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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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Do you really hate this county? Or were you just ranting?

Sigh. I debated whether or not to answer this, since I usually keep the real-life/politics/depressing current events to a relative minimum on this blog, except when I really can't avoid ranting about it. But I have some things to get off my chest, it seems, and you did ask. So.

The thing is, any American with a single modicum of genuine historical consciousness knows that despite all the triumphalist mythology about Pulling Up By Our Bootstraps and the American Dream and etc, this country was founded and built on the massive and systematic exploitation and extermination of Black and Indigenous people. And now, when we are barely (400 years later!!!) getting to a point of acknowledging that in a widespread way, oh my god the screaming. I'm so sick of the American right wing I could spit for so many reasons, not least of which is the increasingly reductive and reactive attempts to put the genie back in the bottle and set up hysterical boogeymen about how Teaching Your Children Critical Race Theory is the end of all things. They have forfeited all pretense of being a real governing party; remember how their only platform at the 2020 RNC was "support whatever Trump says?" They have devolved to the point where the cruelty IS the point, to everyone who doesn't fit the nakedly white supremacist mold. They don't have anything to do aside from attempt to usher in actual, literal, dictionary-definition-of-fascism and sponsor armed revolts against the peaceful transfer of power.

That is fucking exhausting to be aware of all the time, especially with the knowledge that if we miss a single election cycle -- which is exceptionally easy to do with the way the Democratic electorate needs to be wooed and courted and herded like cats every single time, rather than just getting their asses to the polls and voting to keep Nazis out of office -- they will be right back in power again. If Manchin and Sinema don't get over their poseur pearl-clutching and either nuke the filibuster or carve out an exception for voting rights, the John Lewis Voting Rights Act is never going to get passed, no matter how many boilerplate appeals the Democratic leadership makes on Twitter. In which case, the 2022 midterms are going to give us Kevin McCarthy, Speaker of the House (I threw up in my mouth a little typing that) and right back to the Mitch McConnell Obstruction Power Hour in the Senate. The Online Left (TM) will then blame the Democrats for not doing more to stop them. These are, of course, the same people who refused to vote for Hillary Clinton out of precious moral purity reasons in 2016, handed the election to Trump, and now like to complain when the Trump-stacked Supreme Court reliably churns out terrible decisions. Gee, it's almost like elections have consequences!!

Aside from my exasperation with the death-cult right-wing fascists and the Online Left (TM), I am sick and tired of how forty years of "trickle-down" Reaganomics has created a world where billionaires can just fly to space for the fun of it, while the rest of America (and the world) is even more sick, poor, overheated, economically deprived, and unable to survive the biggest public health crisis in a century, even if half the elected leadership wasn't actively trying to sabotage it. Did you know that half of American workers can't even afford a one-bedroom apartment? Plus the obvious scandal that is race relations, health care, paid leave, the education system (or lack thereof), etc etc. I'm so tired of this America Is The Greatest Country in the World mindless jingoistic catchphrasing. We are an empire in the late stages of collapse and it's not going to be pretty for anyone. We have been poisoned on sociopathic-libertarian-selfishness-disguised-as-Freedom ideology for so long that that's all there is left. We have become a country of idiots who believe everything their idiot friends post on social media, but in a very real sense, it's not directly those individuals' fault. How could they, when they have been very deliberately cultivated into that mindset and stripped of critical thinking skills, to serve a noxious combination of money, power, and ideology?

I am tired of the fact that I have become so drained of empathy that when I see news about more people who refused to get the vaccine predictably dying of COVID, my reaction is "eh, whatever, they kind of deserved it." I KNOW that is not a good mindset to have, and I am doing my best to maintain my personal attempts to be kind to those I meet and to do my small part to make the world better. I know these are human beings who believed what they were told by people that they (for whatever reason) thought knew better than them, and that they are part of someone's family, they had loved ones, etc. But I just can't summon up the will to give a single damn about them (I'm keeping a bingo card of right-wing anti-vax radio hosts who die of COVID and every time it's like, "Alexa, play Another One Bites The Dust.") The course that the pandemic took in 21st-century America was not preordained or inevitable. It was (and continues to be) drastically mismanaged for cynical political reasons, and the legacy of the Former Guy continues to poison any attempts to bring it under control or convince people to get a goddamn vaccine. We now have over 100,000 patients hospitalized with COVID across the country -- more than last summer, when the vaccines weren't available.

I have been open about my fury about the devaluation of the humanities and other critical thinking skills, about the fact that as an academic in this field, my chances of getting a full-time job for which I have trained extensively and acquired a specialist PhD are... very low. I am tired of the fact that Americans have been encouraged to believe whatever bullshit they fucking please, regardless of whether it is remotely true, and told that any attempt to correct them is "anti-freedom." I am tired of how little the education system functions in a useful way at all -- not necessarily due to the fault of teachers, who have to work with what they're given, and who are basically heroes struggling stubbornly along in a profession that actively hates them, but because of relentless under-funding, political interference, and furious attempts, as discussed above, to keep white America safely in the dark about its actual history. I am tired of the fact that grade school education basically relies on passing the right standardized tests, the end. I am tired of the implication that the truth is too scary or "un-American" to handle. I am tired. Tired.

I know as well that "America" is not synonymous in all cases with "capitalist imperialist white-supremacist corporate death cult." This is still the most diverse country in the world. "America" is not just rich white middle-aged Republicans. "America" involves a ton of people of color, women, LGBTQ people, Muslims, Jews, Christians of good will (I have a whole other rant on how American Christianity as a whole has yielded all pretense of being any sort of a principled moral opposition), white allies, etc etc. all trying to make a better world. The blue, highly vaccinated, Biden-winning states and counties are leading the economic recovery and enacting all kinds of progressive-wishlist dream policies. We DID get rid of the Orange One via the electoral process and avert fascism at the ballot box, which is almost unheard-of, historically speaking. But because, as also discussed above, certain elements of the Democratic electorate need to fall in love with a candidate every single time or threaten to withhold their vote to punish the rest of the country for not being Progressive Enough, these gains are constantly fragile and at risk of being undone in the next electoral cycle. Yes, the existing system is a crock of shit. But it's what we've got right now, and the other alternative is open fascism, which we all got a terrifying taste of over the last four years. I don't know about you, but I really don't want to go back.

So... I don't know. I don't know if that stacks up to hate. I do hate almost everything about what this country currently is, structurally speaking, but I recognize that is not identical with the many people who still live here and are trying to do their best, including my friends, family, and myself. I am exhausted by the fact that as an older millennial, I am expected to survive multiple cataclysmic economic crashes, a planet that is literally boiling alive, a barely functional political system run on black cash, lies, and xenophobia, a total lack of critical thinking skills, renewed assaults on women/queer people/POC/etc, and somehow feel like I'm confident or prepared for the future. Not all these problems are only America's fault alone. The West as a whole bears huge responsibility for the current clusterfuck that the world is in, for many reasons, and so do some non-Western countries. But there is no denying that many of these problems have ultimate American roots. See how the ongoing fad for right-wing authoritarian strongmen around the world has them modeling themselves openly on Trump (like Brazil's lunatic president, Jair Bolsonaro, who talks all the time about how Trump is his political role model). See what's going on in Afghanistan right now. Etc. etc.

Anyway. I am very, very tired. There you have it.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #covid for ts #i had a lot to say evidently #rant

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millibelle · 3 years

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I'm concerned in a curious way, do go on.

ok so. I was on a grand total of 3 medications that aren't actually meant to be taken together. My GP was just. prescribing things to me without actually checking.

Once I was put on medication #3 (zoloft? i think?) I got. a little weird. A little weird being I was sweating, I could always feel my heartbeat like I had just had a hard run, I was nauseated, and I was having trouble keeping my train of thought.

My GP essentially said all of these were normal, and that side effects should go away after my system got used to the new medication. She also implied that maybe i was just being paranoid on certain things. OK Cool thanks doc.

I go through a week of feeling weird, and at the end of the week my dose was upped slightly. I was started out on like 20mg, and the goal was to get me up to 200mg. I'm not sure why I was being slowly put on the medication or if it was normal, but at the start of week 2 I was put on 100mg of the new medication. That was too much of the medication to be on.

Whatever thin band that was keeping me from going completely erratic snapped and all of my symptoms got a lot worse. I was running a low grade fever p much always, my heartbeat would go from really rapid to really slow, (and i could still p much always feel it), Nausea upgraded to vomiting and TW FOR UNSANITARY IN THE PARENTHISES (I was having diarrhea that consisted of undigested food. FUN!) My mental confusion also upgraded to full on paranoia!

So I call my GP like hey I think i'm going insane? And her response is essentially "none of these are side effects of DRUG. are you taking any illegal substances? No? I don't believe you. and also if I do believe you that means you are histrionic."

.t...thanks doc....

in the period of about 3 days, my behavior became more and more wild. At work, I yelled at a customer for asking me to do something that people regularly ask me to do at work, because it's what my entire job is. I'm sorry random dude.

I thought my doctor was trying to kill me, and that the pharmacy was in on it and I the pills I was given were POISON PILLS but i couldnt not take them because the GOVERNMENT WAS WATCHING ME and if I stopped taking them A SNIPER WOULD SHOOT ME THROUGH THE WINDOW.

The walgreens incident is something I remember vaguely. I was buying epsom salt because. I don't actually remember exactly but I needed it otherwise THE MAN THE GOVERNMENT HAD PRETENDING TO BE MY DAD WOULD KNOW I WAS ONTO THEM AND HE WOULD KILL ME. A woman who happened to be looking at something on the shelf next to me was obviously A SPY and, paranoid, sweaty, and angry, I pulled my pocket knife out and told her to get back because I was SERIOUS. The face this lady made sticks with me. Her eyes got really big and she just. walked backwards away from me. I'm sorry walgreens lady but every time i think of you I burst out laughing. I would do the same thing in your position.

Day 2 of 100mg: There was a solar eclipse that happened. The upcoming one is bringing back the memories. Do you know what happens when you are in a manic state and the sun vanishes? Do you know? Crickets were chirping in midday. I was laying down in a parking lot. Somehow I ended up at home, and I bawled my eyes out while thinking about it. (Also google tells me that the solar eclipse in question happened in 2017 so it's been a little longer ago than I thought.)

Somehow on day 3 I wound up in the hospital. I had lost some weight cause of the whole food situation, I wasn't sleeping, and I was acting how one would act if they thought the world was trying to kill them and were oscillating between wanting to bring down as many people possible and also wanting to run into the woods and live as a wild man with a pocket knife. At one point I vomited up blood, I think thats when the hospital happened.

I was there for about half an hour before they were like "damn you've got serotonin syndrome." then put me on fluid and gave me some kind of pill and told me to stop taking my other pills.

moral of the story is don't be on 2 SSRIs and a blood thinner at the same time otherwise you'll get kinda weird.

bonus round: GP reaction!

