i feel like Zhongli would be Mr. Funeral Consultant ngl on the one hand he's great with strategy and war but on the other hand he thinks doesn't understand the concept of why tax evasion is good in monopoly and purposely lands on luxury tax 99% of the time (his dice luck is that good.)
this being said, in terms of liyue millennial, he might win because it pretty much simulates what it's like to rule over liyue right? then again he doesn't. rule it. he just. exists. so maybe not.
(zhongli accidentally forgets to keep an eye on the fishing/seafood industry and suddenly the economy tanks. luckily for him he's put so much emphasis on foreign diplomatic relations that he can set up trade routes for this very quickly but this has the adverse effect of putting a large chunk of liyue out of a job. to give them jobs he tries to pull off an infrastructure project that will in theory give a bunch of people jobs as they rebuild and repave etc etc but the economy is still recovering and infrastructure, while it will give many people a (semi-temporary) job, is not helping the economy that much because the seafood industry had vast reaches. (cough cough food. many port villages and restaurants can barely make a profit because of the demand for seafood. people who traded fish for supplies are suffering. fish prices are skyrocketing.) foreign country sees this and upps their prices. liyue is in shambles. he is running out of options.)
in theory the monarchy just. fails once the timer runs out but! also if the pawns reach the other side identity theft happens. viva la revolution except a la robin hood steal from the rich give to the poor the poor are rich now repeat cycle
enemies to friends to lovers arc though. yes.
the leader of the pawn revolution makes it to the other side and becomes a queen. the other queen has no choice but to accept this and unite via marriage to prevent any more uprisings. her most trusted knight, who has always admired the queen from afar, is unexplainably jealous. court life drama commences. revolution part 2 pops up because of course it does, revolution is messy, seldom is anyone actually satisfied, court life drama but on the run commences
also c r y i n g you write jean so softly it's just aAA hdfdfdf *holds softly* she is my precious overworked country leader
healing processes are just... so nice. it's so fun to read about people healing and recovering and honestly this is why i love encanto so much too!! it's just. hh imagine healing from generational trauma. at least i can imagine, yknow?
your ficlet though omg it's precious. beloved. jean tries to be everything for everyone but even a god could never achieve that. archon jean tries even harder because she doesn't just feel that mondstat is her responsibility. it is her responsibility. but she doesn't realize that archons were human once too, and are limited as such- a god that does not understand the people can not help the people. and archon jean tries so hard to be everything for everyone as their archon that she neglects herself even more- before, she had to take breaks every so often. if you do not take care of yourself your body will do it for you and what good is jean in an exhaustion-induced coma? she pushed her limits but at least she still had them. as an archon? she doesn't have limits anymore and the irony of being the god of freedom with no freedom of her own never really kicks in.
jean is just... beloved
and YES i will ALWAYS be here to provide compliments on your writing. it is beloved and i love it. always have and always will
pen pals <33 i've never had one and this really is the closest i've got to one too,,, our conversations are beloved
-🍵!
hear me out: zhongli logic is the perfect blend of stupid and clever.
he's using his knowledge to create the greatest disaster possible for him to retire and ningguang to take over so part of it is just bad luck and the other half is him?? not understanding the game at all and attempting to have this scale model of liyue mimic the actual liyue where he's retired and it's okay. the logic here is that current liyue is thriving while he has no mora, hence the plan is that if he has no mora here liyue will do fine- unfortunately this also means losing the game, but what can you do?
zhongli: good at econs. bad at games. very Not hip with the youth. (at the side, hutao has hijacked the rex lapis figurine, no longer in use, and is poking it around the board while advertising coffins. "citizens of liyue! wangsheng gave such good funerary rites!! preorder now, second coffin half off!")
bUT you know who would probably absolutely do the whole funky chess thing????
beidou. ningguang is... so tired.
cinematic parallels and whatnot(drew a thing by accident) but also that subplot is so pretty and so clever i love it!!! your mind!!!! obsessed
archon jean,,, ehheheheheh thank you ;v;
(i have a 10% done storyboard based entirely off anemo angst jshdjsk)
that's all i have for now! have a good day penpal <3
Just something I thought I'd do for fun while enjoying my break and writing silly things for fun. These are my own headcannons about FICTIONAL CHARACTERS please don't come at me with hate over fictional cartoon cookies of all things.
Warnings for some injuries(claiming bites), yandere behaviors, obsessive behaviors, etc.
COURTING PROCESS:
-When choosing a mate it's going to be different for every dragon. Some dragons prefer a mate that can equal to them in strength, some prefer a stronger mate to take care of them, some prefer a weaker mate to take care of and protect. Some don't care at all about strength and instead go for other traits such as personality comparability, looks, the wealth they have, how good of a provider they can be, or how good of a parent they can be for future young. Sometimes it's a whole mix of these things. But again it depends on the dragon and varies from dragon to dragon.
-However one thing stays the same with every dragon. All dragons are VERY picky when it comes to even considering someone a potential mate candidate. The courting process also varies from different types of dragons but most of the initial patterns are the same. When first catching a dragon's eye usually the dragon first goes through a 'platonic trial process'. By that I mean they spend time both observing and spending time with said potential mate in a strictly platonic way to see how they like them in general before considering anything romantic. This platonic process usually lasts anywhere between 1-3 years because as stated before, dragons are very picky about who they allow around their nests/thrones and potentially raising young with and want to be sure about taking things to the next level before committing to it.
-During this process, dragons are usually kinda more friendly offering platonic gifts that wouldn't mean anything in the long run in case they decide not to pursue them further. Such as the same gifts a platonic best friend would give you. Maybe buying you lunch one time or offering to help you with an errand such as picking up groceries for you on occasion or helping you weed the garden, those sorta things. They want to gauge how their potential darling reacts to their true personalities and how they are before making a choice. If they decide not to pursue or the Darling doesn't show interest, they usually leave to look elsewhere without another word. Cookies do not know a lot about the courting process of a dragon, so a dragon who they consider to be a good friend usually is a dragon in the early courting process making a lot of misunderstandings happen for dragons who decide to court a cookie for whatever reason. After all if they can like each other in a strictly platonic way, then surely you can love each other in a romantic way! That is their thinking process.
-During this platonic state usually they don't let you into their homes, meet any family they have, or really show any form of affection or actions that can be seen as romantic interest. They see things such as letting you see their throne/nest, meeting their families/clans, and letting you into their territories as things only reserved for mates/ones they're courting in a romantic way so if a dragon travels from their home alot to random places they wouldn't be usually, that's a big reason why. Usually they prefer to meet in neutral locations such as towns, forests, etc during the platonic trial part of the journey.
-If the dragon decides that yes, they indeed like you and believe the other also has shown similar interest, they will initiate the courting process by offering a 'First Courting Gift' this makes or breaks the next step of their process. They will offer something considered highly valuable to that particular dragon. It's not always something physical either and again this gift varies from dragon to dragon. Maybe a dragon who has an aversion to touch offers you out of the blue to hug them, or maybe someone like Lotus Dragon Cookies gifts you a petal from the flower on their head, maybe someone like Pitaya Dragon Cookie offers to actually let you have a turn of swinging their sword, etc. Again the First Courting Gift depends from dragon to dragon. Although the most commonly thing offered is usually a piece of their treasure hoard or a scale. If the object of their romantic desire accepts, that means they have given the dragon giving the gift permission to start romantically pursuing them. If you reject the offer or seem displeased by it, then they take that as a rejection and to seek courtship elsewhere. Again cookies aren't too knowledgeable about dragon courting rituals, so what seems like a harmless gift from a good friend is really giving them permission to start 'dating' you in their language.
-The romantic courting process is usually shorter than the platonic part of the courting process. Around 1 1/2 to 2 years at the longest but they still want to court them for a while as said, they are very picky and want to be sure they are the one/gives the other a chance to call it off if they do not feel compatible. So enough time to make sure both parties are feeling right while also giving the courtee time to call it off. Again most cookies in the past who were courted by dragons did absolutely not know about this and thus had no idea the dragon though they were dating. From the cookies' perspective, they just had a really good friend which makes it a lot more dangerous if the cookie was already in a relationship or liked someone else.
