyes closely examined his expression before their own fell and they forced a smile. “Do you need something?” 

“I don’t know, you tell me.” Whumper shrugged, glancing downward. He adjusted his posture, taking a swig of his wine. “Well there is one thing I definitely need to know. And that’s if I’ve seen you in real life or just in my dreams. You look familiar.” 

They frowned deeply. “You really do disgust me.” Whumper’s smirk dissipated as they faced him completely. “You just hurt people and then forget about them once they’re gone, huh?” 

He froze. Hurt people? How would this person know that he’s hurt someone? Who are they? Plus, Whumper hasn’t hurt anyone recently. At least, that he can remember… 

“So you did forget?” They raised a brow. He opened his mouth to speak but they continued. “You really are sick. You caused Whumpee all of that pain and now you’re out living your best life like you never did any of it. Then you have the gall to say something like that to me after you took them away from me.” 

The puzzle pieces instantly began falling together. 

Shit. No wonder they look familiar. They aren’t just some random pretty face. They’re Caretaker. 

I need more Caretaker-Whumper interactions... 😔

Should I make a part 2?

[varpusvaras]

I'm going to be so serious when I say this: if you want a 23 minute crash-course on how to write suspense and horror, watch episode 6 of the 90s Moomins show. That single episode has traumatised every single Finnish kid for almost 30 years now. You only get to see the scary thing in the last three minutes of the episode but it only makes the whole thing scarier instead of taking anything away

[ellierosescribbles]

Ethical Writing

An open question for people with mental illnesses, trauma, and/or who have been discriminated against:

Which piece of fictional media do you think portrayed your experience/trigger with care? What about it, specifically, did the creator do well, and what could they have done better?

I am in the semi-early stage of writing stories with controversial topics. To explore found family and the struggles of becoming an adjusted adult. I am not trying to write as if I have firsthand knowledge, but with characters who experience it. "It" being: various abuse, substance issues, foster kid/homeless, neurodivergence (not just autism/ADHD/anxiety), being non-white, etc. I do not want to make # trauma porn or be # edgy. (No hate for the whump community.)

[tcfactory]

*stares into the middle distance* Do I want to make a disclaimer that anything a character says might not be true - either because they are wrong and don't know the truth or are being deliberately misleading - even about themselves, or can I trust my readers to know this much? Because a surprising number of people seem to struggle with this concept, ngl.

[mokeonn]

I think that the 2010's media landscape of Buzzfeed articles about plotholes in disney movies, Cinemasins critiques, and Watchmojo Top Ten scenes in movies that make no sense has truely ruined a lot of media. People are afraid that their work will be torn down if they dare leave a single thing up in the air, if they dare ask their audience to suspend their disbelief.

All too often nowadays I see stories (especially fantasy), take the time to explain how every small aspect of the world works and how it all logically makes sense. The constant time stopped to explain why an event happened, how this object works, or why this is important to the characters. It's just really not needed and it honestly makes a lot of stories worse.

I am of the opinion that the best stories truly just drop you into their world and explain nothing. They just take you through the story of this world and you just have to accept it and continue on. "When he became king, the land became barren." I don't want the story to stop and explain why this is, or how it happened, I want us to move on so we can just assume that the king has such rancid vibes that everything died.

[bi-panic-at-the-disco]

I like how whenever I watch AstralSpiff or Backseat play a new Poppy Chapter it’s pretty clear what game that they devs had been playing before hand lmao,, Chapter 4 being very clearly referencing to the Resident Evil 4 underground factory insect fights with how it was framed

[spoiled-fawn]

Lust by Nature {Part 4}

Masterlist, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

MDNI: 18+!

Warnings for this chapter: Drugging, hinted non-con but just a hair

Summary: He’d been used to the small messages telling him to make you simmer down, something not uncommon in the scope of you being, well, you.

A/N: There are a few POV Shifts and time skips in here, denoted by the "---". Work has been kicking my butt so sorry this is late. I hope ye enjoy

A week later finds the team on the last stage of the op at a cell-tower outpost, and you’re fucking exhausted. It's horrible. Starving and beyond irritable. You’d compare it to the boys after it's been too long to have a cigarette or stiff drink, but even then some of them could be drama queens surprising to the rulers of hell.

