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desert-dyke · 3 years

Text

Pollen

Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: Fallout New Vegas Relationships:

Craig Boone/Arcade Gannon

Craig Boone & Female Courier

Characters:

Arcade Gannon

Craig Boone

Female Courier

Additional Tags:

Sex Pollen

Anal Sex

Frotting

Blow Jobs

an assortment of fun sexual favors

Strangers to Lovers

bottom boone

Smut

lil fluff at the end

Arcade and Boone are sent to survey Vault 22 only to discover some plant life there has some interesting side effects...

Arcade’s eyes wandered across various equipment in the lab. Not as nice as what he had to work with while with the Followers, but a lot better than other factions could brag. Sloan was talking to one of the scientists. He sort of zoned out by now. She was far from the brightest crayon in the pack and sometimes it was better not to hear her “brilliant” takes. He could tell a deal was being made. An exchange of caps promised. Yeah that always caught Sloan’s attention. “How do you feel about going to Vault 22?” Sloan asked, giving him that smile that suggested she wasn’t really asking. Arcade blinked. He promised to follow her and give her support, but he did not like where this was going. He could have sworn he heard something about someone disappearing, and research needing to be reacquired. It was the former part that unsettled him. “It’s got plants! You like that sort of thing,” Sloan appealed.

“Why can’t you go?” Arcade asked. Sloan’s sunburnt shoulders rose and fell again.

“I’ve got other business here.”

Arcade rolled his eyes. He had noticed the way her eyes seemingly glazed over when Corporal Betsy was talking to her. It was so characteristic of Sloan to ditch him to flirt with whatever pretty lady they encountered. He remembered losing her for nearly two days in Westside, only to find her holed up in the Thorn. Apparently her and Red Lucy got pretty close during that time.

“I’m not going alone,” he asserted. He could protect himself just fine, but if already someone had disappeared, Arcade did not want to add himself to the body count.

“Take Boone with you,” Sloan suggested. He couldn’t believe his initial reaction then but he actually preferred Sloan to Boone. It wasn’t that he was unfriendly towards the rest of Sloan’s friends. She definitely had interesting tastes when it came to making friends. Cass was a bit rough and rowdy. Raul was a sarcastic pushover. Lily was sweet and doting on Sloan, but he was certain she could and would snap him in half. But Boone? He was just quiet. In all honesty, Arcade didn’t know what to think of Boone. Not knowing his deal made Arcade cautious of him.

“Why Boone?” He questioned. Sloan shrugged again, but she was a terrible bluff. He could tell by the twitching corners of her mouth. She had her reasons, but she wasn’t going to tell him them.

“I’m tired of him moping around the 38,” she made the excuse. “Take him out. Show him a good time.” Her arm wrapped around Arcade’s shoulder. She was much shorter and had to pull him down to her height in order to do so. Arcade didn’t fight against it. “There’s a nuka cola quantum in it for you…”

“I could buy myself my own,” Arcade said. He rolled his eyes and shrugged his way out of Sloan’s hold. It hurt to bend like that. “Fine.”

Getting Boone to talk was like pulling teeth. On one hand, there was some peace to that. Boone was just about the only one at the Lucky 38 who didn’t try to probe Arcade for some history. He had the inkling that Boone genuinely did not care, whereas every one else only further inspired them to pry.

The silence began to wear on him after an hour of walking in it. Boone’s sun-shaded eyes darted along the desert expanding before them, on the lookout for any sign of trouble. He accepted that silence in this case meant stealth and cover from any wasteland creature who might do them harm. Yet the sound of wind whistling across an empty desert kept making Arcade look over his shoulder, thinking he heard the sound of voices.

Boone raised a clenched fist, his arm forming a right angle. Arcade crawled to a stop, unholstering his pistol. Boone had his rifle trained on an enemy hidden from Arcade’s view. He tried to squint his eyes, shading them from the scorching sun, but all he saw were dancing waves of heat.

Arcade jumped as Boone’s rifle fired. A hand accidentally touched the sniper’s back and was quickly brushed off with a grunt.

“What was it?” Arcade asked. Silence. Was he annoyed at his touch? Arcade sucked a breath in, but before he could speak, his ears rung with the sound of the rifle discharging. Boone fired twice more before standing. Arcade remained crouched for a moment longer, trying to process what happened. Boone began walking, indifferent to whether Arcade was following or not. He hustled to catch up with Boone. Finally, he saw something in the distance, coming from between the mountains. It looked overwhelmingly green.

Something crunched beneath Arcade’s tread. He looked down with disgust at the oversized insect he stepped on, it’s insides now covering his shoes. This must have been what Boone had seen and taken out long before it would even know they were there. His finger searched for the trigger of his plasma pistol, resting just in case there were any more nearby.

“Area’s clear,” Boone said. Whether that was meant to be reassuring was lost on Arcade. He checked the crudely drawn map he had been given, aligned it with surrounding landmarks. A red x marked the spot, in a small alcove of the mountain range, confirming what Arcade already knew. The green was where they needed to go.

It was even more overwhelming the closer they got. Vegetation was sparse in the mojave and what did was hardy and prickly. Not soft with fanlike waxy leaves, something he’d expect to see in the jungle, not here in the desert.

“I’m no botanist, but that doesn’t seem entirely natural,” Arcade remarked. He looked towards Boone, still silent. He lead the way, rifle in his hands. The vegetation grew denser the further they wandered into the alcove. It’s source was covered in it, so that Arcade almost didn’t recognize the entrance to vault 22. He was afraid to brush against the plants, unsure of what effects they might have. He had an antivenom on him, which could possibly work if something was poisonous, but wasn’t definite. However, if it triggered an allergic reaction, they would be plum out of luck.

Boone sauntered ahead without the same caution. Arcade hissed in a breath watching the skin of his arm touch a plant, expecting blistering welts to rise moments later. When nothing happened and Boone continued on ahead without him, Arcade relaxed only slightly and followed him into the vault.

Despite the lack of soil, the plants had no problem growing on the metal of the vault floors, walls, ceiling, literally anywhere he looked there was growth. Arcade jumped at the sudden metallic boom. Boone was no longer in the entrance with him. He heard another gunshot and deciphered Boone must’ve headed further inside. Arcade hustled, following the sound. Gunshots meant trouble. His feet flew down the stairwell, chasing noise, any sign of life. He halted, almost rushing into a figure rising from a cluster of flora. It was human shaped, but definitely not human. Arcade discharged his pistol into the back of the creature. It shrieked and burned as it crumpled to the ground. Boone turned around, realizing the creature had gotten dangerously close to him before Arcade shot it down. Arcade expected some hint of gratitude but Boone showed none.

“We’re not alone,” He said, instead. As if that much were not already obvious. The stairwell split into two opposing sides. “I’ll take that way,” Boone said, before heading down the stairs before Arcade could oppose them splitting up.

He held tight to his pistol as he ventured the other route. Boone’s gunshots echoed the metal walls. He was relieved to see they rejoined on the same floor. Boone took the liberty of surveying one of the rooms. Arcade took to the opposite, which looked to be a lab. Promising, Arcade thought.

He took out another plant-person as it rose from another cluster of flora. He wondered, with some morbidity, if these creatures were indeed once human. Maybe even the scientists working in this vault.

A light shone on a large blossom, catching Arcade’s attention. He approached with caution, pistol pointed forward in case another creature spawned from it. The blossom opened, releasing a visible cloud of spores. Instinctively, Arcade gasped. It smelled, he was embarrassed to admit, like sex. He pressed the sleeve of his lab coat to his face, trying to avoid breathing any more of it in and promptly left the room in search of Boone.

“We need to leave,” He told the sniper, when he encountered him loitering in one of the labs. “There’s spores in the air, and who knows what harm they could be if we breath them.” He thought of the corpse they found that looked like a human body entirely encased in flora. No doubt they would soon share a similar fate. Boone did not seem particularly riveted by Arcade’s words. Arcade felt his blood warm. Frustration. He knew he wasn’t exactly the type to give orders, but he wished Boone would at least listen to him. “We need gas masks and then we can try again. I’m sure Sloan would understand,” Arcade added, considering maybe Boone was afraid of disappointing Sloan.

“There’s spores in here too,” Boone stated, pointing towards a similar looking blossom.

“Yeah, exactly why we need to get out of here,” Arcade reiterated. He never realized how dull Boone was. Abandoning all caution, he reached for Boone’s hand, giving it a tug. Surprisingly, the contact earned no response from the other man.

“Are you feeling feverish?” Boone asked. Arcade paused. He had been feeling a little warmer and

his heart was pounding in his chest. He assumed it was out of ire towards the sniper. He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. It was warm. “You look flushed,” Boone commented.

“Yeah, well something really fucked up is going on in this vault, so excuse me for being a little worked up,” Arcade replied. His heart was really pounding, as if he had just ran a lap around Freeside. Sure he was upset at Boone, but even he acknowledged that it was a bit of an exaggerated response to the situation. Unless it was the pollen he inhaled causing him to have an accelerated heart rate.

“Worked up is right,” Boone commented. He scratched his buzzed head under his beret. Arcade noticed how low Boone was looking. He followed his line of vision, noticed a small tent had formed in his pants. He could add this to the list of awkward moments he had gotten a boner.

“I’m not going to let you die down here just because you want to be difficult,” Arcade redirected the conversation back to what was most urgent. He grabbed the collar of Boone’s shirt and pulled. Boone swatted his hand away, but it got him to start moving.

Arcade kept his plasma pistol close in case they encountered any more of those spore creatures on the way back out. Every cluster of flora that broke through the metal floor of the vault put Arcade a little bit more at unease. He jumped upon seeing a corpse of one Boone had sniped earlier, laying among all of the plants.

The further up they went, the warmer Arcade felt. He was coated in a fierce sweat, as if he were fighting a fever, his glasses fogged a bit from the heat radiating from his body. Arcade paused to catch his breath. Boone took note.

“Hey,” The concern in his voice was forreign to Arcade. “What’s up?” That was probably the closest Boone was going to come to saying ‘are you okay?’

“I’m not going to lie, I’m not feeling great,” Arcade confessed. He was having a difficult time placing what was wrong. He did not feel ill. Despite the high body temperature, he knew he didn’t have a fever. He just felt exceptionally wound up, like he had just did a warm up lap and was ready to do more.

“Something’s not right,” Boone said, in agreement. Arcade looked towards him. Boone was looking flushed as well. He didn’t mean to look, but it was hard to ignore the swell tugging against cargo pants.

Boone stepped closer, causing Arcade to take a step back. He couldn’t see behind Boone’s sniper shades, but he thought he was pissed, that he was going to hurt him. Instead, Boone clutched Arcade’s sleeve, pinching it tight inside his fist. “I need help, Doc.”

Arcade’s heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. He felt as rough as Boone looked, as if their bodies were going to give out from stress if relief didn’t come soon. “I don’t…” Arcade stuttered. “I-I don’t know what to do.”

“Bullshit,” Boone growled through clenched teeth.

Sweat loosened the pomade in Arcade’s hair, so that strands dangled in his face. He brushed them back, all the while leaning on a computer mainframe for support. He did have an idea of how to treat this condition. While it wasn’t an unpleasant idea, it also wasn’t something Arcade impulsively rushed into, like Sloan might. He had secrets to keep, secrets that didn’t belong with such intimate acts.

But he was also certain not doing so would kill them. Already the stress was taking a toll on Arcade’s body. He knew they wouldn’t make it far from the vault before one or both of them would suffer a stroke or cardiac arrest.

“Yes. Fine,” Arcade conceded. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Neither of them had any other choice, but Arcade needed consent before performing this sort of procedure.

Next thing Arcade knew, Boone’s hand was on the collar of his button down, pulling him down to his shorter height and mashing his lips against Arcade’s. His glasses clacked with Boone’s, knocking them askew on his face. Arcade removed his and rested it on the mainframe before returning his lips to Boone’s.

Boone’s breath was hot on his face. He kissed ravenously, like Boone had been wandering the Mojave for days and Arcade was the first drink of water. His hands grasped at Arcade with the same urgency, while constantly shifting place, as if Boone was still trying to figure out what felt right.