COURTSHIP BEHAVIORS:
-During this part of the process dragons want to prove themselves as good partners to their mate. So a lot of new behaviors happen during this time:
Proving they can provide for them: Prepare for bags of fruit and veggies or dead prey to be dropped off constantly at your house, this happens at least once a week. They'll go out of their way to look for the sweetest fruits, the tastiest veggies, hunt the fattiest and/or biggest prey- Sometimes they'll instead buy highly fancy meals instead. EX: Longan Dragon Cookie or Lotus Dragon Cookie are more likely to tell their personal chef to make you the most elaborate/expensive meals or to buy the nicest looking foods from bakeries/restaurants they know you like. Providing nesting materials or protection also falls under this catagory. They take your tastes into account so don't be surprised if Pitaya suddenly shows up with a cup of coffee they know you like they stole from an innocent cookie they threatened at sword point. They will also show off wealth with elaborate gifts. Want a dress you saw one day in the window at the local clothing store but didn't have enough money? Boom! It's mailed to your house the next day. Comment on liking a friend's bracelet? TADA!! A better diamond studded one is handed right over to you! Complain about how expensive it is to hire a plumber to fix the annoying drip in your bathroom sink? A plumber arrives on your doorstep not a day later paid so well that he fixes all your pipes while he's there.
Nesting behavior: They'll start offering to help cleaning up around your 'nest' house more, and bring more 'nesting materials' for it too. You'll answer a knock at the door and a dragon will be standing there with a bag of new furniture or lots of pillows and blankets for your bed. This also includes rearranging your house to their taste, painstakingly cleaning it from floor to ceiling even if you've already deep cleaned everything, throwing out something that irks them being there- Nesting instincts are VERY strong during this time so if you want them to not throw out your grandma's antique desk or try to scrub the bathtub for the millionth time, you have to tell them. This preening behavior of their environment also goes both ways. They'll want both your 'nest' to be perfect to their standards, and their own territory/home as well. So many, many, MANY days are solely dedicated to painfully go through their territories cleaning it up, making it free from intruders, and looking it's best before even considering bringing you to look at your soon-to-be home. They want to make sure you'll like your new home once you fully accept them.
Being a good partner : Showing that they have the means to be a good loyal partner(cheating is a BIG no no in dragon society), they can provide and be a good mate for any future offspring, can protect them, etc. These behaviors include showing feats of strength to prove not only can they hunt potential prey but also protect their mate and their future offspring. Sometimes they will talk another dragon into sparing with them to show off their strength (such as Pitaya talking Hollyberry into sparing with them to impress the lady cookie by showing how strong they were). More protective instincts also happens during this time. If you have any enemies or anyone causing you problems, prepare for them to either be beaten nearly to crumbling into flour to intimidation to flat out killing them. Sometimes they'll see others as threats when they really aren't. Encounter one Karen you have on the job in a passing comment? They're missing that night. Casually mention the time you and your siblings were mean to each other as dumb little kids? Expect next time for the dragon to hiss and have a talk with your family about treating you better. Mentioned how annoyed you are with the neighbor constantly letting his cake hound poop on your lawn? The cake hound is digesting in their stomach as the owner frantically looks for their missing pet. They won't even mention they did it because they assume the courting cookie already know about the process. Dragons are surprisingly good listeners and remember little things you say so be careful.
If you have a boyfriend/girlfriend/fiance already or someone you have a crush on, they'll see it as a challenge and try to one up their rival suitor. After all it wasn't uncommon back in the olden age of dragons for a dragon to have more than one suitor, so this is considered a normal part of the courting process to them. Prepare for the other boyfriend/fiance/girlfriend to be bombarded by glares, hisses, the dragons puffing up their chests and baring fangs to make themselves look bigger. Other times they'll be challenged to a duel over who gets to court you. Most of the time though, they'll be one up-ing said lover. Oh? They got you flowers? Lotus Dragon has Hydrangea Cookie gather the most beautiful flowers in Lotus Paradise and sends them to you in a much BIGGER bouquet. They took you out on a fun trip? Lychee Dragon drags you to the best shows and carnivals on earth bread FOR FREE courtesy of (threatening-) bribing the carnival owners. Oh! He brought you your favorite food? Ananas Dragon prepares the most beautiful looking, tastiest tropical island fruit Pineapple Island has to offer.
And of course being a good partner also means being a good member of the family as well. Dragons are big into family bonds and promises, as headcannoned by how Pitaya is so dedicated to keeping his word, how Ananas tried to protect his Islanders by sending them away before Longan could come back around to his isle and turn them to stone, and how much Longan placed value on seeing more of their kind. If you have any relatives be prepared for them to also receive gifts on their doorstep and a helping hand(even if reluctantly) from the dragon and for the dragon to insist on you meeting any family of theirs however you don't get to meet their family until much later into the romantic courting process. They usually meet your family first before you meet theirs, they want to leave a good impression on your family and vise versa as it's an important topic for them, especially if they're considering starting a family with you after this/allowing you near their family at all. So expect Pitaya to insist on having play dates with Snapdragon out of nowhere one day or Longan suddenly bluntly introducing you to their offspring Dragon Eye Cookie or for Ananas to finally allow you to meet the members of the Mango Tribe after so long. They will be paying VERY close attention to how you interact with their family/who they consider family. If you're of course polite and try to get along with them, they'll see that as a good sign you're the one. Or in cases like Pitaya and Longan, a good mother candidate for their child.
Looking physically/bodily pleasant : This applies both outwardly looks wise and in general health overall. Like their territories, dragons will want to look appealing for their love during this process so a lot of preening goes into making themselves look their best. Lots more baths, more time polishing their scales/removing loose scales, polishing their armor in Pitaya's case, brushing their hair out if they usually don't care about that, etc. Basically just looking as clean and pleasing to the eye as possible. After all a good looking mate usually means a mate in good health and a much better likely one to be accepted. This also is when a lot of physical feats/tricks/showing off their body come into play. Mating dances, sparring, showing off strength in ways such as lifting up heavy objects, flexing their muscles, bringing them prey/enemies bodies also applies here, serenading, etc. Showing off their powers is also a part of this showing how good they have honed their bodies to handle it- Ex: Lychee Dragon will show how they can shape shift.
THE FINAL STAGES:
-When the dragon feels enough sufficient process has been made/enough time has passed, they will offer one final gift. This IS a proposal. This IS also very dangerous for the other if they have no idea what's going on because once they say yes or accept thinking it's just another friendly present, there is absolutely NO going back!! Dragon mate for life. Or until one of them dies, even then they rarely ever take a mate after. The gift is something precious to them. Usually it's a scale from their body or in some cases something else personal such as Pitaya or Lotus will kneel before you and offer their beloved sword or mandalin waiting for your reaction. This gift is given silently as they believe actions speak louder than words, and to them this is a test FOR THEM. Not you. If you accept then that means THEY earned YOUR trust. YOUR acceptance. YOUR love. This is your LAST CHANCE to reject them and not have your life ruined. If you asks them what's going on they'll remain silent seeing it as a part of the test leaving you standing there. If you awkwardly or confusedly accept the gift, then your fate is sealed. This is literally their proposal and vows! You accepting the gift is to them the equivalent of saying "I do" at the alter.
-That's when the 'mating bond' will be set in. The last thing to do is to finally claim you, and by that I mean is that they'll bite down hard enough on your shoulder to not only drawl blood but also to scar permanently. If you kick, scream, cry, and try to hit them Prepare for the dragon to be shocked by the sudden rejection from their mate. They're confused and angry by the rejection, especially if you go running to your actual lover. Prepared for them to come after you, to bring you back to their home. In their mind you're THEIR mate now. Anyone else now is an enemy and don't be surprised if your other lover is full on killed by them. The mating bond will be strong, being drawn to you and being able to seemingly track you everywhere. Dragons are naturally yanderes once they're mated whether that be to another dragon or a cookie. There's no such thing as divorce and the only way out is if one of you passes away. If you fake your death, they will still feel you're alive through the mating bond. There's no going back once that bite is placed. There's no escape. So it's best to reject any dragon that comes across your way.