I told her all the symptoms i was describing was serotonin syndrome and she told me i should have advocated for myself better so she'd know how serious it was.

hearty thank you doc! why did you put me on a blood thinner while i already had low blood pressure.

#this should have some kind of trigger tag on it but i have no idea where to start or what needs tagging #sorry

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pulpwriterx · 3 years

Text

A SHEEP AS BLACK AS MIDNIGHT IN SPACE

It is a dark time for the Galaxy. General Enric Pryde and Supreme Leader Snoke have unleashed a reign of terror, dealing the New Republic a terrible blow with the Hosnian Cataclysm. But all is not lost. General Organa has discovered a New Hope from the desert of Jakku, who will become the Last Jedi. After Rey, Han Solo, Chewbacca, Poe Dameron and Finn, the former FN2187 undertook a daring raid that led to the destruction of Starkiller Base, Rey has gone to Ahch-To, to study under the reclusive Jedi Master Luke Skywalker. And he will tell her a secret. There is another.

I: THERE IS ANOTHER.

Luke Skywalker sighed, heavily.

“Master Luke, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I destroyed my own family, Rey. And the Galaxy is paying the price. Did you ever wonder why Han and Leia don’t live together? Why I’m in exile, here? There is another. Or at least, there was. My nephew. My paduan. The best and worst student at the Jedi Temple. Ben Solo.”

“Ben Solo! Didn’t he die at the Jedi Temple?”

“In a way, he did. He doesn’t use that name, anymore.”

“Then he’s alive? Do you know what happened to him?”

“A great many things. First? There were his mother's expectations. She had his whole life planned out. His Royal Highness, Prince Benjamin Skywalker Organa-Solo. He was going to be the perfect Jedi, the perfect young leader, the perfect fair-haired son of the New Republic. He wasn’t supposed to be a giant behemoth of a man, who was too much like his father and his grandfather to fit in any mold. Han and I pretty much figured that Big Ben was going his own way by the time he was six. His hair was down to his waist, and he’d scream and break the scissors with the Force if you came near him to cut his hair. He wouldn’t wear clothes. Just a pair of underwear, if you took him out. He wanted to be a Wookiee. He wouldn’t speak Basic. Just Shriiyywook. We worked it out. But Ben never really changed.”

Luke sighed.

“As he grew to manhood, I started seeing my nephew as a monster. His obsession with his own duality, and that of his grandfather. His heretical leanings toward the Grey Path. And his vows? Forget vows. Not my nephew, the king of taboo. Jedi are supposed to take vows of chastity, and honesty. To have control over their emotions. Ben sold cigarillos, wine, and rubbers from his father’s smuggling operation out of my father’s TIE Fighter, his personal vehicle. He lost his virginity when he was 14 to his best friend, Talia who was 13. As usual? Han was the best worst father, ever. He took her to get an implant, and kept Ben supplied with rubbers. Which he needed, because any of my female students who were curious about their resident Rebel Angel? Let’s just say, Ben never failed to satisfy their curiosity. He didn’t listen to me when I tried to stop him. He really thought he meant something to these girls. After all, they meant something to him. It took Talia telling him she was going to rent him by the hour out of her Wookiee foster father’s garage in Mos Eisley, because he laid more pipe to more satisfied customers than any spaceport gigolo. I mean, how do you teach a six and a half foot tall Force of nature who has been using the Force since he was a toddler in a crib to open the cupboard and get the cookies?”

“He likes cookies?”

“Ben? He eats like a Wookiee. Literally. Chewie taught him to cook.”

“But he likes cookies?”

“Eats them by the box."

Master Luke laughed.

“Now I see that all of it was so very minor. I used to get so angry with him about the TIE Fighter, and the smuggling, and Talia, and the other girls. He didn’t trust me to tell me how the Dark Side, how Snoke was stalking him. It had been a terrible day, for Ben. I disciplined his little group of girls, and all four of them blamed everything on him. Not Talia, though. She spoke up for Ben. But the other three girls? They didn’t take his side. They gave him up. He sat in his hut and cried, all day. He really cared. He did. The poor kid cried himself to sleep. I went to check on him, that night and I felt the Dark Side all around him. While he was sleeping. I thought he had given himself over to it. I attacked. I almost cut off his head, but Ben defended himself. He blocked my lightsaber with his and punched me in the face as hard as he could. If I wasn’t a Jedi Master who can anticipate my opponent's movements. It would have broken my neck. But he didn't mean to kill me. Ben was just scared. As it was, I was unconscious until the morning. By then? It was all over."

Rey couldn’t believe the enormity of the act that he had just admitted to.

Trying to murder his own paduan, his own nephew!

“What happened to your nephew after he brought the building down on you? Did he join the Dark Side.”

“No. He packed up his gear and walked ten miles to the spaceport, and made it there by morning. He left Yavin 4 on a Mandalorian freighter with a business associate of his father’s, Din Saxon, under an assumed name that he had identity papers for. Now he’s partners with Rotta the Hutt, Jabba’s son, Din Saxon, the Mandalorian, and Han Solo. They revived the old Galactic Black Market, and now there’s a war on, not only are they making a fortune? They’re the only game in town for a lot of little things that people find it hard to live without. They do sell arms and coaxium to both sides, but they only sell the low-grade junk to the First Order and at three times the price they sell to the Resistance. I hear that Ben’s doing well. He hasn’t realized his ambition to meet the girl the Force has bound him to, but he still has his friend, Talia. I trained her as a Jedi Healer, and she's since gone to the Republic Medical School. She's Ben's personal doctor. As reckless as he is? He needs to travel with a farkling doctor. Pardon my language. The point is, my nephew renounced the Jedi and the Sith, the Dark and the Light, that day. He wants no part of it. He follows the Grey Path. As it was laid out by Master Qui-Gon Jinn. He also wants no part of this war. His name is Ben Solo, but the name he does business under, the name you’ll have heard of is his alias. Kylo Skywalker. The Arkanian.”

“Ben Solo is Kylo Skywalker, the Arkanian?”

“Yes. And he and Han are looking to add a good scavenger to their operation, because Kylo just bought the salvage rights to the site of the Battle of Yavin-4. And he’s the new owner of the ruins of the Second Death Star. You were the best scavenger at Niima Outpost. I’m sure you're the woman for the job.”

***

Kylo Skywalker was truly a man larger than life.

He wore a black oilskin duster, caped and hooded, festooned with grommets, pockets, and epaulets over a black pair of pilot’s coveralls, tucked into tall black jackboots.

He also wore a huge pair of brown leather and Beskar chrome goggles, with shatterproof mirrored lenses.

And he was the tallest, burliest man that Rey had ever seen.

He sat down across from her at the table she had picked out at the Niima Cantina.

The man had a quiet air of undeniable menace about him.

It put Rey on edge.

“You should try to hide that you have that much strength in the Force. The Sith are real, and the First Order take who they want.”

“Not if I work for you, Jedi Temple dropout, right?"

“I picked a good time to leave. I hear you're the best scavenger at Niima Outpost.”

“I am. Can you take those goggles off? I feel like I’m talking to a man with no eyes.”

He lowered his hood, and took off the goggles.

Time stopped.

And it wasn’t just because Kylo Skywalker the man had grown up to be a black swan with dark, saturnine good looks out of the ugly duckling of a boy that Master Luke had described to her.

It was because Rey was fairly sure it was him.

The man with whom she had shared a bond in the Force, for as long as she could remember.

She never knew his face, or his name, but now that she saw him, she somehow recognized him.

“It’s OK. I feel it, too. The Force brings people together for all kinds of reasons. Look at it this way? Now you’re sure to get the job. You’re hired, Rey…”

Rey shrugged.

“Just Rey. My parents left me when I was a little girl. I never got a last name. I don’t have identity papers, either.”

“That’s OK. I can get you some, if you need them.”

The doors opened.

Rey was excited to see Han and Chewie, again.

Kylo laughed.

He had a beautiful smile.

“My father. And my godfather. But you knew that, because my Uncle sent you here to recruit me. But I get the feeling you might decide to stick with me and the Old Man, instead. Keep that quiet, though.”

Han and Chewbacca sat down.

“She really is a scavenger. A friend of Poe’s. He got her into this mess. I got her out of it. So, you hired her, right, junior?”

“I hired her.”

“How you been, princess? You don’t look so good.” Han asked.

“You can tell us. I used to be you, after all. The Galaxy’s only hope.” Kylo joked.

“It was awful, mostly. Really awful. Master Luke was nothing like I thought he would be. Sometimes, he was very kind. But sad. As if he forgot that he was supposed to be terrible. But some of the things he taught me just confused me. Or scared me. I’m afraid of myself, now. What I might do.” Rey admitted.

“Forget it. Forget everything he taught you. It’s meaningless. The Force has no Dark Side, and no light. That dualistic nerfshit thinking? People made that up. As an excuse to control each other. And make war. You shouldn’t be afraid of what you’ll do, like it’s not up to you. You make your own destiny, Rey. Look at me. I made mine. I’m no Jedi. And I’m no Sith. There is another way. The Grey Path. I can teach it to you, if you want. Think it over. But as for all that poison Uncle Luke poured into your ears? Look what it did to him. Forget it.” Kylo advised her.

“Sounds like Luke is in bad shape, junior.” Han mentioned.

Casually.

“When Rey reports back to him? We’ll send him some supplies.” Kylo said.

“Rey, do you really want to be a Jedi?” Han asked her.

Nobody had asked her that, yet.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, try working with us for awhile. If you don’t want to go back? I won’t send you. I learned my lesson on that. With junior, here. Even after that Snoke bastard burned the Temple, Luke tried to get me to send my kid back to him, one more time. I said no. Since then, I get to visit my wife, but we don’t live together. And the kid and her aren’t on good terms. But Ben’s alive, and doing good, and the Sith and the First Order didn’t get him. It’s worth it. Don’t go back if you don’t want to. Let ‘em have their farkling war, without you. Fuck ‘m.” Han told her.

Kylo raised his pitcher.

“Dark side? Light side? Fuck it. My side.” He said.

He motioned to the Rodian barman.

“Rey works for me and Solo, now. If there’s trouble with her? You’ve got trouble with all of us.”

“I never had trouble with Rey. You made a good choice, Rey. These guys are the real deal. Order what you want, kiddo. The Arkanian has deep pockets. The deepest in the Galaxy.”

Rey was very hungry.

She ordered a lot of food, and a cheap half bottle of red wine.

“Don’t bring her the cheap stuff.” Kylo told the Rodian.

“Why are you so rich, Kylo?” Rey asked.

“He gets dressed up like another Darth Vader. Red lightsaber and all. And we raid First Order ships with full cargo holds. Or Crimson Dawn freighters. Sometimes First Order warehouses and depots. All he has to do is show up and…say it, Vader junior. Say your thing.” Han suggested.

“I am Kylo Skywalker, Lord Vader. All of this belongs to me. Surrender to me all that I ask for. Or you will die. Quickly! I find your lack of haste disturbing.”

