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andypantsx3 · 3 years

Text

statistically significant | 1 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

Last year

You had been ferreting snacks out of the Hero Awards when he found you.

In retrospect, the whole idea of attending the Hero Awards had been a bad one from the get go. You’d just been so thrilled by the image of it in your head--getting to see all your favorite pros gathered in one place, dressed to the nines, celebrating their rankings, their wins, their saves, their successes. You’d pictured yourself flitting between heroes, collecting autographs and taking selfies, sitting down at a table with big names like Uravity and Froppy, making fast friends over the complimentary champagne.

But then you’d seen what really went into preparing for and attending an event like this, and the shine had quickly rubbed off.

When your boss at the Commission had extended you the invite, she’d told you that you would be representing the organization, and had advised you to contract a makeup artist and find someone willing to dress you. Her tone had strongly implied that this was more of an order than a suggestion. So you’d done it, but nobody had told you exactly how many hours went into getting your makeup tested, getting fitted and refitted for a dress, and fielding questions on cut, colors, fabrics, and fit.

By the time the Awards rolled around, you’d lost upwards of forty excruciating hours of your life to preparations, and had developed some kind of anxiety-induced Pavlovian response to the modiste’s name on your phone screen, where you immediately wanted to leap into the nearest storage closet and hide. And none of this was even counting the five full hours you spent on the day of the awards getting primped and polished within an inch of your life, then stuffed into some ridiculous scrap of fabric that threatened to fall off of you if you so much as breathed wrong.

By the time the stylists and makeup artist had finished with you, you were starved, cranky, and nursing a small migraine from how enthusiastic the hairdresser had been with you. You’d thought, though, that you would finally be able to enjoy yourself now that the worst was over. All there was left was to attend the ceremony, and get to see all your favorite heroes.

And for an hour or two, the Hero Awards had been just as cool as expected. You lingered on the fringes of the red carpet, gawking as pros like Chargebolt and Pinky swanned their way down the walkway, looking even cooler in real life than they looked on TV. Everyone had clearly gone all out, and they looked unbelievably good, either inhumanly beautiful or inhumanly intimidating. You had been utterly transfixed, as evidenced by the inordinate amount of time you spent accidentally staring at Todoroki Shouto as he gave an interview to the side of the walkway, looking absolutely unreal as he leaned over to speak to the reporter.

When you’d finally managed to snap out of your trance, you’d remembered to cut a beeline for the snack table, and had set about stuffing as many snacks into your dress as you could manage. And that’s where the trouble really started.

The invite to the Awards had come with the option for a very fancy multi-course dinner that you could have chosen. Instead, you’d taken one look at the price and laughed yourself sick, before resolving to sneak a bunch of the free snacks into your dress to keep you occupied during the ceremony. The problem was, the scrap of fabric the modiste had insisted was a dress was so obnoxiously flimsy and could only hold so many snacks.

If your dress had been able to hold a reasonable number of snacks, you wouldn’t have needed to sneak back out to the snack table during the presentation, and he would have never had a chance to catch you on your own. But the dress was lacking snack utility, and so you had gone back out for more.

You kept low in the aisle as you crept out of the darkened theater, keeping a hand over your chest so you didn’t spill out of the thin fabric of your dress, and emerged into the reception hall, where you were almost blinded by the harsh light. You stood for a minute, blinking the spots out of your vision, and touched a hand to your eyes, careful not to smear any of your eyeliner.

And that’s when he struck.

Almost as soon as you raised your hand, a rough hand seized your wrist, wrenching your arm down. A heavy arm went around you quickly, trapping both your arms to your sides, and you barely had time to let out a squeak before a calloused hand clapped over your mouth. Your feet left the floor, and then you were being dragged through a side door into the stairwell.

You twisted wildly, kicking out, trying to catch the wall or the railing to push off of and throw your assailant off balance, but he was strong, and clearly well-versed in combat, as he kept you well away from anything you could use to your advantage. He hauled you out into the stairwell, but instead of heading down the stairs, he moved towards the corner. To your surprise, he tossed you unceremoniously against the wall, letting you go.

You caught yourself on the rough stone and whirled around, only to reel back in shock when you caught sight of your assailant.

Bakugou Katsuki, perhaps better known as pro hero Ground Zero, leaned over you, trapping you against the wall with an arm on either side of you. He, like all the other heroes you’d caught sight of today, looked almost unreal in person, but in stark contrast to all the others, his handsome face was twisted up in unmistakeable fury, blood-red eyes bright with violence and white teeth bared in a silent snarl. Even under the thick fabric of his suit, you could see the hard lines of his body were taught with aggression, and it was all you could do to not shrink back against the cold stone of the wall.

“So,” he snarled, leaning in to put his face close to yours, “you’re the fucking statistics nerd.”

You gaped at him, mouth falling open. Your professional title was data scientist, but statistics nerd was a close enough descriptor that you could tell he knew who you were. Your brows went up, wondering why in the world Ground Zero knew you.

“E-excuse me?” you managed. Your brain rapidly kicked into high gear, running through possible reasons why he would know you, what he could possibly want with you.

Bakugou snarled. “What the fuck is your problem with me?”

You stared at him. Problem with him? Other than the fact that he’d just seized you with no warning and dragged you into a stairwell, you had no problem with him. You’d never even met him--what the hell was he talking about?

“Uh, do you maybe have me confused with someone else?” you asked, trying to shift out from under his arm. Maybe there was another data scientist milling around in the crowds that he’d meant to get his hands on instead.

Bakugou’s red eyes narrowed, and he put a hand to your abdomen to press you firmly back to the wall. “Oh no. You’re not getting out of this, you little brat. Fucking fix it.”

You eyed him warily, checking him for signs of a head injury, wandering over his shock of blonde hair and noting the size of his pupils. Maybe Bakugou had been out on assignment just before the Awards, and hadn’t stopped to get his injuries checked out before coming here. A blow to the head would explain why he was behaving so strangely, and asking for weird stuff.

“Fix what?” you asked, frowning when you couldn’t spot the signs of a concussion on him. His gaze seemed all too focused, all too intent. It was nerve-wracking, actually. You’d heard of his reputation for intensity before, but it was one thing to hear it and another entirely to have all that intensity trained on you.

Bakugou bared his teeth and leaned closer. “Your fucking nerd-ass model. Fix it.”

You froze.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh, this was about the model. You knew his bone to pick with the model.

The entire reason you’d received an invite to the Hero Awards in the first place was because of your work on the model that calculated the hero rankings. The model had existed for years before you had come along, but this year it was different.

You’d been hired a couple months ago by the Public Safety Hero Commission after you’d contacted them with an idea on how to finally calculate the value of field assists. You’d had a rough prototype of a neural network that you’d trained on video of multi-hero operations, tracking the movements of all the heroes on screen, and had developed an algorithm capable of assigning point values to moves that contributed to but did not directly result in a win or a rescue.

The Commission couldn’t get their hands on your work fast enough, and after only a few months refining your neural net, it was hooked into the rankings model, and it had informed not only the choices for Rescue of the Year and Most Valuable Hero this year, but had entirely changed the hero rankings overall.

And Bakugou’s ranking had been very much affected.

Bakugou Katsuki was a hero very unlike the world had ever seen. Anyone could see from his stats alone that he was incredibly driven, supremely powerful, and almost unmatched by any other hero out there. A few years out from UA, he’d already entered the top ten and had been mere breaths away from the top three -- that is, until your model results had been released.

The thing about Bakugou was that he had a higher percentage of fight wins than any hero in recorded history. He came out on top of almost any situation he entered into, and had one of the highest villain capture stats and the highest villain kill stat as compared to any other hero at this point in their career. The problem was, the new model also now took into account assists, as well as applied slightly heavier weights to rescues, and as good as Bakugou was at winning fights, he was almost equally as terrible at helping others.

So when your model had been worked into the Hero Commission’s official ranking calculations, Bakugou had backslid to sit unhappily at rank number eight.

And apparently, he thought this meant you had a personal grudge.

“Okay, I understand you’re upset, but the results are the results,” you said, watching him carefully. “It’s got nothing to do with you personally.”

His expression darkened thunderously, and the hand on your abdomen grew notably hotter, a scent like gunpowder and burnt sugar rising in the stairwell. “Like hell it doesn’t. Fucking fix it.”

Your brow furrowed. How did regular people think models worked? “There’s no ‘fixing it’, Bakugou. That’s just how math works. If you have a problem with how assists and rescues are weighted then you can take it up with the Commission. I just trained the model with their recommendations, and the results are what they are.”

Bakugou apparently registered none of what you were saying. Rough fingers slid to your jaw, tipping your face up to him. “What is it that you wanted, you damn brat? Did you want to see me humiliated? Or maybe you wanted my attention?” His fingers dug into your jaw. “Well now you have it, you fucking harpy, so show me what you wanted with it.”

You gaped at him, unable to help the way your mouth hung open like a fish. Did he think you were blackmailing him? With a fucking statistical model? It was a matter of public record that Bakugou was smart--he was purportedly one of the brightest minds that had ever graced the profession of hero, with strategic skill and combat sense that was utterly unparalleled--so then why the hell was he being so dumb about this? Was he really so self-absorbed that he thought this whole thing was about him?

Your temper flared, rising like the slow heat that was building under his hands. “I know this might be news to you,” you said slowly, “but not everything is about you. The model I trained takes in video as its input, and calculates rankings based on recommended weighting criteria that the Hero Commission gave me themselves. There is no place for me to input my own biases or change the results, so if the output is something that you’re ashamed of, then maybe you should do better.”

Bakugou’s eyes brightened, narrowing on you with an intensity that made you want to curl into the wall. “Say that again, you little fuck.”

You held your ground, ignoring the dangerous way the scent of hot smoke sharpened, leaning forward to bare your own teeth. “Maybe you should do better, you self-centered asshole.”

You were close enough that you could see his pupils dilate with the challenge, like a predator catching sight of its prey. An unsettling grin made its way across his mouth. “I am going to make you wish you’d never even seen a calculator, you smug fucking nerd,” he said, leaning into you.

The scent of gunpowder burned in the back of your throat, and the hands on you flared alarmingly hot, before the door to the hall burst open, and a whirlwind of red and yellow tore into the stairwell.

“Heya Blasty,” a voice chirped, echoing on the stairs, “Found ya.”