MINOR BONUS TIDBITS:
-On the light hearted side- Some lighter mating habits includes:
-Play fighting and sparring with their mates, so if the dragons suddenly start trying to pick a fight, it's not malicious but they like to sometimes spare with their mate as a form of bonding, playing, or helping to train them to protect themselves. So you fighting back after they take you might not register as you actually trying to get away at first.
-Play chase. So if you try to run away, they might see it as you playing or playing hard to get.
-Preening. Taking baths together and spending time 'preening' you, aka brushing your hair or 'sharpening your claws'(filing your nails) is also a type of bonding experience between mates often pulling loose scales from each other. Sometimes you'll have to remind them you'd prefer baths instead of them licking you.
-Physical touch. Standing close to you, touching you in someway even if it's just their tail touching your leg, cuddling, preening also falls under this, carrying you, etc. The quickest way to get them purring would be offering to massage them. They'll be in your lap purring like a cat in no time.
-Praise! Praise! Praise! ALL dragons want praise. Especially ones with big egos like Ananas or Pitaya. The want to be praised and to know they're being a good mate.
Jack/Samira/Robby/Reader anon here, and I just finished reading your Christmas fic, and man, I don't know if it's intentional or not, but I am loving the dynamic that is being built every fic. I know you said it doesn't really have plot, but I personally feel like there is plot being built with every post.
One specific comment stuck out to me, about the bed. Would you be open to writing a drabble of them accidently breaking the old bet, having to go shopping and choose a king sized bed for the cabin, building it, and then breaking it? (mostly just the last part...)
(i love when im like okay cool quick lil 600-700 word drabble and then i strt writing and then it wends up being 1500 words)
bestie you are always in my inbox with the best thoughts omfg. the only reason i didn't write this sooner was cause i was sharing a room with my parents for the past week but i've been thinking
tw - smut under the cut
When it happens no one is really surprised. The bed wasn't unstable, but it definitely rocked with each motion, and not even the dirty ones. Even when Robby was single, the old wooden slates would creak each time he moved his body in the bed. Now, it really was struggling to hold the weight of four grown adults who do heinous things to each other that involve the headboard slamming into the wall. Robby's actually surprised that they haven't left a hole in the drywall yet.
Replacing both of the beds in the cabin had been on the list of things to do, but you'd been more preoccupied with turning Robby's sad bachelor pad into a homey place for the two of you meaning that it just kept getting pushed and pushed. Until...
Your old men were both coming off a week straight of work, while you and Samira were in the middle of a few days off. This resulted in the two of you electing to pamper them for a day or two before you had to go back. You'd driven, practically throwing Jack out of the drivers spot because of his chivalrous nature.
"You know, Jack, at a certain point, not letting me drive is just misogynistic."
Jack snorts, "It's not that I don't trust you. I like to be drving when I'm in the car. I don't even like Robby in the front seat."
Robby, however, had no such qualms, stretching his long legs out on the centre console while Samira rests her head in his lap. He's not paying attention to your conversation, readers on as he swipes through whatever book he downloaded onto your e-reader as his hand lightly scratches at Samira's scalp whose eyes are already closing.
"Go be passenger princess, doll," you emphasize the nickname he uses for you, "Go nap, daddy will get us to the cabin in no time."
Eventually Jack relents, walking around the car to the seat next to you. You start the engine once you hear his seatbelt click, looking back in the rearview mirror.
"How long till those two pass out?" you ask as you start to back out.
"No chance they're awake by the time we hit the freeway."
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Some time later, you and Samira decide to reward your old men for working so hard.
You've got Jack under you as your leaning forward, using the headboard for leverage as you spear yourself on his cock. His stubble scratches at your chest as his face is buried in your tits.
Samira is in the exact same position - sorta. The plan was to ride the ER cowboys like god intended, which you were doing grunting as Jack's fingers dug into your hips to guide you along his shaft. Except Samira hates being on top. You'd told her she didn't have to, but she'd insisted.
Now, she was whining on top of Robby, hands braced on his shoulders as she tries to bottom out.
"Fuck, Robby, I think-I think, you're too big like this," her voice is strained.
It's not the first time Robby's heard that, "Yeah, princess? Gimme a second."
Robby is always careful during vaginal sex, it's too easy for him to really end up hurting his partners. He reaches down to get a fist between their bodies, creating a barrier for Samira that prevents her from going all the way down. His cock pulses at the touch, spurred on by the sound of your moans just a few feet away.
"There, sweetheart, try that."
Samira tries again, digging her knees into the bed as she rises up with no problem, but crying out when she slides down again. She whines, still uncomfortable but she gives a few more valiant bounces that make Robby's head fall back against the pillow. Meanwhile, he know's you've had your first orgasm by the way your shouts reach a crescendo.
"Everything good over there?" Jack asks as you're catching your breath, peppering kisses over his jaw.
"Think Mira's giving up," you giggle.
"Not giving up," she groans, "Just - he's too big."
Robby leans up, kissing her pouty lips.
"Mira, it's okay. You're our princess. You wouldn't be able to do it even if it were Jack."
She looks at you, offended, "Yes I could."
Both Jack and Robby laugh at that.
"Yes I could!"
"Wanna switch?" you ask.
You watch as she bites her lip, clearly not wanting to let you all get away with making fun of her but also trying to find a way out of this.
And so you end up crawling onto Robby's lap with a smile as you grab either side of his head.
"Hi, baby," you say as you lean down to kiss him, reaching down to line his cock up with you entrance, "Miss me?"
"Always, kid," Robby responds, groaning into your mouth as you sink down.
You waste no time, grinding down on him as you grind on him. You know each others bodies well by now, hips rolling against each other in rhythm as you work yourself closer to the edge.
Meanwhile, Samira is still struggling, looking at Jack with pleading eyes but still to proud to tell Jack he was right.
Jack sighs, "C'mon, Mohan you're killing me here."
But he's nothing if not a gentleman so in one fell swoop he flips Samira over, not giving her any time to recover.
The slam of the Samira's back against the mattress in combonation with yours and Robby's aggressive thrusts is the bedframe's final straw.
You can't hear the creak over all the noises between the four of you, but your stomach drops as the bed gives way underneath you, clinging to Robby.
"Shit, you say, as you catch your breath, "You okay, Michael?"
You try to move slowly, trying to untangle yourself from him.
"I'm good, sweetheart. You okay?"
You nod, "No, I mean, like, is your penis okay? I was literally sitting on it. It's not... broken is it?"
He shakes his head, "No, no I think I'm fine."
"What about you, Jack?" you turn around, looking at the silver haired man, "Any broken weiners over there?"
"No," he grunts, "I'm good over here."
"Well," Samira says, lifting herself up on her elbows, "Looks like we get to go bed shopping
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"That one's nice," Robby says, pointing to one of the frames on the website.
"No Robby, that one's tacky," you respond, swiping away to look at the other options, "I'll give you a list of which ones will look good and then you get final pick."
There are fewer premade bedframe options for Alaskan kings. Jack offered to make it from scratch, but since there was currently no bedframe at the cabin, you needed something a bit quicker. Until the frame came in there would be no cabin orgies, since the double bed in the guest room barely fit two people on it anyways.
"You can stop pretending you care about my opinion," Robby says, kissing your cheek.
"I care! It's your house, you get final say."
"Our house, sweetheart," he corrects, handing you his card, "Besides whatever you pick is going to be better than my taste anyways."
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Of course, when the bed does arrive it means that it must be broken in. It's huge, more with than enough space for the four of you to spread out. So what better way to celebrate the new addition than four you all to spend a weekend wrapped up in the sheets?
"Jesus fucking Christ, you're trying to kill me Rob," Jack pants as Robby's hovered over him, slowly sliding his thick cock into the smaller man inch by inch, taking his time.