Arcade stifled the question in his mind of whether Boone had ever been with a man before. He was confident Boone hadn’t engaged in sexual activities since the loss of his wife. Being close to someone now must have been weird to him, regardless of anatomy.

He decided to offer Boone some assistance, and pulled his lab coat off before beginning to unbutton his shirt. It clung to his body, damp with sweat. Boone eyed him for a moment before doing the same with his t-shirt.

His stocky torso shined with sweat. His skin was battered with scars all at different stages of healing, but his shape was soft and inviting. Round pectoral muscles and a slight pudge of stomach cushioning ropes of muscles beneath. Arcade would be lying if he said he never found Boone attractive previously, he just didn’t think Boone would be interested. Even now, Boone hesitated. He realized Boone was waiting for his direction.

Arcade took his hands in his own and guided them towards his chest. Boone traced along his torso before eagerly coming in for another kiss. Their chests pressed together, he could feel the heat radiating off of Boone. Arcade was painfully erect and the slightest brush of cloth against his groin made him ache.

He reached between their bodies to free himself from his pants. Boone mirrored him before turning around and leaning against the mainframe. Arcade was taken aback, watching as Boone waited for him. Two pale mounds that were his now exposed ass facing in his direction. Now it was Arcade’s turn to be cautious.

Boone looked over his shoulder towards Arcade. “Please.” His voice was low, so that he almost missed it.

Arcade held his hips between his hands. He lined himself up and then pressed in. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped from him. Boone bit down on his own hand. At first he was worried it was bad for him, then he realized Boone was trying to stifle his own noise.

“Harder.”

Arcade obliged. Each thrust came easier than the one before and scratched at his itch. Finally the tension building inside of him felt right instead of something that wanted to kill him. Shamefully, Arcade did not last long, nor did Boone, as the latter climaxed shortly after him. Much to Arcade’s surprise, he was still hard as he pulled out.

“That’s...new,” He remarked. Boone turned around, his erection mirroring his own.

Before Arcade could question if these effects were going to be permanent, Boone was on him again. His bare cock brushed against Arcade’s. Even the slightest touch made small fires light inside of him. He watched as Boone lined them up. Boone’s hands were rough with callouses, but warm as he surrounded them both. Arcade placed his slender fingers over Boone’s, squeezing their hold tighter as together they pumped. Boone leaned his head on Arcade’s shoulder. He could hear every raspy breath that shook through Boone, mixed in with a small, whispered ‘fuck.’ Arcade gasped as Boone bit his neck. It must have done something for him, because next thing he knew, he was releasing again, this time onto Boone’s stomach. Boone’s hot fluid dripped onto his fingers.

Arcade was out of breath. Carefully, he lowered himself onto a patch of the vault’s floor that didn’t look as dirty as the rest. His chest heaves, deprived of air. His heart still thunders, but not with the same urgency as before. His member, though still firm, was beginning to wilt ever so slightly.

Boone knelt beside him. Arcade now noticed that his beret had fallen off at some point, leaving his buzzed haircut exposed. It sparkled with flecks of sweat that dripped onto his temples.

“I think...it’s working,” Arcade commented. He leaned his head against the mainframe, feeling like he was going to collapse from exhaustion.

“We’re not done yet,” Boone said. He crawled closer before he laid on his belly before Arcade, his head in the researcher’s lap. Arcade gasped as he felt Boone’s hot breath against his cock, moments before he took Arcade inside of his mouth.

At first, Arcade watched as Boone’s head bobbed, afraid to touch him, which was probably silly considering everything that had happened between them recently. He gave in and gently raked his fingers through the bristles of Boone’s cropped hair. Boone’s moan vibrated against his cock, causing Arcade’s breath to catch. This part lasted longer. Or maybe Arcade’s head was clear enough that he could finally concentrate on what was happening, rather than all his previous actions passing by in blurred emotions. Before was so desperate, like relieving pain. This...this was kind of...nice, he had to admit.

When Arcade inevitably released, he half expected Boone to pull away in disgust. Instead, he accepted the load without complaint. Arcade reached for his canteen and downed half of it, attempting to replenish all the water his body had sweated out. He wiped excess moisture from his lips as he offered the canteen to Boone. Boone accepted.

“What about you?” Arcade asked. His eyes drifted to the semi-erection that bounced between Boone’s legs as he shifted. Boone finished off the canteen before answering.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

He sealed the empty canteen and handed it back to Arcade, before shirking his cargo pants back up his thighs. “Yeah.”

Arcade watched him straighten out his clothes, pushing his shades back up his nose and readjusting his beret atop his head. He didn’t seem to be changing his mind anytime soon.

“We should leave,” he said. Arcade had to agree, before they encountered more spores. He wasn’t sure how many times his body could go through something like that before it finally quit.

His vision cleared once his glasses returned to rest before his eyes. Arcade covered himself again while Boone stood watch, holding his rifle. If they had been attacked while lost in their frenzy of desire, they would have been goners. Arcade could count himself lucky that hadn’t been a problem.

“Hey,” Arcade sought his attention, touching his arm lightly. He half expected Boone to flinch away from his touch, but he didn’t. His shaded eyes turned towards Arcade. Arcade brushed his lips against Boone’s. They tasted salty of sweat and his own cum. Boone’s lips moved gently in response, feeling for the briefest of moments the wetness of a tongue before it ended as abruptly as it began.

“We can’t tell Sloan,” Boone said, after an elongated moment of silence.

“Absolutely not,” Arcade said, in agreement, before the two headed back towards the surface.

#my fics #fallout #fallout new vegas #arcade gannon #craig boone #arcade/boone #boonecade

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pechaberrii · 4 years

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A Worthy Rider

A requested oneshot for @floralianspiderboynova! It was supposed to be a drabble but it quickly turned into a 1.7k word fic, haha. Hope it’s up to your liking! Requests are open 👀

Request: “Nova (OC) meeting Zacian for the first time and then riding him?” Author’s Notes: Nova’s team is: Drizzile- Chaosoak, Toxtricity- Yellectric, Morgrem- Jotaro, Falinks- Troja, Drakloak- Wyvernight, Hattrem- Magemotion

“Another den down,” Nova wiped his brow and looked out at the vast horizon of the Wild Area. Red beams, along with the occasional purple beam, peaked through the trees. Nova sighed, “And about a hundred more to go.” As much as Nova enjoyed helping his mother with her research on Gigantamax, the beams never seemed to disappear.

“Tooooox,” Yellectric softly called out to Nova in hopes of gaining his attention.

Nova turned towards Yellectric, “What’s wrong, buddy?” Yellectric pointed uphill where another red beam from a den had spawned, signaling that another Dynamaxed- or hopefully a Gigantamaxed- Pokémon had appeared. Just ahead of Yellectric was the rest of Nova’s team already on the way to the den, ready to continue their mission for research. Nova chuckled at the sight of his team, “Right. Well, better catch up with the team before they beat us there.” Yellectric and Nova smiled at each other before turning and starting their way over to their team and the den.

Nova peered into the den and, upon deeming the den clear of any immediate dangers, looked over his shoulder at his team. “Everyone ready?” A chorus of different cries responded back to him and Nova took off into the den, his team following close behind.

Emerging from the darkness and into the open area of the den, Nova and his team came face-to-face with a Gigantamaxed Eevee. While Eevees were normally quite friendly and gentle, this Eevee was surrounded by Dynamax energy, enough of it to actually cause it to Gigantamax, and was currently on a rampage. It destroyed everything in its sight and when its attention was on Nova and his team, it let out a ground shaking cry and readied itself for a battle.

A silent understanding seemed to pass between Nova and his team as his team was in position before he even said anything. Taking this as an opportunity, Nova pulled out his Rotom Phone and started to document everything about the Gigantamaxed Eevee. His team knew what to do even without orders from Nova, and soon they had managed to defeat the Gigantamaxed Eevee enough to where Nova could capture it.

Nova picked up the Poké Ball that contained the Gigantamax Eevee. After looking around the den to make sure that nothing else was hiding, he turned to his team and smiled at them all. “Good work, everyone! Troja, it was smart to use reversal right at the end.” Troja jumped around in excitement as they received the praise. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Nova started to lead the way out of the cave but was soon passed by Jotaro, Yellectric, and Wyvernight as they raced one another to the entrance. Nova laughed at his Pokémons’ playful nature while Chaosoak walked beside him. Troja walked slightly ahead of him with Magemotion riding on their back, the light sound of the fairy Pokémon’s laugh filling the silence.

The bright light of the Wild Area stunned Nova for a second while his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness. There were still more dens to explore but first, Nova had to send his mother his current research as well as the newly caught Pokémon. Pulling out both the Pokémon Box Link and his Rotom Phone, Nova quickly transferred the Pokémon and his notes to his mother. He was about to put away his Rotom Phone when a strange notification caught his eye.

‘Rumor has it! A new den appearing in the Slumbering Weald? What type of Pokémon will be found and caught there?’

“A new den in the Slumbering Weald?” Nova mumbled to himself. Nobody was really allowed in the Slumbering Weald. But then again, this might be the break through that he and his mother need in order to figure out exactly what was making Pokémon Gigantamax. Nova tapped his foot in thought before clapping his hands together, catching the attention of his playing Pokémon. “Alright. We’re going to go on a little trip. So that means all of you will have to go back into your Poké Balls for a bit.” His Pokémon looked at each other before lining up for Nova. He smiled at them all and, one by one, put them all in their Poké Balls with a promise that they’ll be back out soon.

Pulling up the Galar map on his Rotom Phone, Nova called a Flying Taxi to come pick him up and take him to Postwick, where he would then continue his journey to the Slumbering Weald on foot. The taxi didn’t take long to get to the Wild Area and before he knew it, Nova was on his way.

The ride to Postwick was short and soon, Nova was standing right outside of the Slumbering Weald. The gate to the Slumbering Weald was open and something within the fog seemed to call out to him. It felt as if there was a rope tied around his chest and something was pulling him in the Slumbering Weald. Trying to not think about it too much, Nova stepped into the Slumbering Weald.

Fog covered every inch of the Slumbering Weald but Nova was able to find his way around. He had gone through every nook and cranny and was unable to find a den anywhere in the Slumbering Weald. “Great. Time wasted when I could be gathering more research.” Nova sighed as he looked at a stone archway in front of him. He had managed to make his way all the way to the end of the path. “Well, time to head back to the Wild Area.” Nova turned to make his way back to the entrance but was stopped by the sound of footsteps behind him. Startled, Nova quickly turned around only to find a Pokémon towering over him. “What- Zacian?” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nova wondered how he knew this Pokémon’s name.

Zacian let out a loud howl before stepping towards Nova. Nova, still startled and slight scared, extended his hand in an attempt to protect himself from a possible oncoming attack. But instead of an attack, he felt Zacian nose his hand before guiding it around as if trying to get Nova to pet him. Taking the hint and seeing that he was not in any danger, Nova followed Zacian’s movements and began to run his hand through the Pokémon’s fur.

‘The descendant king has come at last. I have been waiting for you for a long time, my king.’

“What?” The sudden voice startled Nova. There was no one else in the Slumbering Weald but him and Zacian. “Was that you?” Zacian did not respond to Nova’s question but the look in their eyes told Nova everything that he needed to know. “Amazing,” Nova breathed out in surprise.

Zacian nosed Nova’s shoulder, almost pushing him due to the Pokémon’s greater size and strength. Zacian repeated the motion a few more times before moving towards Nova’s bag and nudging it instead. “Hm? Want something in there?” Nova took off his bag and opened it up, showing the contents of it to Zacian who rummaged through all of the items with his nose. He lifted his head out of the bag with a Luxury Ball in his mouth and dropped it into Nova’s hand. A silent understanding passed between the two as Nova looked from the Luxury Ball in his hand to Zacian. “Are you sure?” Zacian once again said nothing but had an intense look in their eyes. Nova nodded, “Okay. Ready?” Whether he was talking to himself or Zacian, Nova had no idea.

He took a step back from Zacian and tossed the Luxury Ball towards the large Pokémon. The Luxury Ball fell to the floor once Zacian had disappeared inside of it and shook once before clicking, signaling Nova that Zacian was captured.