The shock of golden yellow resolved itself into the lean figure of Kaminari Denki, aka pro hero Chargebolt. He quickly made his way to Bakugou’s side, seizing an elbow.

“I’m busy, fuckstick. Fuck off,” Bakugou growled.

A large hand reached over Bakugou’s other shoulder to pull him off you, a head of gelled red spikes materializing behind his back, and you blinked up at Kirishima Eijirou, also known as Red Riot.

“Sorry about him,” Kirishima smiled down at you warmly, in direct contrast to the way his fingers dug into Bakugou’s shoulder. His teeth looked incredibly sharp in person, but this fact somehow failed to detract from the warmth of his friendly expression. You blinked, stunned that you were being addressed by Red Riot.

“He’s been a little worked up since the results were released, but he’s harmless,” Kirishima explained, grunting a little as he jerked Bakugou away from you. Bakugou snarled and turned to his friend, a small volley of sparks lighting off of his palm.

“I said fuck off,” he growled.

You let out a choked laugh at the idea of Bakugou Katsuki being called harmless. Just this week he’d perfected a technique where he melted clean through concrete, and you’d seen the replay of him liquifying the side of a skyscraper on the news this morning as you’d been getting your makeup done.

“Harmless, right. Definitely felt that way,” you uttered as Kirishima struggled to get a grip on Bakugou.

“I’ll fucking show you harmless,” Bakugou spat, turning back to you, sparks crackling louder in his palm. Kirishima seized his chance quickly, getting a bulky arm around Bakugou’s chest and lifting him straight off the ground. Bakugou snarled and gripped Kirishima’s forearm, letting off an explosion that would have blown anyone else’s arm clean off, but Kirishima just laughed, ignoring that the sleeve of his suit had caught fire, and hauled Bakugou back through the door.

A litany of swears filtered back through the door before it swung shut again.

Kaminari turned to face you, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that. We didn’t realize he was gonna come after you like that, though I don’t think he would have actually done anything. He’s pretty much all talk.”

You waved a hand, still stunned that Chargebolt was speaking to you.

“Uh, it’s okay,” you said. “I just...didn’t expect that kind of a reaction.”

Kaminari chuckled. “He’s usually a little more chill these days--I think he’s just pissed he’s losing to Midoriya now.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “I gotta say, though, he was even more worked up than I expected when we got here. What did you say to him?”

You grimaced, thinking back on the tense conversation. “That if he was ashamed of his ranking, he should do better.”

Kaminari choked. “Oh fuck, he must have been pissed,” he managed, before dissolving into peals of laughter. “Do better. No wonder he looked like he was gonna give himself a hernia. Mina’s gonna wet herself when I tell her.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “He thinks I altered the results to get his attention.”

Kaminari’s chuckles tapered off as he set a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Oh, he’s just saying that. He knows he’s shit at assists. He’s just salty he’s actually gotta do something about it if he wants to be number one.”

You thought back to the feeling of that hard body pressing you up against the wall, the disdain that had twisted his handsome face, the burning heat that had built up under his palms. A shiver went down your spine. It had seemed like he was a little more than salty, but if that’s how his friend wanted to put it, then fine.

“Well, thanks for the save anyway,” you said, giving Kaminari a little smile. “I’d definitely give you and Kirishima Rescue of the Year if I was pre-determining my results.”

Kaminari laughed, turning back to the door that Kirishima had dragged Bakugou through. As if on cue, a small boom sent the door swinging open a little. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back to make sure I don’t have to rescue the rescuer.”

He gave you a casual wave, then crossed to the door quickly. He hesitated at the threshold, then peeked back over his shoulder at you.

“By the way,” he said. “You might want to take a look at your dress. I, um, think Bakugou may have gotten a little carried away.”

He disappeared before you could ask what he meant, but a quick glance down clarified soon enough. Right on your abdomen, where Bakugou had pinned you against the wall, lay a scorched cut out, exactly in the shape of one large hand.

Your mouth dropped open in horror.

That fucking dick.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia #bnha #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #tw threats #tw gendered violence

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mischiefandspirits · 3 years

Text

Bloodlines (2 of 3)

After receiving a vague warning from his mother about his cousin and Richard, Damian goes looking for his runaway ward.

Part of Batkid and Robin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Someone’s in the house.”

Damian paused, one foot out the door of the car. He turned to Jon to study him.

If it was a Bat, Jon wouldn’t have said anything so he could see how long it took Damian to notice. If it was Kon or Lara, he’d already be telling them off for breaking into their house. No one else in his family would have broken in and neither would most of their friends. If Jon didn’t recognize the person or considered the person a threat, he’d be worried. For most anyone else, he’d be annoyed.

He wasn’t worried or annoyed though, which only left one person.

“Stay here,” Damian sighed and got out.

Jon grunted, still staring at the house with enough fury that Damian was surprised his heat vision hadn’t activated.

Once inside, Damian dropped his keys into a dish on the entryway table then hung his jacket on the coat rack. “You know Jonathan doesn’t like it when you show up unannounced.”

“With your alien’s powers, I never should have made it inside without his knowledge.”

He came into the living room to see his mother sitting in an armchair, a pair of teacups waiting on the table next to her. “I asked you not to call him that. And it’s about being polite, Mother.”

She hummed and grabbed her cup. She tilted her head towards the chair next to her as she said, “He is never going to approve of me and I am never going to approve of him. This is something I have come to terms with so I wish you would as well.”

He ignored the invitation, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. “You only don’t approve because he doesn’t have any more interest in providing me -- and therefore you -- with an heir than I have in obtaining one so he won’t help you convince me to allow your scientists our DNA. You should just come to terms with the fact you’ll never have a grandkid.”

“But I already have one,” she said into her drink.

“What are you talking about?” he growled, marching into the room to loom over her. “What did you do?”

“Calm down, my Baby Bird, I haven’t done anything. You know I wouldn’t do that without your permission.”

“After what you did to Jason, how can I be sure?”

She sighed and placed her drink back on the dish. “This isn’t what I came here to talk to you about and, unfortunately, I don’t have time to debate with you as I have to cull another uprising of the Council of Demons. When was the last time you spoke to Richard?”

Damian frowned at the change in subject. “Why do you care?”

“The Demon’s Followers are gathering.”

“Have they joined forces with the Council?” That didn’t make sense. Mara was all about gathering power for herself and she wasn’t foolish enough to think she could use them for her own gain then betray them without facing serious consequences. “And what does this have to do with Richard?”

“So you really haven’t been paying attention to the boy’s antics.”

Damian bristled. He’d been watching as closely as was possible without risking Richard discovering the invasion of privacy, something he knew would surely drive the boy away forever. “I ask again, why do you care?”

His mother stood, brushing nonexistent wrinkles from her pants. “I suggest you look into what the boy has been up to. Perhaps ask your pet, I know he’s been hounding Richard.”

Damian opened his mouth to argue, but his mother just pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping into the hall. “And tell your cousin that should my grandson face significant harm, the League will wipe her little organization from existence.”

“Mother!” He followed her into the hall, but she was already gone. He didn’t bother to give chase, knowing she wouldn’t tell him any more than she already had.

“What was that all about?” Jon asked, coming through the front door.

“I’m not sure.”

Oh, he could certainly put the pieces together.

Mara was up to something, something that could put Richard in danger, but what could she be up to that would put her on the Teen Titans’ radar? His team was efficient, but they didn’t handle the type of secretive things the League of Shadows or Outsiders dealt with. The kind of things the Demon’s Followers dealt in.

There was also his mother’s descriptor for Richard. Saying that his mother wasn’t fond of his family was an understatement. She absolutely loathed Tim and Duke, more than even Damian had during those first few months after he’d been brought back to life, and the Council’s interest in Tim had only aggravated her feelings for him. She was more neutral about Cass and Jason, but she saw his sister as a stand-in child that his father should have rid himself of when his true child arrived and she saw Jason as his and his father’s pet street trash. For her to not only claim his ward as her grandson, but to also place him under her protection was… out of character. They had never spoken about Richard before, what with her going dark due to the Council’s actions during his father’s absence followed by his feelings towards Jason’s death and resurrection, but Damian had assumed she’d feel no different for him than Jason given his circus heritage.

“Are you going to go talk to Richie?”

Damian shot his partner a look.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re giving him space. It’s been over a year, though, D. I think that’s enough space.”

“He has to come to me. If I force myself into his life -”

“He’ll resent you,” Jon finished. “Okay, but he’s got that Bat stubbornness you’ve all somehow managed to inherit from Bruce despite the fact most of you aren’t actually related to him. Richie’s not going to make the first move. So if neither of you reaches out…”

“I don’t have time for this,” Damian muttered, heading for the door to the basement. “I need to figure out what Mara is up to and if the Teen Titans can handle it on their own.”

“Bats,” Jon huffed and followed him down. He stayed on the stairs, though, as Damian opened the secret door that led down to the Perch. “Do you want any help?”

Damian paused. “… Not at this time. Somerset will need your focus while I’m distracted. If anything changes, I will let you know.”

“Alright.” Jon drifted up behind him to wrap his arms around Damian’s waist. “Just know I’m here if you need anything. And be careful.”

“I will.” He leaned back into his partner for a moment before pulling away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Red Hood was watching a factory burn when Flamebird found him. The teen had a gun pointed at his head before he could even speak. “Come for the fireworks, Boss-Bird.”

“I don’t want to fight. I need to talk to you. It’s about Robin,” Flamebird said, holding up his hands. He quickly ducked to the side when Red Hood shot at him.

“Yeah, no, you lost your chance to talk about him when you let Bitch-man kick him out.”

“That’s not what happened,” Flamebird said and threw a feather, lodging it in the gun’s barrel. “And it’s not the point. Mother came asking after him.”

That made Red Hood’s anger spike into fury, but at least he paused his attack. “She has even less of a right to talk about Red Bird.”

“Agreed, but I’m not about to ignore a warning about Robin’s safety, no matter who it came from.”

“So now you care?”

Flamebird sighed. “Hood, please, can we at least agree to put this aside for Robin’s sake?”

Hood threw the plugged gun at him. “You’ve got ninety seconds. This better be good.”

“Have you heard of the Demon’s Followers?” Flamebird asked as he grabbed the gun and slowly approached his brother.

“No. They related to your dear grandpa's cult?”