The mission had gone tits up by the middle of the objective, a high chance of needing to evacuate and determine if it was even salvageable. Sweeping north on a downward mountain slope gave you a wide berth to the others as they moved in by the north, coordinating the ambush. Soap and Gaz sandwich you in the spread of bodies, trailing to the right of Ghost and Price. By the time the road gave way to the tower in a pit of land, the team had been spotted.

“Just get in and take the tower. Soap-”

“On it.” He's already loading his GLM, calling out at the ready with every fire. Soap may be a little shit through and through, but he certainly is a mastermind. His sense of knowing where the explosives land by the mark- he’s damn good. And he damn well manages to aim a ring of flying shrapnel rain on the hostels from the launched HE’s.

Of course, a problem always arises.

It took 30 minutes longer than expected to clear the line of fire, a constant suppression needed. Price's voice growled that the bomb needed to be planted now; Soaps rushing in and calling for Gaz to follow.

But something makes your hand snap out to grab Gaz by the bitch handle on the back of his vest, keeping him rooted for treeline suppression.

“Wait-” Gaz’s yelp is overshadowed by Price’s enraged barking in your ear.

“Saint, get your ass back to the peak!”

“Already gone, Captain. Watch that line.” You answer, panting. Sprinting down after Soap before matching his position at the base of the tall signal tower.

“Capt’ gonnae hae yer heid, bonnie.” He scoffs as he sets the charges. It's 3 minutes to be set with the detonator in hand. Your eyes steady on the horizon towards the others. “Time to blow, Princess.”

“Say less.” You laugh, letting him lead you up the hill and towards the forest; The moment his arm snags around your waist you know its time to leave. Fast.

“Say the line, love.”

“Fire!” The detonator clicks just before the resonating sound of the explosion makes you both stagger.

His grip is solid around your waist, ignoring the sound of metal creaking from the force.

Call it natural curiosity, you can't help but look back to watch it fall.

It’s a good thing you did.

The steel creaks as it crumples down, the metal falling in sharp and jutting angles as its bones bend and break. The heavy drums atop the fixture force the beams down faster- practically above you already.

You yank Soap to the right to get away. You pull just enough to roll twice before stopping, laying on his chest. The tower makes impact where you just were, the sharp screech of metal overbearing on your senses as the steel splits apart.

“Johnny! Do you copy?” Ghost’s concern bleeds through your earpiece, wincing as the high-pitched grating is contrasted with the deep timber yelling in your ear.

“Good, L.T. See yae’s soon.” Soap’s already hauling you up, wasting no time preparing you to run.

You know you're injured when you make it to the rally point.

You smelt it far earlier than you felt it; A deep gash lacing your side. It could have been a chunk of metal that managed to scrape by, but you have a good feeling it came from rolling on the ground with who knows what laying on the ground.

It’s still warm, the dark metallic scent making your clothes hang heavier on your left side. Now that you’ve slowed, the stinging bite of cold and pain laces your nerves. Teeth chattering, you haven't spoken in minutes. It’s unnatural.

The dark conceals you, just as you always let it. Their human senses are dulled significantly compared to yours but it won’t be long until someone notices. You bank on the fact you can tend to yourself before then.

The armored vehicle is hidden among high bushes and dense trees. The back doors swing open when you’re a pace away, no words mentioned as Soap slings himself in first by the pull of Ghost’s arm.

You’re queued to enter, mind racing with how not to make it obvious you’re as badly cut up as a cheater’s tires. Ghost makes you freeze.

“Johnny? You hurt?”

You can only watch the pair stare at each other before looking between their hands. A tense silence fabricates the moment as you’re lifted in by both Gaz and Price, biting your tongue you think you sever the muscle from having to hold back a shout of pain.

“-’s nae mah blood.” The Scotsman spills out, the vehicle already moving as the driver begins to speed out of the woods.

Four sets of eyes turn to you. Heavy with how deep they rake their eyes over you, inch by inch and then again for each limb. It’s Price who finds it first.

“Fuck…” His curse is a taut hiss, his palm pulling away from your hip, under the slash. Stained red.

“Shit- We gotta go.” Pulling you closer, trying to get your gear sorted off. Gaz is already rattling off an alert for possible Medevac, the feeling of your tac vest making your lungs expand with a deep breath.

Human. You feel entirely too human from the feeling of the pain, the touch of hands that want to care for you, and the weight of the irises focused on you. It’s been so long since you felt this way.