Rey shivered.

But, much to her shame, not entirely in fear.

“That’s why I call him junior. Because I ain’t calling him Kylo. I didn’t name him Kylo. You should see these assholes give up. They usually just kneel and grovel. Sometimes, we have to get tough? But most of the time? It’s all money, it’s all for the taking, and it’s all ours.” Han explained.

“I also liberate Stormtroopers. Snoke takes them from their families, when they are children. And he brainwashed, humiliates, tortures, and enslaves them. The First Order takes their faces and their names, and makes them kill. For Snoke. It’s what he did to me. It’s what he meant for me. I didn’t deserve to live that way. No one does.” Kylo added.

“What happens to them?”

“If they have a home to go to? I help them return to it. Or find a job. Some of them work for me. They are my people, I am their Chieftain. No one else cares about them. Not my mother. Not the Resistance. Not the New Republic. I care.” Kylo told her.

Rey nodded.

The idea that Darth Vader’s grandson, the Galaxy’s only Grey Jedi Master, a ruthless pirate with unlimited money, was the self-styled Arkanian-style Clan Chieftain of a small army of loyalists with military training was a little unsettling.

And that’s why the General wants him. She wants not just her son, but his people, and the influence he has over not just them, but potentially the First Order.

When Rey thought that, Kylo turned to her.

“The Old Man and I are dangerous, ruthless men. But compared to my mother? We’re baby Ewoks.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Han agreed.

And just like that, Rey was working for the Outer Rim Cartel.

Her food and wine showed up.

“So, junior, I talked to the guy? The guy about identity papers for Rey. You object to her being a Solo?”

Kylo smiled at Rey in a way that let her know she wasn’t the only one thinking what she was thinking.

“As long as she isn’t supposed to be my sister? It’s fine by me.” Kylo replied.

"Nah. It says I'm her legal guardian until she's 21. So, that way, nobody can steal you, from me, Rey. I also put you down as Junior's common law wife. Then, after you're 21? Nobody can steal you from him. Considering the way you two keep looking at each other? I figure you don't mind."

"So, this is my wedding night?" Kylo asked

"Watch it, kid. They're just papers. It's not like I bought her from Unkar Plutt and I'm giving her to you."

"Yes, Kylo. This is our wedding night." Rey told him.

Chewbacca made a comment.

"It was not fast, Chewie. Rey is her. The girl of Ben's dreams. It's the Thunderbolt. Didn't you know, when you first met Mala, that she was the one for you?"

Chewie said something about how he wasn't talking about that kind of knowing.

"Yeah, well, it's none of our business. They're probably just kidding around. Come on, old pal. Let's not be the extra dicks at the wedding."

Han got up.

Chewie said something, sternly, to Ben that Rey didn't understand, and Ben replied earnestly.

Rey decided she was going to have to learn better Shriyyywook.

After Han and Chewie left, Ben opened the bottle of wine.

"Since we've suddenly found ourselves married? I should make you some kind of vow. Think about the loneliness you felt on this desert, Rey. The longing for someone, something to come for you. Think about it, and let it go. Because you'll never be that alone, again." He told her.

"You have nothing to worry about, Ben. You're every bit as strong as Darth Vader. And just as much a man as Han Solo. You may think you're the ugly duckling. But you've transformed into a beautiful black swan. What happens, now?"

"We'll eat our dinner, and drink this bottle of vintage Corellian red. And then? We'll start doing whatever the fuck we want. And we'll keep doing whatever the fuck we want, until death comes for us. And the son of a bitch is going to have to sneak up on me."

Kylo poured two glasses of wine.

Rey began to think this might really be where she was meant to be, after all.

Happy fanfiction day!

#reylo #ben solo lives #ben solo smuggler #reylo au #reylo romance #tros fix it #han solo lives #rey x kylo ren #reylo fanfic

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szivtalan · 4 years

Note

1, 2, 3, 4, 19, 26, 32, 34, 36, 38, 41, 43, 44, 47, 53, 54, 69, 72, 80, 83, 84, 92, 105, 107, 112, 113, 115, 118, 132, 135, 136, 137 for the ask some question thing please?

Oh shit this will be so long and I can't put a line break anywhere yells I'm Sorry

1) 3 Fears

- living at my hometown/country for my entire life and not seeing nor experiencing the rest of the world at all

- not making any impact on this world, leaving it as I found it

- needles

2) 3 things I love

- friends, my brother

- laying down on the ground on a sunny day and staring up at the sky, watching the clouds roll by

- dogs

3) 2 turn ons

- someone making an effort to talk to me and basically letting me know they think about me

- I think homiro said gentleness and I agree yeah, being kind-hearted and soft spoken and attentive to people around you,,,,, Yeah that shit good

4) 2 turn offs

- people feeling the need to express superiority over others at any given moment

- general intolerance

19) How I feel right now

Kind of really sad.... Annoyed that I can't sleep, a whole lot anxious about things, worried about the ringing in my ears being back

26) The reasons I joined Tumblr

I genuinely cannot remember, maybe it was to look at inumog doujinshis in my Shizaya days

32) Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level?

Depends, low when I need to focus on something else, loud when I want to just let it get to me and dissociate

34) Am I excited for anything?

My binder!!! I want That,,, also, the things I ordered for me and a friend, my date tomorrow, meeting my friends on Tuesday (maybe), and on a long-term, I think starting school again, moving out and maybe traveling a lil.

36) How often do I wear a fake smile?

I think I do it a lot, especially if I'm not getting something or just want to be nice. Honey I work in customer service, being nice is part of my contract

38) What do I think about most?

If I made/am making the right choices.

41) Do I perfer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

I think video chatting is nicer bc u don't just hear people, you can also see their faces and therefore interpret their words better

43) Do I believe in magic?

No fam

44) Do I believe in luck?

Uhhh I don't think so? I just think things have consequences and everything is interconnected. I believe in happy coincidences.

47) Do I have any nicknames?

Vicki, Vic, Viku, Vee, Vitya, Shinai (notice how one of these doesn't fit w the rest) and yeah I guess Vamos

53) What's my favorite word?

Maybe szerelmeskedés (it's hungarian for lovemaking, but we have two words for love: 'szeretet' which is more on the platonic side, and 'szerelem' which contains the infatuated aspect of it. The stem "love" in this word is based on the latter, whereas the more common 'szeretkezés' has the first sort of love in it)

54) My top 5 blogs on Tumblr

JUST FIVE? Ah fuck @homiro @kuwoko @transbucky @incorrectbballboys @takao-au-lait

69) Gotten my heart broken?

Several times. You know, you'd think once you get through the first couple of heartbreaks you stop hoping and harden your heart, but mine's still plenty delicate and I just...keep getting my hopes up all the time.

72) Learned another language?

Yeah I mean adgj I've been learning English for over 14 years (give or take), learned some German in first grade and high school, Latin for 4 years and French for one and a half. I also tried Russian and Swedish in duolingo but it's just not the same u know

80) What do I want for birthday?

My friends to be happy and safe.

83) Have I ever got caught sneaking out or doing anything bad?

Mmm one time we as a class got caught drinking hard liquor, we were like 14 and some of us were seriously sloshed. Like near alcohol poisoning. We were all scolded harshly lol, but as an individual I think I've evaded being caught with shit so far. Which is incredible. I did so much stupid shit

84) What I'm really bad at

I suuuck at playing the guitar. My hearing's kinda wonky anyway, so I don't even actually know if my singing voice's nice or not, but I cannot carry a tune on guitar for dear life. I've been trying to learn this song, and it's a total of 4 chords, and the progress is terrible

92) What kind of people are you attracted to?

Sweet people who turn out to be sort of damaged, uh. Tall dudes with kind smiles and ropey muscles, and every girl ever probably. I can't really explain, looking back on my dating/crushing history, I do have a range dang

105) What do you do when you wake up?

Ideally, I lay in bed for a few more hours, have some adult fun time by myself, go out of my room, get washed up, make coffee, eat breakfast, get dressed. When I don't have time to do all this, I get half-dressed, eat, wash up, and dress up the rest of the way.

107) Do you ever want to get married?

....ha. As a child of divorce, I don't exactly believe in the sanctity of marriage, but like dude, who knows what will I think when I get there with a partner.

112) Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?

Some do, when there's willingness to change and grow. But it's better to be wary if you do grant them second chances, because they might go down the same path unconsciously - sometimes it's just all they know, you know?

113) Do you smile at strangers?

Yeah, at everyone who seems nice to me. Shit, I do fake-smile a lot.

115) Ever wished you were someone else?

Only pfff all the time?

118) Ever won a competition? For what?

I don't think I have, but we did get a gold medal with our drama club at senior year of high school at a big nationwide event. I mean, we weren't the only one with a gold, it didn't exactly mean first place, but it was stil very cool!!

132) Do you type fast?

I think so, yes? One time my brother's best friend asked me about how fast I typed so I opened a new Facebook post and typed "[his name] is a butthole that's how fast" and he laughed sgfjd

135) Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt?

*aggressively sighs* YEAh a lot of folks okay!! I'm sensitive and I feel a lot

136) Is cheating ever okay?

No. It isn't.

137) Do you believe in true love?

I mean, I want to, but I think my ability to fall for someone in a matter of seconds kind of cheapens the whole love thing for me. I believe it exists, and that it's out there, but knowing it is and believing that I won't really experience it makes me really sad.

#ask and i shall answer #long post #meiyanaalexia #i'd reread but its so late and my eyes are tired just looking at this #holy fuck i wrote a lot #i even typed out the questions by hand instead of copy pasting #but yeah anyway its late im pining this was a good distraction thank

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risingphoenix761 · 4 years

Text

A Dangerous Game - Ch. 6

Ten years. No more and no less. Now the clock has run out, and it's time to negotiate a new deal with the King of Hell.

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Crowley x OFC (can be read as reader insert)

Series Masterlist

Warnings/Tags: Smut. Snark. Magic (and lots of it). Bickering. Temperature play. Intoxication. Fingering. Oral sex. Overstimulation. Size kink. Unprotected sex. Blood drinking. I had no idea what to tag some of this, but I did my best.

A/N: Happy Halloween! It's been awhile! It's also the one year posting anniversary (wow, already?). *throws confetti* I have no excuses for the delay, and hope there's enough good stuff in here to make up for it. Smooches to sweetest and dearest @slytherkins for her help in polishing this! I can't think of anything else, so let's get going. Enjoy!

###

I've got this feeling, there's something that I missed (I could do most anything to you) Don't you breathe, don't you breathe (I could do most anything to you) Something happened that I never understood (I could do most anything to you) You can't leave, you can't leave

Snow Patrol, “Somewhere A Clock Is Ticking”

***

Uneasiness seeped into my veins like poison. My body was heavy but my mind was preoccupied with a creeping sense of dread. Visions came unbidden and unwelcomed, turning my dread into terror while I lay helpless. I wanted--tried--to scream, but my body was immobile and I was powerless to move. Only my mind cried out in wordless horror, desperate to escape its mute prison.