Nova picked up the Luxury Ball and ran his thumb across it. This entire situation still felt a bit unreal to him, as if he might wake up from a dream. “Zacian… want to go for a ride?” A howl came from the Luxury Ball in his hand and Nova smiled, already on his way out of the Slumbering Weald.

After he got back to the entrance of the Slumbering Weald, he wasted no time in calling a Flying Taxi to take him to his home in Hammerlocke. The second he stepped out of the taxi, Nova was running through the streets of Hammerlocke, rushing to get home. He threw open his front door, hurried to his room, quickly changed his clothes to his riding outfit, and grabbed his gear before running out of the house and back into the Flying Taxi. He instructed the cabbie to take him to the Wild Area and bounced in his seat, excitement eating him up as he waited.

The taxi dropped him off right outside of Hammerlocke. Nova pulled his riding gloves tight before taking out the Luxury Ball and throwing it out, releasing Zacian. He approached Zacian and set down his bag of riding gear, taking each piece out one at a time and placing it all on Zacian. He stood in front of Zacian holding the bridle in his hands, “Are you sure about this?” Zacian lowered their head and Nova took that as a sign to place the bridle on Zacian. After making sure everything was in place, Nova placed his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up in the saddle. He grabbed the reins, “Alright. Now, get along, lil doggie!” Zacian looked over their shoulder at Nova, an unimpressed look in their eyes. Nova laughed, “Sorry, sorry. I had too.” Zacian rolled their eyes playfully and huffed. Nova smiled, “For real this time.” But before he had a chance to move again, Zacian reared back and took off down the hill.

The wind whipped through Nova’s hair as Zacian sped through the Wild Area. It was as if Zacian needed no instructions while being rode, almost like he knew exactly what to do before Nova could even think of it. Like there was a special link between Nova and Zacian.

Another smile broke out on Nova’s face but this one was bigger and held much more excitement than any other. Nova might not have found a new den that could help his mother’s Gigantamax research, but he did find a piece of himself that he had no idea was missing.

#pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pkmn swsh #pokemon oc #request

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hollowedrpg · 5 years

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CONGRATULATIONS, LINDSEY! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Arthur Weasley. I’m so happy to have an Arthur again so soon. He’s extremely important for some upcoming plots, and you do him such justice. I loved the way you write his relationship with Molly, and I can’t wait to see Arthur on the dash.

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

ooc.

name: lindsey

age: 24

preferred pronouns: she/her

timezone: cst

activity: to be honest, i’m not completely sure. i graduated from college (LITERALLY!) yesterday. lol so i can say that i will probably be extremely active as i have a ridiculous amount of time on my hands all of the sudden

how do you feel about your character dying?: i’m fine with it as long as i’m not getting the boot! although i would absolutely love to see molly’s return/discover that she’s actually dead before that point

anything else?: my graduation trip starts tomorrow and i will be gone until the 14th, but emily referred me here and i wanted to apply for arthur before he got snatched up! i can be around on mobile in the evenings until i return, and am happy to. i hope this doesn’t hinder my acceptance at all, but of course i completely understand if it does. if you need to, you can wait to make the decision until the 14th. thank you for understanding either way!

ic details.

full name: Arthur William Weasley

He admired his father from afar, struggling his whole life to feel heard and valued when his tongue always seemed to feel thick and twisted in his mouth. Their relationship was never perfect, but when Arthur had his first son, it seemed natural to pass down the name that was also his.

date of birth: 6 February, 1952

It had been snowing the day Arthur was born. He knew this because in the haste to get his wife to the hospital, William Weasley left their house without shoes on his feet. “Almost lost a toe, I did.” It was a story he grew up hearing, met in later life with eye rolls and sighs of irritation. It wasn’t until he experienced his pregnant wife going into labor in the middle of the night himself that he empathized with the panic he knew all too well.

former hogwarts house: Gryffindor.

Until he met Molly Prewett, Arthur would tell you it never completely made sense to him - why he was sorted into Gryffindor. He couldn’t get words out under the slightest amount of pressure, why would anyone think he could Roar with the Lions? Perhaps it was a sort of Grandfather Clause. He did, in fact, come from an exceedingly long line of Gryffindors. Did the Sorting Hat take pity on him and place him where his parents could finally feel some pride in their only son? Maybe. But then the day came that he tried to voice this fact and the response he got was instant. She came through a crowd like a bolt of lightning (shoving a few innocent bystanders to get to him) and looked up into his face with a look of angered determination. She told him he didn’t have to be loud to be brave. He pointed out the truth that she was quite noisy, herself. To this, Molly Prewett broke out in a grin that (though maybe a tad dramatic) Arthur would swear changed the course of his life indefinitely, and called him funny. And bold. Bold to call her, the argumentative eleven year old than she was, noisy. “See,” she’d said. “A Gryffindor.”

sexuality: straight, but with a jealous admiration for his sex.

gender/pronouns: cisgendered male, he/him

face claim change: no change! Sam Claflin is a lil peach.

more.

how do you interpret this character’s personality? how will you play them? include two weaknesses & two strengths.

Arthur is a quiet man with many thoughts, but few words. His intellect says nothing of his verbiage and though he doesn’t say much, his eyes tell all. There is a slight wonder that had he not been cursed with an abnormal tongue, he might not have had such telling looks. It is just that, however, a mere curiosity for he has no lasting desire to change who he is. Despite his earlier insecurities, he has come to accept himself for all his faults.

The true Gryffindor in Arthur Weasley came to light when he became a father in a world ravaged by war. He wanted to fight for his children, the woman he loves - the family that never questions his worth but sees him as wholly better than he could ever see himself. Everything clicked into place the first time he found himself face-to-face with someone who knew him from their days in school, someone who knew the jibes that would hurt him, and that he had a wife and children back home. He couldn’t place them behind the mask, but they knew his youngest son’s name. “Charlie, was it?” And something in Arthur snapped. He hadn’t realized just how protective he was of the things he considered precious until that moment, but it made perfect sense. What good is a father if he’s not willing to kill or be killed for his loved ones?

Part of the consuming love Arthur has for his family comes from the love he never really had for himself. In his youth, he didn’t care about it. He never focused on self-loathing, but neither did he see any good within himself. That is, as it always is, until Molly came blazing into his life, cementing her position to his left side. When he discovered that she reciprocated his love for her, he admired her all the more. How could she? But she was the smartest person he had ever met, so he wouldn’t dare question it - lest she realize she could do so much better than little old him.

The worry is consuming. He spends his entire day thinking. The gears in his brain churn faster than they ever have, taking his soul and ripping it to pieces. Is Molly still alive? Is she being tortured? Is she at peace, wherever she is? Did she realize how grand her life could be a simply fly the coop that disastrous day? He knows that last one is a bit off the rails, but when his mind is going, Arthur is lost to stop it. Bill might be off safely tucked inside Hogwarts Castle but the rest of his children are with him in Godric’s Hollow. At ten-years-old, Charlie, his most adventurous spawn, gets restless and likes to run off at odd times, causing Arthur’s heart to skip furtive beats. He’s never that far off, usually closely examining stray animals that want nothing to do with him, but Arthur fears one day he’ll be just beyond his reach in the midst of a tragedy (not unlike his mother was). Percy, who is six, is wise beyond his years and stays close to his father as if he can sense the anxiety distance brings. It is young Percy’s help that keeps Arthur from losing his mind over his rambunctious twins, who are barely four and already rebellious. His youngest song, Ron, who has entered the Terrible Twos, clings to Arthur whenever he is awake, making it rather difficult to give his six-month-old (and only daughter) the proper attention she needs. The worry never stops, the change in his daytime routine doing nothing to change that. The only time the young but aging father feels an ounce of serenity is when all the kids are asleep.

how has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise?

In her absence, he sees her. Like a ghost, she hovers beside him in his loneliest moments. Molly, the greatest love of his life, reduced to a figment of his imagination. When he longs for her uplifting presence the most, she appears. The first few times, she didn’t say anything. She simply left him stunned, staring at her like he really had seen a ghost. These little visits left him haunted for days. He couldn’t sleep but neither could he bring himself to leave the bed they once shared. His mother stayed with the kids, taking care of them in both their parents’ absences. He thought it meant that she must be dead, but a bigger part of him refused to believe that. This wasn’t her genuine ghost. They had been so connected for years. He knew how she was feeling before he even entered the house after work night after night for years. Surely if she was really and truly dead, he would feel it in his soul. Then he’d managed to ask her what to do aloud, and suddenly she replied. He peered up from the deep pit of sheets their bed had become and took in the insufficient image of his missing wife. “Get up,” she had said, and though it didn’t sound exactly like her, he knew what she wanted. Even as a sad duplicate of the real thing, she wouldn’t let him neglect her children - their children.

where does this character currently stand? with those who wish to hide in godric’s hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? why?

With Molly missing, how is Arthur managing taking care of his children and continuing to be a part of the Order? Does he feel like he should remain a part of the Order?

These questions go hand-in-hand, so I grouped my answer to one longer explanation; I hope that’s okay!

Arthur gathered up his children, said goodbye to his quickly aging parents, and moved to Godric’s Hollow. Lupin had a point. They’d be hiding in plain sight because no one in their right mind would expect them to go where so much darkness remained. Dumbledore promised there would be Hogwarts-level protection on the village to ward off any more disaster. It felt like the smartest thing to do. The draw to continue fighting is there, but he has to think of his kids first. Their safety comes far before his own and the more his soul tells him to fight, the more he considers doing the hardest thing and sending them somewhere far away where they wouldn’t have to be a part of any of it. Time isn’t healing her absence, it is making it harder for Arthur to keep himself together. If he fights, will he finally find her? Will he uncover the truth, that maybe (God willing) she’s alive somewhere? And if she is, what torture could she possibly be enduring? Perhaps it’s better to hope that she’s dead, but the selfish side of Arthur knows what a fighter his wife is - and how lost he might be without her permanently. He remains a part of the Order in the hopes that he will be the first to hear of her whereabouts, determined not to give up just yet. He stays so that the concern and the kids don’t consume him completely. It’s not out of duty anymore. It has nothing to do with wanting a better life for his children. He needs to be the first to know when they finally reveal his biggest fear - that Molly Weasley is dead.

extra.

An extension of the Worry weakness;

Arthur tucks Percy into his sheets and lays a kiss to his sons head, says goodnight to Charlie who doodles in a journal in his adjourning bed across the room. As he leaves the room, he shuts off the light and pulls the door until it is almost closed. Through the crack in the door, he can see the dim yellow light of Charlie’s flashlight. He smiles because he can see his son in his minds’ eye, light tucked beneath his chin, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates on drawing whatever strange animal he’s dreamed of the night before. In the next room, Arthur has to tell Fred and George to lay down and go to sleep, as he catches them playing in the dark. Fred leans over the top bunk, his small head upside down as he tries to grab the stuffed animal his brother, who is still laying on his back on the bottom bunk, has in his outstretched arm. Ron, in the lowered crib on the other side of the room, stirs restlessly. Arthur tucks the twins in tight, thinking he might invest in restraints - a joke that would’ve made Molly laugh boisterously, had she been there to hear it. He crosses the room to Ron and pulls the blanket up over his shoulders, tucking his stuffed rabbit into his small arms. His hand lingers on the warmth of his sons forehead - does he have a fever? If he does, they all will by in the morning and then Arthur will be dealing with six sick children for the next week. If Molly were there, they’d take it in stages, letting the other rest in the interim. It’s nearly impossible to deal with that many sick kids at one time, each needing something at different times through the day and night until they are back to normal. Arthur heaves a sigh and wanders out of the room, hoping the warmth came from a deep sleep and not an impending epidemic. He goes into his own bedroom at the end of the hall where a crib is pushed against the end of his bed - they couldn’t afford a four bedroom house, especially not with Arthur working half the time he used to.