Meanwhile, Price kneels on the vehicle's floor, between your legs, as he lies you down. “When the hell did this happen?” He hisses sharply, eyeing Soap with a sharp glare briefly.

As the vehicle rolls, you can only make sense of Price’s hands touching all over your body, stilling when he feels the cooling warmth of your blood. Ghost hands the Captain your small med-pack from your vest, readying to grab his own and offer the gauze.

“Not too long ago.” You breathe.

“How bad?” Comes Gaz’s voice. You catch the sight of his eyes looking at you with his hand on his earpiece. You can’t lock onto his eyes, the vehicle swaying too much. Looking around, you realize you can’t catch anyone's gaze and hold it. Oh.

“Halfway to back the way she came. Fuckin bleedin all over.”

“Saint, hey- Kin ye bade awake for us, love?” Soap’s voice does just the opposite, finding it comforting in the accent you find so fun. “Shit- Shouid we gi’ ‘er a stim?”

Their brains wrack collectively, judging the blood loss based on your colored clothes and stained skin. It gets a bit darker, and you wonder why the driver turned off the headlights- did he find a road? Are you out of the woods?

“It’s cold…” Your voice breaks them from their first aid on you.

You don’t see the panic in your eyes as yours close.

Waking up, you almost bit a medic’s hand off.

Wild and afraid. It was sudden and the place was seemingly so new that it triggered your fight or flight. You did not want them anywhere close and for far too long than you deemed necessary. Insistent on them leaving you to heal on your own even if you’re sucked dry of any magic at this point. Snapping your teeth like a wild animal when one medic tried taking your shirt off to get to the gouge on your side, before snarling as two were tag teaming you to keep you down.

Something about their hands not feeling warm enough, not having the smell of tobacco leaves stained into their skin to leave a trail of smoke. Yet there was something lurking in the air. Something different; You knew the scent was familiar, it felt like it belonged in the medical ward yet it shouldn’t be here near you. It screamed danger, something clawing and scratching at your mind to remember.

The scent trails around the room like the smell of burnt clover, making your stomach want to recoil and throw up its acid with the lack of any substance in it.

The lab.

Neurons fire off, and your hackles are raised. Literally. Hissing and ignoring the medics around you, yowling like a damned animal in pain when you realize what you’re smelling. Stuck in fear, now grappling with the sheets as your hands grab onto the bed rails, shaking the bed as you shift in short and shaky bursts.

---

Sometimes Price’s office felt like a sanctuary, while others felt like his jail cell.

Head down, furiously scribbling the series of events onto paper to work on this bible-long after action report. A sheet of blank paper sits to the side, your full name atop it.

God, he has it in his head to be so fucking pissed at you. For the dream, for disobeying orders, for getting hurt. He knows it’s irrational to be upset about your injuries, but it’s something he’s never been able to squash with the others.

His head’s in his ass and he’s acting like a fucking boy.

Even Soap had earned a scolding from Price, taking it in stride and breaking the berating with a smirk. He knew. Johnny knew, Ghost knew, and even fucking Gaz knew that you were getting underneath Price’s skin. Something no woman had ever done besides his mother long ago.

His cell rings, not his personal but rather his flip phone used for work. The one that means business or trouble. The number’s unsaved, none of them are. But he’s been called by this one enough times to know who it is.

“Laswell.”

“Captain. I’ve got news, now a good time?”

“Of course. ’S goin’ on?” Leaning back, he takes this call as a saving grace to rest his eyes. There’s shuffling on the other end of the line, sounding like she’s standing up to walk somewhere. He presumes it’s towards a window. Dramatic woman.

“We’ve gotten word that there's some unrest back in-”

His listening stops when the phone begins buzzing against his ear. “Laswell. I’ve been expecting this call, can I catch you in a moment?”

A scoff is his answer before he answers the incoming. “This is Price.”

“Need you in Med, stat. Saint’s going-”

“On it.” Snapping his phone shut his steps already thunder out of his office. He’d been used to the comments from others, asking him to make you simmer down. Something not uncommon in the scope of you being, well, you.

He can hear the commotion at the end of the hall as soon as he’s in the small brick building. Opening the door in a flurry, he finds you wide-eyed, backed into the bed. A second sweep of the room makes him realize you’re not protecting yourself from the medics. No, you’re protecting yourself from something outside the room.