"You're such a baby, Jack," you laugh as you reach down and run a soothing hand along his lower belly, pushing down every so slightly. The added pressure makes Jack's back arch off the bed.
"Easy for you to say, your bodies are made for this shit," his face is turning red with exertion.
You and Samira share a look.
"We've both done it before Jack," Samira says, running her fingers through his curls, "In front of you."
"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," Robby mutters, face completely flushed.
You kiss his cheek, feeling the warmth under your lips, "Don't be embarrased of your monster cock, Mikey. We all love it. Don't we Jackie?"
Jack doesn't answer, just moans as Robby slides deeper and deeper inside him.
You reach down, gripping the top of his dick, spreading around the precum with your thumb. Finally, Robby's hips are flush with Jack's. You reach up with your other hand, scratching your fingers through his beard, making a shiver run down his spine.
"Mira," Samira eyes snap away from where she's been entranced watching where your boyfriends are joined, "Wanna go sit on Jack's face? Give him something to focus on?"
She nodes, scrambling up the large bed. She's only wearing one of Robby's shirt's, Jacks face disappearing underneath it as she kneels on top of him.
"Now, Jackie," you say as you slide your hand down his shaft, using his precum as lube you. He bucks his hips into your hand, "If you cum before Mira does then there will be consequences."
Here is how I imagine John Price to be if we strip away the cod canons, keep his personality in the later reboots and take into account real world rankings in the military:
John Price as a real man:
- If we keep Price in his last 30s to early 40s like in MW2 reboot, he'd actually be a Major, not a Captain.
- In the cod universe, Price is constantly on some battlefield, traveling nonstop from one place to another as he does multiple missions at once. In the real world, Price, as a Major, would be deployed maybe once every other year for shorter times, maybr 4 to 6 month maximum. SAS officers do shorter deployments but they're more intense, hence they need to come back faster to recharge.
- And since he would work as a Major, he would be less hands-on combat and more just leading people. The majority of his work would be paperwork, training, and planning.
- SAS is located in Hereford, near Wales. Price being around 40-42 would have a stable career by this point, so he'd likely buy a house there. Nothing too flashy. Majors make about 70k great british pounds and a home in Hereford costs around 250k-350k, so this man could afford one.
- His monthly paycheck is about 4600£ after taxes. If we include his home loan, the average living costs in Hereford and the fact that this man definitely owns a car (like he needs it around this area), his average monthly costs would be 3000-3500£ a month. He'd still have some money saved up, but nowhere near as much as Ghost or König who rent instead.
- He also gets extra bonuses for deployments, called hazard pay. The payment depends a lot on the risk of the mission, so the riskier the higher the bonus. He definitely saved a good chunk of this money. He is ENTJ (meaning long-term thinker), so he wouldn't be using these bonuses for anything but emergencies.
- There is no real info where Price was born. But if we strip away the cod fiction, and take into account his personality, he strikes me as a North Britisher. So somewhere around Manchester, Liverpool or Leeds. He is a very traditional type of man so he likely had a normal upbringing, grew up with football and a working class family.
- I think Price would enjoy the peacefulness Hereford gives, as it is a small town and perfect for privacy for a special forcer guy like him. But because he likely grew up around more lively atmosphere, he'd end up missing that bantering and lively lifestyle from home. So if he ever gets some sorta weekend where he can visit, which are really rare as he is a very busy man, he would definitely prefer visiting home and getting a taste back of that atmosphere.
- Also same as Ghost, I think Price would thrive at work. Hereford is a quiet and peaceful town to live in, while at work he would be surrounded by more fire, noise and bluntness. So this helps him have a nice balanced life.
- Even though he is an Entj, i think price is very leadership extroverted but secretly enjoys time alone at home. He doesn't need high energy, he is a man that can appreciate stillness. I wouldn't be surprised if his hobbies were cooking, gardening, reading or just doing cross puzzles.
- Price is probably the most grounded cod character (in the mw2 reboots). He is emotionally intelligent and really well attuned to his duty without feeling like it's a deadweight. So regardless how heavy a mission he plans for is, he would he a type of man who is almost too mentally stable LMAO.
This is what I could get for Price. Let me know if you want to seem more and what you want to see!
──── STAY THE NIGHT...PLEASE ?
↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !
✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka the one where he knows he will never, ever get enough
── sim jaeyun x f!reader ౨ৎ wc. 984 ⌗ so much fluff, skinship, cuddles cuddles cuddles
↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!
↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── wow jakeyn are taking big kid steps,,,they're having sleepovers :') & you best know poor jake is losing his goddamn mind over it. this one genuinely…made me so so so so SAD . bc theyre so goddamn cute oh my god. idk why i do this to myself at this point
“Jakeee, stop messing with the volume.”
You nudge his hand, the same one that’s been mindlessly clicking on the volume buttons on your remote for the past ten minutes.
Jake’s not even watching the movie anymore. He can’t. His brain is spiraling—just pressing the volume up, then down, then up again, as if that will somehow stop the absolute meltdown happening inside his head.
All because you just asked him to stay the night.
And for the past ten minutes, he’s been trying very, very hard to be normal about this. To be cool, calm, collected. To be chill.
But the truth is—he’s very much not cool, calm, collected. He is, in fact, deeply unchill.
Because you—the crush-of-his-life, almost-kinda-sorta girlfriend, glowing-in-this-dumb-living-room-TV-light person he’s obsessed with—just casually looked up at him, all soft and sleepy, and said:
“It’s late. You should just stay the night.”
Like it was nothing.
Like it wouldn’t completely wreck him.
“I—uh—” Jake stops clicking the remote. He straightens up a little, his arm slipping from around your shoulder so he can turn to fully look at you. And his eyes are wide, like a deer in headlights, “Are you…are you sure?”
You blink. “About what?”
“I mean—” He rubs the back of his neck. “About me staying the night. Are you, like, 100% sure? Because I can totally just call a car, it’s really not a big deal, I wouldn’t want to overstep, or like—”
“Jake—”
“—like, I mean, obviously I want to stay over—but it’s completely up to you, whatever you’re comfortable with, no worries at all—”
“Sim Jaeyun.”
“—I can literally be out of here in two seconds, just say the word, I swear—”
You roll your eyes before cutting him off the only way you know how.
You lean in and—
You kiss him.
His breath catches as your lips press against his—soft, warm, and completely, completely sure.
And Jake—well, Jake glitches.
Brain: gone.
Thoughts: none.
Air: optional.
Remote: still clenched in his hand like a lifeline.
You tilt your head slightly, deepening the kiss, and squeeze his free hand with your own.
And all he can do is just sit there, his eyes immediately fluttering closed as he instinctively kisses you back, his mind trying to push away the fact that you—his most favorite person in the whole world, the literal sun in his sky—just kissed him to shut him up.
He should be embarrassed. Should be.
When you finally pull away, brushing a strand of his messy hair out of his face, your eyes are twinkling. “Yes, Jake. I’m 100% sure.”
Jake.exe has stopped working.
“I—uh—” His voice cracks. He clears his throat. Tries again. “Yeah. Okay. Cool.”
You fight back the smirk forming on your face, completely amused.
“So…you’ll stay?”
Jake nods rapidly, eyes wide.
“Yes. Yep. Totally. 100% staying.”
You grin, pressing one more quick kiss to his lips before standing up. “Good. Lemme find you something to sleep in.”
Jake barely processes your words before you’re gone, leaving him sitting there, remote still clenched in his sweaty palm, heart pounding.
He’s doomed.
So, so, doomed.
Jake wakes up to the smell of vanilla.
Which is confusing because—his room hasn’t smelled this nice since…well—ever.
His eyes blink open, slow and sluggish, and it takes a second for his brain to turn on.
Soft morning light spills through the curtains, warm and golden, and for a moment, he genuinely considers the possibility that he died in this sleep and went to heaven.
Because the first thing he sees—
You.
Oh.
Oh.
He’s not in his bed.
He’s in yours.
It takes him a full business minute to register that last night was, in fact, not a panic-induced dream. That he, indeed, fell asleep with you last night, curled under your sheets, legs tangled with yours, with your steady breathing lulling him into the best sleep of his life.