“Sort of. Like the Council, the Followers were a faction of the League that left when Mother took power. Instead of worshiping Ra’s, though, they follow my cousin.”

“You have a cousin?”

“Mara al Ghul, the daughter of one of Mother’s elder brothers. She resents me for leaving the League. She came after me when I was just forming the League of Shadows, but we took her down. The Followers have mostly operated as an organized band of mercenaries since, though Mara’s always looking for a way to gain power or spite me.”

“And you didn’t tell us about this because…?”

“I told Father, and I’m sure Barbara knows, but Mara shares Mother’s opinion of you all -”

“Meaning she thinks we’re trash.”

“- so there was never any reason to involve you.”

“Right,” Red Hood snipped. “And why does this matter?”

“Mother insinuated the Teen Titans have gotten or will get involved with the Followers, specifically with Mara putting Robin in harm’s way. When I asked for more information she acted surprised that I wasn’t already aware and suggested I speak to you. I looked into it and found evidence of the Followers in California, but nothing focused on Jump or the Teen Titans. So here I am.”

Red Hood crossed his arms and turned to leave. “Well, I haven’t heard about any Mara or her Followers so you’re out of luck. I’ll let Red Bird know to keep an eye out, though.”

Flamebird nodded, knowing he wouldn’t get any more out of his wayward brother. “Let him know she might use an alias as well. She has used Maria, Miranda, and Mariam for given names and Raatko, Tate, and Šabaḥ for surnames.”

“Sh-Shabac?” Red Hood said, looking over his shoulder.

“Šabaḥ,” Flamebird repeated slowly. “It means ghost in Arabic. She chose it to pay homage to her father, who went by White Ghost.”

Red Hood stared at him for a moment then pulled a communicator out of one of the pockets on his belt. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“What?”

“Shut up!” He brought one of his hands to his helmet and the red color leached away until only an X remained, the drain revealing a white skull on black. Similarly, glowing red X’s appeared on the back of his gloves and across his chest.

Red X flipped open the communicator and pressed a button on the side.

“What’s going on?”

“I swear, if they lost him again…” Red X muttered as the communicator rang.

“X -”

“Who is this?” a voice said from the communicator and Flamebird looked over to see Nightstar’s face staring back.

“Take a guess, Princess. Where’s Red Bird? And if you tell me you lost him to that stalker bitch again, I’m going to wreak bloody vengeance on the lot of you.”

Nightstar scowled, but was knocked out of view before she could say anything by Impulse. “What stalker? Do you know something about Robin’s disappearance? Howdidyoucallus? WhydoyouhaveaT-Comm?”

“Bloody. Vengeance,” Red X growled and Flamebird grabbed the communicator before he could destroy it.

Impulse gasped as he came into view, but he ignored her. “What do you mean Robin disappeared?”

“I, uh…” Impulse glanced between him and someone offscreen. She mouthed, Help!

The screen’s view expanded to show the rest of Robin’s team.

Virus was vibrating, the edges of their body going to static. Nightstar was glaring up at him, eyes glowing. Impulse was still gaping and Wonder Girl looked startled as well, but was working to hide it as she stepped forward.

“Flamebird, this is unexpected. What are you doing with Red X?”

“We’re looking for my baby brother!” Red X growled.

“X, calm down,” Flambird said and the boy flipped him off. “What can you tell me about Robin’s disappearance?”

“Why do you care?” Nightstar asked, eyes narrowing further.

Flamebird breathed out through his nose as Red X snorted. “Knew I liked you, Princess. I’ll make your death quick.”

“I received information about a dangerous group of mercenaries in your area. There may be a connection. What happened?”

Virus leaned towards Impulse and whispered, “Are the Teen Titans going to work with the Flamebird?”

“I think so. This is so cool! Do you think Batgirl will be there?”

“Or Nightwing!?”

“We can hear you, dorks,” Red X huffed and the two flinched, Virus ducking behind Nightstar and Impulse blushing. “Just tell us what happened to Robin!”

Wonder Girl cleared her throat. “Well, last night Impulse and Robin were on a date at the boardwalk.”

Flamebird blinked.

Red X snorted. “What? Didn’t know your kid had a girlfriend?”

“His kid?” Impulse squeaked.

“Flamebird is Robin’s father?” Virus asked.

Wonder Girl looked at her team, uncertain, and Nightstar sighed.

“Short answer: No, he isn’t. It’s complicated and not important right now,” she said with finality. “Robin and Impulse were at the boardwalk. They got separated in the mirror maze and no one’s seen him since. We searched the entire area, but couldn’t find any evidence of where he could have gone.”

“Virus scanned the maze,” Virus said. “Impulse was worried Robin’s disappearance was the work of Mirror Master or Reflek, but Virus didn't find any energy anomalies, not even any that would suggest teleportation. Robin just vanished.”

“You didn’t even find evidence of a fight?” Flamebird asked and the teens shook their heads. “Have you faced anyone recently who could have taken out Robin without leaving evidence?”

Wonder Girl shook her head. “We’ve considered that, but there aren’t many of our villains that could who aren’t locked up right now. The only one we considered was, well,” she gestured vaguely, “X. But Nightstar said she had evidence he wasn’t in Jump City at the time.”

Flamebird nodded, well aware that his youngest brother had been taking down a warehouse of drug dealers in Gotham the night before.

“Did you consider White when you went through your list?” Red X asked pointedly.

The teens shared a look.

“White hasn’t bothered any of us since she came back to life,” Impulse said.

“Maybe because she’s been reconnecting with all her minions,” he snorted. “I thought Red Bird said he was trying to track her progress.”

The teens looked uncomfortable.

“Which none of you knew because you all get mad when he investigates her. Of course.”

Nightstar crossed her arms. “He’s obsessed. We -”

“News flash, your teammate is a Bat. Any of your relatives who’ve worked with one of us could tell you that obsession and Paranoia come with the gig. And that’s, you know, ignoring the fact that that psycho is stalking him.”

“Stalking?” Flamebird asked.

“You better hope he’s fine when I rescue him or I'll raze that tower to the ground,” Red X said then snapped the communicator closed.

“What’s going on? Who’s White?” Flamebird asked as Red X grabbed the communicator and shoved it into his belt.

The boy stared him down for a moment then groaned and switched his suit back to Red Hood. “Follow me.”

His brother led him to a dilapidated apartment building. As he perched on a ledge to open a window, he muttered, “I’ll have to burn this safehouse now.”

The apartment was sparsely furnished, just a small card table with two folding chairs on either side and a couch in front of a book-covered coffee table. It was tidy, though. The books on the table were in neat, organized stacks. The kitchen counters were wiped clean and the only dishes that were out were the ones drying on the rack. The mattress that could be seen through the half-open bedroom door was also made to Alfred’s exacting standards despite its lack of frame or box spring.

Red Hood stomped across the living room to a closet door, opening it with a keycode to reveal weapons and ammunition arranged on shelves. He grabbed a tablet off a lower shelf and pulled up a file.

“She’s called the White Woman,” he said, opening an image for Flamebird to see.

The woman was covered from head to toe in a white suit styled after a Komon. The skirt only went halfway down her knees, though, revealing grey leggings that matched the obi around her waist and the hood that hid her hair and neck by connecting the suit to her hannya mask. Like the suit, the mask was primarily white, just with silver teeth, horns, and eyes. She also wore silver boots and gloves along with a matching utility belt over the obi that was designed to look like an obijime. A sword was strapped to her back, though he couldn’t see what kind from the angle.

“She started setting up shop in Jump City around a year ago. Her motivations weren’t very clear at first. Her lackeys stole and she set other villains loose on the city, but there didn’t really seem to be any goal in mind.”

“But she did have a goal.”

Red Hood nodded. “Dick realized she’d been testing the Titans, toying with them. He thought she was planning something for them, like trying to figure out how to take them down so she could take over. He… miscalculated.” He closed the picture and opened a new one from the file. “She was only after one of them.”

The image appeared to have been captured by a security camera. Richard was clearly the focal point, but he wasn’t Robin. The suit he was wearing almost seemed to be mocking the Robin suit. The tunic was still red, but a darker blood-like color that had also replaced the green on his boots and gloves. His belt, cape lining, and tunic’s trim were a dull silver instead of bright yellow and his sleeves, pants, and cape had inverted from black to stark white. His domino mask has similarly flipped colors, going from a black mask with white lenses to a white mask with black lenses. The R logo on his chest was replaced by a silver and black bird’s claw.

“Don’t know a lot of what went down since Red Bird did a hell of a job burying everything, but Robin went renegade for a week or two and started working with White. I thought he had just been undercover, but one of the few things Dick would tell me about his renegade act was that he wasn’t doing it by choice. She forced him to become her apprentice somehow, the creepy bitch. She’s obsessed with him, and would probably still be after him if she hadn’t died about six months back after one of her schemes backfired on her.”

Flamebird frowned as he switched the picture back to White.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know where Talia is,” Nyssa had said when Damian had contacted her after he’d found out about Red Hood. “She cut contact with me two weeks ago. Apparently, she objected to my use of the pits. If only you had called earlier so I could have called out the hypocrisy. Healing my niece is a far better use of the pits than fixing your pet.”

At the time, Damian had been so focused on arguing that Jason wasn’t a pet, he hadn’t questioned why Mara had needed to be healed in the pit. Especially one of Nyssa’s, which rarely saw use as his aunt was far warier of the effects of the pits than his mother or grandfather.

“Mara’s the White Woman,” Flamebird said, eyes tracing her mask. It reminded him of the Oni mask she’d worn thirteen years earlier, when she’d first attacked his team. “But why would she suddenly target Jump City?”

“Specifically Dick,” Red Hood corrected. “And beats me. Like we established, none of you al Ghuls give a crap about us.”

Flamebird opened his mouth, to argue that he did care. He cared about his Robin and he cared about his Batkid, no matter what either boy might think.

Then he froze.

“Grandson.”

“What?”

“When she came to warn me, Mother called Richard her grandson,” Flamebird said, turning towards the window. “I don’t know why she’d claim him as family, let alone acknowledging him as my heir, but if she was willing to overlook our lack of blood relation -”

“White could too,” Red Hood finished, tossing the tablet back into the closet and slamming the door closed. It locked automatically as the anti-hero raced after his elder brother. “She’s been targeting Dick to get at you, and you didn’t. Even. Notice!”