“Saint.” He catches your attention with a growl. “Care to tell me why the medics said you need to leave the infirmary before you make one of the staff go to inpatient?”

“It's wrong. Doesn’t smell right.” Your eyes stay wide, seemingly frozen. He’s never seen you act this way. “Don’t take me back, I don’t want to go back.”

Take you back? To the mission, to the facility? He deems it a nightmare from having been so fatigued you slept for almost a full day.

“You need to settle down, and behave.” A promised threat, entirely wrong from what you need right now.

“I have to leave. Just let me heal myself, please-” You croak, being sure to restrain your voice for only him to hear.

A hand captures your jaw as the other holds your shoulder, keeping you still as he leans in.

“You need to stay and get checked out. You were hurt, sweetheart.” He can see the submission war in your eyes from just the pet name alone. Fuck. Just from a sweet little name and he’s gotten you to sag by a fraction? He’s realizing just how much you need this medical visit.

Before he can say another word, your eyes shift to the right.

---

That’s when you see him through the door window. A man dressed in square glasses and a white coat. Dr. Deidrick.

This man knows you well, as you know him. He was a constant in the lab, overseeing all testing. Many scars on your body were because of him, always measuring your magic with pricks and prods of the knife while you were in the lab. Botched stitches just to see how your body would heal, testing against substances and powders, even marks on your wrists from tight restraints.

Locked in a stare-down, Price brings you out of it. “What’s wrong?”

He follows your stare, finding the man glaring at you. When his eyes slice to Price, he nods before entering. Price’s eyes scan over the man's form; He’s around his 40s but looks like he lives in an underground tunnel system. His eyes are unnaturally yellow, his skin beyond fair and dry. His hair is gray and flicks of white - John can’t be entirely sure if this man is either human, a hybrid, or fucking weird.

“Everything okay in here?” His tone tries to sound lighthearted, joking. “She having a little fit?” The clicks of his dress shoes tick louder than the monitors attached to you.

“And you are?” Your Captain asks, dropping his hold from your jaw.

“My apologies,” He laughs, “Dr. Deidrick. I came to visit once I heard our demon was wounded.”

The blatant possessiveness in the phrasing alone ticks off Price, bristling as he squeezes your hand by a fraction. “So, you’re from the facility?”

“I was her previous caretaker in medical for the last several years.” The doctor’s attention shifts to the chart at the end of your bed. “Hope you don’t mind that I'm in to check on her. Just a simple evaluation and report.” Deidricks eyes scan the page from top to bottom, flipping to the back as he moves closer to your side.

“How are you feeling, Devil?”

“Hello, Dr. Deidrick.” Voice soft and polite. Don’t misbehave. You’ve learned this lesson with him.

“Hello. Now, how are you feeling?” He repeats, eyes moving from the paper to you with a weighted look.

“I’m fine. Sore. Tender. I told them I could heal on my own.”

"Mm..." Dedrick as he places the clipboard down, grabbing a pair of gloves. "And you believe that you can do so right now?" His voice calm and civil. That's one thing you’ve always hated. Even in the cruelest moments when studying creatures and hybrids alike, he had the calmest voice as they cried in pain.

“I’ve dealt with worse.” You can't help but let anger flare as the answer comes with a sharp bite. “You should know that.”

Dedrick's expression changes for the first time. Eyebrows raising, his jaw tightens as he stops moving for a moment. First strike.

"It doesn't mean that you should." A first stab of anger bleeds through his voice. "Your injuries are serious. If you’re fighting the medical staff here, you’ll be treated appropriately."

“The medics already cleaned and sutured it. There’s nothing more to do.” Denial is your least favorite tactic, it never won.

Deidrick knows you haven't revealed your history, or his presence would have been eviscerated already. The facility trained you well, speaking on every bad thing that would happen if you spilled their secrets in raising you.

“I determine that for you, not you.” He retorts, gaze shifting to Price. “I’ll have to examine the wound and evaluate her. Just to be sure there are no outliers that might have been missed.” There isn't room for argument here, seeing as Price is a Captain and not a fucking doctor. Deidrick is convincing and always has been.

“Well, I can be in the room with her. That an issue?”

The most Deidrick can mask is a forced grin, narrowing his eyes at Price. “While I understand your concern, Captain, I’ll need to ensure your safety and have you step out of the room during this.”