He remembers now—how the movie had finished and neither of you moved. How you both curled into each other on the couch, laughing at dumb jokes and whispering about everything and nothing at the same time. How he ended up brushing your hair behind your ear just to see your sleepy smile a little better.
How you kissed him with a soft grin and mumbled, “C’mon, Jakey. Let’s go to bed.”
And now here you are—leg fully draped across him, arms sleepily looped around his waist, your head tucked perfectly into the crook of his neck.
You smell like vanilla. And dreams coming true and fresh laundry.
Jake thinks he might be in love.
He also thinks that his arm is completely numb under your head—like, completely dead, pins-and-needles, might-need-amputation level of numb.
Does he move?
Absolutely not.
Instead, he tightens his hold on you, tucking you even closer to him—because the weight of you in his arms feels better than anything he’s ever known.
The shift makes you stir. Your brows scrunch the tiniest bit, your head nudging against his chest before you blink one eye open, tilting your face up to look at him.
“Go back to sleep,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep and entirely too endearing for Jake to handle, “...too early.”
Jake exhales a soft laugh, his fingers instinctively brushing the hair out of your face, “Sorry, pretty.”
You hum in response, already slipping back into sleep the second you bury your face back into the crook of his neck, clearly not planning to move for the next seven years.
Jake watches you for a long moment. The soft rise and fall of your shoulders. The way your hand is still curled against his side like it’s always belonged there.
He presses a gentle kiss into your hair, letting himself melt entirely into your warmth.
You're back in Los Angeles, which somehow feels worse than Atlanta did after what went down.
Because Atlanta was loud. Chaotic, too busy, and fast-moving to really sit down in silence and understand what happened, what this could mean for you. Los Angeles is an almost entirely different vibe, painfully quiet in a way that lets everything sink in and ache properly when you're alone in your apartment without someone in your ear talking or someone pushing you to the floor and causing you to walk on a rolled ankle and wince every single time you so much as blink.
Technically, you shouldn't be driving. You shouldn't have taken the boot off, as the doctor in Atlanta recommended you not to, same as your personal one you saw when you landed last night. Their voices keep playing on a loop in your head—significant inversion injury, likely a grade two ankle sprain with severe ligament involvement, possible bone bruising, rest, immobilization, don't be stupid and try to walk on it or you'll make it worse—but the boot felt too flashy, too honest. And honesty is not something you can afford right now, not with where you're headed against doctors' orders and definitely not with the unbelievable lies you'll have to spill when you arrive.
So you compromise in the worst way possible.
Boot off, thrown in the backseat. High-top Jordans laced tight enough to pretend they're doing something but loose enough not to hurt. A skin-tone bandaid is placed carefully over the stitches suturing the cut above your eyebrow, blended enough that it doesn't scream "I got punched square in the face" unless someone is really looking for it. Sunglasses on, even though it's overcast—on the one day you get hurt and you're seeing Dani... wow, thanks Los Angeles—even though it's stupid. You tell yourself she won't notice, glasses or not. You've told yourself a lot of things while preparing yourself for this.
The limp, however, is going to be harder to lie about. So you practice excuses at a red light—landed weird off a layup. Post-game weekend soreness. Travel stiffness and uncomfort from the plane, the elevation, whatever.
All of them feel thin, too easy to pick apart and tell that they're blatant lies. Dani has always been good at seeing through you, dangerously good at it, and that's the part that makes your stomach twist and contract the most— definitely not the fact that you won't be able to let her cup your face and kiss you with her warm hands everywhere around your face and her lips on yours, allowing you to forget everything.
You pull up to her place mid-afternoon, a paper bag warm against your palm where you've been gripping it too tight to still be smooth. Chocolate chip cookies from that one specific bakery she likes. The ones she pretends not to care about but always eats two of them immediately—something you learned in the time between the Las Vegas game and the Atlanta game when you two had time to yourselves and weren't squished between ex-girlfriend scandals and examinations of facial expressions—it's a peace offering, a distraction. Something to keep her hands busy so they're not reaching for your face, tilting your head, asking questions you don't want to answer... even if you'll want to give in the moment you see her.
Why? Oh... maybe because you sorta, kinda, possibly, maybe, definitely blew her off Friday night. Not intentionally, but intent doesn't really matter when the end result is the same. She deserved better than a vague text and radio silence after. She always does.
You hesitate before knocking—just for a second. Just long enough to feel the evident throb in your ankle, the skin above your brow pulled taut from the stitches, the weight of everything that'll be on the tip of your tongue but you won't be able to spill. Not the truth, at least. But it seems like you've been much more of a smooth talker when lies are the things rolling off your tongue. You're not sure when you started lying so frequently, especially to the people you care deeply about, the people who confide in you and trust you for things they shouldn't, not when you've stooped down to a level you used to hate people for.
Then you force yourself to knock, that special little knock you and her agreed on using whenever showing up to each other's places. Even if she hasn't been to yours yet, you still enjoy the little code.
A second later, the door opens and Dani lights up immediately, like she hasn't spent the last two days being screamed and rumored about on Twitter, like Friday didn't happen the way it did.
"Look who's alive," she says, grinning, already leaning forward to hug you.
You brace yourself without thinking, shifting your weight wrong even though it felt right before when you didn't have a rolled ankle and the pain tolerance of a newborn baby, pain flashing hot and sharp from your ankle all the way up your leg. You're hardly able to mask the grimace that crosses your face.
She doesn't notice, thankfully. Or she does and simply chooses not to say anything about it yet. Either way, her arms are wrapped around you, warm and familiar and comforting in a way you're going to both need and miss the most in the few months that she's gone, and the guilt hits harder than Avree ever could.
"I brought a... truce offering," you say quickly, lifting the bag between you for something keep to keep her eyes as far away from your face as possible.
You hate it.
Her eyes drop to it instantly. A smile rises on her lips.
"Oh my God. You didn't," she gasps quietly.
"I did," you say, smiling and regretting it the moment the skin above your brow shifts with your expression. "This is my apology... in cookie form," you murmur, looking down at her bashfully. Or maybe it's just guilt. A moment later, you add a soft, "My tactic worked on Emma so I don't doubt it'll work on you—plus, they're your favorite. I remembered that while brainstorming ideas."
Dani laughs, stepping aside to finally let you in, already reaching out for the bag. "As you should. I was about to say... you kind of disappeared on me."
"Yeah," you say lightly, too lightly. "I'm uh, a little stupid and tragic—but I guess you could say I went a little... M.I.A?"
"Okay, that's where you stop."
You chuckle at her words, watching as she fishes a cookie out of the bag, smile still full and evident on her face, and you feel your shoulders relax just a little. Mission accomplished, you guess. Her attention is split now, cookie crumbs instead of your eyebrow. Sugar and sweet-tasting dough instead of the bittersweet lies awaiting to be spilled from your mouth. You're about to lie to her, seriously, and you hate yourself for it.
Inside, everything feels and smells exactly like her and Manon—clean, warm, faintly sweet in a way they've both always been to you. You sit carefully on the couch, positioning yourself so your bad side is angled away from her, and you mentally thank whoever installed the lights when the house was built because the dim light is enough to help your case even more. Still, you hate that you're thinking about it this much, hate that this is the version of yourself she's getting today. Guarded. Strategic. A liar and, if you're being honest, a huge red flag today.
She settles herself next to you, legs tucked beneath her, eyes bright and pretty. "Okay. So... Friday."
A smile rises on your face. "I'm listening... go on."
"Thank you," she says immediately, leaning in closer. Reluctantly, you pull away. "My moment."
You snort despite yourself. "Your extravagant little moment that made headlines."
"Be serious," she says, nudging you with her knee. "I was just... really excited for you, so I sorta accidentally made a scene. Sue me for being happy for my girl making a buzzer beater."
Her girl.
You love that more than words can express.
"And I'm forever grateful for that," you hum, nodding. "Next time though, maybe don't almost fling yourself over the railing and into the crowd."