He plops down on the corner of the bed, sleep pulling at his brain, begging his eyelids to close and he hears it. From inside the crib comes the slightest gurgling noise. He peels his eyes open and leans sideways to look over the bars. His small daughter is awake inside her bed, quite content with chewing on her wet fist. Her small feet kick at the air, her eyes blinking up at the mobile above her. It has little twinkling stars with reflective mirrors and colorful ribbons hanging from it. Arthur feels his throat tighten at the sight of her. The slight hair on her head curls like her mothers, her big, almond-shaped eyes are Molly’s precise color. She’s beautiful. Arthur heaves a deep, exhausted sigh and lays back on his bed, legs bent at the knees with his feet still on the floor. For the briefest of moments, he hadn’t been worried. He said goodnight to all of his children and reveled in the quiet. But the thought of Molly brings on a whole new wash of agony and he closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands into them. He would fall asleep just like that, sleeping deeply until the twins awoke him in the early hours of the morning already full of energy and ready to take on the day. But for a moment before sleep and a minute after waking up, he’d stop worry and simply lived.

#hp rp #rp #rpg #marauders rp #lsrpg #accepted

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your-iron-lung · 6 years

Text

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross 7

AKA ‘Danger and Dread’; also readable on AO3!

Story Synopsis: Some weird low-key occult parties start popping up that Steve can’t in good conscience ignore and takes it upon himself to investigate. Billy gets caught up in the consequences of his meddling, and isn’t it funny? For all the strange things the Upside Down has thrown his way, it’s werewolves that Steve has trouble accepting exist.

Chapter Word Count: 5049

Pairings: Eventual Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Genre: Supernatural/Drama/Horror-ish

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Next Chapter: 8

Notes: i was hit hard with another bout of writers block, but i was also accepted into the artist alley for this years raleigh supercon and ive been struggling to get some material done for that! updates may be even more sparse than usual until after that con rolls around ehe. so uh ENJOY THIS WHILE IT LAAAAASTS

Because the owner of the towing company that had taken Steve’s car knew his father, and partly because he’d shown up with the chief of police to retrieve it, they were allowed to pick up the BMW without charge. Whatever fines Steve would normally have had to pay were waived, but that didn’t mean the owner let it go without question. The fact that Steve had arrived with the chief of police was enough of a question on its own, but that fact coupled with the fact that there was enough blood to paint nearly the entire passenger side of the car red when he’d towed it brought forth questions the man felt he deserved answers to.

“What’s all this about?” he’d asked, looking from Hopper to Steve after he’d pulled the car off the impound lot for them. He’d stood with his hands on his hips, brow creased with concern and curiosity. When he spoke, the cigarette in his mouth bobbed up and down haphazardly. “Was someone killed in there? You taking it in for evidence? Lil’ Stevie here in some kinda trouble?”

He’d laughed as he’d said it, but the look in his eye said he seriously wanted to know. Steve didn’t know what he was and wasn’t allowed to say, so avoided eye contact and kept quiet.

“That’s police business,” was all Hopper had said, but the brevity with which he spoke seemed to deter the man enough from prying anymore into their business.

“I should tell your dad,” he’d said with an annoyed sneer that said he mistrusted what they were doing, but he’d wandered back and away into the small building that served as his office before either of them could tell him not to.

Not that it would matter much in the long run; Steve’s dad was going to know all about it soon enough. He was due back from his latest business trip by the end of the week- clear weather permitting- and his imminent return was the main cause of one of his greatest points of anxiety. He was sure that there was going to be nothing, absolutely nothing he could say to his father that could possibly begin to explain why he’d put his expensive, valuable car through hell, but he felt that he might be able to justify it since Billy’s life had been on the line. There was no way of knowing how his father was going to react until he did.

Standing by the passenger side door, Steve stared in through the window at the mess waiting for him inside. Billy’s blood was crusted and dried, splattered over most of the dashboard, drenching the interior with a saturated reddish-brown colour that almost matched the paint job of the exterior. It was gruesome to look at, and held his attention for a few seconds before he was able to finally look away, wondering in the back of his mind how on earth Billy had managed to survive when he’d lost so much blood. He didn’t think it was humanly possible, but then again, he had failed biology; the human body was capable of more things than he was evidently aware of. He felt the weight of Hopper’s hand on his shoulder and begrudgingly stirred out of his ruminations.

“We got work to do, pal,” Hopper said, voice kind but stern with purpose.

The sky was looking heavy and grey, waiting to unload a fresh load of snow upon them. They were lucky that it hadn’t snowed the night before, but they were going to have to hurry if they wanted to investigate before the area lost all the important details to a fresh snowfall.

“Yeah yeah, the sooner the better,” Steve muttered, shrugging out of Hopper’s touch as he walked around the side of the car towards the driver’s side, where once again he found himself stalled, staring in at the blood coating the interior.

Touching the door handle was like reaching out to touch a forbidden object; it was something he didn’t want to necessarily touch, but needed to in order to fully access his car. He felt like a little like that archaeologist from that one movie Dustin had forced him to watch (“Come on, Steve, we live in Indiana! How do you not know about the Jones?!”) in that moment, with the amount of care and trepidation he utilized when he finally opened the door. His face pinched up immediately in disgust as the smell of the trapped air flooded out to greet him. The whole car stunk of slightly sweetened, old metals, and he was repulsed with the realization that the foul stench was the stink of Billy’s blood. It permeated throughout the vehicle, and he wondered how the fuck he would even begin to clean it. The smell alone was nauseating, but the sight of the large, brown spot where the blood had pooled in the passenger seat was almost worse.

There was going to be no cleaning that. It was far beyond the point of saving, he knew, as he slid into the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel. The owner of the car lot left the key in the ignition for him, and as he turned it to start the engine, he was once again hit with the understanding that Billy had almost died in his car.

The stress, the smell- all of it combined became disconcerting to the point where he wasn’t sure he was going to able to drive; the memories of the attack and just how badly Billy had been injured kept surfacing to the forefront of his mind. His own arm was beginning to throb, the wound pulsating under the bandages and around the stitches again. He didn’t realize he was clutching the steering wheel so tightly until he released it, immediately easing the pressure that had built up in his arm. Shaking himself out of his slight crisis, he looked into the rearview mirror and saw that Hopper was in the cab of his truck, ready and waiting to follow him.

He turned the radio on and kept the volume low before putting his car into gear, driving it away from the towing lot and towards the place the party had been held.

All the while he was driving- all the while with the stench of Billy’s dried blood plugging his nostrils- the only thing he could think about was, surprisingly, his bat. Not of his father’s wrath when he’d finally have to show him the car, or of his mother’s concern when she saw his injuries, or even of the lies he’d have to concoct in order to placate them both- but his bat.

It was the third time it’d had been used to save a life- be it his own or his friends’- , and like hell if he was going to just leave it out there to rot or be collected and shelved as police evidence when he might still have need for it. He wanted it back in his possession; felt lesser without it. After all, it was the only reason he’d been asked to help with the crazy monster bullshit that had happened the last time something monstrous had spawned in Hawkins.

As they pulled up alongside Billy’s camaro, thankfully still parked on the side of the road where it had been abandoned the night before, he thought about what he could say to let Hopper go with him back into the woods to retrieve what was his.

The body of Hopper’s truck swayed on its frame as he put it into park, and Steve followed suit, cutting his engine as the chief got out and gave Billy’s car a cursory examination, looking in through the windows to make sure it hadn’t been ransacked by looters overnight. Steve’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly again for a moment before he stepped out of his car to speak with him.

“Point me where to go and you’re home-free, kid,” Hopper said, looking over the hood of Billy’s car towards the forest line that didn’t seem nearly so intimidating in the daylight than it had when Steve had peered into its depths last. He couldn’t help but feel that the calm tranquility it emitted now was a lie; he knew it harbored secrets it did not want to share, and monsters it didn’t want found.

But it was stupid to think that the forest could take sides like that. It was a neutral force that just happened to be the place where whoever-the-fuck was trying to start shit.

“Well, uh, see, it’s not really a straight shot,” Steve said, shaking himself from his thoughts as he closed his car door and adjusted the way the coat’s sleeves were rolled back. It was cold, and too much of his forearms were exposed. “You can get real turned around in there if you don’t know where you’re going.”

“And you do?” Hopper couldn’t help but scoff, turning towards him with a bemused expression on his face. “Look, if there’s something to be found in there, then I’ll find it. Trust me. You can go home, I’m letting you off the hook.”

And Steve did want to go home, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle a night alone without the protective assurances of his bat. Billy’s words from the night before replayed themselves in his mind: ‘Let’s say it is following you- you go home and, what, it just magically loses your trail? You don’t think it’d just follow you back?’ If he went home without it, he would surely lose his mind by just imagining the creature lurking around in the constructed shadows provided by the tree line around his house.

“It’s fine,” he said, shrugging casually in an attempt to appear indifferent. “I’ll lead you out to where it happened then leave you to it. Get out of your hair, or whatever. I left something out there I want to get back, anyway.”

“What’s that?” Hopper asked, stepping back from Billy’s Camaro as Steve walked by him, leading the way to the path that they’d followed to start their trek into the woods.

“My bat,” Steve said over his shoulder, ignoring the pink splotches in the snow that had been left behind during their frantic escape.

They followed the trail of blood that had, thankfully, not yet been snowed over; the splatterings of blood serving as a better guide than Steve was currently being. He trailed a few feet behind Hopper, turning his head this and way and that as he surveyed the area, waiting to catch a glimpse of whatever was living out there. Everything about the forest looked the same even though he’d only ever been through the area at night, but despite that, he felt as though he wasn’t in the same patch of woods he’d been in before. Everything may have looked the same, but nothing else was.

There were sounds, first of all; sounds of wildlife that had been mysteriously absent the night of the attack- not that the forest had been particularly lively that time of night, but there were still expected sounds of nightlife that hadn’t been present. During his walk-through with Billy, it had felt like they’d wandered into an uninhabitable bit of land, but now it was thriving. Birds were chirping, singing bright, energetic songs while other small rodents made their presence known through their chittering and scurrying, claws scraping against tree bark as they ran up their trunks. Even the wind blowing through the evergreen tree branches created gentle, calming noises as the branches rustled against one another lightly. If not for the blood, Steve would have sworn they were in the wrong place.

But the blood stains were still there, even if all the other ominous warnings and dreadful wrongness of the forest had dispersed. Whether or not that made the forest currently safe for them to be in was unknown to him, but he was calmer knowing that the set-up was at least different. If the creature that had been stalking him was planning on ambushing him again, he’d at least be able to recognize the signs of warning before it happened. With that less-than-comforting thought in mind, they kept walking, feet crunching through the hardened snow as they slowly plodded along, acting as though they were taking a leisurely stroll the woods instead of conducting an actual investigation. Soon enough, Steve saw his first landmark: the place where he and Billy had stumbled upon the dismembered arm.

The snow was disturbed around the dried pool of blood, but the arm was no longer where it had been. He stopped walking, his stomach sinking as he stared at the vacancy with confusion.

“What’s up?” Hopper asked, turning around when he heard that Steve had come to a standstill behind him. He glanced at the place Steve was staring at, but didn’t see anything that stood out to him besides the blood; didn’t understand the location’s importance.

“There was- last night, we found an arm there.” Steve pointed at the place it should have been, remembering how the fingers had begun to turn blue from the cold when they’d found it; how it had been frozen, stuck clawing at the sky. Hopper frowned. “I guess whatever it was came back for it,” Steve said, throat dry.

Hopper stepped forward and crouched low to the ground, inspecting the disturbed snow and the large collection of dark blood around it. He wasn’t a tracker by any means, but being the chief of police for a small hick town meant he had to have some knowledge about animal tracks. A lot of the time he got it wrong and made amateur mistakes (he still wasn’t quite able to discern the difference between fox and coyote prints), but even he could see that the tracks he was looking at weren’t man made- or made by any animal that could possibly live in the area. They were huge, indicating that the animal itself probably stood taller than he did. Nothing that big was native to the Indiana area.

Steve was watching him as he awkwardly shuffled forward in order to get a closer look at the long, dragging prints that had frozen into the snow. Five toes existed in a line, sloping down at an angle that looked almost human, if not for the fact that they were absurdly long. Beyond that, though, he couldn’t pick up on any other resemblances, as the toes were the only part of the print that were clearly defined; the rest of it beyond the mid and hind-foot were lost to the weird, shuffling gait the creature used to walk.

“Can you tell what it was?” Steve asked, hovering behind him. There was a hint of hopefulness in his voice that Hopper unfortunately had to quash.

“Let’s just keep moving,” he said, knees groaning as he used a nearby tree for support as he stood back up.