A choked sound emits from the back of your throat. You could cry at witnessing your pain start to happen again. Right where you began to feel safe; attached to Price.

Deidrick glares at Price, challenging him. Your hand on Price’s hand squeezes again, bringing both sets of male eyes onto the action.

“Captain, please-” Your beg dies in your throat when a sharp ringtone starts.

“Shit- I have to take this.” Price digs into his pants forcibly, confirming the caller with a look. “Be right back.”

“No… No, please.” Begging now, your hands on his arm try to anchor him. “Don’t go.” The wild look in your eyes makes him stiffen, caught between two choices.

“I’ll be right back. Be good.” The faint squeeze of your hand registers in tandem with him leaning down to place a reassuring kiss on your head. Before you can beg again, he’s out the door.

---

“Laswell.” He speaks a bit more reserved in the open space. Moving into the hallway, watching a few medics idle on their computers.

“Said you were gonna call me back, John. Got worried your old mind forgot about me.” A small scoff out of courtesy for the woman's harsh humor, yet he doesn’t respond. “Anyway, got a nice vacation for your team. You’re headed out to-”

“Do you happen to know if any personnel relating to Saint can be on base?” Cutting off Laswell usually ends with a sharp reprimand, but John’s mind is elsewhere. Worried.

“Not without warning and an established confirmation of visitation. It’s the normal protocol for off-site visitors to that level. Why?”

He chews on his cheek, nodding at the validation. His eyes flit between the door to your exam room, to the window, and then settling on a whiteboard with various patient names.

“’S a doctor with her right now. Say’s he found out she was wounded and came to check on her.” He pauses, trailing back to look at the door. “She was wounded three days ago for fuck sake. How’d he get in here?”

Silence responds before paper rules and she’s typing on her keyboard. “There was no agreement or discernment of their medical staff being on base. Only the executives and her previous commander. He shouldn’t be there nor even have access.”

It only confirms Price’s simmering anxiety, eyes stuck on the scratched and worn wood of the exam room’s door.

“What did you say his name was?”

“Dr. Deidrick. Said he’d examine-” The words die in a sharp crumble on his tongue when he hears his name screamed.

“Was that-”

“Send the boys my way, I’m dealing with it.” Hanging up, his body already shoulders the door a second later. But it doesn’t budge.

Looking through the door’s window, he meets your wet and wild stare; Brows arched, your body trying to scurry off the bed yet you’re not even moving due to now glaring restraints that contrast your skin.

“Somebody get this door open, right fucking now!” His bellow echos down the hallway, sending a startling panic around the staff as he continues to try and shove the door down.

“Price hurry!” Your howling meets his ears and it could bring him to his knees, hearing an angel weep.

His thoughts rattle in his head: I should have listened, I should have stayed, I should be in there.

I should have protected her.

He can see Deidrick at the counter, holding up a small brown vial and extracting its contents into a syringe. Only after he deems it filled, pushing the air bubble out, does he look to Price. “It’s just to settle her down, all standard.”

He wants to murder this man. Rip each artery from his body to hang up as vines growing onto the wall. He wants nothing more than to soothe your crying face in his arms away from the torture that's happening in front of him.

“Where the fuck is the key!” He shouts again, sparing a glance towards the staff as five of them look in drawers around the main pod of their stations.

Movement from the room demands his attention, watching every step as a second he can’t prevent the needle from meeting your skin.

---

“They already know, just fucking run while you can.” Your guttural voice is almost unrecognizable, an unworldly timbre deepening it. Eyes only set on Deidrick, you shake your restraints with violent shakes.

“This is your exam. There’s no harm in that.” He chastises. “Look at how weak you are. Have they not been taking care of you?” His croon makes your stomach flip. “I’ll give you what you need, little demon.” the coldness of his hand dawns upon your face, grabbing roughly on your jaw to pull you towards him.

“You’ll settle down and be a good girl for me, yeah? Just like old times.”

“I’m going to mutilate you over and over again in hell.”

He laughs, a genuine smile lighting his face. “The sweetest promise of eternity, devil.”

Moving back after giving your jaw a painful squeeze, his bony fingers bring the needle up to the light. He double-checks the syringe before gripping the meat of your bicep. “Dont. Move.”

You don’t hear any of the commotion outside, thus, when the metal door slams open, you jump.