"I was excited!" She protests.
You raise your eyebrows, and she laughs again—head tipping back, and for a second, one short second, you sit there and just... admire her. She's happy right now. Buzzing. Proud, still riding off the high of you winning in her hometown and introducing her to the people you hold so close to your heart. Oh, and Avree... but she doesn't exactly want to be reminded of that girl in a moment she's trying to enjoy with you and you only.
Which means you can't ruin this for her.
"You were crazy too," she says suddenly, "Seriously. I don't know how you heard any of what was being said over the speakers with how loud the crowd was—I couldn't even hear Manon and Sophia talking to each other and I was in between them!"
"I didn't," you reply, shrugging. "I was just going with the flow... and when you have a coach as scary as Coach Curt, you basically gain superhuman hearing within the first three days of being around the guy."
"So he was the reason you dropped twenty?"
"Yeah," you confirm.
She hums, tilting her head to get a better look at you. "And yet all the internet can talk about is your face," she teases, though it lacks the usual playful tone she always pokes fun at you with. It's bothering her too, you realize.
All you can do is huff a laugh—forced, because you're more than aggravated that important sports outlets and your friends' fans are talking less and less about your points per game and more about you and your inability to keep your face in check and emotions beneath the surface. You hate being in the public eye sometimes. "Gosh, don't remind me. I already have Jenna breathing down my neck, I don't need people who don't know me doing that too and providing me with more stress than I need."
"It was funny at parts," she insists softly. "I saw the interview. You looked like you wanted to jump out of your own body and hide."
"I did," you add, "I just hate that people don't realize how terrible her actions were. They just brush it off and praise her like some princess."
She studies you for a minute, just a little too closely. Because she's listening, soaking in every ounce of information you offer her to take. Your heart stutters anyway, both at the fear of her seeing your wound and simply because she's so close to you that you want to reach out and kiss her. You're really starting to regret even stepping foot outside on Friday, you should've left it alone and done the mature thing—walk away and mind your own business. But it's not like you to let your friends be picked on by someone younger and of a lower status than them, let alone be picked on by Avree's stupid ass. She doesn't even know what she's saying or doing half the time.
"You okay?" Dani asks, casual, but her eyes flick—to the angle of your head, the way you haven't fully relaxed into the couch yet even though it's normal for you to get settled in less than five minutes of being around her presence. She's skeptical now, a little confused, a little worried. That's the last thing you want ever, especially right now when you're at the lowest, weakest point in your life you could be at. Fuck Avree and fuck her season.
You force a smile. "Yeah," you murmur. "Just tired. Traveling always wrecks me."
Dani doesn't push, just hums in understanding. Well, she doesn't push yet. Instead, she bumps your shoulder and nods in your direction, lips dangerously close to your lips, and eyes looking far prettier than you remember. Maybe it's the pain talking, but you really, really want to smother this girl with kisses—or maybe that's just the normal, logical part of your brain. Whatever it is, her softness and leniency has you folding like a lawn chair. "For what it's worth, I liked having you there. Even with the chaos."
Her heart warms. "Yeah?" she asks, adding on, "Even if we're both under an even brighter spotlight now?"
"Yeah," you hum, hand drifting away from your lap and sneaking onto hers. You grab her hand, sinking your fingers between hers. "It feels... right."
You swallow. This might be the last time you see her in person for a little bit. Schedules, injuries, distance, and time stacking up the way they always do during times you find yourself enjoying. You hate that this moment is filled with half-truths and nothing more. You hate that you're choosing peace over honesty. For her safety. For your safety. Well... that's another thing you've been telling yourself to make everything feel better. Maybe you are an asshole. Maybe you're only doing this for your happiness and simply leading her blindly.
But you hate the idea of her worrying more.
So you joke, you laugh, you stay surface-level and talk about things you've both heard about before. About your shot, the crowd, the way you nearly tripped over one of your teammates' water bottle and played it off terribly. You keep your leg still even if it aches. You keep your head tilted just enough that the light overhead hides the bandage from her view. And Dani smiles through all of it, unaware—or pretending to be, which you hope is really far from the truth.
You switch the topic before she can linger on you any longer than is necessary. "Okay," you say, leaning back into the couch, forcing your tone casual, curious. "Talk to me. Like, really talk to me about something other than me and my basketball things. I wanna hear from you, what's happening for you. What does promo look like for this album, I guess is what I was building up to ask," you say finally, scratching the back of your neck.
It works. Immediately.
Her face brightens, soft concern shifting into excitement, hand leaving yours as she turns to face you fully. "Okay, but it's sorta insane. Uhm—okay, so this week is mostly press in L.A. Radio shows, a couple filmed interviews, one live session. Then we fly to New York for a few days, then London for... three, maybe? I don't remember—"
"Three?" you interrupt, mock-offended. "Insane."
She giggles. "You're the one who asked!"
"I know, I know," you say, waving a hand lazily. "Keep going, I'm being supportive. Silently crying."
"Clearly," she scoffs, smiling, then continues. Magazine shoots, late-night appearances, meet-and-greets, a surprise pop-up performance somewhere in Paris in the far future that she's not technically allowed to talk about yet but tells you anyway. You ask questions, real ones—how long are the flights, do they give her and the girls enough time to rest and rejuvenate themselves, is she nervous about anything interview or performance in specific. Instinctively, you whine when she mentions the change in time zones, complaining about how you're going to have to learn how to function properly on her schedule. "We'll just call all the time, like you said before," she says easily. "It's not like we don't already do that every single day."
Your chest tightens anyway. "Yeah. Obviously." You continue to nod along, throw in jokes, playful little comments, but your body is slowly but surely betraying you. Your ankle is screaming now, a deep, pulsing ache that flies up your leg every time you shift even half an inch. Without the boot, without the proper elevation, it feels unstable—like it could get worse if you stand wrong, like the muscles and ligaments are reminding you they're damaged and not impressed with your choices at all.
In an effort to ease the pain, you press your heel into the ground firmly. It doesn't help, not one bit. And the doctor's voice comes back again—keep it immobilized, elevate it, pain is a warning and clear information that you're doing something to put strain on the muscles. Yet, you ignore everything. You've been ignoring it ever since you realized doing the right thing would only cause more hurt and stress in Dani's life.
But the guilt is getting worse. Heavier. Sitting deep and dense in your chest as Dani talks, animated, trusting, completely unaware that you're actively making things worse so she doesn't have to worry. You tell yourself it's worth it. You tell yourself that this is what love looks like sometimes—choosing your partners peace over your crushing honesty. She's mid-sentence, talking about tour rehearsals, when her voice trails off.
The feeling washes over you before your eyes can catch up with anything. The shift in energy. The sudden silence.
Her eyes flick up.
To your eyebrow.
Your heart drops straight to your stomach.
"Hey," she says softly, squinting and moving her head.
Fuck.
You don't have time to move away before her hands are on your face, gentle but firm, thumbs brushing your cheeks as she tilts your head to where the light is brighter. The bandage is doing nothing now, the bruising around your eye has deepened overnight, purples and blues blooming where it's impossible to hide them. "What happened?" She asks, concern immediate, written all over her face. "Y/N, you're hurt." She frowns.
It makes your mind race. A thousand truths you can't say pile up all once—the parking lot, Avree, the punch, the blood, your ankle twisting underneath your body weight like it wanted to snap. Billie's hands, Paetynn's calm voice in a moment that brought too much panic for you to handle, the doctors, the boot—that you're supposed to be wearing—sitting in the back of your car uselessly. Before it can all spill out, you choose a lie in the little time your brain has to process her words. A clean one, you think. Believable, close enough to the truth that it doesn't get caught in the back of your throat when it comes out.
"Just practice," you say quietly, flashing a small smile that you both know means more. "Yesterday morning—" wow, another lie. You didn't have practice yesterday, you're just saving your ass. "—I went up for a rebound, got clipped coming down. Avree's elbow caught me right here," you lift a finger, gesturing vaguely to your brow.