The weight vanished and startled me awake in time for me to feel myself disappear. I came back to myself almost instantly with the sense that I was no longer in the same place, and that I was not alone. “Katie?” I whispered, unsettled and afraid.

“What happened?” a harsh murmur replied. “Why were you afraid?”

“Wha--Crowley?”

“Why were you afraid?” he repeated.

“I was...-” I paused, confused by the question, his presence, the whole situation. “I was asleep,” I answered. “I was dreaming or something. Why?”

I heard the exasperation in his sigh. “A bloody nightmare,” he said. “Of all things…”

“What's going on? And...where am I now?” It was dark, but this wasn't the room Hecate and I were shown to at the end of the day, and Hecate herself was nowhere to be seen.

“You're elsewhere,” Crowley replied.

“Why?”

He ignored me and grabbed my wrist, and another moment of evaporation later, we were back in his foyer.

I yanked my arm from his grasp and glared at him, dizzy from the transport. “Stop doing that,” I snapped. “I can't stand the way that feels.”

“You seem to think I care,” he replied, eyeing me before turning away.

“You care about something enough to wake me up in the middle of the night and whisk me off to God knows where.”

“I care about whatever causes you alarm enough for me to feel it. Any threat to you is a potential threat to yours truly.”

“Oh, and I thought you might be concerned for your queen’s safety.”

“Don't flatter yourself.”

“That was sarcasm, jackass.”

Was that my bad mood I was feeling, or was it his? I had been in a temper all afternoon, enduring Bela's airs and Crowley's mockery, feeling wretched about Hecate and guilty for how easily Crowley had manipulated me. Being snatched out of bed in the middle of the night didn't improve matters, and I was willing to risk the consequences if it meant telling him off.

He looked fed up and agitated, still in his black suit. I didn't know what time it was, but it was late enough most people would have undressed for the day. "How are you still awake?" I asked, weary to my bones and longing to go back to bed.

"I don't sleep," he replied tersely.

Well, fine, then. I heaved a sigh and swiped a hand across my forehead, my skin as warm and clammy as ever. I felt like I was running a low-grade fever.

"Still?" he asked, watching me, his tone dismissive.

"Yeah, still," I replied. "I've still got your blood, don't I?"

"You think it's the blood? My mother didn't teach you anything, did she?"

Damn that arrogant attitude. "Care to enlighten me?"

"What, and keep you from your beauty rest?"

"Jesus Christ, Crowley…"

"Not that I'm an expert," he said, "since I've never been inclined to work a binding spell, but I doubt that's a side effect of the blood. Far more likely, it's the magic you're feeling."

I remembered the heat of his energy, and the way his power collided with mine, the way it felt like it would burn me alive. "Your affinity is fire," I said, understanding his implication.

By way of answer, he lifted his hand and a flame appeared in the air above his palm. There was a surge of warmth through my veins in response, and he countered, "Yours is water."

I copied him and confirmed with a demonstration, a wave of my fingers drawing moisture from the air and gathering it into droplets, falling gently into his hand. The flame hissed and danced at the water, but ultimately burned on after the drops evaporated; my magic flowed through me in a cool rush, giving me relief from the heat, and I watched Crowley shiver slightly.

"Can you feel mine," I asked, "the way I feel yours?"

"I can. At least, I can't think of another reason why I've been cold all bloody day."

"Sorry?" I offered dryly. "I've never bound my magic to another's before."

"As far as I know, no one has," he replied, "probably because it sounds like a terrible idea--"

"Would you give it a rest?" I reached for the water in the air again, pulling it to me as a cool vapor and elated when it relieved the heat of Crowley's power.

He cringed; likely, he got another chill, though I wasn't inclined to be sympathetic. "On second thought, the binding itself wasn't the worst idea," he decided. "The worst idea was working magic on another magic user and deliberately shagging as much magic to the surface as you could to charge the magic you were trying to work. Do you have any idea how powerful energy is in that state?"

"Actually, I do." I wandered past him to sink into the nearest armchair, scratching wearily at my tired eyes. Now that I was awake, I had no idea how I managed to fall asleep to begin with, Crowley's energy felt so hot. I could sleep again now that I was cooler, but the idea of returning so soon to the sense of terror that led him to wake me up in the first place made me hesitate.

My back was to him, but I could imagine the look on his face. "All that fuss about waking you up, and you're just going to sit there?"

"I am," I replied. "Are you hard up to deal with secondhand nightmares, or something?"

He approached and leaned on the back of my chair; I felt both his energy and his hands at either side of my head. "Are you...prone to nightmares?" he asked.

"Why?"

"Trying to get a sense of how often I'll be inconvenienced by your dreams of ghoulies and ghosties."

I rolled my eyes and answered, "I'm not."

"Good."

They hadn't felt like dreams, though. However vivid dreams feel, however powerful the response they trigger, dreams didn't feel like that. What I felt was more like...like remembrance, like something forgotten in the recesses of memory rising back to the forefront of thought. I wanted to talk to Hecate about it but didn't know how to address it. She had been withdrawn the entire afternoon, and knowing the part I played in her distress, I had no idea what to do to resolve it.

"If you're going to sit awake," he continued, "by all means, do so with your familiar."

"I'm not bothering Katie because you want me out of your hair," I snapped, feeling a lurch of annoyance at the suggestion. "Especially not after today."

"Oh, I see," he replied. "Dear Hecate is...what was it? 'Sensitive to certain factors?'"

I shot to my feet and turned to face him, glaring. "You're such an asshole. It doesn't matter to you, does it? You'll do anything to anybody, as long as you get something out of it."

"I'm a demon, Endora," he said, unfazed as he leaned his arms on the back of the chair. "What do you expect? An apology to your companion for offending her prudish sensibilities?"

"She's not a prude! She just doesn't like sex."

"And she's stuck with you?" He chuckled, smiling insolently. "You're worried I'll traumatize her, with everything you get up to?"

"You don't know anything about what I get up to."

"Oh? And what do I know?"

I paused, feeling flustered. In my irritation, I was losing focus on the vapor around me, and the heat of his magic came back stronger than ever, further distracting me. "How should I know?" I asked, the fire burning in my skin contrasting with the cold moisture I drew from the air. "You've probably heard that I'm the Whore of Babylon--"

"Utter nonsense," he interrupted. "The Whore has been dead for years."

My focus slipped again in my surprise. "There's actually a Whore of Babylon?"

"Was," he corrected. "Now continue. I heard a particularly interesting story of an orgy with a nest of vampires."

"It wasn't an orgy! I only slept with one of them."

"One?"

What an asshole. I sank onto the couch opposite his chair and argued, "The second one shouldn't count. She barely touched me."

"She?"

"Yeah, she. Not that it's your business."

"Trust me, love, I'm the last one to judge you. Though that version of the story when you let them bite you in the throes of passion is kinky, even for you."

I folded my arms across my chest and looked away. He could figure it out for himself, if he was so smart. I wasn't about to explain anything.

"Then there was something to do with an incubus and potency...or was it a succubus and life force? Either way, no one knew who was involved, but I assumed it was you."

I wouldn't look at him, but I could feel him staring at me, still leaning on the back of the chair.

"I can't help but notice a pattern in your dalliances," he said, as lightly as if talking about the weather. "Objectively dangerous, but that's just how you like to play. All monsters, by some standards, but I don't think that's all there is to it…"

His hands moved as he spoke, fingertips pressed together, and I saw the air shimmer around them the same time I felt renewed heat moving through me, battling the chill surrounding me.

"Every rumor came with one version or another of you, the beasties you went to bed with, and whatever made said beasties special," he went on. "Blood, life force, et cetera. It's all magic, after a fashion. And having seen for myself how and when you like to use magic, I can't help but wonder what you were really up to, in all your illicit adventures."

I shrugged. "Just getting my kicks," I said. "I need novelty. The same old thrills never do it for me twice."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "You're using the power I gave you and the power of who or whatever you're sleeping with, when your energies are in their most primal states, to fuel your spells. Hardly a new concept. I remember that brand of magic had a spike in popularity in the nineteen century."

"And let me guess, you were in the thick of it somehow?"

"I kept a professional interest. I never heard of a human either brave or stupid enough to try it with anyone other than another, though. The power inherent to most creatures is often stronger than any human, and much harder to direct and control, especially at its most potent. And you went and made a hobby of it."

He didn't move, but I felt more heat, no longer around me but reaching for me, brushing my wrists, my neck, my chest, slowly working down my body. I didn't think about my response, automatically drawing on my energy and meeting heat with cool, the sensation of the two combined sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the temperature.

Well, not directly, at least.

"I'm curious what put you onto it to begin with," he added.

"Why?" I asked, chasing his fire with my water and feeling as though two pairs of hands, one hot and one cold, were mapping my body with their fingertips; my breath caught in my chest and my head started swimming with the sensation.

"Indulge me."

The heat intensified and I gasped aloud, ramping up the cool, and I saw him shiver across the room. The heat that came after felt more like defense than retaliation, and I held my intention in my mind, focusing on it above all else.

His hands shifted to clutch at the back of the chair and I could see clear lines of tension running through him, could feel my power teasing him the way his teased me. I sent more to him, a soft rainfall followed by a steady current, and the heat around me relented, pulled back to him and taking more of me with it, bound as we were.

"It was an accident," I finally replied. "It was during a moon ritual with another witch and we both went into a trance. One minute it was going fairly standard, the next...I don't know, it was like…" My breath came up short again and my heart beat faster, feeling the stirrings of want rising in him while fire and water moved between us. "It was like everything was opening, like there was nothing between me and...everything else. I felt my magic around me as clear as this--" I shifted my energy back to myself, withdrawing from him, and part of him followed, exposing my need to him. I basked in the familiar fluidity before asking, "Do you feel it?"

"Yes," he replied softly, more of a whisper than anything, and through our bond, I felt the fire energy surrounding him, its power nearly eclipsing mine.

"I felt drunk on it," I continued, "I could feel my magic, I could feel my partner's magic...next thing I knew, we were...just...crashing into each other. There was no spell going on, it was just seeing how much we could build off each other. What kind of power we could conjure between us."

It pulsed on the air, rippling back and forth and gathering in intensity. With mere focus, we combined enough power to fuel just about any spell I could think of. The memory of that ritual was enough to spark my arousal, and the touch and tease of his magic fanned it into a blaze, one I could feel him echo through the spell connecting us. If we were to recreate that ritual, use our bodies to reach the highest heights and deepest depths of our power, there was no telling what we could do.

With a massive effort, I drew my energy back, pulling it away from him and trying to shield myself from his with it. That thought was at once intoxicating and perilous, of pushing magic as far as we were capable, and I shivered at the idea.

"So, after that," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "I tried to find more like-minded witches willing to experiment with me. It occurred to me that enhancing the sexual aspect could lend even more to the energetic, but it got harder to find partners for that. There's not a lot of overlap between magic and the kink scene."