“I need to find Robin.” Flamebird pulled out his grapple gun, but Red Hood grabbed his arm before he could fire.

“I’ll find him. You’ve done enough.”

“I have a list of places where Mara might be.”

“And I have a list of places where White might be.”

Flamebird pulled his arm away, but turned to the boy. “Then we can compare our lists and narrow it down.”

“Not happening,” Red Hood growled.

“Ho-Jason,” Flamebird said, setting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “This is about Richard, remember. Our focus right now should be locating him as fast as possible. You can be as mad at me as you want later.”

Red Hood slapped the hand away. “I’m going to shoot you in the kneecaps when this is over.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For clarification:

League of Assassins: The normal LoA in the comics, ran by Talia (with Nyssa as an advisor when they aren't fighting)

League of Shadows: Dami's team (Flamebird, Nightwing, Abuse, Beacon, Flyway, Nobody, Quick)

Council of Demons: A cult that worships Ra's and seeks to bring him back to life

Demon's Followers: Mara's criminal organization

#damian wayne #Jason Todd #red x #red hood #mara al ghul #fanfiction #batkid and robin

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fan-clan-fun · 4 years

Text

History of VineClan

Please don’t steal this idea! I’ve been working on it for more than 4 days!

I’ve left this in my inbox for bit trying to understand what you meant by steal your idea. Im assuming you still want me to post this publicly, since you submitted it to me, but in future if you are afraid of someone stealing ideas perhaps maybe you can send a personal message and we can talk things through and discuss your ideas privately! Im always open to dms.

Formation- Vine was a loner who ran away from his father and then met a small group of cats who needed guidance and became their leader and taking them to the Trees of Time.

Many moons ago, BadgerClan, ShadeClan, the lost clan, SunClan, and the other clans, SnakeClan and StreamClan were dead. But now a new dawn is rising.

Thats quite a start, a new clan rising from the ashes of the old ones! Do the current day cats know much of the clans? Or are they basically starting over from scratch?

Rivals- After Vine and his group left the Woods of Water, another group, the Rogues of Roaming moved in and injured one of Vine’s best friends, Blue.

There was almost a war but Blue stopped it. The area is now known as the Roaming Rainfalls.

Always good to have some rivals. Do the rogues become their own clan as well?

Age- VineClan is old. Vinestar and Bluestar are remembered and celebrated every 12 moons

Old is... not quite a helpful descriptor. Perhaps a better way to indicate the age of a clan is through how many leaders have reigned, and for how long, or how many generations have passed.

Shaping Events- The elders told the story of how Blue stopped the war and the tales of the lost clans are less told than the founding of the clans which is very often. The bold and faithful BadgerClan, the tricky yet helpful ShadeClan, the sharp and qualified once missed SunClan, the passionate and quick SnakeClan and the kind and courageous, water-loving StreamClan

Okay so I see here that some stories of the old clans still survive, but there is still a lot of info you could expand on the old clans and the current association with Vineclan. How does Vineclan see themselves? Are they still the only clan now?

Heroes and Villians: All the living peaceful medicine cats, warriots and kits want to be like Bluestar and all the battle-hungry warriors and kits want to be like Rainstar. The villains are the Rogues of Roaming and VineClan’s greatest enemy.

Each side has the Hall of Fame.

There’s the Hall of Heroes and the Hall of Villians.

I’m glad to know you are thinking of some of them, I would love to hear the stories of your favorites!

Territory

VineClan’s territory Slope Woods by Day Twowalkers and the Twilight Twowalkers. Fires always come in the greenleaf and floods in leaffall every 48 moons. In those times, they go live in the Fire’s Flood Field (A Shelter Place). Some common animals are bugs, frogs, snakes, lizards, chipmunks, or squirrels. There may be foxes, raccoons, or porcupines as well. Look up in the trees, and you may see birds or bats.

Sounds like standard North America, although choosing a specific region might help you come up with details especially for some fun unique names.

On RainClan’s territory there is Training Valley, The Hunting Hills, the best place for hunting, Harmony Hills, every moon there is a truce where cats can talk and have fun and they share news and advice. The medicine cats go to the Star Cave with the Moon Crystal. Cats who are not medicine cats go to the Star Hollow and meet their ancestors with the Lightstone. It only works in the daytime.

Ah okay I see here that there is a second clan. There is also a lot of information to unpack in this paragraph. I do like that there are different ways to interact with your ancestors and that your average clan cat can still commune with Starclan, and the Day/night motif of spiritual connection here as well.

Camp

The camp is hidden in the slopes. Climb up it and you hop in it. It is guarded throughout the day. Over there is the nursery, the biggest den, the one with the huge sand wall. Cats have to leap over it just to get in. Only VineClan cats have that kind of strength and speed for that. The other smaller sand den goes into an underground cave where the apprentices sleep. Scouts sleep on top of the slope or the trees. Guards sleep in a pile of sand with there breathing devices called Sand Breathers so they can sleep and breathe easily. Hunters sleep underneath a pile of prey, so they always get first pick. That big pile of sand and leaves with a small sand wall. The Sand Gem is where the leader gives meetings and the leader glows whenever they sit on it. On top of the gem is where the leader sleeps with the rest of his family. The medicine cats sleep underground. There are two types of herbs, Sand Herbs, that can be kept underground, mostly for wounds and diseases. Sky Herbs are plants that are supposed to be kept outside, in the Green Den that’s open but protected with a bright surface that you can see through it. Poison Plants are spread out all over in the Roaming Rainfalls and the darkest, deepest corners of the Slope Woods.

I see a lot of interesting concepts here! I am fascinated by the implication that these cats have some form of technology or magic, to create the Sand Breathers and the hard clear surface (glass?) protecting the Green Den. I would love to hear more about those aspects, since technology and magic are things I tend to enjoy. As for the hunters sleeping under prey, that sounds a bit uncomfortable, I certainly wouldnt like to sleep under a pile of carcasses which might bleed or be dirty or stinky. So why did they choose to do that? Are they afraid their clanmates will steal their food?

Build: Cats that were born from Guards have a remarkable amount of strength. Cats who are born from Scouts have an unbelievable amount of speed, an average amount of both is how they become a Hunter and anyone who was born from a certain rank (Hunter, Guard, Scout) always is born with that ancestry.

I see you have gone for a more Tribe-like divisions of skills and build. If you have a certain build are you basically destined to be in that position, or can cats choose?

Pelt: Black cats are considered lucky and white cats with any other eye color than blue are considered unlucky. Any cat with a white pelt and blue eyes is not blind but very powerful and will be automatically chosen for deputy and given 12 lives if they’re evil and want war, 15 lives if they’re average and like a regular leader, 18 lives if they want everlasting peace and is good and kind.

I dont quite understand this. When white kittens with blue eyes are born, are they basically destined to be leader? What happens if there are two in the same clan at the same time? What is the significance of the number of lives? How does the clan or even Starclan itself decide how many lives to give them? Can they read their minds and intentions? Whats to stop a cat who says they want peace from getting those extra lives and then causing chaos? How does living that long affect those cats, or do they die of old age? While this is an interesting concept in theory, you might want to think this through a bit more, you dont have to discard it completely, but you do have to consider the ramifications and consequences.

Clan Roles-

Leader

The leader is voted for every 48 moons and if they are a white cat with blue eyes, there is no vote needed. If they are a white cat with blue eyes that’s good, they get to be leader for 144 moons. If they are voted again, it’s 96 moons.

Ah some more info, but still very confusing. If leaders are voted for every four years (48 moons) normally, what happens to leaders who havent lost their nine lives by that point? Do all leaders (other than white cats with blue eyes) get regular nine lives? Why do white cats get to be leaders for so long, and do their extra lives sustain their bodies that long? Are you saying a white cat with blue eyes could live and rule for 238 moons (almost 20 years, 144+96 moons)?

Deputy

The deputy is the leader’s Vice President and is chosen by the leader.

Medicine Cat

They follow the Code of the Stars. An apprentice is chosen with a trial. A trial starts at 5 moons. There are two tests: Intelligence and Heart. Intelligence shows how much you know. Heart shows how much you’re into it.

In order for kittens to pass this trial, are they all taught basic information and knowledge about herbs? What qualifies a cat to be chosen as medicine cat apprentice?

Elders

The elder’s average age is 65 moons. The oldest elder is The Protector of the Knowledge, the second oldest elder is Head Elder and reminds elders of their duties like their Daily Walk guarded by 1 Scout and 2 Guards and their Ceremony Seats and the Head Elder is like the deputy’s assistant who helps with everything and The Protector of Knowledge tells knowledge whenever needed.

I feel like I am missing a lot of info here, that there is a lot more to dive into. Its really nice to see Elders having their own positions and duties though at least!

Warriors

There are Hunters, Guards, and Scouts. Hunters are average, Guards are strong and Scouts are quick.

Okay, well Im not sure why Hunters are considered average, since that sounds a bit demoralizing, but I suppose that if the Guards and Scouts are elite warriors it might make more sense.

Queens

The Kitter is the cat who has been in the nursery for the most and assigns Kitsitters who take care of the kits after the age of 4 moons and stop at the age of 9 moons when a kit moves out of the nursery and into the apprentice den, so the queens can go back to their original role. The Kitsitters are mostly former queens or their fathers. The Protector of Knowledge mostly takes on an apprentice and there are called The Apprentice of Knowledge and they teach the 6-9 moons, the Way of the Warrior.

I see your cats are considered kits for longer than canon. Are these intermediate moons kind of like school? Why are medicine cat apprentices chosen so young before their schooling even begins?

Apprentices

They are apprenticed to 15 moons. The Protector of Knowledge mostly takes on an apprentice and there are called The Apprentice of Knowledge and they teach the 6-9 moons, the Way of the Warrior. The requirements to become a hunter is to hunt the most prey from sunup to sundown. Guards have to fight each other and the Top 3 becomes a guard. Cats who have failed have to take the test next moon and if they fail till they’re 18, they become a hunter. Scouts go into a race and the Top 3 becomes a scout and the 4th, 5th and 6th placers become Trial Scouts and if they fail their mission, they become hunters.

So I notice that there are two different ways to become a hunter, but they seem a bit contradictory. You mention that to become a hunter you need to hunt the most prey. Does that mean only one becomes a hunter? Or is there an amount each cat needs to hunt to pass their trial? And failed scouts still automatically become hunters without having to pass the same trial as regular hunters?