Mute with disappointment, Steve continued to follow after Hopper, who was now relying on the deep-cut grooves left in the snow that the creature had made when it abducted Billy and ran with him to the clearing. The blood was too sporadic here; spread and lost in larger quantities that didn’t necessarily lead them in a straight line. Hopper whistled lowly at the sight- a somber sound that was out of place amongst the birds’ constant cheering.

“No wonder kid almost died,” he said upon taking his first step into the glen, not having meant to speak the thought aloud. Looking around the area, he saw the charred remains of a fire pit and followed the black scorch marks lining the surrounding tree bark with his eyes, up and up, impossibly high. “Musta been some fire.”

Even some of the branches at the top of the canopy looked burnt and blackened, meaning the fire must have been, what, 20, 30 feet tall? When he took his eyes away, looking back to Steve to ask him about it, he found him on the other side of the fire pit staring down at something and walked over to join him.

The bat laid half submerged in the snow after hastily being tossed away, poking up from the drift at an angle where only the barrel could be seen. What to Hopper at first looked to be rust that had grown over the pointed ends of the nails was quickly realized to be blood, as it spread down the length of the handle to the grip. There were even small, torn bits of flesh that were still stuck on the sharpened bits of metal. As Steve went to pick it up, Hopper said, “Looks like you hit it pretty hard; it can’t have gone far from here with an injury like that. I’ll call my deputies and have them search the area; with any luck, it’s probably already bled out and died.”

Steve let out a grim laugh and shook his head, gripping the handle of his bat tightly. His wound throbbed with the pressure he exerted, remembering the feeling of swinging the bat into the creature’s ribs. How the bones had cracked, but then restored themselves almost immediately afterward. The weight of it in his hands was reassuring, and he looked upon it fondly, as though he were looking at a copy of his favourite movie or album instead of the lunatic weapon. Hopper shuddered, but couldn’t say it was because of the cold.

“If it’s well enough to have come back for that arm, then it’s not dead yet,” Steve said, turning his sad, brown eyes to Hopper forlornly.

Billy was released from the hospital two days later and resumed going to school that Wednesday, arm splinted, wrapped, and held in a sling. He looked terrible; exhausted by the strain of his injuries and the duration of his hospitalization. Dark rings hung low under his eyes, and the dark purple bruises that had encroached up his neck were taking on a diseased, sickly sort of yellow-green hue as they began to heal.

No one said anything about his injuries to his face, but people didn’t spare Steve that same courtesy. Comparisons were made between the wounds on his and Billy’s bodies, with considerations being taken to remind him of how similar they were and how they were each focused on the arm. Rumors quickly began circulating that they’d done it to each other in some sort of catastrophic fight that Steve had somehow, miraculously, won, which soured Billy’s mood considerably. He stalked about the halls angrily, full of resentment despite the fact that Steve denied these details when presented with every chance he could.

But he never offered up any other explanation for what happened to them; wasn’t sure how secretive he was supposed to be about it even though Hopper’s investigation of the woods hadn’t turned up anything substantial. They hadn’t found the arm or the creature, and still had no idea what it was or if it was related to that dark other place they called the Upside Down. The fact that Billy hadn’t said anything about it yet either made him all the more reluctant to share the details about the supposed ‘bear attack’. Steve chalked Billy’s unwillingness to speak on the matter up to the immense amount of pain he must have been in, but he couldn’t have known that it extended beyond that- that something else was taking priority in Billy’s life.

In the dark, you can sense that something's following you. You can’t see it, but you can hear it, masking its steps by walking in synchronized time with you, each footstep carefully being placed in sync with your own. You’re not sure if it knows that you know it’s there, and are honestly too afraid to turn around and see what the hell it is. It could be anything, and although it’s being stealthy with its footfalls, it’s art of subtlety ends there.

It’s growling. A low, humming sound that makes you think of someone impersonating a wolf more than it actually being a wolf. It sounds more human than animal, and the idea that someone is behind you, making noises like that, is enough to make your skin crawl. Are they back there, crawling behind you on all fours? Plunging their bare hands and feet into the cold snow to keep up the appearance of the animal they’re trying to imitate?

If they are, you don’t want to know, but you can’t escape the thought now that you’ve pictured it- a pale, hairless, naked body lurching after you on their hands and feet, lips curled away from blunt and missing teeth as they keep up their growling, trying to ward you away from their territory.

You keep going forward, too afraid to turn around even though you’ve forgotten where it is you’re trying to get to. Hell, you can’t even remember why you’re out here, alone and wandering through the darkened forest at night, dressed so poorly for the weather you’re beginning to freeze. Your boots aren’t thick enough to keep the chill from creeping into your toes, a burning sensation overtaking the tingling feeling they’d been exhibiting thus far. You hope it isn’t frostbite.

Behind you, you can hear that the breathing of whoever it is behind you suddenly change. They stop growling for a moment, breath hitching raggedly as they begin to pant. The sound of something rushing in the snow towards you has your heart banging in your chest, beating a desperate rhythm. You’re afraid that it’s going to ambush you, but you can’t bring yourself to run away. Frozen in place, you stand still as the thing approaches you from behind, their hot breath suddenly on the back of your neck, the humidity that comes with it forcing your skin to bump up at the sensation. All your instincts are telling you to make a run for it, but your feet hurt too much, they’re so cold.

The thing behind you isn’t moving, just growling lowly in the back of its throat while it breathes on you, or smells you, or whatever the fuck its doing. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but if it hasn’t attacked you yet then it's probably not going to anytime soon. You decide to keep walking, plowing forward steadily despite the fact that it feels like your feet are on fire. They’ve never hurt so bad, except once before when you were a child and idiotically went walking barefoot down the beach during midday in the summertime. The sand had been soaking up so much heat that it blistered the bottoms of both your feet. Your mother had had to take you to the hospital, upset that your father had given you permission to go alone, barefoot of all things.

Up ahead, vaguely in the distance, you can see a faint glimmer of light flickering through the spaces of the trees ahead of you. You want nothing more than to make a run for it, but you know better; it’s too dark to see clearly, and it’s likely that you’d just run into a tree in your haste. Fighting against the panic that’s trying to consume you, you keep your legs going one at a time, slowly making progress towards what you recognize now to be a fire.

Soon you’re able to hear voices, soft and low in the distance, and a spark of hope ignites in your chest. The thing that’s been breathing down your neck backs off when you get closer to the gathering, and this time it doesn’t bother disguising the sound of its feet stepping away from you.

With the thing’s retreat, you decide to take your chances. You run for it. You’re unable to tell if it’s following you, as the sound of your heart beating and the sounds of the party ahead of you become too all-consuming. Is that the sound of your feet slapping in and out of the snow, or the creature’s? Thin tree branches whip at your face, cutting thin lines into your face as you hurry past them to get to safety.

It feels as though you’ve been running for hours, sucking the painfully cold air into your lungs, paining your chest. A cramp wracks your side as you get closer, forcing you to slow down before you step into the clearing, a strong taste of blood rising up your throat. The bonfire ahead of you is roaring, flicking its sharp tongues up into the air and casting its brilliant warmth upon you. No one in the group assembled around the fire looks nearly as alarmed as they should be, but in a way you’re kind of glad for that. If they’re not afraid, then there’s no reason for you to be, right? The fire is safe, and you are finally in its protective glow. Someone steps forward and takes your arm, guiding you forward and closer to the fire. Everyone at the party seems to be speaking at once with voices that tumble over one another, but they all seem to be saying the same thing: they’re all so glad you’re here. Real glad you could make it out here tonight, Billy.

Feeling safe now that you’re by the fire, you feel brave enough to look over your shoulder at whatever it was you think was following you, half-convinced now that you’d hallucinated the whole thing. As your eyes adjust to peering into the looming gloom of the trees, at first you don’t see anything, but then it appears to you all at once- a tall, dark, bulky shape that’s staring at you with full, bright, completely white eyes. Your self-assured smile falls from your face as it suddenly moves, darting behind a tree and leaving your line of sight.

You turn around to ask if anyone else saw it too, only to find that you’re alone. Everyone that had been there with you is gone, having left you alone by the fire that somehow has been reduced to nothing more than a small pile of a few dying embers.

You take a few steps back, fear surging through you again as you look about the clearing to try and find someone- anyone- to help you, when you hear it coming for you.

Hushed, quiet steps are approaching you from behind, rushing out of the woods towards you. Again your fear has rendered you immobile; left you too afraid to even turn and meet your fate as, out of the corner of your eyes, you see two monstrously long and distorted hands slowly reaching out of the darkness to grab you.

And as you begin to scream, you still refuse to face it-

The scream that rose through his throat in the dream tapered off into a sharp gasp that brought him into wakefulness. Lying in bed, covered in fever-sweat, he panted and stared up at the ceiling, confused at first as to where he was, half-believing he was still in the hospital despite having been released days ago. Billy’s chest heaved as he turned his head towards the wall, relief flooding through him when he realized he was only in his room, safe in the confines of his father’s house. He felt the racing pace of his heart begin to calm as he closed his eyes, already forgetting most of the details of the nightmare, though the back of his neck still prickled with the remembered feeling of- what had it been?

He couldn’t remember anymore.

When his heart had finally returned to a normal pace, he felt that he could probably fall back asleep. He allowed himself to relax, his arms draped across his stomach when the sounds of a tortured scream erupted from the living room. Billy’s eyes shot open again as he sat up abruptly, groaning at the pain that flared in his arm with the motion. He waited for most of the pain to subside before standing up, the screams from the other room unrelenting in volume or agony.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered bitterly before standing up and storming out of his bedroom.

Initially jumpy because of the faint after-feelings the nightmare had left him with, Billy was now only twitchy with anger. This wasn’t the first time he’d caught Max watching one of those freaky horror movies she loved to watch at an unreasonable volume. He’d made sure to tell her the last time she’d pulled a stunt like this that he wasn’t going to tolerate it anymore. Purposefully having left the implications of what he’d do to her if he caught her doing it again open to interpretation, the promised punishment had been enough to keep her from doing it for a while, but she must have been feeling ballsy today, or certain he was knocked out from all the pills he’d been prescribed to take.

Lumbering into the living room, hair wild and eyes angry, he caught her sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring enraptured at the TV. The screaming continued as he approached her, practically having to shout to be heard over the movie as he began to demand, “What the fuck do you think you’re-”

The words he’d meant to reprimand her with dried out and died on his tongue, his throat seizing up as he finally saw what the man in the movie was screaming about on the TV.

“What?” Max asked, reaching forward to hit the pause button on the VCR, freezing the movie on a gruesome scene.

She looked annoyed at having been interrupted, but the look on Billy’s face turned her expression into more of a quizzical one. “What, Billy?”

“What the fuck are you watching?” he all but whispered, his eyes trained intensely on the frame she’d paused the movie on.

“‘American Werewolf in London’; why?” She spoke with a sneer, a slight smile curling up around the edges of her mouth as she interpreted the expression on his face to be one of fear. “You scared, Billy? Werewolf got your tongue?”

She couldn't have known just how right she was.

#harringrove #harringrove fic #billy hargrove/steve harrington #billy hargrove #steve harrington #werewolf!billy #slow burn #longfic #stranger things

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felicityb-reviews · 6 years

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Kim Jonghyun - Feature Spotlight

Hello, babies!! My name is Jace (aka Felicity B), and welcome to the debut Feature Spotlight (aka your January surprise)!! Today we will counting down some of my favorite songs by the one, the only - Kim Jonghyun. Jonghyun is someone who was important to me, because he was somebody who fought tooth and nail to be happy and himself. And that's so important to someone like myself, because I have depression. It's actually the reason I created this blog - if I could keep myself occupied, doing something I love (talking about myself), then maybe the bad days won't seem so bad. Sometimes it's a fight for me to hold myself together, so seeing someone like Jonghyun, who was very open about the state of his mental health, throw his everything into being happy and free inspired me to do the same.

I figured if there's one thing I can do to honour him, it's to keep his memory alive through his music. And so that's what we're going to be doing for the month of January!! Today's Feature Spotlight will be drawing from Jonghyun's solo material, but the next three weeks will be dedicated to SHINee's discography. The next two Friday's will be lists featuring music from SHINee's Korean discography, and the final week will be music from their Japanese discography. I can't wait!!