Her eyes search yours, scanning, weighing for any ounce of deception or unfaithfulness. Your heart pounds so hard you're sure she can feel it under the skin beneath her warm palms.
"It looks bad," she says, voice low. Saddened.
"Not too bad," you shrug lightly. "It bled a lot. Looks way worse than it is, so I had the team doctor check it out before she sent me out."
"Are you sure?" She presses.
You nod, meeting her eyes, steady. "Promise. I'd tell you if it was something serious." But it is serious, because it's not just a little cut on your eyebrow—it's your rolled ankle and the fact that you might be making it worse and worse, jeopardizing the rest of your career—and you're still lying right to her face like everything's fine. Like your entire life isn't at stake, like all you've worked for might go to waste in the blink of an eye.
And that's the part that hurts the most.
She exhales slowly, shoulders dropping, and finally lets go of your face. "Okay," she says, gaze still set on the bandaid. "Okay... I just—I don't like not knowing about stuff like that, when you're hurt, I mean."
"I know," you murmur. "I'm sorry."
Dani leans into you, resting her head against your chest, and your eyes flutter shut. Then you shift your foot, just barely, and a fresh spike of pain shoots up your leg, white-hot and sharp. You bite down on the inside of your cheek and say nothing, instead pulling her closer—you deserve this part, you think. You just hope it doesn't cost you more than you're already losing.
Her weight against you is familiar, light, grounding in a way that makes your chest ache in both guilt and comfort. This is what you wanted—to be here, to feel normal, to let the world quiet down around you for just a second. And yet your body feels like it's betraying you with every passing minute, reminding you that temporary peace built on lies is everything but strong and stable. It's the opposite, fragile and shaky as hell. You stare at the wall across from you, unfocused, letting her breathe against your chest while your thoughts spiral. The smell of her place wraps around you again, and it makes the guilt worse. You shouldn't be here like this, you know that. Not injured. Not hiding. Not pretending that everything is fine when it very clearly isn't.
Your ankle throbs in time with your heartbeat now, deep and insistent and begging for your immediate attention. It's not the sharp pain from earlier—this time it's heavier, more dangerous, a warning sign. The kind screaming at you that damage is slowly settling in, the swelling is building, that you're pushing something that's already torn and strained past what your body can handle, not what you believe you can handle. You know the terminology, remember both doctors explaining it in careful detail, the way you nodded along because you always do. A severe grade two inversion sprain. Ligament damage, likely the... anterior talofibular ligament? You can't remember clearly, but it's unstable and angry and in desperate need of rest.
Instead, it's planted on the living floor of Dani and Manon's house, bearing weight it has no business carrying without your boot.
Then your mind flashes ahead, to Monday. Walking into practice, Coach Curt's eyes missing nothing, to how fast he'll gauge your boot and the limp that you try to suppress but ultimately fail. You think about the look he'll give you when you explain, the disappointment layered beneath concern, the frustration that you hadn't come to him way sooner. Most importantly, you think about how quickly "a few games" can turn into more when injuries are mistreated and mishandled, how one immature decision can begin a domino effect—every part of your body getting wrecked even more, leading to a season-defining mistake.
Still—you don't regret coming here.
And that... that's the part that scares you the most.
Because if Dani knew the full truth, if she saw the swelling, the boot you threw in the back of your car, the way your ankle tightens every time you shift, the stitches beneath your bandage, she'd be worried sick. She'd soften, quiet, carry it with her like some burden. And she already has enough to handle with her group. An album release, press, flights, expectations stacked so high they could crush anyone less steady than her.
So you tell yourself you're protecting her.
But there's a nagging voice, one you don't like listening to, whispering that you're also doing this to protect yourself—from her disappointment, her fear, the possibility that she'd look at you differently if she knew how bad it really is. And, truth be told, maybe Avree's words did get to you, in the smallest, most minimal way. She's right, partly, and as much as you hate to say it, there hasn't been many popstar-rookie-basketball-player tropes in the media. Not for the WNBA, at least. So yes, it worries you a little more now that you're injured and appear to come off as weak and something you're not: lazy.
Your skin itches beneath the bandaid. The stitches pulling tight feel swollen, tender to the touch. You know it's bruising darker by the hour, blooming into purples and blues and colors you hate seeing on yourself when they come from you choosing to do something stupid. Tomorrow, it'll be worse, harder to explain. Harder to hide. And that's just another small thing you've pushed aside and saved for the near future.
Her head shifts slightly on your shoulder, and your body reacts before the smart part of your brain can catch up and tell you not to—muscle memory, instinct, the way you always adjust to make way for her comfort. Oh... sounds a lot like your current situation, just easier to follow through with and not feel guilty about. The movement sends another shock of pain through your ankle, and this time you can't stop the wince.
Painfully, you swallow it down.
You've played through pain before. Matter of fact, you've played through worse. Taped ankles, aching knees, sore ribs, a breakup that damn near altered your brain chemistry and your ability to focus properly. Pain is familiar territory. Lying to someone you care about this much isn't.
It makes your chest feel tight just thinking about it, full in the worst way, like you're holding your breath underwater and held down beneath the surface. You wonder just how long you can keep this up—how many days you can pretend, how many times you can twist and turn the truth before it eventually catches up to you. You wonder if love is supposed to feel like this sometimes, heavy with choices, complicated with schedules, full of things you can't say out loud but wish you could. If only the circumstances you're under were different.
But for now, you stay still.
You let her lean into you further.
And you carry the guilt quietly, the way you carry everything else—hoping it doesn't end before you're ready to let it go.
I think a lot of people are too scared of messing up when writing a plural character to even try including a system in their story, and that's okay! It's totally okay to feel intimidated when representing experiences you have no frame of reference for.
But systems are so rarely included in stories, and I for one would really love to see more people like me in the stories I love. So, if you think you're up to it...
Here's a guide to how to write plural characters and include them in your story!
(long post warning.)
Here's the simple answer for how to write a plural character!
Step 1: Make a character, like how you would make any other character. Give them their own thoughts, feelings, and personality.
Step 2: Make another character the same way.
Step 3: Repeat a few more times if you're feeling fancy.
Step 4: Make all of those characters share a body.
Aaand you're done! Congratulations, you've made a system! It's really as simple as that if you want it to be, as at its core, plurality is just more than one selves sharing one body!
But that's not really the most nuanced way of doing it, is it? That's how you can create a generically plural character, but what if you want to get fancier, resonate with specific plural experiences?
Well... Let's forget the simple answer for now, then!
First, you want to decide what type of system you want your character to be.
I'd say there are four primary spectrums to consider here, all of which can be decided independently of each other!
Spectrum #1: disordered to nondisordered.
A disordered system typically refers to a system that meets the criteria for a specific diagnosis with a CDD (complex dissociative disorder), such as DID (dissociative identity disorder) or OSDD (other specified dissociative disorder). The symptoms and diagnosis requirements for these can be easily accessed online from sources such as the DSM-V.
A nondisordered system refers to a system that is, well, not that! This does not mean that plurality is never a struggle for them, nor does being a disordered system mean that plurality is inherently a negative experience.
If you want to write a system with dissociative amnesia between headmates, you'll likely want to write a disordered system! If you do intend to label your character with a specific medical diagnosis, please take extra care when doing research, as DID and OSDD are both highly stigmatized and frequently misunderstood diagnoses.
Also, avoid the term "multiple personality disorder"! That is no longer a medical diagnosis, it hasn't been called that since the release of the DSM-IV, and use of this term is largely considered ableist.
And lastly, maybe they don't use this framework at all! Not all plurals choose to identify as strictly disordered or nondisordered. If your OC doesn't, why not?
Spectrum #2: system origins.
Now it's time to answer why your system is a system to begin with!
Did childhood trauma cause it? Did they become plural intentionally? Perhaps it just sorta happened, or they were born as a system! Maybe it has something to do with their religious beliefs, even!
Broadly, system origins can be split into four categories: adaptive, spontaneous, created, and spiritual. A system can also be multiple of these!