"Did it ever occur to you to experiment alone?" he asked. He looked like he was having as much trouble recovering as I was, still clutching the chair and breathing heavily, though he surely didn't need oxygen. "To test your theory, as it were?"

"I'm not about to choke myself to juice up a spell," I informed him. "I just...found others to do it for me."

"Like vampires."

I sighed. "Yes. Like vampires."

"And werewolves?"

"Not during the full moon, but yes."

"And was it an incubus or a succubus?"

"...both."

He smiled. "My, my, Endora, you do get around."

"You know what, Crowley?" I snapped, finally reaching my limit. "You can slut shame me if you want, but I make my own choices, I don't answer to anyone, and my sex life is my business. And you have no room to talk anyway, with the way you got where you are."

"Sleeping with the boss to land the big promotion, you mean?" he asked. "You're absolutely right, darling. The difference between us is, I'm not ashamed of my promiscuity."

"You're not shamed for it," I corrected. "That's the difference."

"Hard to shame the shameless," he reasoned. "And you're far more useful as you are. Think where you'd be right now if you hadn't chosen your path and stuck to the practices of every other witch before you."

No need to think too hard about that. Burning in hellfire. Enduring endless centuries of torture. Being stripped of everything that made me human and beginning the long, slow, agonizing transformation into a demon--

I gasped as my nightmare returned to me, fire and pain and fear and blood, so much blood… And as the thought raced across my mind, I felt a deep, overwhelming hunger--no, need--lancing through me, making my hands shake and erasing away my logic and reason a little at a time--

"Look at me!"

My sense of myself returned, my head spinning and my body on fire with Crowley's energy running wild through me until I thought I really was burning alive, apart from where he held my face in his hands, my magic around him feeling so blissfully cool I nearly wept with relief.

"What is it?" he asked urgently, standing in front of me, and I realized I had slid from the couch and must have tumbled to the floor, now kneeling at his feet and his grip the only things holding me up. "What's happening?"

"I don't--I don't know," I gasped. My heart was racing, blood rushing through my veins, and the fire surrounding me burned even hotter, that maddening need growing stronger and a shadow of hunger darkening his eyes.

"Tell me something," he insisted. "Your energy is out of control, you feel..." His hand moved slightly, his fingers at the pulse in my throat, and I let out a pitiful moan at the cool touch, the heartbeat, the thought of my own blood coursing through me and carrying life, feeling, humanity--

My hand flew up to catch his wrist, and I gave fleeting notice to his absence of a heartbeat. Nothing like what I could feel in my chest and through his hands, and God, touching him was as wonderful as him touching me, everywhere our skin met giving relief from the heat. "Touch me," I begged, reaching up and covering his hands on my face.

What was I feeling anymore? His energy burned me, but I also felt it in him through the contact of our hands, a reprieve from mine, he as unused to the chill as I was to the warmth. I ran my hands over his and cursed the layers of his suit covering his arms. I needed more skin. The clash of hot and cold startled my other senses to heightened awareness, and the fusion of magic was as exhilarating as the touch of my own was relieving.

I shifted his hands from my face to my neck, ready to jump out of my skin; the more he touched me, the hotter his energy seared, and the more I needed him to touch me. His fingers moved along my collarbones, baring my shoulders, and I vanished my clothes with a twist of my wrist, drawing in a shuddering breath as he wasted no time in trailing his hands across even more of my skin. "In a hurry, are we?" he asked.

"We," I repeated, reaching up and running my fingers over his face before pressing my palm to his cheek and feeling a shiver roll through him. He covered my hand as I had covered his, his eyes falling shut, and waves of cool energy rippled along my arm. The cut on my left hand burned as if freshly branded, and he flattened his right more firmly against my shoulder.

"We," he agreed. He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers, and the air around us was so charged with magic that the little it took for him to vanish his clothes made my head spin. "Steady, darling," he added, tightening his grip on my shoulder and cradling my face again as I swayed on my knees.

I tilted my head back to look up at him, fighting to focus while my mind began to swim. Reality felt hazy. The magic we had conjured up merely to rile each other was heady and powerful, like too much whiskey drank too fast. I trailed my hands across his, wrapping my fingers around his wrists, and I watched the shiver run through him, feeling its twin down my spine. I might have been drunk on our energy, but at least I wasn't the only one.

His fingers tightened, pressing firmer into my skin as his eyes fell shut, and I watched him shudder with the next breath he didn't need. It was as beyond him as it was me, fire and water surging through the air and vibrating deep in blood and bone. "Bloody hell, Endora," he muttered, "what have you done to me?"

I didn't even need to focus to know what he meant. I felt, and through the spell he could feel as well. Human emotion, carried in living blood through a demon's vessel, was a powerful drug...as powerful as a demon's magic residing in a human body.

I hesitated to touch him, afraid of being swept away, but he took the choice out of my hands and pulled me to my feet to gather me close and hold our bodies together. The rush of magic left me breathless and the spinning in my head intensified, but the terrible heat was finally abated. His skin against mine, my power touching his, and the fever was alleviated at last. Everything took on sharper clarity, from the pulse in my veins to the fear and desire I felt for him, and I saw it through a lens of euphoria I didn't understand...until I realized it was his.

"So much," he said, his tone dazed and delirious. "You feel so much…" His hands moved across my skin where moments before was only his energy, teasing exchanged for need. He leaned into the curve of my neck, where the scratch of his stubble contrasted with the soft warmth of his mouth and the whisper of his breath as he spoke. "You're afraid of me."

Fresh heat through his hands burned me like hot iron, and I cried out in pain before chasing it with cold vapor.

"You're angry at me."

I was burning from the inside out, molten lava coursing through me and carrying his elation at my emotion, and I couldn't say if it was excruciating or exquisite.

His lips on my neck moved in wet, open-mouthed kisses, with occasional strokes of his tongue that had me pressing myself closer and mewing like an eager whore. He paused at my ear and my body tingled as he whispered, "And you want me."

I wound my arms around his neck to pull him closer and my leg twitched with the sudden urge to wrap about his waist and throw myself onto him. A desperate noise tore from me, something between a moan and a whimper, and my want joined with his hunger for feeling to turn us into starving animals.

He pushed me towards the couch as much as I drew him along, and I lowered myself back as soon as my legs collided with it. The moment we were no longer touching, the fire rushed back in and I had to hold back a scream at the inferno that consumed me. My pain lanced across our bond and into him, and he lay down with me so we were pressed skin to skin, the energy calming again.

"You feel everything I feel," I said, trying to grasp the totality of Rowena's spell.

"Yes," he replied as he swept his hand from my thigh to my breast and moving to my shoulder to press me back into the couch. "Damn you, I do."

Anything I might have said died on my lips at the surge of pleasure I felt at his touch, with his response to my enjoyment feeling more and more like the excitement of a fresh high, which sent me even higher. We could keep feeding into each other until we lost our minds and welcome the descent into madness, and it would take no effort at all.

"You knew what was happening, didn't you?" he accused, his voice low and harsh as his free hand moved along the inside of my thigh. "Earlier, with Bela and your familiar...I had you squirming without even touching you, and you could feel what it did to me. How tormenting you turned back on me. How in rousing you…" His fingers stroked the length of my cunt before he pushed inside, one digit brushing my clit, and I let out a pleading moan at the touch. His body tensed and his face shifted with my pleasure echoing through him, and his eyes darkened as they stared down at me.

"Your pain is mine in every possible way," he said, and his fingers circled lightly as he spoke until my eyes rolled back in my head and my mouth fell open in a silent cry. "Along with everything else. Your fear...your rage...your desire…"

I clutched blindly at him, fingers digging into his shoulder and the wrist of the hand working between my legs, and my hips lifted up to him as I tried to urge him faster. He ignored me and held to his pace and the same deliberate strokes he tortured me with earlier, and I could feel how intoxicating my excitement was to him.

"This is your doing, darling," he reminded me, his voice beginning to shake as my breath caught in my chest. "I feel what you feel, and I want you to feel everything."

My eyes flew open to see him still watching me, looking ravenous, his gaze sharp with lust, and I whimpered as I writhed beneath him. "Oh fuck, Crowley…"

"That's it, love," he urged, fingers moving faster and hips rocking into mine, "give me a little more…"

"God--shit--fuck, I'm gonna--oh God--"

"Breathe, Endora."

I drew in a slow, deep breath and let the orgasm roll through me. Every inhale and exhale carried ecstasy to every molecule of my body and charged the magic that still vibrated between us, and through the pleasure I was alarmed. "Crowley! The energy!"

"Do something with it," he ordered, still fingering me, my climax hitting like a drug and he needed another hit.

"Like--" breathe, keep breathing… "Like what?"

"I don't fucking care!"

I was going to come again fast, as he gave no sign of relenting. If I didn't do something with the magic before I lost control of it, there was no telling what could happen. I bit my lip hard enough for the pain of it to pull me back from the edge and buy time to think, and his soft groan told me it was well received.

A glamour...if I was to fool a court of demons into thinking I was Bela's pet witch, I could use help with the illusion. I focused on my intention and channeled our energy into it, and when the next orgasm came, I released it with a cry of triumph.

He nearly collapsed on top of me as the combined energy of the spell and rush of bliss overtook him. "Fucking hell, Endora…"

It took a moment to answer. My magic pulsing through me, at its most powerful, potent state, felt familiar and yet different, joined with his...his felt foreign and frightening, and the two of them together was a river of flame, a blazing downpour, more powerful than any magic I ever had at my command before. I couldn't even feel the high of pleasure through the magic, a rapture in and of itself...--until the magic receded and I felt Crowley's fingers inside me.

"Crowley," I burst out, my breath coming shorter. I had barely ridden out the second orgasm, and he was already steering me into another. "Crowley, slow down--"

"Hush," he said, silencing me with his free hand. "I want more from you, and you're going to give it to me. Is that understood?"

I didn't answer except for a loud, muffled moan at his persistent attention, my body hostage to his.

He uncovered my mouth and slid his fingers deeper to hit every spot he discovered the night before. "Answer me, Endora."

"Yes," I obeyed, and every muscle tensed and convulsed at the onslaught. "Yes!"

"Good." He traced a fingertip around my nipple, and I felt a prickle of heat in my breast before a firm squeeze as warm energy kneaded the soft flesh. He repeated his enchantment with the other nipple, and I sighed in contentment and moved closer to the sensation. A sudden pinch synched with a flick of his finger, and I thrust my hips up into his with the two of us meeting halfway. "Hold still," he reminded me.

I nodded in compliance and he drew away from me. The teasing persisted, but he moved down my body with his hands trailing across my skin as he went to stir waves of hot and cold through me again. He finally knelt at the edge of the couch and with a careless wave of his hand, my legs were spread wide and held with invisible bonds.

His fingers brushed along the inside of my thigh and sent shivers up my spine. The scratch of his beard against my skin made me jump and twitch as he leaned in. My nerves were already on high alert, but they screamed the moment he slid his fingers back inside and pressed his mouth to my clit.