Before we begin, we are some rules (I guess) I used to create this playlist -

The order is nothing special, sis; I don't like ranking songs, it feels Wrong™.

No feature tracks /Edna Mode Voice. Anything that has a music video AND was promoted on daily music shows is disqualified. These lists are for spotlighting b sides and music casual fans might have skipped over.

These lists aren't meant to a "The Best of". They're just a collection of songs I happen to like a lot, and think other people should list to, as well. Please do not get hung up on your favorites not being here, this is just my opinion, baby.

So now that we got all the rules out of the way (watch someone try me on this bullshit), let's begin with...

Hallelujah (BASE)

Hallelujah is a song that feels like it lives and breathes. No one created and arranged song to be what it is, it spawned into being the way it is. And boy is it an experience. The arrangement is sparse, but that's okay - it makes you pay attention to the few elements that are there. It's just an amazing listening experience, sis.

Inspiration (SM STATION)

Inspiration is about sex. Straight up. This song sounds like what I'd expect a filthy and rough fucking to feel like. But beyond that, this song is interesting because, despite how musically uncomplex it is, it sounds like there's way more going on than there actually is. Sometimes listening to Inspiration is like listening to a Hitchhiker song; idk if that was Jjong's intention, but I like it.

AURORA (She Is...)

AURORA is another one that sounds like sex, but it's quite the opposite of Inspiration. Where Inspiration is rough, AURORA is soft. Where Inspiration feels like pure need, AURORA feels like a soft want. Yes, that's cheesy af, but it gets my point across. AURORA feels like coming home to bae and relaxing into the sex cause y'all can. A brilliant track, if I do say so myself.

(And just so y'all don't get it twisted, Kim Jonghyun is the Kpop King of Funk; I will entertain no one else in this position.)

Suit Up (She Is...)

Oh look, another song about sex!! What can I say, songs about sex are great. Especially, Suit Up. Suit Up trades in the Funk elements of AURORA for a soft RnB back drop that is oh so effective. Suit Up is the Ultimate™ in soft sex songs (it's literally about having sex for the first time as a married couple). If we aren't dancing to this at my wedding, know I've been kidnapped and replaced by aliens.

Wouldn’t It Be Like That? (Fine) (The Collection ~Story Op. 1~)

First of all, that title is extra as all hell. But I'd expect nothing less from Kim "King Of The Drama Gays" Jonghyun. Secondly, this is a very straight forward acoustic RnB song. But that's what I like about it - it's no muss, no fuss. Jonghyun is extra as all hell (as all the members of SHINee are), but he knows when to scale it back. And he does so very nicely here.

Orbit (She Is...)

Orbit is (surprise, surprise) another Funk song. And, for those of you who remember the She Is... teasers, the first of the songs we heard. Not quite what we were expecting with its left of center arrangement, but then again, that teaser was just weird as hell. Anyway, underneath Orbit's quirky arrangement lies a very standard Funk song. But as was the case with Fine, I am very much okay with that. Orbit gives me happy brain tingles.

Love Belt (featuring Younha) (BASE)

Oh Love Belt... you make me happy brain tingle so hard. If Jjong had elected to go for a more bombastic arrangement for this song, it would have gone completely wrong. This is a love song that plays fast and loose with it's major elements. But thankfully, Jonghyun decided to scale it back (notice a trend here), and let the vocals shine. And speaking of vocals, how you doin' Miss Younha?!?!?!? Such a lovely addition to song. In fact, I'd say her voice goes with it better than Jjong's, but I'm not trynna fight with Blingers today.

No, ma'amsir!!!

Just Chill ( The Collection ~Story Op. 2~)

In case y'all haven't clockt my boring ass, I quite like what I love to call Acoustic Coffee Shop RnB Midtempos. They're pretty self explanatory - RnB songs you could listen to at a coffee shop. If you can't quite place the sound (even after listening to this list), just wait for Spring; you'll be bombarded with them. Anyway, I say all that to say that Just Chill is an excellently written Acoustic Coffee Shop RnB Midtempo. There's just a lil Funk thrown in their to keep your ears interested as the rest of you blisses out to the pure happiness of the track. It's just so good, sis.

Déjà-Boo (featuring Zion.T) (BASE)

THE KPOP KING OF FUNK MEETS THE K-RNB KING OF FUNK!!! FUCK Y E S!!!

Deja Boo is a song I was not fond of, at first. I thought Jjong and Zion.T sounded really awkward together, but (obviously) the song has grown on me quite a bit. It's just a really cute and endearing song by two very cute and endearing people.

02:34 ( The Collection ~Story Op. 1~)

02:34 has a few false starts (for lack of a better phrase), before she actually gets going. First, you think she's gonna be a ballad; then, you think you're getting a Funky uptempo; and finally, it resolves into an Acoustic Coffee Shop RnB Midtempo. You'd think Jonghyun was playing basketball with hard he jooks us with that intro, sis. But I digress. 02:34 is a nice RnB midtempo with a touch of melancholy to it that keeps it interesting.

I’m Sorry ( The Collection ~Story Op. 1~)

Oh look, a ballad. How quaint. You'd have thought the hardest part about doing this list would've been the uptempos, but it was actually the ballads that got me. Jonghyun has some very arresting ballads in his corner. Take I'm Sorry, for example. It's got the piano and strings that you'd expect from a song like this, but he throws out the classical ballad formula to do his own thing. And instead of using this as an excuse to show off his vocal prowess (we know that Kim Jonghyun can blow), he gives us a very breathy delivery that relays the emotion of the lyrics effectively.

Blinking Game ( The Collection ~Story Op. 2~)

Blinking Game is, in many ways, a spiritual successor to Happy Birthday (a song that features on the first Story Op album that I was unable to fit on this list, but a very lovely song, nonetheless). They're both caberet songs - downtempo little ditties I can see Jonghyun performing in a club for his boo thang. He's sat at a piano with a band playing behind him, and he's got this content little smile on his face. A lovely image. But back to Blinking Game. Despite not feeling like a ballad, it's got the pulse of one; it doesn't have anywhere urgant to go, sis. I'd say it meanders in a circle, like a slow dance, till it ends. A really nice song to relax to.

Elevator ( The Collection ~Story Op. 2~)

Listen to the first 10 seconds of this song, and you'll realize why this song is on this list. Idk if this is a standard diatonic progression or modal (my theory is not that good), but that progression makes my brain happy tingle like mad cray, fam. And then when Jonghyun sings... GIRL, WHEN HE SINGS OVER IT!!! It feels like I've disintegrated into a mass of star dust. God, this song is just so GOOD!!! I said that Jonghyun has some arresting ballads in his collection, but this one takes the cake, guys. I simply lack the words to fully describe the feeling this song invokes in me.

And that's it, guys!! Don't forget to tune back in on Wednesday at 6pm EST for my debut Review Roundup, featuring new songs from this week; and the first part of the SHINee Feature Spotlight on Friday at 6pm!! I hope you all have a lovely night (or morning if you happen to reading from, idk... Japan!!)!!

youtube

And he's the songs in a playlist, in case you wanna listen to the songs as you read my blathering. Love, you guys!!

#Felicity B #Feature Spotlight #Jonghyun #SHINee

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krakenator · 5 years

Text

Chapter 17 aka “Dune”

SPOILERS are sprinkled around extremely liberally for The Property of Hate

Masterpost here

RGB: oh fuck

That’s… that’s actually really neat. We get confirmation soon that everything in this world has color as blood, not just RGB. So, you can actually see it in this tree stump- idk if that’s how sap actually works but it’s a cool as hell visual

That’s a neat way to highlight how FUCKING UNNERVED AND AFRAID RGB IS SEEING THIS BULLSHIT

Oh fuck. Oh that is really not good. Oh no. oh god it’s a domino effect. No trees means nothing is holding up the sea which means the darkness can’t do anything on its own. This is gonna ripple back to the market isn’t it. Oh god

With the sea collapsing like this, Click may get released from his watery grave quicker than imagined…

YIKES

Ok, at least it stopped and stabilized. For now. buuuut that particular exit is completely unusable now

HEY WAIT A MINUTE *rewinds a few pages* YEAH REMEMBER THAT HUGE SCHISM CRACK FROM REALIZING RGB’S MURDERED MANY HEROES AND BEING TOLD TO SHOOT HIM? Yeah that shits GONE now

How the fuck? That hasn’t happened before. Hero’s had to sleep to heal her schism in the past.

AND ITS COMING BACK? One page after they’re out of the darkness and that schism is starting to think about making a reappearance. WHY THO

CONSIDER THIS: darkness ALSO has healing properties? Whereas total Light will burn, scorch, and white you out from existence, total Dark will hide, conceal, and heal you.

Then again, Hero’s schism didn’t heal on her first journey through darkness to get to the Market

So... more likely it was something to do with their bonding in the last chapter, or- or even though the Nightmare gave her a bad scare, it is still technically a DREAM, and dreams whether they are nice or scary will still heal you up a bit? Interesting if true. Alternatively, the sheer proximity to that literal blockade of dreams was just so, many and potent that Hero didnt even need to be asleep for them to work a little magic on her

I still think I’m onto something about Darkness also having healing effects, however! Consider the evidence:

RGB was fucking WRECKED right before Negative come out to play way back in chapter 6. Just utterly destroyed. He was COVERED IN BURNS from being PUNCHED ACROSS A FIELD and then his circuits got ELECTROCUTED. But Negative doesn’t have any of those injuries, and neither does RGB once Negative has finished his job. Negative, confirmed to be Made of Darkness, heals RGB from whatever dumb-fuck nonsense he’s gotten into to make Negative have to step in

EVIDENCE #2: that black residue Hero leaves from being impaled on the sick tree. Just because RGB believes nothing they did contributed to the tree’s revival doesn’t mean that’s entirely true. If Hero somehow left behind a lil bit o’ Darkness in the tree, then maybe it might have thawed a little/slower on its own even without the Butterfly also melting away the [—–]

One last, slightly off-topic thing before we get back to continuing the actual chapter, people produce soft lights and flowers when they sleep, right? and those flowers fade away once they wake up. RGB’s never done that, but Negative spawns blue roses that break apart when he’s done his business. My point being... RGB doesn’t dream. If he only ever actually asleep when Negative is awake?

RGB’s overabundance of color comes into play once again

“this sand is stained by the blood of dead trees” wow I did not remember this section of comic being as metal as it is

Wait the fuck a minute. Hold on. Hold- hold on

RGB IS A FUCKING COLOR BLEED PUN

RGB’s explanation is great for why this place is littered with husks of vehicles, but let’s think about what else probably ends up here, all those objects of sentimental affection and names- laptops, favorite pens. stuffed animals! The Sands are like a junk yard. and things occasionally get washed into the Sea, or the Sea washes them up here... just a cool cycle overall

SPECTACULAR TEAMWORK LOVELIES KEEP IT UP

back on the schism- its definitely much better than when they left the Market, but worse for having exited the Darkness. its more of an impression of a dip that a gaping wound right now

OH. So, yeah the sun piece will probably run into its brother whilst in the ocean, but RGB’s right- it probably went there in order to be hidden over other reasons

BUSTED

RGB: you did WHAT? You SOLD your FINGERS? Without TELLING ME? What made you think you could go and do that, I would’ve handled it!!

Hero, remembering that time she saw RGB rip his whole hand off and give it to an owl he met 2 seconds ago: I mean…

Yo can we… talk about RGB’s entire train of thought (LMAO) here? That he’s upset about Hero trading away parts of herself but doesn’t really give a fig about doing the same to himself? He’ll sell off buttons or an entire hand, but Hero gives away two fingers for a friend and he’s upset that she didn’t let him know, because he’d have handled it? On one hand it’s very “adults being horrified at children having to take on responsibilities and experiences they shouldn’t have to” which I am always about, yet on the other hand I’m getting a “RGB really doesn’t value himself much at all does he” vibe and yikes my heart

Like, between the self-worth issues touched on here and “maintain illusion of control and confidence by saying big words smartly”- same fucking hat. RGB needs to stop being relatable

“saying HUGE words, just INCOMPREHENSIBLE LETTERS when angry” is also. Yup. That’s uh. That’s me. goddammit

...... for me, this is what i would personally call the Nightmare Scenario

YOWCH that looks like it hurt. At least the good news is RGB will be able to recolor himself over a bit of time. Not sure if he’s also able to regenerate indelible lineart, so… better just not have to find out

also; that’s literally a train of thought. Why’s it colored like Negative, though? Is this a train made of Darkness?