Kits

Kits are raised by their mothers from the age of 1-3 and their Kitsitters from the age of 4-9

Code of Conduct

The regular warrior code.

Laws

Punishment is placed in front of the StarClan Court and if it was minor it’s mostly cleaning out the elder’s den. Middle is suspension. Major is mostly banishment.

Mates

There is a ceremony for mates who want to be together forever.

Leader: Welcome, cats of VineClan who have wanted to be with (male cat) (rank) and (female cat)(rank) and today: we thank you for being here to share this extraordinary day. You may sit. Now, (male cat) do you, of your own free will, take (female cat) as your StarClan watched mate, to cherish and defend—as long as you both shall live?

Male Cat: I do.

Leader: (Female cat) do you, of your own free will, take (make cat) as your StarClan watched mate, to cherish and defend—as long as you both shall live?

Female Cat: I do.

Leader: With the promises you have made and with the power invested in me with all of StarClan watching, I now pronounce you mates for life. You may touch noses the bride.

(They touch noses and some purring may be made and that’s when the kits and apprentices leave.)

I see you have drawn heavily on modern human marriage ceremonies for your mateship ritual! But are there provisions if the cats break up? Or marriages where the cats aren’t strictly male and female?

All the other ceremonies are the same. Here’s two new ones.

The Protector of Knowledge Ceremony

Leader: You are the oldest cat (name of cat) and hereby should be known as The Protector of Knowledge for as long as you live.

Head Elder Ceremony

Leader: You see the second oldest cat (name of cat) and have proven your loyalty many times over and you are hereby known as Head Elder until the Protector of Knowledge hands over his/her power to you.

Naming: The kits are named after whatever the queens want their names to be.

Afterlife: Cats can go into whatever age they want too in the afterlife and there’s plenty of prey and instead of a dark slope there’s a light sunny field.

Thank you for sharing about your clans! I think there are a few things you might need to expand on and think through, if you would like we can chat in private as well if you are worried!

#warrior cats #clan culture #warriorsworldbuilding #submission

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boogiewrites · 5 years

Text

A Girl Walks Into A Bar 6

Characters: Declan Harp x Bella Fiore (OFC)

Word Count: 6400+

Summary: Modern Declan harp AU. Bella finds herself warming up to Declan. A friend of a friend lets her know Declan has some skeletons in his closet. When she asks, he gives an honest answer. He can see in her eyes that she has some skeletons too.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Drinking. Talk of violence, murder.

Click on my screen name then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

As it had been going, it was the day of your weekly meet up at the bar with Declan. It'd become a welcome part of your routine and a much-needed stress reliever. The men that were usually at the bar were used to you now, being on a first name basis. They weren't exactly warm to you, they didn't invite you over to talk with them or anything, not that you wanted that, but they would give you affirmative nods when you'd enter and that was a nice feeling. Always better to have the bikers on your side than against you.

This day was much like the first that had brought you to the bar in the first place. You'd been mansplained to for the day by boys half your age about guitar. You weren't as angry as you were tired, but at least you had your truck back to comfort you instead of being stuck on foot. So you rumble up in your old Ford, parking at the end of the sidewalk after all the motorcycles took the good spots in front of the bar. You take a deep breath and rub between your eyes, not wanting to go in with a bad mood looming as you wanted to enjoy the time you spent at the bar. You had the tendency to come in with a chip on your shoulder from work on Fridays, and you didn't want Declan to think that you were only capable of being grumpy and nothing else. Although historically, and if you asked anyone who knew you, friendly would not be at the top of the list of descriptors for you.

It's April now, over three months since you'd become a regular at The Trading Post. The cold and wind were still holding up strong, especially after the sun went down. You feel the wind bite at you as you pull your leather jacket tight around you, your company logo sweatshirt not providing much insulation. Your boots crunch over gravel and coarse salt, hand shoved into your pockets as you make your way into the warm shelter the bar offers.

The heat flushes your face as you walk in, the bar moving with bodies as it was on a Friday night. Mike passes you, a friendly smile a strong nod that you politely return, starting to peel your jacket off. You begin to move to your corner of the bar that you like to perch at, but find it taken. You twitch your lips in consideration for where to sit, as you don't want to sit between two men you don't know anything about except their nicknames. You choose a booth and even though he's currently focusing on filling pint glasses, Declan sees you walking past to a different seat than usual.

"Mike!" he calls out, watching you slide into the green patched leather benched seat.

"I know! Got it!" Mike says, finishing wiping down a table as he quickly moves to behind the bar. He knew Declan had been waiting for you to show up like he always did. He hadn't given him any shit for it yet, at least nothing more than a few insinuating glances, but if he left him alone once the bar got crowded, he would have a lot more to say to him once you left.

Declan pats his back as a thank you, as he carries himself with a confident saunter towards you, your favorite ale in hand. "Hey, Bella." he says with an earnest smile, the words spoken almost in an exhale that made you warm on sight. You rise from the booth, and as is customary now, you let him hug you.

"Hey Declan." you try to sound more enthusiastic about his appearance but words come out as a grumble against the soft flannel of his shirt. He didn't usually wear a lot of layers, but he had a worn t-shirt underneath flannel shirt tonight and you'd be lying to yourself if you said the added bulk wasn't serving him plenty of favors in the attractiveness department.

"What's wrong babe?" he questions, a sight rub to your back as he sets the bottle in front of you and you both slide into opposite benches. "Work again?" he suggests, putting the bottle cap to your ale into his pocket to throw away later.

"Yeah." you groan and roll your eyes. "Stupid kids half my age tryin' to tell me I don't know what I'm talkin' about." you take a big swig of your drink.

"About music?" he scoffs with raised brows, making the arches even more prominent over the dark hazel eyes.

"Mmm Hmm." you nod, sucking your teeth and looking around the bar, with more people filing in.

"Are they fuckin' stupid?" he says with a laugh. "No one I know knows more about music than you."

"Thank you." you give him a supportive nod. "The little asshole knows three chords and think's he's gonna be the next Cobain when he can't write lyrics for shit. It was popular in the '90s because it was new. It was the beginning of a movement. It's not as groundbreaking to write angst over some banged out chords nowadays. Everyone one of these little pricks think they're so fucking talented." you shake your head.

"Ah. White teenage boy?" he chuckles.

"They're the worst." your groan turns into a chuckle. "The only upset they have in their lives is their mothers buying them the wrong color iPhone for Christmas and they think they know pain." you rub your temple. "He literally had the words, I hate my parents, I hate myself, I hate you... like...what am I supposed to do with that? Tell him it's any good?"

"Is that what your boss told you to do?"

"Nah, CeeCee is understanding. She's the brain and I'm the heart. So if I don't feel anything from it, it won't be any good." you shake your head and take another drink. "She trusts my judgment." your face softens a bit and he's glad to learn more about where you work, you never really talked about your coworkers.

"That's more than most people get." he says supportively.

"Oh yeah, no, I'm lucky she understands me and my lunacy." you smile. "But privileged little boys do NOT, however." you purse your lips. "I told him I could lie to him, but I wouldn't because he was paying for my expertise. He didn't want constructive criticism though."

"Most people don't." he grins. "Can't handle it. Takes a secure person to realize they might not be right all the time. And those are few and far between." he muses.

"Amen." you say, reaching out to clink your bottles together. You take a drink and you take a second to look him over, admiring the lumberjack vibe he was giving off. You must've looked a little too long.

"What?" he asks with a grin.

"Could I give you some constructive criticism?" you throw a cocky nod his way.

"Will it make me cry?" he pouts.

"I don't think so." you grin.

"Then hit me." he says, thwacking his hand on the table.

"I fully support this... lumberjack vibe you got goin' on." you say, moving your hand in front of you.

"OH!" he says with a genuine smile. "Thanks." he lets out an almost bashful chuckle.

"Any reason you've strayed from your usual humbled rockstar look?" you tease.

"We had a bunch of orders come in today, spent most of the day with the back doors open and loading and unloading trucks from the street. Get's cold." he says, tugging on the black beanie on his head.

"I like it. Works for you." you give him a considerate nod. You are aware you'd just given him a compliment, and by the way his lips tug back, the tension in his jaw as he holds back from it growing farther across his bearded face, you can see he certainly noticed.

"Thanks." he says proudly, letting a smile break through, showing his teeth. He knows a blush is growing, not expecting a compliment from you and thinks of a way to hide it. He pulls the beanie off, throwing it onto the table and ruffles his naturally loose curled hair, hanging past his shoulders. You get hit with the smell of him and your pupils dilate. You were defenseless against pheromones. Or whatever delicious, masculine smell was coming off him. A faint musk, whether from him or cologne you weren't certain. Faint smell of woods or ocean, maybe shampoo. He scratches his head and scrunches his face, letting his scalp breathe again. "What about you? Sweatshirts aren't something I've seen you in before. And with a heart on it? That's not on brand at all." he lets out a deep teasing chuckle.

"Oh but it is!" you say condescendingly. "This is the name of our company." you say looking down and holding out the logo for your and Grace's studio. A logo with a cartoon heart and an italicized word 'sounds' after it in bold text.

"I didn't know it was your company." he says impressed, he thought you only worked at the studio. "Me and CeeCee went in half and half on it when we first started. I was working at a music store, squirreling away every bit I could, playing bars on weekends and teaching guitar lessons, just trying to get by. CeeCee, at the time, was married to a rather well off guy and we met by fate one night when I was playing at his office's new years party. We oddly hit it off, which is rare for me." you roll your eyes and smile. "And a year or so later we started this company, bought the building and the equipment, all that. We're legit." you nod and say with a proud smile.

He looks you over for a moment, the pleased smile, the new knowledge he had about what made you, you, it all gave way to a feeling of being proud of you himself. It explained the long hours worked, the clear passion and intelligence about what you worked in, the skill you'd honed in your instrument of choice. It was clear you were very driven and had been for some time, the realization makes him like you more. In his experience, things that were worked hard for had felt more worth it in the end and with how he was slowly chipping away at you he was hoping the initial hardness and hesitancy you had shown to letting him in would also fall away and in the end be worth it. He saw a lot of potential in you, for a lot of different things. An honest and loyal friend, someone to help him with his business, as you were running a successful one and he could always learn from you. And the one that he didn't want to admit yet, but was becoming more and more obvious to him, he saw the potential for you to be more than just friends. But he didn't want to get ahead of himself.