Right into the fucking needle.

A shocked cry leaves you, eyes stuck watching half of the dose go into your arm.

It would have been more, save for the body that immediately pulls him and the needle away from you, both clattering to the ground.

“I’ll put you six feet under the goddamn ground.” Price spits before he throws a punch and squarely hits Deidrick in the face.

Then again. And again. And Again.

You’re stuck watching his arm swing heavily until warm hands find your wrist on the opposite side of the commotion. Warm brown eyes meet you, his smile calming.

“Hi, sweetheart. Let’s get you out of here, okay?” Gaz’s hands work quickly on undoing the restraints, letting the sounds of the fighting echo in the room while more footsteps come from the hallway.

Ghost and Soap enter the doorway, taking a quick survey before getting to Price and doing something that makes Price shout in an anguished yell. Gaz cradles you into his neck, cutting off your view. The rough blanket from the bed joins his hold and hides your body. He hushes you when you break into a sob down the hall.

“Not gonna leave you. You’re safe now sweetheart.” Vaguely registering his lips on your head, your eyes dim into a barely open gaze while the world moves too fast around you.

And for a second time, your world goes dark.

---

The sound of a god-forsaken soccer football game playing on the TV makes you stir.

It feels like you were drowned and only saved by the worn-out couch you’re laid on. Muscles stiff, your drowsiness making your hands grope at the soft fabrics. A small prick on the back of your hand makes you groan, and your other hand paws at the intrusion.

“Hey now, none of that.” A hand halts you from touching the intrusion, it takes a solid moment to realize it Gaz. “You’ve got an IV in you, need to keep that in for a bit longer.”

The world comes back into view, the yellow overhead lights far too bright for comfort. “Garrick?” His name slurs on your unused tongue. You manage to blink and look around before finding your head in his lap.

“Good morning, Princess. How’ya feelin?”

Like you got run over by a train.

“Like I got run over by a train.” Now dressed in a pair of sweats and a shirt that you don’t recognize, you’re laid under a fuzzy blanket from your room. “You get me dressed?”

You can’t see a blush pull to his cheeks, but his gaze averting to the side tells you everything.

“Medics came in and uh… I just went and got your clothes.” Probably saw something either in your room or while they were undressing you. “Does your side hurt right now?”

It does. The constant stinging radiates into a dull thrumming up your left ribs. The dressing feels bulky, and the lack of motion worsens the feeling. Your arm, the one that took the injection, feels the soreness from the deltoid, hurting when it contracts.

“‘M okay.” You lie so sweetly to him. While Gaz usually has enough snark to serve his entire country, his eyes look at you softly.

He holds the qualities of a leader, and possibly be concerning at his young age. But seeing how close he is to Price, even witnessing their relationship as a pseudo father and son, he’s learned fast. Maybe to lighten the Captain's load. Or, maybe he won’t fully take Price’s place until the gentleness withers away into hate and paranoia till he barks and bites at the pull of a leash. You hope he’ll get sick of it and decide to have a family, leaving this life behind when he feels his hands have turned far too dirty.

He gazes at the TV, flickering over the colorful screen. “Remember anything?”

You’d rather not. Had you still been in a sterile environment, you’d have woken in a panic just as before.

“Yes. The… yes.”Your lungs ache when you empty them of air. “I remember kicking in the bed, the needle, then Price’s face before you were there.” You miss the look of worry on his face when the game on TV catches your attention. “Where are the others?’

“Price and Soap dealing with the brass. Ghost was here a second ago but will be right back.” Gaz’s head tilts back to check the IV bag attached to you. “You’re just about finished. You’ll be free in a bit.”

His hand holds yours for a moment, checking on the catheter on the back of your hand. “Supposed to put in another after, but you’ll drink your water, yea?” His voice sleek and murmured close to your ear.

“ I will. Thank you.” Agreeing and thankful for him allowing you a bit of freedom soon, you move to stand.

“Stay down, Saint.”

Ghost enters the common room dressed in baggy sweats and a T-shirt, a black gator mask hides the lower half of his face. He makes his way to a spot on the couch adjacent to you and Gaz.

“Stitches are barely holding from earlier. Not allowed to be moving like that.”

Beside you, Gaz clears his throat. “Ah, actually.” He starts, voice now holding trepidation. “You mind taking over for a bit, Lieutenant? Haven’t eaten and need to piss.”