YUP it’s a Darkness-cloaked train- how fucking weird must this look on Hate’s side?

Fdhafjk I forgot, they have NO IDEA what happened to Click. Amazing

what.... in the fresh hell is going on in this panel

BUT, super interesting implication that Hate can’t LEAVE this place, and that without Dial to get audio, or him/the Butterfly to go out and interact with things, Hate is very hands-off

but honestly wtf is the slanted speechbox? “this side of the script”??? i love it but what does this mean

RGB points out that charging through the sands like this should be destroying it, yet it remains perfectly intact throughout all of this, even when BURROWING INTO THE LITERAL ERASING SANDS. Interesting implication that Darkness can’t be erased. Interesting implication that Negative would be entirely unaffected by sand as well

IS DIAL EATING POPCORN? HOW

Who wants to bet this is gonna be an inkwell

AND DIAL IS LET OUT OF HIS CAGE!

Who the fuck would be the third party that’s sent this hell-train out to scoop up and deliver our heroes to them?

The idea that the kidnapper has at least once before been a kidnapee is just so funny to me. HOW DOES IT FEEL RGB??

(war flashbacks to THIS MORNING when RGB: broke into song, rocketed himself across the market via explosion and a slingshot, and wouldn’t stop making puns the entire time) my man is a ball of stress but damn if he isn’t able to react in the moment

The good news is RGB’s color regen process is pretty slick- his back’s already back to normal

Your humansona’s a real Jackie Chan madman isn’t he RGB. a real Tom Cruise motherfucker. Some Buster Keaton level shit.

I SHOULD SINCERELY HOPE SO, you’re wearing like TWO lucky objects on your person currently. If that can’t give you even a smidgen of stat-boosting...

now CHECK THIS OUT: it seems like RGB starts running into weirdness BEFORE he charges directly into the dream-infested car. A film-reel overlay effect, and lookit his hat- negative stripes of shadow

Chiaroscuro: “the effect of contrasted light and shadow” created by light shining in weird ways and directions. interesting chapter title to use, uncle mod, on a chapter which has got the pure whites of the erased desert/Hate’s realm directly contrasted with tree stumps and this weird, darkness train

Don’t you hate it when you run directly into a gas cloud of dreams

So we got a jewel (a box?), white and black hands, the iron again, a teardrop shape, what might be RGB’s Mystery Button, all with film reels

And speaking of that iron, we also get the fiery sharp shapes again… which morph into S’s. it’s a sound. a SSSSSSSSSSS

I just had to go look up what an iron actually sounds like and… yeah. It makes an SSSS sound

Human RGB is… unfairly handsome. Of course he is. AND I SEE THAT TV IN ON THE LEFT MOD

Hey wait a minute

That’s not my bastard man

NOBODY in this comic has spoken in ANYTHING other than black or white colored text. and now here is this ancient MEMORY MAN speaking in ORANGE?

well actually the ‘co-worker’ is speaking in like really dark maroon? BUT STILL

“we split” has returned, 15 chapters later

The duality of these two title pages is really something- past and present getting whacked awake, the similar position present RGB has fallen to mirror past-human-guy, going from the Light of the memory to the Darkness of the train

ACTUALLY, RGB didn’t even LAND like that. he fall on the floor like THIS. he’s SHIFTED to reflect the decayed, old, deteriotated and fragile memory currently playing out in his head

AND CHECK OUT THOSE NEGATIVE-STRIPE GLITCHES! WOWIE! Lots and lots of foreshadowing to the upcoming Neggy appearance coming very soon to a screen near you!

#tpoh #the property of hate #tpoh time with gill

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ivoryandbonerpg-blog · 7 years

Photo

CONGRATULATIONS, Ace!

You have joined the ranks of the second Wizarding War as your original character SARIA YOUNG under the Freya Mavor faceclaim. In order to fully prepare for what the Dark Lord has in store for you, it is advised that you read through the new member playbook, create your account within the next 48 hours (as this is a secondary character for you, a sideblog to your main character is acceptable), notify the headmistresses, and immerse yourself into the world of a war-torn wizarding world.

Your journey awaits you--in the darkness, in the light, or somewhere in-between.

OOC INFO

1. NAME: Ace

2. AGE: 18

3. TIMEZONE / ACTIVITY: EST - - I like to think I am a 6 or 7 with activity. I’m starting in my first semester of uni so activity may lag from time to time, but I’ll be around most nights!

4. PREFERRED PRONOUN(S): She/her

5. TRIGGER WARNING(S): omitted for applicant privacy

6. HAVE YOU READ THE RULES?: omitted for admin use

7. HOW DID YOU HEAR ABOUT IVORY AND BONE?: Idk…I guess I know the admins somehow and ask them constant questions about everything.

8. FAMILIARITY WITH RPING?: I’ve been an acitive role player for about six years! I’ve been on tumblr for almost two, and have had the pleasure of being a member of La Lune! I now also play Fenrir Greyback and Ginny Weasley here :)

9. HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER FIT?: Saria, in short, is a very earnest sort of girl who truly wishes she can do everything she can to help The Order. She provides a window into what the innocent side of the war looks - she is one of many who have not been directly targeted. She has no qualms, no history, and next to no knowledge of just what exactly is going on - just like many of the younger generation involved in the war does. The whole thing was simply thrust upon her in a way that resembled the countless other refugees, yet just like many, Saria is a civilian forced to take a stand, but stands with what she believes is right. In addition to providing this look at the ‘normal’ people in a war, Saria is a Seer who wants to do anything and everything she can to help. Though her abilities are confusing and she can’t always figure out what her visions mean, she simply wants to do good and help those who want the same. I think this could make her a valuable member of the group over all, as she can provide some otherwise impossible to obtain information about the Inner Circle and their Death Eaters without risking loss of life. She’s also a lil bug and just wants a family, and I think The Order can provide that for her.

IC INFO

1. CHARACTER NAME: Saria Young

2. CHARACTER AGE: 18

3. CHARACTER BASICS: Pronouns: She/her

Blood-Status: Half-blood

School: Ilvermorny

House: Pukwudgie

Allegiance: The Order

4. TOP THREE FACECLAIMS:

1) Freya Mavor

2) Sarah Bolger

3) Anna Popplewell

5. CHARACTER SEXUALITY: Heterosexual

6. PERSONALITY TRAITS: friendly, shy, clumsy, earnest, clairvoyant

7. BIOGRAPHY:

The Wizarding World was one full of magic; one where beings gifted with extraordinary abilities could flourish and grow. Creatures straight from one’s imagination filled the air and roamed the earth, and the humans who could tame them could grow flowers with a flick of one’s wrist or a wave of their wand. The world of magic was straight out of a fairy tale. Yet, not every fairy tale has a happy ending, and this magical world is not always bright. Treachery still lives, and little girls are still abandoned by families who do not want them. Once upon a time, a young woman — a witch born of pure blood — fell in love with a man who had once been clueless of the magic around him. This man came with a reputation for charming women into his bed. There wasn’t a woman who didn’t fall victim to his charms. The witch thought she might change him, thought she might entice him with her love, her magic, and her powerful family. Her advances seemed to work, and with her heart filled with joy, the two slipped between silk sheets. Yet, come morning, the freckled young woman was no different than all of his other triumphs. He was gone, leaving nothing but the memory of his skin against her own. Once upon a time, a pureblood witch would become pregnant with the child of a no-maj. It would be Rappaport’s Law that would doom the unborn child. Despite that the law had been repealed in 1965, the pureblood families who controlled the southern region of the United States still followed its rules religiously. A wizard, under no circumstances, could marry a no-maj, let alone have a child with one. Worst still, the child would be a half-blood, something despised by the people of the society she lived in. Try as she might to hide the growing swell of her stomach, her parents would discover her secret, and sweep her into hiding until the child was born. The young woman grew ill as the date grew closer, and by the time her daughter was born, the freckled young woman had lost her life. The child was a demon in her grandparents’ eyes. A murderer, spawn of the man who’d killed their daughter, and a half blood with the piercing blue eyes of her father. From the moment she’d come into this world - red faced and wailing for her mother — Saria Young had been destined to be abandoned by a family she would never know. The only reason Saria found her way into the system was her resemblance to her dead mother. Freckled cheeks and a mop of blonde curls, it was what ultimately saved her life, for her grandmother was consumed by guilt. She couldn’t dispose of the small bundle, for it resembled her own daughter as a babe…she found the nearest hospital and left her upon its steps. It was the only kindness her grandparents would ever show her— they couldn’t love a child who had her father’s blue eyes and no-maj blood. From that moment on, Saria would bounce from foster home to foster home - a total of twelve in her life - a ward of the state of Louisiana, a witch who never knew she wielded the magic of her mother. Her magic showed itself early in life, though the no-maj she’d been raised as didn’t have a clue as to what it was. Instead, her strange episodes and dreams were dismissed as a medical disorder. Epilepsy: that’s what she’d been diagnosed with, no doubt given to her by her birth parents. It was hard to make friends when you constantly moved between foster homes, and harder when your eyes would roll into the back of your head and you could collapse at a moment’s notice. Harder still to find a family, when they wanted an undamaged child, one who was normal. We just can’t handle her, they’d say. She’s too much. It became a painful, sickening routine. Each time she thought she’d found a mother and father to call her own, they’d bring her back, too afraid of her episodes to sign the papers and make her their daughter. It caused her to close in on herself; alone and afraid, the little witch would soon become as fragile as glass. As time went on, Saria accepted this fact, and found herself becoming content in the group homes of New Orleans, where she didn’t have to feel bad about her condition and could spend her days cooking and mastering the unique foods found in the French Quarter instead of pursuing relationships. She would age out of the system one day, open a restaurant, and be happy with her life. She was content, that is, up until an owl perched itself in the window of her shared bedroom. She was content, up until she read the letter clasped in its beak. She was content, up until the moment she discovered the world she’d been destined to be apart of. Dear Miss Young, we are pleased to invite you to attend Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Those were the words that would change her life forever. From that moment on, Saria’s place in the world seemed a little more clear, though shy and timid she stayed. It would be only a week before she was sailing towards a new world, away from live oaks blanketed by Spanish moss and the swamps of Louisiana. The Big Easy faded behind her, replaced by the towering mountains of the north. Ilvermorny welcomed her with open arms, and when the Pukwudgie raised its arrow, and the Thunderbird splayed its wings, Saria followed the arrow and shot into her new life. Here, Saria thrived under the colors of pink and white. Shy and docile, yes, and particularly clumsy with her wand, the young half-blood was accepted without a second thought. Her peers found her episodes normal, her predictions amazing and other-worldly — her classmates insisted that she was a Seer, a witch who could see the what others could not. She flourished like a flower in spring in Divination classes, and when she returned home each summer, she discovered others of her kind walking Bourbon Street. Tucked away in the touristic voodoo and physic shops of the Crescent City was the very magic that flowed in her veins. All her life, her culture and her heritage had been right under her nose. Finally, Saria Young had found where she was meant to be. That all changed at the end of her sixth year. Saria collapsed in the middle of the dining hall, her body spasming, her eyes a milky white as images of war and death tore through her mind. When she woke, it was too late. The news had already reached Ilvermorny. She couldn’t warn them, for The Dark Lord had truly returned, and North America was finally plunged into the horrors that had plagued Europe for months. She had no choice but to flee with her peers, for even a half-blood could be seen as worms in the eyes of his followers — especially one raised in the No-maj world, one who could not prove her suspected line f. To the Death Eaters, she would be no better than what they called a Mudblood. Now, she remains in the safe arms of The Order, where her abilities might be of some use. But what can a Seer do, when everybody alreadyknows the future is as dark as it is terrifying? CONNECTIONS: TATIANA VALENTINA: Tatiana is the sister she never had. Saria couldn’t have possibly found a better friend than the fellow mop of golden curls — the two instantly fell in with one another, forming a bond that was sure to remain until their curls turn gray. When Saria arrived in Europe, it was Tatiana who saw her panic and her fear through the frenzy of refugees, took her hand and told her it would be alright. Without that horrible grasp of English, Saria would have been hopelessly lost. She considers the expressive yet soft girl to be closest friends, and has developed a fierce protectiveness of her. VIKTOR KRUM: Saria’s visions have come and gone her entire life— but one thing that stayed constant was the image of a dark haired boy and his stunning smile through the watery view of the Sight. Each time she’d collapse, she would see him. It began as glimpses — several seconds, at most — but as the rise of the Dark Lord grew closer, they grew longer and clearer. She considered him something of a guardian angel, smiling each time her gift brought a glimpse of the future as if to tell her everything would be alright. But that day — almost a year ago now — she and the Ilvermorny half-bloods stumbled into the waiting arms of The Order, he was there. Ragged looking, and that smile was gone, but it was him. She’s gone a whole year at Grimmauld Place with saying little more than a few sentences to him when he greets Tatiana. A whole year of freezing and dashing from rooms as soon as he walks in, her heart pounding in her chest. The Second Sight is a confusing force, and she doesn’t know why she sees him in her visions, but one thing is certain: Viktor Krum is the man of her dreams.