"I thought it'd be another band I've never heard of." he shrugs. "But the truth is much more interesting." he says earnestly.

"It usually is." you grin. "You wanna know another truth?" you ask leaning in closer.

"Duh." he laughs.

"I'm only wearing this because it's laundry day." you laugh and admit, taking another drink.

"Ah! The most dreaded of all days. Free ballin', shirt you don't really wanna wear and jeans that have gone one too many days without being washed." he muses and you laugh.

"You get it!" you let out a more animated laugh. "Although there isn't much free ballin' happenin' on this side of the table." you snort. "Due to the lack of... well... balls." you say in a goofy way with a motion of your hands in explanation.

"Yeah, what's it called when girls do it?" he narrows his eyes in thought.

"That's just commando right?" you wrinkle your nose as you think.

"Ah, yeah." he nods. "I forget that's the unisex term for it."

"I call it free ballin' too." you chuckle. "To be fair." you shrug and take another drink. "Just... sounds more crude and funny."

"Which seems like your kind of thing."

"Most definitely." you laugh.

He sees you looking over his shoulder. "What?" he asks, turning around.

"Lots of people in here tonight."

"Yeah, it's Jon's birthday," he says, turning back. "There'll be more people in the closer it gets to nine." he explains.

"Do I know Jon?" you ask with a tilted head.

"You referred to him as a second rate hype man that couldn't shut the fuck up." he laughs.

"Yeah I remember that guy." you nod and take a drink. "I guess that means a good business night though." you say optimistically.

"Yeah." he drags the word out. He was grateful for the bump but, it meant he wouldn't be spending his time sitting and talking to you and he didn't see you as often as he'd like already. But he also didn't want to ask to hang out and make it weird. With someone like you he had to let you come to him. "It is getting busy..." he says in a distracted way. "I guess I need to go help Mike." he says, sucking his teeth and downing the rest of the bottle.

"Yeah, go ahead. Don't need my permission." you smile and wave him towards the bar.

"You gonna stick around?" he asks, you can hear the hopeful lilt to it, how could you say no.

"And miss these guys make asses of themselves? No way. 'Course I'm stayin'." you give him a friendly smile to take the edge off his disheartened eyes.

"Might need you around to help me keep these guys in line." he smirks.

"At your service." you nod supportively. "Maybe we can try to hang out before next Friday? Since there won't be much hangin' goin' on tonight?" you offer, testing his reaction to see if he was hesitant to leave your company and in his long exhale you see your guess is correct.

"Yeah, on a night when it's slow." he nods.

"Let's make it through tonight and when it thins out and you can come talk to me again, we'll figure it out." you say casually with a shrug, leaning back and taking another drink.

"You always have good plans, Bells." he grins and shoots a finger gun your way before heading back to the bar. You see Mike give him grief, and you're guessing by the way they both laugh and shove each other it might've been about you.

You're left looking over the carvings in the table top. All crudely done with pocketknives and surely the vandalism was motivated by alcohol. Dates go back to the '80s, you run your fingers over the letters and names, Dina + Ronnie 4 Ever '88, Shirley + Lenny '94. You wonder where they're at now, and how hanging out at a bar had worked out for them. It seemed to be working out pretty well so far for you. You weren't entirely sure just yet. Neither of you were making any moves to have the relationship push past friendship, and you were forever grateful for that on his behalf. For now, a good friend was what you needed, and he certainly seemed to fit the bill. You knew you should make more of an effort to hang out with him outside of his work but he did work a lot, and also the hours when you traditionally would be off of work. You were sort of working with what you were given.

You watch him working, his flannel now unbuttoned, hat shoved in his back pocket with his soft hair bouncing around his shoulders. He engages with every person, being warm and friendly and you wonder how he does it. His tall form leans over the bartop for hugs and cheek kisses, to both men and women and you find yourself charmed. It was hard not to be, the man looked like he could crush you but his demeanor was like that of a puppy's, and who didn't love puppies? You wonder when cheek kisses might be introduced into the repertoire of your greetings. He'd worked hugs in pretty seamlessly, you have to give it to the guy. If the girls at work saw you hug a guy they'd assume you were married. You weren't the hugging type. But it seemed you'd made an exception for Declan, hadn't you?

He was turning out to be an exception to the rule for men for you as well. Polite, humble, hardworking and still somehow also extremely good looking. You weren't sure how that all managed to fall in place, but you figure you should bake his mother some cannoli or something for the work she must've put in to raise such a man. Maybe that's what it was? He was a man. He wasn't a boy. He was a giant dork and goof ass sure, but he was responsible and kind, intelligent and industrious and you wondered if he was the first man, besides your father, you'd spent any real time with.

All the boys you'd dated before were just that...boys. Your first relationship, a hellish shit show of a Greek tragedy that'd turned out to be. You still had the physical and emotional scarring and trauma to prove it, A few casual encounters of off and on dates that never lead anywhere, not that you'd wanted them to. One night stands more often when you were younger, but it'd been a long time since you'd had the urge for that. You'd deleted tinder ages ago and work had replaced any time you'd spent putting effort into finding sex. There had been one guy you thought was nice, but in hindsight maybe that was because he just did everything you told him to. You suppose it doesn't really matter, that one was nipped in the bud fast too. You finish the rest of your bottle, brow furrowing in thought at how it ended, and if it'd happen again if you tried. You decide you don't want to think about that tonight and go get another bottle. Declan opens it with his hand by raising his shirt up and twisting it off for you, a not too suggestive wink to you as he hands it off and he's beckoned by people much louder than you to the other end of the bar.

You take your seat back, watching the crowd, eavesdropping and staring into a mirror that reflected a dark room in the back, you still hadn't found out what was back there and just as you feel the pull to explore, someone sits in the booth across from you. Much to your surprise, it's a girl you haven't seen before. Thin body and lips, blonde hair and a strong jaw sit with a seemingly friendly indifference.

"You mind if I sit here?" she asks, taking off her jacket. "Everywhere else is full or too full 'a drunks." she says with a smile.

"Uh, yeah that's fine." you say with a shrug, your face straight, you go back to nursing your drink.

"Thanks. Bella, is it?" she asks, holding out her hand.

You did like a woman who shook hands, but you weren't sure how she knew your name.

"Heard Declan call ya it when you went up to the bar." she explains, watching the realization come across your face as you blink slowly and nod.

"Oh, okay. I was about to say..." you let out a huff of a laugh for politeness's sake and raise your brows to show your uneasiness and to push back any unwanted pursuit of friendship.

"I'm Clenna," she says with a nod, taking out a pack of cigarettes. "I'm a friend of a friend of Mike's," she explains further. "Here for Jon's birthday." she lights it and thankfully blows it away from your face.

"I'm just here to drink." you say flatly, raising attention to your bottle. "I don't know Jon or anything." you elaborate.

"Oh, you not here for Declan then?" she asks, a furrow in her brow that you aren't sure if you like or not.

"Excuse you?" you ask with only a hint of unfriendliness.

"I saw him with ya earlier." she motions to him with her hand. "With that sorta attention I thought you two might be seein' each other."

You stare at her. What you were was none of her business. She takes a drag and picks up on your unwillingness to share, your confident look of question at her telling her you weren't like the other girls that she'd seen after Declan. They were too open, bubbly even, and usually much, much more drunk. "No." you answer flatly, taking another drink.

"I mean ya no harm," she says leaning in closer. "I just thought it was a good thing you were with him now... ya know... instead of years ago. Seein' as he seems like a different man now 'n all." she says in a more serious tone.

"I'm not with him. We're just friends."

"Well good on that then." she nods. "What with his history 'n that." she says, looking over to him.

You sigh, seeing she's trying to rope you into something. And granted, you knew very little about Declan's past and you could just ask him about whatever she told you later. "Alright. I'll bite." you say with pursed lips.

"If you were thinkin' about bein' with him in any capacity, as one woman to another, there are some things I'd want to know if I were you." she begins. "He is a decent man now, rather peaceful for the sort of place he runs, but he wasn't always ya know."

"Go on." you say, leaning in closer to her on the table.

"I've lived 'round here forever, hell, I even dated Mike for years when's we's young." she shrugs and huffs out a laugh. "And I've heard of the things he's done, seen what consequences people faced from crossin' him. Although if you'd asked him, he did everything in the name of justice, only givin' it to people what deserved it. But to some violence is violence, no matter tha motive." she nods. "He was the man you went to when you had trouble with someone." she lowers her voice. "Known for his ability to find people, his fondness for knives..." she adds with a raise of her brows. "It's even rumored 'round here he's behind the death of a cop."

"I knew he was a part of the Black Wolves." you say, gesturing to the room full of vests with patches that reflected that sentiment.

"Aye. He did leave that. And he got out because of murderin' that man so I'm told." she takes another drag. "The Wolves ain't so much murderers 'n rapists 'n all that nonsense. They love their bikes and their beer and to have their fun and not be bothered. Rather loud and rough, seemingly trouble to anyone who don't know 'em. But anyone who gives themselves a name, calls themselves a gang, there's gonna be rivals and those others might not be as civil as they are, ya know?" she shrugs. "So there's police sniffin' 'round sometimes, lookin' for men to blame. There have been murders, I won't pretend like there's not been... but you know men." she rolls her eyes. "Territorial and that." she nods. "A person can only take so much before they'll retaliate ya know?" she says in a less mysterious tone.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask with a deeper tone.

"Like I said, I saw him give ya a wink and leave his post to talk to ya, I thought there might be somethin' going's on. I don't know ya, so I know ya ain't from 'round here, so I was tryin' to let you know what sorta trouble might be lurkin' 'round if ya were to stay with this sort of company. If I were someone who didn't know, I'd want to know. That's all."

"Are you some vengeful ex or something?" you flatly ask.

"Oh no." she chuckles and shakes her head. "Only dated Mike, and we's teens then. Water under the bridge now. But I knew Declan then, and I know of him now, and as much as he's cleaned up his act there's always a threat 'a violence around this sort. I know Declan likes to act like he forgets his past, that's he's beyond it now, but... you don't live that hard for that long and just one day leave it behind forever." she sighs. "As one woman to another I dinnae wantin' ya gettin' in over ya head."