When I cast a spell to make him feel what I felt, this was nowhere near what I pictured. He chased after my pleasure like nothing else mattered but its reverberation through him. And without the magical energy to distract us, I felt nothing but pleasure. Every stroke of his fingers, every flick of his tongue over already-sensitive nerves had me fighting to catch my breath. My spine bowed and my hips rose off the couch as I came again, and from there I couldn't tell one climax from the next.

And his high from it...his touching me was almost unbearable but for what I could feel of his reaction--joy that was nearly madness, and a hunger for more. My body had reached its limit, but his need was barely satisfied.

I flung my hand out to clutch the arm of the couch above my head and covered my mouth to muffle my scream. Electricity was passing through me again and rapidly turning so good into too much. Tears filled my eyes and spilled onto my face, and it was a struggle to breathe through my rising panic. Breathing brought feeling, and I couldn't handle anymore of it, least of all the white-hot sensation I was sure would kill me if Crowley didn't stop soon. Too much...please, it's too much…

"None of that."

The words were sharp and abrupt, and something snatched my hand away from my mouth to pin my wrist above my head. He had lifted his head to look at me, but I couldn't see him through the film of tears. His fingers still pumped in and out, focused on my g-spot, and he spoke over my moan of anguish. "You're going to scream loud and long for me, darling, until I'm tired of listening to you."

"Crowley, please," I begged, "please, I can't take anymore..."

"You can and you will."

His thumb passed over my clit as hot energy twisted my nipple and I let out a wail. "Please!"

"Beg all you like, but if you wanted to stop me, you would have."

The words flew to my lips, but I held them in. I couldn't say them when I could feel his exhilaration like it was mine, no matter how overwhelmed I was.

He lay with me again, though my limbs were still trapped and magic still teased me. He squeezed my breast and the sensation made me cry out, gentle as it was. "More, Endora," he murmured; I heard the plea in his voice through the command, and my tears were no longer for myself as his desperation reached me. "Please, just a little more…"

A sob broke from me as I struggled against the power holding me. "I can't!"

He fell onto me as my exhaustion began to catch up to him, but he braced himself above me again and guided the head of his cock to my soaked, aching cunt. There was a split second when he waited for me to put a stop to it and I couldn't bring myself to, then he thrust deep.

I screamed. Already stimulated to insanity and with no magic to ease his entry, the size of him inside me was as frightening as it was overwhelming. Every motion left my head swimming and panic rose in my chest again, then I felt his rising ecstasy and I latched onto it to anchor myself. I couldn't feel my own agony anymore, too swept up in the rapture overtaking him.

I raised the hand that wasn't bound and combed my fingers into his hair, looking up at him. His eyes were closed, his face intent, and he looked so beautiful I thought my heart might stop. I moved my hand from his hair to his cheek, drunk on everything he was feeling. "Come on, Crowley," I begged. "Come for your queen."

His eyes snapped open and he reached for my other hand, the one he cut the night before. A sweep of his thumb across my palm reopened the wound, and as I watched, he lifted my hand to his lips and drank my blood.

All at once, every emotion was magnified to a surreal intensity. As soon as my blood passed his lips, he was lost, spilling himself inside me and letting out a deep moan of release. There was no line between my feeling and the rush it gave him, and for an instant I could have been either one of us, or both of us at once.

He must have sensed it as well. A final swipe of his tongue over my hand and his voice shook as he loosened his hold on me and said, "I think, darling, we both might regret that spell of yours before this is over."

I didn't answer. Still caught in the blurring lines and trembling in aftershock, his words passed over me. When the feeling of electricity faded, though, and I recovered a trace of myself from the chaos, they sank in. He was right. I might have saved myself the rack, but if we weren't careful, this bond could lead us to destruction.

###

Leave me some love...and if you want tagged, lemme know! :)

Forever/SPN/Crowley/ADG tags: @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @rckyfrk @loveforfilm @lostgirl14480 @alahmorah @chamberofsloths @frenchhedonism @gingersnap3344 @letsby @impala-dreamer @rebelwriter95 @divadinag @slytherkins @genevievedarcygranger @sheppardaddicts

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #crowley #crowley fanfiction #crowley x reader #crowley x oc #a dangerous game #risingphoenix761

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thebarefootking · 4 years

Text

Food

As with many autistic people, my childhood was rife with battles at the dinner table over what I would and would not eat. (Or, in my case, the bar. Our trailer didn't have a dinner table, per se, and I ate on a tall chair in the kitchen, facing across the bar toward the living room TV, while my parents sat on the couch.) Some foods were fan favorites, some I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot fork. Tomatoes, I hated (and still hate!) One of my earliest memories is of a preschool teacher, so much bigger than me, coming up behind while I picked at my food.

"Don't you like tomatoes?"

"No. They're gross."

"Have you ever tried a tomato?"

"No. They smell bad and they're mushy."

"Well how do you know you don't like it, if you haven't tasted it?" she asked, ignoring the fact I'd just told her. "Try it. For me?"

"I don't wanna."

"Just one bite?"

"I don't. wanna."

"You need to try the tomato."

Of course, when I finally gave in to her badgering, I 'learned' what had already been apparent to me: tomatoes were gross.

Some foods, more interestingly, were one-day delights, preferred a couple times and then hated thereafter. Eggs, for example, were always a trial. A nice scramble was always accepted, at least for my youngest years, until I learned more about where eggs came from. After that, I swore I could taste the chicken embryos, and I didn't eat eggs for a good, long while. When I repented of my folly, fried eggs were the dish of the day, but only one way: cooked hard, with the yolk unbroken. That way, I could peel the egg white away and eat it, and leave the whole yolk on my plate to be disposed of or, more frequently, eaten by one of my parents.

For those of you who cook, you may know that this is a particularly difficult way to prepare eggs. Either the yolks stay runny and burst on the plate (bad), or they burst in the pan from heat and overhandling, and mingle inextricably with the white (worse). Dad claims it took him months of practice to figure out how to do it, and years to get really good… by which time I'd gone off eggs again, preferring a sweeter breakfast (probably for the energy boost it gave me. By the time 4th-6th grades rolled around, school was causing me to work up an intense appetite.)

Although I didn't have a very broad spectrum of preferred tastes, that didn't stop me wanting to experiment in the kitchen. Indeed, it was one of my favorite things to do! Unfortunately, I could rarely get an adult to allow it (partly because we, in our poverty, could not afford to waste ingredients. Partly because, again, due to poverty, everyone was just too damn exhausted to supervise something that potentially dangerous.) Instead, I usually ended up sneaking and doing it on my own, which invariably led to trauma of one kind or another.

One incident occurred one of the very first times my parents dubbed me old enough to stay home on my own while they went out to run errands. Having recently seen a news spot on dyed salt for those seeking to reduce their salt intake, I sought to replicate the stuff in my own kitchen. How hard could it be? I thought. Just add food coloring to salt.

Only, food coloring has water in it.

All the salt (and I do mean all the salt in the house) was now a dark blue-green color, and the texture of wet sand. I needed to dry it out! But I wasn't allowed to use the oven or stove unsupervised. What could I do?

I decided the best option was to microwave the salt. I spread it out on a large plate, and nuked it in batches until all the salt was dry. Unfortunately, for the first batch, I failed to realise how VERY FUCKING HOT the plate would be after several minutes spinning away in the microwave. I pulled it out barehanded, screeched in pain, and tossed the Perry-the-Platypus-colored salt all over the kitchen floor and microwave cabinet.

Not good. I was already beginning to worry about what my parents would think about all this business with the salt. Now I had a mess on my hands to boot. I tended to my (thankfully minor) burns, and then began swabbing the floor and cabinet with damp paper towels...

… which spread the food dye EVERYWHERE. Now the salt was teal, the floor was teal, the cabinet was teal, and I was teal.

And I had no idea when my parents would return!

I cleaned frantically, microwaving salt on the side the entire time. And somehow (perhaps Lot's wife was smiling upon me?) I got it all managed. My parents came home to a nice, clean kitchen (if you didn't see the small blue spots in the crevices at the very edge of one cabinet), and a calm, collected child (also slightly spotted, but only on the palms, easily hidden). Nothing of note occurred until dinner time.

"LAUREN!!"

Apparently, Dad did not like that all of his salt was turned 'blue'. My reasoning appeased his anger, but he was still pretty displeased. I was temporarily banned from using the microwave without permission. And they were far more cautious about leaving me alone, after that.

(These days, Dad frequently apologises for this. He says it was a creative and thoughtful act, and he shouldn't have gotten mad. I agree, but I'm also not mad anymore. The whole thing is rather funny in retrospect.)

A much more traumatic food event, much later, but still involving the microwave, was the first time I tried making microwave mac 'n cheese. It was around the inception of Easy Mac, so the idea was quite novel; it wasn't as if I had a backlog of knowledge on what not to do…

I followed the instructions exactly, with the single differing point of adding some dried parsley before cooking.

AND LET ME TELL YOU.

If you are going to add parsley to your Easy Mac, do it after cooking! Cooking amplifies and alters the flavor so that it tastes like you added some sort of cooked leafy vegetable, like spinach, except somewhat more like an inedible plant. The flavor permeates every nook and noodle, and even the cheese sauce can't mask it.

It was inedible. Beyond inedible; it was sensory overload of the worst kind.

And my parents, who had watched the whole thing, and warned me of putting anything in my food that I didn't 100% know would taste good, made me eat it.

At first, there was a screaming match, until I wore myself out with tears and begging. Then, I just sat there, defeated, thinking of ways I could get out of eating it. Maybe if I intentionally get choked on the food? Maybe if I shatter the glass of the coffee table, and then hurt myself with it? Something to make them care about something other than me eating this food. Anything to make them see how much eating the food was bad and wrong and how much it hurt me.

I was never, in my entire childhood, a willfully disobedient child. Well, small things, here or there, a child's innocent inability to self-regulate their impulses or understand the rules. Never did I knowingly and intentionally go against my parents' commands when I now feel like I had another real choice. But there were times, like these, when I didn't have a choice.

I ate three bites before my body rebelled and I threw up. Mom didn't follow through on her threat to make me eat the vomit and finish the food.

Instead, I got grounded for two weeks.

Incidentally, I've never gotten an apology for this little incident, despite it being the one I'm still angry over.

None of this is to say I was too picky to be fed, or that I ever went without (excepting that one night with the poison mac). If anything, I ate more than plenty in an attempt to offset the lacks in nutrition my pickiness inevitably led to. I'm sure that I was malnourished at times, despite eating more than my necessary share of calories.

And boy, was I aware of what that share was! My parents were and are avid yo-yo dieters, always on one plan or another to lose the weight they gained off a diet of poverty foods. All the while, frustrated by my pickiness, they fed me on breakfasts of whole packages of off-brand cinnamon rolls or apple turnovers. My lunch was usually whatever snack-foods I could convince the lunch ladies to sell me for the same price as a school lunch I wouldn't eat. With both parents either busy or exhausted, dinner was Taco Bell nearly every damn weekday.