8. WRITING SAMPLE: omitted for applicant privacy

#iabaccepted #lsrp #hp rp #hp rpg #hprp

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kassna · 7 years

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The Rogue One novel, schaloime and I: A Christmas cry fest

Sooo around Christmas I read the Rogue One novelization. And because I lost it at the first few pages already I decided that I couldn’t suffer through this perfection alone and started texting quotes and comments to @schaloime (mainly KRENNIC ALL THE WAY)... And, well. I don’t want to lose this list of hilarity and heartbreak, so I’m posting it now for everyone’s amusement. :D (Comments are of course translated from a wild English/German mix and a bit edited, but convey the fun we’ve had really well. X’D)

This book gets a very high recommendation from me, just saying before the cut! I love it to pieces, it even made my second trip to the cinema a lot better and gave me so much! 11/10 pathetic wine mom Orsons, would (and will) read again

(Come yell with me about it, please!)

He had killed a city. He could kill a world.

Boy, Krennic is such a pathetic squabbling schoolboy X'D lots of fun when he’s pleased about something he did well, like "I AM THE MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE fuck off Tarkin noooo" When they’re in the same room he’s always THIS CLOSE to stomping his foot, crossing his arms and whining

He felt like he finally deserved some attention from the emperor.

What is this book. Help.

[insert a lot of fangirling about the way the characters are written, how you’re in a different head with each part/chapter and how they all have clearly different ways of thinking and decision-making]

He’d settled himself in his seat with a glass of wine and a datapad by the time they’d left the docking bay.

Already the second scene in which Krennic lounges around and drinks wine. (This time the flight to Eadu, first time was after work on the Death Star. He also apparently likes to walk miles and miles through the construction and is quite pleased about having built all this and knowing every lil detail.)

Galen Erso, whom he’d given every chance. Galen Erso, whom he’d nearly died for once on that sad scrap of farmland. “I thought we were past this,” Krennic murmured to himself, with a bitter smile."

Just in - Krennic’s fuckin’ gay for Galen (as if we didn’t know that) and ALWAYS thinks about either him or Tarkin.

He’s really like HALF OF THE FANON!HUX headcanons I’ve encountered in fics. [slime and I began to flail helplessly because we can’t handle him. spoiler: we didn’t really stop screaming until the end.]

During the flight to Eadu, Krennic had stoked the fury in his heart. Fueled by outrage and humiliation, its fire burned bright enough to warm him in the chill that swept through the shuttle.

... Am I reading fanfic for real now or what.

Krennic smiled acidly and said the words he had selected with care aboard the shuttle:

Also just in: Krennic spent the trip to Eadu drinking wine and writing a speech. An epic speech:

“Gentlemen. One of you has betrayed the Empire. One of you conspired with a pilot to send messages to the Rebellion. I urge that traitor to step forward.”

Krennic. How often did you practice that in front of a mirror until you made sure you won’t forget a single word of it?

If by some miracle Cassian got off a second shot, he decided Krennic would make an excellent target. The Empire could only be improved by the loss of another high-ranking blowhard.

GOOD BOY. (Cassian’s thoughts are really interesting in general.)

“Very well,” Krennic said. “I’ll consider it a group effort, then.” The words were cruel and sweet. Krennic felt no shame in deriving satisfaction from justice ruthlessly applied.

PLEASE. slime: gaaaaaaaaay

He looked down at himself and straightened his uniform with a tug. He noted black smudges from smoke and charred metal, a patch of red where someone—probably him—had bled. He wondered if he would have time to clean up before arriving. Or maybe Lord Vader would respect a man who’d seen combat.

Or: Krennic fainted right after entering the shuttle for departure from Eadu, got the order to go to Mustafar upon waking and dives headfirst into the REALLY IMPORTANT QUESTIONS. I wish I were kidding.

Was Vader mad? Was this his homeworld? Perhaps he wasn’t human beneath his armor; perhaps that forbidding black suit did more than replace lungs and limbs damaged in battle, and instead allowed a creature born in magma to survive the chill of space. Or maybe he lived on Mustafar because he enjoyed burning his victims alive.

... Krennic lands on Mustafar and has some thoughts about how Extra™ Vader is.

Vader had let him live. Vader had judged him too valuable to kill—and by extension, the Emperor recognized his value as well. Tarkin’s mutiny, his seizure of the Death Star, had been forestalled. And Krennic had yet to reveal Tarkin’s greatest error—how in destroying Jedha City, Tarkin had failed to blockade the moon, failed to ensure against survivors. For how else could the rebels have infiltrated Eadu? The traitorous pilot had come from Eadu and fled to Jedha; his message had escaped. Only Tarkin could be held responsible for that.

Oh BOY. Hubris much? slime: “ "Look at me, Look at me!" me: Everyone else in this book has thoughts that are more than that pathetic blubbering. Even JYN, who’s at war with her hatred for everyone who’s ever left her, EVEN HER WHO HAS BEEN A REAL EGOIST UP UNTIL NOW. But nooooo, Krennic is the only Special Snowflake™ in the universe. At least in his own head.

He was ready to leave the madhouse that was Mustafar, but he was suddenly uncertain he could ever escape Vader’s shadow.

How about you don't even try.

She held back a laugh and looked to Cassian. The man who’d betrayed her. The man who’d admitted his guilt and decided to fight for her. He saw her staring and looked back at her quizzically. It wasn’t how betrayals were supposed to go.

U don't say.

It was a bad plan. It had all been a bad plan, of course, starting with Galen’s message and ending with this unauthorized raid on Scarif. Now he was, what—defecting from his defection? If he survived, he’d be an Imperial traitor and a rebel mutineer. He’d be lucky to see the inside of a Yavin prison cell.

Bodhi, talking a mile a minute even in his thoughts. But he’s happy that there are most likely no mind-reading tentactle monsters on Yavin... At least something.

She almost winced when she looked at Cassian, wearing an officer’s suit and cap like they were perfectly tailored. Even the code cylinder in his pocket was at a regulation angle.

Jyn has her priorities straight. Always get a look while you can.

He stood at a metaphorical cliff’s edge, stamping his foot in an effort to cause an avalanche. With Galen Erso’s treachery undone, he would gain the allegiance of Vader. With Vader’s backing, he would expose the incompetence of Tarkin—the revelation of rebel survivors from Jedha. With Tarkin humiliated, Krennic’s command of the Death Star would be uncontested, and he would confer with the Emperor himself as to how it might best be used. Krennic would be, in every way that mattered, the most powerful and decorated man in the Empire.

I... Wait, what. Krennic, daydreaming.

Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin made it a point not to dwell on the flamboyant ambitions of Orson Krennic. Over the course of more than a decade, the director had gone from a nuisance to a genuine threat and back again, all the while demanding far more attention than Tarkin was prepared to grant him.

Thoughts from Tarkin! As if Krennic was a lousy annoying little fly.

Cassian had denied him that exquisite sense of purpose and replaced it with individuality. With individuality came doubt and cynicism: an awareness not only of the odds of success or failure but of those outcomes’ repercussions.

Individuality creates cynism. Now I have feels for a droid, thx Kaytoo.

With one second left until total shutdown, K-2SO chose to mentally simulate an impossible scenario in which Cassian Andor escaped alive. The simulation pleased him.

KAY. T___T

[everyone’s last sentence in their last part is amazing tbh]

As he emerged from the command center, two death troopers fell into step behind him and he thought of another day long before: another planetfall; another squad of troopers; and another danger to his life spawned by Galen. That day on Lah’mu had ended in victory, too. Orson Krennic was going to war.

Drama much! Firm belief now: He has that cape only to imagine himself in such a moment, with that last sentence as caption, for the epic picture he strikes in his own imagination...

But before Baze could fire, Chirrut rose from the bunker and stepped into sunlight.

First thought: oooh why do scenes with those two always feature such impressive pictures in my head Second thought, because the part was over and another person took over: FUCK YOU ALEXANDER FREED FUCK YOU SIDEWAYS I waited the WHOLE DAMN BOOK for a scene from Chirrut’s POV and just accepted that I won’t get one AND YOU DROP THE PART AT THE MAIN SWITCH ON ME FUCK YOU FUCK YOU HARD

[This was also when I started crying. I cried during three books my whole life (I cry frequently at movies, and I read a lot, so it takes a special something for that to happen). Be proud of yourself, Alexander Freed. You wrote *bawled her eyes out*-book #4.)

(...) without the temple he could not truly be a Guardian of the Whills; without joy and frivolity he could not be a clown and jokester among sober peers; without the Holy City he could not be a protector of his beloved world (...)

Fuuuuuck youuuuuu. T____T

He was dying, of course. He felt Baze’s heavy, familiar tread pound the ground, smelled his brother’s sweat as he leaned close. He wanted to say, Baze! My eyes—I can’t see! but Baze Malbus had always needed comfort more than humor.

THIS GUY I S2G.

But of course the Force had reunited them before the end.

Alright, I died, see you on the other side.

At last report, the data vault itself had been breached. It was a show of incompetence so great that Tarkin was almost curious to know how Krennic might explain it away.

Tarkin is a lil bitch sometimes. It’s great.

He was not the Empire—not every moment of oppression and indignity and torment she had ever suffered. He was an Imperial, a petty, spiteful, scared little man who’d forgotten his own atrocities. And he didn’t know her at all. She decided to make him remember.

Jyn can’t read a lot of people, but it seems to be easy for her with Krennic. X’D He only ever was “the man in white from her nightmares” until they finally meet. And up until his death she does know who he is and what role he had in her life - but never his name. Well, Orson. Sucks to be you. No immortal name.

He could follow Galen Erso’s thread through his life. He could see the full extent of the tragedy, the waste of effort on a wasted man. But what about before? He sought refuge in his childhood, tried to recall an Orson whose hopes had not yet been cast in shadow…

KRENNIC. Can’t you even in your LAST SECONDS stop thinking about how deeply ingrained Galen was into your life and how pathetic you were??? THIS GUY.

Orson Krennic, advanced weapons research director and father of the Death Star, died alone on Scarif, screaming in fury at Galen Erso, at Jyn Erso, at Wilhuff Tarkin, and at all the galaxy.

... In his very last moments he imagined himself in full glory on the Death Star, his triumph, and in the middle of those cozy thoughts about his creation, the one thing he knows in and out, he finally noticed what Galen sabotaged. Ooops. Sucks, right?

I cried a lot. Slime cried a lot. And I’ll end this with the one sentence that really stuck with me and won’t leave my head for a long time...

Like a pilot should, he died with his ship.

Goodbye, Bodhi. Not all alone after all.

#Rogue One #rogue one: a star wars story #rogue one novelization #Orson Krennic #Star Wars #I wish I were sorry #not really but yeah #it was a wild ride and I enjoyed every second of it!#book rec #not a review #but a lot of fun #my stuff #friends #thx slime for letting me text you all the screaming :D #you deserved to suffer with me #I still blame you for everything

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