"Okay." you nod and take a drink. "If that's true then... thanks." you say with a suspicious glance.

"What the fuck's she doin'?" Mike mumbles, looking over at Clenna talking to you. He knew you didn't know each other, and from the look on your face, the conversation seemed to something you were paying attention to, and something was rubbing him the wrong way. "Fair warnin'." Mike says as the bar starts to thin out. "Clenna was talkin' to Bella earlier."

"Yeah I saw." he mutters, wiping a glass.

"We was busy, didn't catch wind of the topic but..." he shrugs, lips tight.

"Yeah, I get it." Declan says low, looking over to you as you scrolled through your phone alone.

Every time he'd look up and see a guy sitting across from you, he'd get a tingle in his spine that had to right to be there. A knee jerk habit of possessiveness that kept coming back. When they'd end up leaving, or you would, it eased his mind. You'd sit there, sometimes not even looking up from your phone, others he could feel the air from your heavy sighs as they tried to talk to you. As the night went on, and they got more drunk, you became more obvious with your rejections.

You'd get in on a game of pool with a group of older, less wasted men. He could've watched you bend over that pool table all night and he knew he wasn't the only one. But after losing a few games, feeling defeated and not as self-assured, he could tell by their poor postures that they weren't going to be a threat. But as they thinned, the younger, drunker ones caught eyes of you and your ass in those tight jeans and descended. He only worried a little, knowing you could probably handle yourself and was thankful that proved true. His ears perked up the one time he hears your voice raise but watching the interaction go down, he trusts you to handle it. The last thing he wanted was to piss you off by treating you like some damsel. He didn't catch what the guy did but you had him against a wall with the pool cue pressed against his neck and he quickly surrendered, moving to sulk somewhere else. No one really wanted to play with you after that and seeing that you actually knew what you were doing, beating them after they kept offering to show you the ropes. Seems your stories of hanging out and playing in bars were true. He wondered if you also knew how to play darts.

Only a handful of people remain, and you've settled back into a booth, and your thumbs moved fast on the screen, wearing a rather adorable unfiltered face of concentration.

"We survived." he says, plopping down in the booth across from you and startling you out of your focus.

"Ah." you saw, looking around and seeing the bar much emptier than the last time you'd looked. "So we did." you nod and give him a soft smile.

"Can I be nosey and ask what you're doing?" he leans in and asks.

"Playing trivia." you say with a small smile and setting your phone down.

"Any good?" he inquires with a lifted brow.

"I am." you nod and lean forward on the table. "But I think I'd rather ask you some questions if that's alright."

You face isn't angry, your voice isn't accusatory so he agrees. "Okay?" he says with a shrug.

"Who's Clenna?" you decide to start with. Seeing what truth there was to their relationship would be a good starting point for who was telling the truth.

"Right," he nods, pursing his lips. "Mike said he saw you talking to her." his tone doesn't sound too happy about the fact.

"Yeah she was telling me some things." you reply slowly, considering the tiredness now showing in his face.

"And you'd like to know if what she told you was true." he remarks with a sigh, setting up straight and popping his back before leaning in on his elbows.

"I would." you agree without any b/d attitude. "So who is she?" you ask again.

"Mike's ex. She's around from time to time, occasions like tonight, birthdays and stuff." he answers with a shrug.

"Not yours?" you specify.

"Nah." he quickly answers with a shake of his head.

"Funny. She only talked about you."

"She's been known to sort've...feel girls out before that we're seeing." he begins. "Not that I'm seeing you I just...I guess she saw us together?" he asks.

"That's what she said."

"Kay." he nods. "So what'd she say?"

"That you had a past that I might want to know about." you stay vague.

"Yeah..." he rubs the back of his neck. "I thought that might be it." he sighs and looks away.

"Any truth to that?"

"I don't know what she told you but...yeah, there is." he admits and you nod slowly, happy with how this was going.

"Alright." your voice inflects upwards and his eyes dart to you, expecting to be met with something other than curiousness. "So violence, you were known to "take care of people" I guess is how she put it. Can we start there?"

"Yeah." he draws out again, leaning in closer. "I mean, I've mentioned I ran with a bad crowd. I lacked a father figure growin' up, he wasn't around much and then he got killed." he says with a sadness slowly glazing over his eyes. "So I had a lot of anger and my mom was working her ass off, as a single mom ya know how that goes." he purses his lips. "Got in with a bad crowd. I was big and angry and I beat people up. Got older, got into the gang, more people wanted to mess with me and I had a chip on my shoulder and something to prove. So I did. Often." he nods and shrugs. "Lots of guys I knew, a lot I still do went to jail or got killed so...I felt responsible for these people ya know? The kids and the girls left behind, they didn't have anyone lookin' out for them so there was a lot of standing up for them I took on. Beating up abusive boyfriends mainly, that sort of gig." he explains. "I'll be honest. That still happens sometimes. I try not to interfere but...I really care about these people and a lot of them grew up to make better decisions but sometimes there are still assholes that'll see a single mom and still try to take advantage and if I've promised the guys on the inside I'd look out for them then-" he begins to speak faster, you feel it turning into excuses instead of information.

"Declan." you interrupt and he looks back to your eyes, his large and sad. More of the look that lead to making you refer to him as a puppy. "It's okay," you say quietly, reaching out to put your hand over his. His eyes dart down to it for a few seconds, eyes blinking fast to possibly push back tears that were building with his anger. "I get it," you say with a half smile. "Point of this wasn't to make you upset. I didn't want you getting sad or angry about it." you say with kind eyes that take him entirely off guard. "I just have one more thing I gotta ask." you say with a wince.

"Yeah?" he rasps out.

"There was something about...killing a cop?" you say quietly.

"Yeah." he nods and sniffles as you retreat your hand. "Yeah I..." he lets out a loud sigh. "It's a whole complicated story but...I know you don't want a bunch of grief so...yeah I did." he whispers the last part, face prepared for an onslaught against him.

"Okay. How are you not in jail?" you ask obviously.

"Everyone that knew him wanted him dead. He was a total bastard. Just a real piece of shit." his posture slumps. "Picked on women and children and my friends. Framed a bunch of guys I knew that are still servin' time for things they didn't do. He came after me and those close to me." you see his eyes go far away for a moment before coming back. "There was only one witness, and they wouldn't talk. They wanted them dead just as much as me." You assume this must be Mike. "And everyone else just...didn't talk when the cops came around. There wasn't anything to point to me, I had an alibi, no witnesses, no evidence..." he gestures broadly with his hands, saying it disappeared.

He watches you blink slowly, thinking and wondering if being honest would backfire. But if he'd lied, you would've found out and you'd be gone anyway. So as much as he hated taking the chance, honesty was the best policy and he hoped you saw that.

"But after that I got out of that life. Or I mean...I tried. That sorta life doesn't just disappear overnight." his voice drops low. "I try to have this place, keep the boys out of trouble as much as I can. I don't take jobs anymore, last I beat anyone up was months ago, before I met you..." he looks over to you with cautious optimism. "And that was because this guy had beat one of my friends in front of her kid... I just... I couldn't..." he shakes his head.

"I get it," you say again, a soft smile and a nod. Once again you surprise him. "Everyone's got baggage Declan. Some's just heavier than others." you say with a frown. "And I believe you. I see you being a decent and gentle man and I've seen flashes of the old you sometimes. I know violence and trauma aren't things that just...go away." you say with a huff of a laugh from experience and it warms him. "You don't have to worry about me holding it against you." you let him know and you see his eyes soften. "Your heart's always been in the right place. And that means more than what you did. In my opinion. If you say the guy had it coming then, as far as I'm concerned, he did." you say with a lighter tone.

"You're really just gonna go and be more understanding than I deserve on top of everything else huh?" he smiles sheepishly, rubbing his arm and sitting back.

"LIke I said... I get it." you say with another subtle but soft smile. But he can see it in your eyes, you did get it, you had something similar that rested behind yours as he did his. Perhaps not the same sort of pain but, there was pain there. And that would've explained a whole hell of a lot about you.

"You do get it don't you? I mean...you've been through some stuff haven't you Bells?" he asks quietly, reaching out and putting his hand over yours and the kind gesture makes you want to jerk back because the look in his eyes was so understanding and lacking any judgment.

You tuck your hair behind your ear and nod slowly. "Yeah. I come with baggage too, Declan." you admit. "But I'd rather not talk about it... as hypocritical as that makes me at this moment." you raise your brows and sigh.

"No! No, of course not." he shakes his head and starts to rise, taking your hand and tugging at you.

"What?" you ask with almost scared eyes as your guard was left down.

"We need a hug, c'mere." he tugs at you.

"Are you fuckin' serious?" you let out a chuckle.

"Sure as fuck am, get in here." he says patting his chest. He sees your eyes moves around the bar bashfully. "No one's here to see, Mike won't tell anyone." he offers with a smile.

"Fine." you say, letting him pull you up and into his arms. He was right. You did need a hug. You make full contact as he puts some squeeze into it. You rest your cheek on his chest, put your arms around his waist and he rubs your back for a moment.

"I"m not here to push you Bella. I'm just here. Okay? You know about me now, you've seen me. And as much as you try to hide it, I see there's much of the same thing in your eyes as mine. So I'm... I'm just... I'm here if you need me, alright?" he squeezes you tighter for a moment and you couldn't remember the last time you'd had an embrace with someone like this. Besides family, besides Charlotte, never. "I know you hate this sappy shit but its real so... deal with it." he chuckles to lighten to mood, seeing you smile against his chest.

"I do. But... thanks." you say quietly, slightly muffled from your cheek being pushed against him. You could hear his heart, feel his breathing as he felt your take a big inhale and slow exhale, knowing he'd gotten his point across.

"Thank you for being so fuckin' cool about it. Didn't want to scare you off." he admits, speaking down at you.

"I"m not the runnin' kind." you shake your head, still embraced and you don't want to run from it. It felt too good. "Declan?" you ask, shutting your eyes and his heart thumps as he sees you sigh out again.

"Yeah?" he asks, a super soft smile on his face, big hands still rubbing your back.

"You give really good hugs." you laugh and then burying your face in his chest as you bounce with his laughter.

"I do! Thank you for noticing! I'm great at it. Fuckin'... king of hugs over here." he laughs into your hair.

"Don't get cocky." you say through the laughter, but in all fairness, he had every right to be.