It was inevitable that I would gain weight, with the genes, environment, and diet all inclined toward it. I was ten or eleven the first time my parents mentioned including me in one of their diet plans.

Not likely, I thought. I had long since decided that healthy food was gross, like school lunches and boiled vegetables and limp salads. And I wouldn't, couldn't cut my portions; not when I had to stay alert and concentrating while hauling all my books all around the school without a bookbag (which, after the Columbine shooting, had been banned at my school, lest we ten-year-olds have a place to conceal a weapon). I was already battling undiagnosed ADHD. I didn't need low blood sugar on top of it.

Still, if it gave them an incentive to buy more fresh fruit, I wasn't going to complain.

(And I didn't complain at all about any of their diets, until the one that consisted almost exclusively of boiled cabbage soup that stank the house to high heaven. I didn't even entertain joining them on that one.)

What it all added up to, though, was someone who, by the age of eleven, already had enormous issues with food and body image. And diet, for that matter, for we still hadn't found a healthy variety of foods that I would eat. By the time I was in high school, I was eating Cheetos and Little Debbies with Mountain Dew for lunch every weekday except Wednesday (chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes day in the cafeteria! Hell yeah!) I was also being (mildly) bullied for my weight.

Adulthood came after, with blessings and curses. When I moved out on my own, I had more opportunity (and income!) to explore what I liked culinarily. I got to employ the whole backlog of tips and tricks from cooking shows that I had watched for years. (At one point, during high school, I had wanted to become a chef. I gave up the idea when I realised how ill-suited I was to the job, but the education of the time stuck with me.)

I got to learn my favorite ways to cook food (pan fried, not baked. Baking unseasoned meat is not 'cooking', Dad.) I got to play with spices and flavors.

Or, I did for a while.

Very soon, my work at McDonald's caught up with me, and I found myself too tired to do much cooking. (Sorry, Dad! I understand, now!) More and more, my meals were eaten at work, from work. Over the next year, my stress increased, and my eating habits faltered along. And then, I began passing out at work.

Now, I needn't tell you this is a very dangerous situation, what with all the hot oil and ovens and lamps and such in a kitchen. I was sent home more than once, and it was becoming a danger not only to me, but to the state of my employment. I got in with a doctor as soon as I possibly could, and they determined that I had iron deficiency anemia.

No one was particularly surprised. I have a family history of the affliction, and I had basically been living off yogurt cups, Sausage Egg McMuffins, and chicken biscuits with cheese for months. My doctor suggested diet changes and high-dose iron supplements.

(One of these two turned my poop to black sin slime from a hell portal in my bowels. It was not the diet.)

Immediately, I switched over to a high-iron, high-protein, low-carb diet. And you know what? I felt fucking fantastic. I had energy for days, my mental acuity was improved, and my mood was better. I fell asleep faster and slept more soundly.

For three months, I kept it up. But then the financial burden became too much. Turns out, it's damn expensive to eat home-cooked meat every day when you're picky as hell. I was easily spending at least two to three times as much as I was when I was eating only fast food (on employee discount, admittedly). And soon, between the stress, the financial concerns, and my health problems, I had to move back in with my parents.

Honestly, I still haven't found peace with food and its place in my life. Coming to accept what my sensory needs mean for me has been difficult, and working around those needs in a productive way has been nearly impossible, especially with my other disabilities in tow. I feel that I'm learning to be kinder to my body emotionally speaking, but I could still be much kinder to it physically.

If only I could figure out how.

I wish I could be that little kid who loved experimenting in the kitchen, again. But I'm not, and I can't. So I'll have to find another way to take care of me.

#a year of writing #01062020 #self harm #school shooting mention #diet talk #child abuse #vomit tw #medical stuff #actuallyautistic #actuallyadhd #long post #this one's kind of long and disjointed #sorry for that lol #and lots of warnings on this one!

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rosedaewaters · 5 years

Text

Look In Her Eyes - Ben Hardy x Reader

Synopsis: You’ve been feeling a little sick lately. One trip to the doctors changes your life forever.

Words: Around 3.7k AHAH whoops

Warnings: angst???? idk. uh- swearing, brief panic attack? talk of abortion, no action of it. vomiting too, once. i’m not sure what else are warnings, i’m so sorry if there’s more.

A/N: Hiya! this is Celestia, hope ya like it guys! Ben is a fave of mine and i just- loVE iT.

My fingers wandered around his chest and torso, eyes still closed, noting the silence and embrace we were in. I felt his breath on my face, as he peacefully slept, little snores coming from his mouth.

I smiled and let out a little sigh, wishing we could stay like this forever.

Our life had been amazing lately, Ben was rising up in his acting career, I was finally getting more work at the Primary School, teaching Grade 1’s and 2’s. We had our whole life planned out - almost to a tee. But in this moment, I felt something wrong.

My gut apparently also felt something wrong, forcing me to pry myself out of bed and race into the bathroom, kneeling down to the toilet bowl where I flung the seat up. I felt my body convulse as I let out the acids in my stomach - it was painful.

When there wasn’t anything left, all the bile had left my body, it was just the constant feeling of throwing up, the heaving and gagging feeling was prevalent.

“Babe? What’s wrong?” I heard him rustling around in the blankets, the squeaking of the springs on the bed, alarms rang in my head. He was coming into the bathroom.

My eyes blew wide, running to shut the door as soon as I could, locking it.

“Nothing! Nothing’s wrong, hun!” I try to play it off, but the shakiness in my voice was evident that I wasn’t okay.

“Sweetheart, just let me in,” he tries, knocking on the door softly. I hear a soft thud as he places his head on the door. “Why won’t you let me in?”

“I don’t want you to see me right now, I’m a mess-”

“I’ve seen you worse than a mess, Y/N, you know that.” He sighs, trying to open the door again, to no avail. I turn around to flush the toilet, placing the toilet seat down. I twist my feet to face the door again, unlocking it with slight hesitation.

He wasn’t wrong, he’s seen me through a messy breakup, food poisoning and the mental breakdowns I can never quite explain. He was there for me through everything, being my best friend and now boyfriend, I wish I knew how to repay him for everything he’s done for me.

Ben heard the click and his head popped up, testing the door slightly. I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste, putting one on the other. I sat on the toilet seat, wrapping my arm around myself. I began brushing, head hung low - Ben walking in and crouching down to try to see my face. He balanced his hands on my knees, squeezing them in comfort.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He places his hand on my cheek as tears begin to fall down. He gives a small ‘tut’ in sadness, wiping at my tears with his thumbs.

“I don’t know what’s wrong, I’ve been throwing up a lot, I haven’t been feeling well, everything is aching - everything.” I sniff, spitting out the foam of the toothpaste into the sink. I wipe at my own tears. “I haven’t been sleeping well, last night was the only time I slept okay! I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I sob - this wasn’t anything I’ve experienced before.

I place my head into my hands and begun to cry again, unable to stop my emotions. I feel Ben begin to pull me down to the floor as he holds me, rubbing my back and whispering sweet nothings into my ear. He was warm, like a fireplace - I grip onto his back with my fingers, pushing my fingertips deeper into his skin, he lets out a small groan.

“Maybe we should get you to the doctors, darling, see what’s wrong and how we can fix it.”

I let out a choked laugh, “Yeah, probably, that might be useful,” I grab a few squares of toilet paper and blow my nose. “I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” I breathe in through my nose.

“Y/N, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. I’ve seen you throw up before, I’ve seen you blow my nose in my shirt-”

“I was delirious!” I defend with a small smile on my mouth, “I didn’t know what I was doing! Plus, you still stayed my friend, so who’s the gross one now?” Ben lets out a laugh.

“I also began dating you, so I guess I am the gross one, huh?” I let out a cackle at his statement, immediately regretting it as my head throbbed. He laughs while shaking his head, “It’s okay babe, I don’t blame you. All I’m saying is, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, you don’t have to worry about me seeing this shit. I love you, very much.” He pauses to kiss my forehead. I let out a weak smile, leaning into his embrace.

I pause briefly, pulling my head up - turning myself around and pulling up the toilet seat. A few shaky breaths leave my lips before I’m vomiting again, I lean against the toilet bowl as Ben pulls my hair up, rubbing my back in a loving way.

“Maybe we should get you into the doctors as soon as possible.” I nod before leaning back down on the toilet seat.

“Ben, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me, it’s probably just a small stomach bug.” I try to reason, not liking the doctors' office, the silence is almost deafening, the smell is clean, almost too clean. We sit down on the chairs after we’d checked in with the receptionist. He shakes his head and places an arm around my waist.

“Darling, you’ve been feeling like this for a few weeks, it’s time to get you checked up.”

“Y/N L/N?” The doctor comes around the corner, with a piece of paper in hand. Ben pats my hand as he stays sitting, not knowing if I wanted him in the office with me.

I smile, “I’ll be out in a few minutes, Love,” I kiss his cheek as his hand leaves mine.

She ushers me into her little room, with a desk, computer and examination table. I sit down next to the desk as she sits on her chair, rolling it into the slot.

“What seems to be the issue?” She asks, fingers at the ready to begin typing.

“I’ve- uh, I haven’t been feeling well, I’ve been vomiting a lot, aching everywhere, I barely get any sleep anymore. I’m constantly run down and I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” I begin to get upset, I don’t know why. “I’ve also been extremely emotional lately,” I say with a sniff.

“Okay, you’ve been feeling this way for a while?” I nod. “Alright, let me quickly check your blood pressure and your lungs, see if it’s bacterial or viral, or if it’s even an infection at all.” She places the black band on my arm and it immediately begins to tighten with air. She asks me to lean forward and breathe heavily to hear my chest. She nods and begins to type on the computer.

“Just a few more routine questions, are you sexually active?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Okay, are you using contraceptives?”

“Uh-” I pause, frowning. “I stopped using the pill because it gave me migraines, we’ve been using condoms, but I-” I stop breathing, staring at the doctor, in shock. “I’ve had the injection, I had it only…” I pause, trying to figure it out. “I had it only a few months ago, I should be in to get it done again soon, right? How long ago was it?”

“You had the needle five months ago, Y/N,” the doctor says, confirming my suspicions, as she’s staring at her computer screen.

“We have been having unprotected sex only a few times, I didn’t realise I had it that long ago-” my voice becomes pitchy. “I asked for the text, to remind me to get it re-done, I- I didn’t get it- I didn’t-,” I pause, letting out a shaky breath, “I’m pregnant, aren’t I?” I ask the doctor, tears forming in my eyes again.

“I can neither confirm or deny if you are pregnant, but we can do tests if that can reassure you.” She says with a sweet voice, I nod repeatedly. I needed confirmation, I needed to know whether or not I was pregnant.