A mix of a laugh and worry crosses your mind as you realize Gaz’s been here the whole time with you.

“Oh god, get up.” You laugh before dimming your humor when it pulls at your side. Once Gaz is up and speed walking away, you turn to your Lieutenant who is already staring at you.

“How long was I out?”

Surprisingly, he scoots beside you, his arm draping on the back of the couch. “Bout two hours.”

The difference between Gaz and Ghost is definitely in size, but the latter's body is firm and demands that you accommodate his presence compared to Gaz’s body molding to you. You’re still blinking slowly, staring at him as your mind whirrs like a rusted fan.

“Didn’t know you had blond hair.”

Ghost is pretty, not even in his own way, he is just simply pretty. Brown eyes contrast the lightness of his hair, some spots missing where scars trail over his scalp. His forehead scars from stitches done too messily, wrinkles from years of surviving, and a few freckles decorate the bridge of his nose. There’s a distinct scar over his left eyelid, a group of eyelashes being gone where the scar ends.

“You wouldn’t ‘ave known.” His chest puffs up, and he laughs, before watching the game.

“That… doctor. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near base.” He starts, and you can’t decide if he’s trying to solve the mystery or tell you the ending solution.

“He did things to you, didn’t he?”

The question makes you nauseous, stomach-lurching for him to know the truth before spreading it to the others. You wonder if you’d throw up stomach acid if nothing at all.

“I…” Shit. You’ve barely spoken to this man and now he wants you to trauma share?

Something tells you this should have been expected.

“Don’t want to talk about it.”

Ghost is Price’s top man, quite literally second in command. He’d have no qualms with feeding him your answers. It coats your throat in shame, silencing any sort of vulnerability.

He sighs, watching the TV as a commotion from a team scoring stealing his attention.

“Fucking skunk lied his way through, altered some ID, and got into medical. They say he was watching over your file and once he saw your name ping in as medevac, he was acting as your attending and case manager.”

It really should send more of a chill down your back than the small amount it does, rather, a sluggish feeling of time combats your beating heart. You’ve been through horrible things. Having eyes watching you should have stopped phasing you a long ago, but it’s changed now. There was a sense of security here- a growing permanence that began to safeguard you from the reality outside. It shows how easily it can crumble.

“Did he say anything?” You push out.

“Didn’t speak to ‘im.” He answers.

The conversation drops, and you both turn toward the football game. You find a place for your face to rest on his shoulder. He doesn’t react, the only time is when the visiting team comes close to scoring his knee bounces in anticipation.

“Did you ever play any sports?”

His knee settles before responding. “Hockey. Short time, but ‘s fun.”

“Took you for a rugby kinda guy.”

“Nah, that's more Price and Johnny’s style.” A soft grin twitches the corners of your mouth at the mental image. “Sometimes they’ll play when we’re together on leave.”

“Never been on leave before.” You hum as your eyes open slowly. You don’t remember closing them.

He shifts when your head lolls forward, his hand moving you to get comfortable.

“I’m sure you can ask Capt’ to fix that.” A soft scratch of your scalp leads you to settle down, and when you keep breathing in the smell of him, you fall asleep.

---

“... lost it by a point. Bloody coach looks like a muppet.”

“Won’t be able to show his face for the next year. Damn idjit.”

The voice sends enough of a spark to take you out of your REM cycle, now taking stock of where you’re at. From the smell of it, you’re on the couch but now lay on it instead of a body. There's a few more steps of shuffling before it stills.

“How’s she?”

The warmth next to you grunts, shifting to leave. “Fell back asleep once Gaz left ‘er with me.” The new set of footsteps have a distinct gait, trying to be silent but failing with the TV no longer being on. “How’d your side go?”

“Almost got me on excessive force.” The croaky voice makes your mind wake up more, realizing its Price. “Had half a mind to knock the brass out hearing that. Made sure they saw the vials and needles he snuck in.”

“Was he going to do anyth-”

“No.” Price cuts Ghost off immediately, something lying in the tautness of his voice. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know, else I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘im.”

Exhaustion fogs your mind’s control of your body, fighting it to the point where it feels like you have to unstick yourself from the couch. You pull on your muscles enough that Price notices.

“Hey, pretty girl. Can you hear me?”