Adaptive: adaptive systems are systems which became plural in response to some kind of stressor in their life, such as extreme childhood trauma or prolonged stress. Most disordered systems are adaptive! Ask yourself how their trauma may affect the relationships between their headmates. Does it cause hostility, or are they even closer because of it? A mix of both, perhaps?
Spontaneous: spontaneous systems are systems with no especially clear cause. Sometimes plurality just happens! Some folks are systems from birth! Some might not know why they're plural at all! Maybe your system OC has a unique or silly explanation for their plurality.
Created: created systems are systems which became plural intentionally through various mental exercises. It can be a long and complicated process for some, and come quite naturally for others! I recommend actually researching methods of system creation if you want to make a character who is a created system, to get a feel for what the process may have been like for them! Also, why did your OC choose to become plural to begin with?
Spiritual: spiritual systems are systems whose plurality is tied to spiritual or religious beliefs! This is quite broad. If you want to base this around a specific real world religion, be mindful to do your research! If not, what might their specific beliefs about their system be? Do they see their headmates as having come from somewhere else, like another world? Please remember to treat all spiritual and religious beliefs with respect, even more unorthodox ones.
Mixed origins: as I said, none of the above terms are mutually exclusive! Maybe your OC's system was created intentionally for spiritual reasons! Maybe your OC's system formed spontaneously but has since been influenced heavily by trauma! Don't be afraid to mix it up!
Unlabeled origins: many systems choose not to label their origins at all! It's not something all systems care about, for one, and some systems also actively dislike the idea of putting themselves in a specific box. Some systems also just don't know their origins.
Spectrum #3: singlet to plural.
Okay, well, this one's weird, isn't it? Either you're plural or you're not, right?
Well, actually, no!
Some systems are what are called median systems, essentially in-between plural and singlet. Median systems may see their headmates more as differing facets of themselves than entirely separate people!
Median systems may identify with both plural and singlet experiences.
Separation between different headmates in a system can vary wildly from plural to plural!
Spectrum #4: headcount
Finally, how big is your plural OC's system?
There's no wrong answer here! Smaller systems may be easier to write, but if you want to write a large system, you don't necessarily need to precisely define details on every single headmate. Maybe they have more common fronters, so you can focus development on those!
Systems can be any size, from as small as two to as big as, well, infinity! Yes, you read that right, some systems actually claim to have infinite or uncountable headmates! The sky's the limit.
Please do note that duo systems, systems of two headmates, seem to be the most common in media, but are actually rather rare among systems in real life. If you make a duo system character, I recommend also making one other plural character with a higher headcount to reflect this! Obviously there are plenty of duo systems in real life, though, they're just not especially common.
I'd say a good number is about five to ten headmates. It should be manageable from a writing perspective, but it's also closer to the actual average headcount I've observed among plural peers (15-20). If you're up to the challenge, though, I absolutely recommend creating a larger system! Systems with a hundred or more headmates are actually quite common! Obviously this could be a huge writing challenge if you actually want information on every single headmate, but you don't need to be that detailed, and you can make new headmates for your OC as it comes up in the story.
Things to consider
Here are some more miscellaneous things to consider when making a plural OC!
Do they have any introjects?
Introjects are headmates that are in some way based on an external source. For example, a system might get an introject of their sibling, or a favorite fictional character! Not all systems have them, but they are very common.
Do they have introjects of real people in their life, and does that cause tension? Maybe their system has been heavily influenced by a special interest, so they have many introjects from a piece of media that's important to them!
What is their internal communication like?
Some systems can talk to each other freely in their head, while others can't communicate internally at all! And everything in between.
If they have difficulty with internal communication, what external tools might they use to talk to one another? Maybe they keep a journal, or leave each other sticky notes! Maybe they don't talk at all!
What are the relationships between headmates like?
Do they get along? Do they hate each other? Does it vary between headmates? (That last one is the best answer!)
Are any of them friends? Family? Enemies? Dating? Exes? And yes, headmates can be all of these things!
Maybe they have so little communication that they're practically strangers to one another, but one headmate has a lot of spite towards whoever keeps eating their leftover cake!
How do they feel about roles?
Many systems use a framework of roles for their headmates, as many headmates split for specific purposes! The most common fronter may call themself the host, for example! The one who takes care of the others may be the caretaker, the one who protects the others from harm may be the protector, and so on.
Some systems find role language like this helpful, others don't! What about your OC?
What ways do their headmates vary?
...And what ways might they be similar?
Do they have different genders, orientations, fashion senses, music taste, mannerisms, interests, accents, fears, hopes, or dreams? Do these differences cause tension, or do they all accept each other?
Are some of their headmates different ages? The most common terms for a child headmate are little or syskid!
Are some of them different species? If so, do they consider themselves otherkin or a therian, or do they see it as something else?
Maybe they're similar in some ways too! Maybe all of the headmates are the same gender, or the system trends towards a specific area of the gender spectrum!
Do they have a headspace?
...And if so, what's it like?
A headpsace, or innerworld, is an internally imagined space. Basically, exactly what it sounds like, and singlets can have them too! But they're more common among systems.
It can serve as a place for headmates to speak with one another, a place where headmates go when they're not fronting, and just generally a world for headmates to occupy.
Not all systems have one! Does your OC?
If so, how big is it? Is it a room? A building? A town? An island? A world? Does it even have an edge?
How detailed is it? Is it an empty void, a fully fleshed out world, or somewhere in-between?
Did they create one intentionally, or has it just sorta always been there?
What terminology do they use?
Many systems have varying idiolects when talking about their systems!
What do they call their headmates, for example? Just headmates? Alters? Members? Sysmates? Facets? Parts? Brain friends? Or something unique to them, like stars or puppies or fuckers or anything else! Does it vary between headmates?
(Note that "alters" is generally more common among disordered systems! Also, parts language is considered offensive to many systems, but many also actually prefer those terms for themselves. Always ask!)
Do they call themself a system? A collective? A plurality? Something unique, like a flock or a constellation?
How complex is their system's structure?
This can relate to headcount, the larger the system the more generally complex it is, but there's more to it than just that!
For example, maybe your OC's system also has subsystems! Those are exactly what they sound like, a system inside a system, a headmate with headmates.
Maybe their system has different layers or sidesystems! Essentially two entirely or mostly separate systems within the same brain. Sidesystems may have worse communication with headmates from other sidesystems, or they may not be able to communicate at all!
Do they have any fragments, "partially formed" headmates?
Do they know they're a system?
Maybe they don't! Maybe they found out recently! Maybe they've known for years! Maybe they've always known!
If they don't, are they going to find out during the story? What might that look like for them? What do they think is going on, if they don't know it's plurality?
Do they use external tools?
Do they keep a journal? Do they leave notes for each other?
Maybe they wear pins or bracelets to show who's fronting! Maybe they use an app to track their system and their fronting!
Plurality and magic
If you're writing a story with magic, how might magic and plurality intersect?
Maybe different headmates can use different types of magic! Maybe their magic looks different depending on the fronter!
I would caution against having your only plural character be plural from magical origins, such as possession, though. Those can very much be akin to plurality in media, and there's no reason not to explore that! However it is fundamentally disconnected from the experiences of real systems, so if you are specifically setting out to make a plural character, I'd recommend against explaining their plurality with magic. This doesn't apply if you're willing to include multiple systems in your story, like one magical in nature and one not!
Closing thoughts
Writing a plural character is much like writing any other character.
Do your research, be prepared to receive constructive criticism, but don't be afraid to try! This may all seem like a LOT to consider, but you don't have to include every single thing I mentioned here, this is all just something to get you started and give you a basic idea of what's out there!
The bottom line is, write your plural character like a person. Plurality is not a gimmick, and it's not an entire character in and of itself. It's a trait a character can have! Yes, it's quite a unique trait, and comes with a lot of implications for the character, but it's still just part of the character.
Include your plural OC in the story how you would any other. Let them be a character, with their own story, with friends, with enemies, with strengths and weaknesses.
Writing a plural character really is just a lot like writing multiple characters, at the end of the day! If your character views their headmates as entirely separate people, write them as such!