@vale0413 @littledeadgirlwalking @jaegeeeeer

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swipestream · 6 years

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The Gift My Character Gave Me: Knowing Myself

Roleplaying can create empathy for others and provide the opportunity for self discovery.

Today’s post is a very personal one addressing self exploration through role playing. This is about a positive life change discovered through roleplay that I’d like to share.

One of the golden rules of great game groups is to encourage each person to bring their personality and unique ideas to the game. As a dominant player (who basically thought my ideas were the best) this was a hard lesson to learn but infinitely valuable to enhancing my enjoyment of games. Additionally, when I bring more of myself to my role I am more fulfilled by the experience. Through play, each person gets to highlight what is important to them and their character. In many ways, role playing can be a window to the soul.

Sometimes the things explored through roleplay and the lessons learned have ramifications that reach far out into a person’s life. Roleplaying, and my character Harrison in particular, helped me reach a literally life changing revelation.

Recognizing the Gift.

There are numerous skills I have refined through roleplay: speaking up, long term planning, problem solving, thinking outside the box. All of those are great, but that’s not why I’m writing this post. It’s self-discovery time.

At the beginning of 2018 I played in a Tales from the Loop game as Harrison, a 14 year old trouble maker, who I played only a half dozen times. He was a boy becoming a man who was struggling to find his place in the world. I wrote more than 100 pages of fiction and backstory about him. That amount of devotion to a character had never happened before and I realized I had to understand what was going on. Why did I *need* Harrison so much? Harrison was the tipping point in a major self-revelation that literally changed my life.

In role playing games I play as a fictionalized version of myself, sometimes my idealized best self, sometimes leaning deeply into my flaws and touching on the mixture of hope and tragedy that is the human condition. My characters have been tall, short, caucasian, people of color, human, daemon hosts, fat, thin, straight, gay, bisexual, happy, lonely, rich, starving, religious, agnostic, and many other things. But my favorite characters have shared one trait since I started playing at 6 years old, they’ve been male.

What I’m here to say is: it wasn’t just my characters who were always male. It was me. Hi, I’m Wen and I am a transgender man.

Why Tell the Gnome Stew Audience?

Role playing has been the place I have been my fullest self for the last three decades. I can walk up to any game table, introduce my character and have them accepted for who they are without question. I was accepted as *who I was* without question. That is powerful beyond my ability to express. It vented steam I didn’t know was otherwise building up in my head. Roleplaying kept me safe and gave me the outlet I needed until I was ready to face myself.

For a long time I’ve said that the highest function of role playing is the ability to create empathy through game play. What I missed was that role playing can foster deep self-exploration, the ability to not just understand or empathize with others, but to know yourself. As such, role playing as a hobby and my characters, including Harrison, have always been extremely important to me. In some ways my characters were more “me” than I was allowing myself to be.

Many players don’t need roleplaying in the way I have. Not every role player will have a revelation like mine. However some of us do. I think this it is important to highlight because it is one of the reasons that a player’s agency in their character can be so extremely important. When you play, keep in mind that you never know how close a person’s character may be to their sense of self. Removing agency in the character may feel violating to the player in ways you don’t understand. Regardless of the circumstances, to keep your players trust, don’t compromise anyone’s agency in their character without their enthusiastic prior consent.

What Can We Do Next?

For readers wondering if there is anything you can do to make life better and easier for transgender people like me, the answer is an emphatic: Yes! I’m writing this section of the article with our cisgender audience in mind, but everyone is invited to read on. These are my personal opinions and learnings but I think they are a good starting place for being an informed friend and ally.

I’m still me. While your perception may have shifted, at my core I am still the same person, and that is true of all transgender people. If you were acquaintances or friends before, there is no reason that should change. As a gamer, if your friend brought a character of a different gender to the table, I imagine you’d say okay and move on with the game. Follow that same model in real life. There isn’t any reason people should act differently (read: uncomfortably) around one another. Focus on what you have in common, just like always, and you’ll be fine.

Honest communication and education demystifies being transgender. If you don’t know what I mean when I say “transgender” or “trans” read this (for a quick refresher on terms look here). Start by doing some reading and branch out from there. Ask questions in good faith and clearly express the desire to listen, learn, and understand individual people’s perspective.

Transitioning 101. There are several kinds of transition, not every transgender person transitions in every way. A transgender person’s identity is valid regardless of a person’s ability or desire to do any of these steps. Safety comes first and each kind of transition has its own risks and costs. Internalize this fact, accept it, and please don’t judge one another about it.

Social transition can involve several possible steps like coming out to friends, family, and coworkers; using a different name, pronouns, or titles; and updating gender expression through clothing, hairstyle, make up, etc.

Legal transition can include a name change and/or updating gender markers on legal paperwork like identification cards and passports. Rules typically require some form of “proof” which may take an extended period of time to obtain.

Medical transition can include hormone therapy, voice therapy, hair removal treatments, and surgeries. Rules require varying degrees of “proof” before medically transitioning, which may take months or years to obtain. If you aren’t in a relationship with someone where you already discuss deeply personal medical matters or each other’s genitals it isn’t appropriate to ask about medical transition. If someone wants to talk to you about it let them bring it up. That’s just common courtesy.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, She/Her/Hers, They/Them/Theirs, Name Only. Together we can normalize offering and asking for each other’s pronouns. If cisgender (non-transgender) people normalize this practice people who are trans (or non-binary or genderfluid) won’t effectively have to “out” ourselves every time we meet someone new.

Start by offering your own pronouns and then asking other people’s pronouns when you meet. Opening that door for people to walk through who may not identify exactly as they appear on the surface is one of the best gifts you can give.

Offering your pronouns in online spaces like on your social media pages, dating profiles, or email signatures, also normalizes the practice and makes written communication easier. If you can take 5 minutes to do that now, that would be awesome! (Ex. He/Him/His, She/Her/Hers, They/Them/Theirs)

When asking for someone’s pronouns you can leave out the word “preferred” as in “What are your preferred pronouns?” It’s extraneous. To me saying “preferred” implies that you are humoring me instead of simply respecting me. That’s not everyone’s take, but if someone wants to let you know that their pronouns are preferred, their response can simply be “My preferred pronouns are…”

Respect a person’s name and pronouns. If a person uses a new name, use that and don’t refer to them by their birth name (often called a “dead name”). When someone calls me “ma’am” I respond with “It’s sir, thank you.” Typically people take that in stride and carry on, you can do the same. If you slip up, correct yourself and move on. If you make a big deal about apologizing it is going to make everyone uncomfortable. If you are trying to get it right no harm, no foul, I forgive you, the end.

Help others to get it right. Be clear and be consistent, but don’t make a scene. I’m okay with folks correcting other people on my behalf, that takes some of the weight off my shoulders and spreads it around. It helps me to maintain my dignity and self-respect. Ask your friends if it is alright if you do this for them too and respect their decision.

Some people do not use pronouns. In that case specifically use their name or other descriptors, honoured guest, my friend, the author.

They/Them/Theirs can feel awkward in the singular form. The Associated Press Stylebook adopted it in 2017, we are living in the future, so this is your opportunity to be a strong ally and accept change. If needed, you can read more about it here.

Be a Visible Ally and Back it Up with Your Actions. Your words matter. Your actions matter. Your votes matter. Visibility matters (that’s why I wrote this post). It is important to nurture and embrace diversity in all spaces, including gaming spaces. Wear your rainbow colored shirts, pronoun pins, and Ally ribbons at conventions and game stores. I can’t tell you how happy I was that I could always pick at least one person in the crowd wherever I was at Gen Con 2018 with a rainbow shirt on. Listen and act in good faith. If you made it this far, you’ve already taken the first step, cheers! If someone tells you their experience and you aren’t transgender, listen, believe, and value their experience. Finally, human rights need to be inclusive of people of all genders and sexual identities. However those rights are called into question and potentially being eroded even as you read this. This is the time to unite, stand up for each other, and keep each other safe by working together as allies and friends.

Final Thoughts.

I’m fortunate to have the opportunity to share my experience, and I appreciate your thoughtful consideration of this article. I cherish games and game players. I believe role playing as our common bond is a powerful force to unite people, I’ve always found my best friends through the hobby. I’ll always love and adore my characters, but now that I am myself all the time my characters have less of a burden on their imaginary shoulders. Roleplaying did its job shielding me for a long time, but it is a relief to be myself full time now.

It’s good to know you as myself beyond the game table. Wen

******* Special thanks to: Deanna, Chelsea, Ang, Senda, Rob, John, and Camdon for their advance feedback; to my game group Quincy, Derek, Jake, Senda, Camdon, and Brett; and to the creators of Tales from the Loop for unexpectedly laying the groundwork for my exploration.

The Gift My Character Gave Me: Knowing Myself published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames

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kayawagner · 6 years

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The Gift My Character Gave Me: Knowing Myself

Roleplaying can create empathy for others and provide the opportunity for self discovery.

Today’s post is a very personal one addressing self exploration through role playing. This is about a positive life change discovered through roleplay that I’d like to share.

Recognizing the Gift.

What I’m here to say is: it wasn’t just my characters who were always male. It was me. Hi, I’m Wen and I am a transgender man.

Why Tell the Gnome Stew Audience?

What Can We Do Next?

Some people do not use pronouns. In that case specifically use their name or other descriptors, honoured guest, my friend, the author.

Final Thoughts.

It’s good to know you as myself beyond the game table. Wen

The Gift My Character Gave Me: Knowing Myself published first on https://supergalaxyrom.tumblr.com

0 notes

kayawagner · 6 years

Text

The Gift My Character Gave Me: Knowing Myself

Roleplaying can create empathy for others and provide the opportunity for self discovery.

Today’s post is a very personal one addressing self exploration through role playing. This is about a positive life change discovered through roleplay that I’d like to share.

Recognizing the Gift.

What I’m here to say is: it wasn’t just my characters who were always male. It was me. Hi, I’m Wen and I am a transgender man.

Why Tell the Gnome Stew Audience?

What Can We Do Next?

Some people do not use pronouns. In that case specifically use their name or other descriptors, honoured guest, my friend, the author.

Final Thoughts.

It’s good to know you as myself beyond the game table. Wen

The Gift My Character Gave Me: Knowing Myself published first on https://supergalaxyrom.tumblr.com

0 notes