The groan that leaves you is enough of a signal. A hand pets your hair while another adjusts the blanket on you. Footsteps elsewhere fade, signaling Ghost’s departure and you open your eyes as Price squats down in front of you.

“There she is.” He coo’s softly. Part of you wants to cry at how good his attention feels. “Still tired?”

“Mhh.” Croaking with a dry throat, now somewhat regretting not staying up to drink your water like you’d promised Gaz. “Where were you?”

Blue eyes leave the depths of your red ones, tracing over your face to your neck, down to your body, and how you lay on your uninjured side. “Taking care of business. Nothing to worry about.”

His hand starts to rub over your shoulder, making you flinch. It’s like you're made of glass the way he looks and touches you, the same man who pushes you down and yells for you to get back up. The difference makes you want to scream at him while crying for him to hold you.

“Did I mess up?”

The whites of his eyes show a bit more when he widens them- his eyes scanning your face.

“No… No, sweetheart. You did not mess up.” In a moment, he moves to his knees, crowding you onto the couch while bringing your face closer to his. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have left you in there. Should have fuckin’ listened to you.”

In a twisted sense, the couch seems like his pew, and you are the body he weeps over. Wrapped in a blanket is a far-off notion from any white to be buried in, but your open eyes just feel so tired and dulled from the last few hours. Rightfully so. His hands cup your face like they would hold a bible open, finding scripture in the details of your skin.

Price doesn’t cry. How much would it take to make him? Has he had a family? Did he lose someone he loved because of his work? Did he have a tragic backstory that granted him an almost immortal sense of luck?

There’s certainly no angel on his shoulder because you’d have killed it on the first day.

“You didn’t know.” Starting hoarsely, swallowing the saliva in your mouth. “I didn’t want you to know.”

There's dissatisfaction from hearing your answer, a pull at the corners of his mouth. “I need to know, Saint. I have to know, because that’s not happenin’ again.” Leaning down to press his chapped lips to your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

The feeling of his hair in your hands is surprisingly soft, almost as surprising when you realize you’re bringing him in to kiss you.

It’s soft, languid, and enticing. His lips part yours, leading you to taste the tobacco you tried days ago. His mustache and beard scratch your face, prickling your skin in an added sense to make your nerves come alive. Dragging you closer with an arm wrapped behind your back, his tongue teases yours before diving in deeper.

“While this is sickeningly romantic,”

The voice makes you gasp like a whore in her lover's shared bed, the drawl sardonic enough to know it is exactly not that.

It’s so much worse.

“I prefer a different type of scene.”

The woman stands against the doorway, arms crossed while she surveys the room. Dressed in black pants and a turtleneck, her blue eyes light up with the black overcoat that shields her from the coldness of desert nights.

“Laswell-” Price backpedals, separating himself from you enough to sit up straight from his place on the floor. Stuttering, he glances at you before back to her, a blush fading into existence on his aged skin. “I- uh. What are you doing here?’

Kate Laswell smirks; She’s cocky through and through, and seemingly will have enough blackmail from catching her prestigious ally making out with his supernatural subordinate.

“After the shit show got up the ladder, I decided to make a quick trip to check in. And, you never called me back, Captain.” Now it’s starting to seem like a lover's quarrel.

Feeling out of place, you don't move until Price takes a moment to clear his throat. “Well, I’m assuming it’s more serious than a phone call let it out to be.” Standing his hand brushes your shoulder before he crosses his arms. Laswell watches, moving forward a bit. She gives a subtle nod in greeting.

“Pleasure to meet you, Saint. Sorry to interrupt.” Absolutely no shame eludes from this woman. “A base just got accredited for their first hybrid operator. Similar to our situation with Saint.” She takes a moment to look over you, briefly checking out the remainder of the IV bag on its stand. “Need you to go teach didactics for our friends.”

“And which friends are you speaking of this time.” Price grunts.

She pauses, a flicker of her lips turning upwards if only for a moment.

“You’ll be headed back to Las Almas.”

As if watching a dramatic TV show, your eyes flit back to take in his reaction. With the sigh he lets out, you know that he’ll never catch a break.

“You’ll be headed back to Las Almas.”

As if watching a dramatic TV show, your eyes flit back to take in his reaction. If you had the energy, you’d feel bad for Price’s stress levels. With the sigh he lets out, you know that he can never catch a break.