“I’ll need a urine sample - I’ll also need a blood sample, I’ll get you an urgent pathology request.” She hands me a small jar and a piece of paper, opening her door and pointing me in the direction of the toilet. “Talk to the receptionist - she’ll get the pathologist to do your blood test, I’ll also get her to call you as soon as possible with your results if that's okay with you?” I nod, spacing out slightly, the doctor places her hand on my back in a caring way. “It’ll be okay, Y/N, I’ll see you next time.” She smiles, hearing me say a little goodbye under my breath and walks back into her office.

I look at the piece of paper, it was a pathology document - hCG, was the request - URGENT - was written beside it.

Ben stands up as he sees me walk out from the corner, putting his phone in his pocket and rubbing his hands on his thighs. “You okay, Y/N?” He asks, walking up to me slowly. I look up and smile at him with teary eyes, hiding the piece of paper from him.

“Yeah, just need to pee in this jar and get a needle stuck in me.” I laugh, trying to play off the shock I was in.

I walk to the reception, handing the receptionist the paper. He smiles and looks at it - nodding. “Just wait in the room and we’ll call you in.”

“I need to get a urine sample, can I do that first?” He nods and points to the toilets. I thank him silently with a small smile, walking to the toilet. “Ben, wait in the room for me?” I give him a weak smile.

“Yeah, sure, Love,” he nods, confused, giving me a small hug. He begins to walk back into the room. I make my way into the toilets, getting the sample, twisting the lid onto the jar, I look at myself in the mirror.

My mascara was smudged around my eyes, looking like I’ve just slept in my makeup, my eyes themselves were red, veiny and it’d been obvious I was crying. I let out a sad chuckle, placing the jar on the counter, I wash my hands vigourously.

Walking out of the toilets, I hear my name being called once again. I sigh, this was going to be a long day.

When Ben and I went home, I’d been distant and almost non-responsive, not wanting to let it slip that I might be pregnant. I’d tried to stay silent, giving short answers, and not looking at him much. I’d sat on the couch in the lounge room, cuddled up in the fluffy blanket while Ben cooked dinner. The T.V wasn’t on, my gaze was on the wall, looking at a photo of me with my nephews and nieces. I felt tears running down my face, wiping them away with the sleeves of my jumper, pondering.

Is this something we’d both want? We were both young, still had a lot ahead of us. I’d always wanted a family, being able to come home to see my children playing around with the dog - Ben coming to greet me, after not long coming home from work himself. I began to bawl, chest heaving and finding it hard to breathe. I couldn’t do this to Ben now, not while he’s doing so well his acting career.

“Love?” Ben asks, coming into the lounge room, immediately by my side. “What’s wrong? What happened?” I found it so hard to look at him, shaking my head as he pulls me into his shoulder. He rubs my back, his nails scratching slightly too. I couldn’t help but notice the pain and hurt in his voice. “What’s happened, Y/N?” He asks, pressing his lips into my hair.

“I can’t do this to you, Ben,” I whisper, beginning to shake, voice faltering.

“Do what?” He asks, calmly.

“I can't! I won't-”

“Y/N- what happened?”

“Ben, I think-” I pause, hearing my phone ring, a small sigh left my lips. I answer it, trying to sound okay. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Y/N?”

“This is she.” I look at Ben, a frown on his confused face, a look I’d seen too many times today.

“Hi, this is Annie from the Medical Centre, how are you?” A chirpy voice rang through my ears, I almost flinch at the happiness in her tone.

“I’m doing alright, I guess,” I pull my head down. Annie kept talking, letting me know the diagnosis, setting an appointment to see the gynecologist, sending a congratulations my way too. “Thank you.” My voice is weak again, tears strolling down my face once again. I hung up the phone and let out a loud sob.

“Y/N, what is it?” Ben says with a stern voice, a concrete expression on his face.

“I’m so sorry,” I pant, beginning to shake again, placing my hand on my chest - I’m struggling to breathe.

“I can't breathe- I can't-”

“Babe, calm down, calm - breathe in through your nose, out through your nose.” Ben places his hand on mine, lacing his fingers between them. His voice is calming and soothing, compared to my thoughts right now. I do what he says, trying my best to speak, I need to tell him. I need to tell him now, otherwise, I won't be able to. Ever.

“I’m pregnant.” I manage to choke out.

Ben doesn’t say anything, his face is unreadable. I knew he’d be mad, I knew he wouldn’t want to keep it, not while he was so successful. I didn’t know if he wanted a family with me. We hadn’t discussed the possibility of children, not even in our life plan.

“Please, say something,” I beg, pulling myself closer to Ben, placing my hand on his face, bringing him to look at me, my eyes searching his green ones. He doesn’t say anything, I just see tears begin to form in the corner of his eyes. “Ben.” I plead, bringing my other hand to his other cheek. Tears are already all over my cheeks, splayed out in anger. He let out an exasperated sigh, closing his eyes, a tear falls.

“I don’t know what to say.” He murmurs, picking at his nails. I let out another sob. “I'd figured it was something like this.”

“Look, I might just leave the house, I’ll give you some time to think about everything, I’ll stay with my mum, I’ll call you in a few days-” I sigh shakily, going to stand up and walk out of the door. I didn’t know what to do, except give Ben time to process this. He immediately grabs my arm before I could walk away.

“Don’t you dare leave. I’m not letting you outside in your state right now. You’re vulnerable and easy to manipulate at the moment.” He says, pulling me back down to the couch, next to him. He places his hands in mine, placing them into my lap. His voice is stoic - I’m still unable to read his face. “You’re not leaving. I’m just-” He pauses and looks me in the eye, his eyes full of fear. “Confused.”

“About what?” I raise an eyebrow, tears and mascara cloud my vision.

“How’d this happen?”

“Well, when people have sex a lot, especially unprotected-” Ben cuts me off, his hand placed on my shoulder.

“But you were on contraceptives - the injection? The depo shot?”

“Yeah, I got it done apparently five months ago. I’m supposed to get them every three months, to get rid of my periods, the contraceptive was just a plus. I didn’t get the text to come back and get it done again two months ago.” I feel ashamed. I should have remembered to have it done again, it’s not always the doctors' responsibility to remind me to do something. “It’s my fault,” I whisper, fresh tears making their way down from my eyes. I lick my lips, tasting the hot salty tears. “I can’t believe I’m so fucking stupid!”

“Hey, no” He looks up at me, tears clouding his eyes again. “To get pregnant, you need two to tango,” Ben defends, bringing me into his shoulder.

“If I had put it in my reminders and not relied on the fucking doctors, we wouldn’t be in this situation!” I scream, crying in a violent sense, dread was my main emotion right now. Ben pushes his hand into my hair, whispering calming ‘shushes’ into my ear.

“How far along are you?”

“They don’t know, they set me up with an appointment. But I’m guessing 5, 6 weeks?” I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, trying my best to calm myself down again, referring myself back to Ben's calming words. Ben trailed a hand down to my stomach and rubbing lightly.

“We’ll get through this, Y/N,” he presses a kiss to my forehead.

“I’m so sorry, Ben,” I whisper again, placing my hand on his. “I’m sorry I’m so stupid.”

“You aren’t stupid. You’re kind, beautiful, intelligent. You are far from stupid.” He mutters, leaning his chin on my head, closing his own eyes to calm himself down.

We’d both fallen asleep on the couch last night, too tired to move from the cushioned space. My arm was around my stomach and the other, around him when Ben woke up, he heard the soft snores from my lips as he examined my face.

My eyes were still puffy from last night, the mascara was smudged - remnants of yesterday's makeup also stayed on, my lip was scabbed because of how hard I’d bit my lip in hopes of trying to go back in time.

He sat up, placed the blanket over me. I’d snuggled into it immediately, a trembling sigh leaving my lips.

Ben felt horrible, he felt he hadn’t treated me right last night, from what he told me, that he didn’t bring me closure. He would be okay with the decision I’d make if I wanted to abort it or keep it. ‘It’. It’s not an ‘it’, it’s a person, a baby, a child, someone that he helped make. He made this child, this baby that’s growing inside of me. It’s probably not even the size of a strawberry. It’s young at this point, so young.

But, he’d be okay with my decision.

It’s my body, not his, he said.

He snaps himself out of his trance, taking one more look back down at me. I’d cuddled into the blanket and the corner of the couch where the cushions met the back pillows. I’d looked peaceful, as if none of what happened last night, happened.

He felt like he needed to make it up to me, no matter how small. He said he’ll keep trying to make it up for me because he loves me.

I tossed and turned, not being able to keep trying to sleep. I rolled over to find myself at the end of the couch. Frowning, I sat up and looked around.

“Why am I in the lounge room?” I asked myself, not particularly looking for an answer.

“We fell asleep there last night, we were too tired, I guess. Didn't even eat dinner.” Ben had walked in from the kitchen holding a tray. It was a tray of fresh fruit and toast. I smiled sadly at him, feeling terrible that he felt the need to do this for me.

“You didn’t need to do this, Ben,” I saw a single rose propped in a glass with a small note saying ‘I’m so sorry.’

“Yes, I did. I felt horrible about how I reacted last night. I feel terrible, Love.” Ben places the tray on the coffee table and sits next to me on the couch. I sighed - leaning on Ben’s shoulder.

“I still feel bad about it too,” I whisper. “I just feel kind of stupid.” I shrugged and looked to him, he looked at me with love in his eyes, something that didn’t seem to be present last night.

“Don’t feel stupid, Sweet.”

“I’m not going to get rid of it, hun, so if you don’t like that decision, it’s best I leave now,” I said to him, a firm look on my face as I lift my head from his shoulder, almost getting ready to leave. He places his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in.

“That’s fine. That’s great. I’m glad you made this decision, but just know that I would have supported you either way.” He pressed a kiss to my lips, a simple thing that made me putty in his hands, a simple thing that I craved from him constantly, a simple thing that makes me aware how much he loves me. “It’s your body, I don’t own your body, well - only in some ways.” I hit him his chest with a smile, he lets out a delightful laugh, something I’ve missed this past day. He gives me a kiss on the cheek, trailing it to my neck. “I love you, so much, princess.” He’d muttered into my neck. He lifts his head up and looks me in the eyes again, love and adoration filling his soulful stare. “I love you so much, you don’t even know it.”

“I think I have a clue,” I say with a smile and press my lips to his again, in a quick chaste kiss, his lips chasing mine with a small pout. “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asks, placing his hand on my cheek.

“For loving me.”

It was going to be a tough journey, a long journey but with Ben by my side, I could do it.

We could do anything.

#Ben Hardy #ben hardy x you #Ben Hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #roger taylor imagine #bohemian rhaspody cast #cel writes

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hellyeahheroes · 5 years

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Building Emiko Queen in D&D 5e

As we all know by now, I’m inspired to do these builds by those made by Tulok the Barbarian. But after a few of those (we had Cass Cain and Static for DC and Nico Minoru and Laura Kinney for Marvel) I wanted to try to challenge him somewhat. There is his Hawkeye build which is veeeery good and could work perfectly with almost any comics archer, be it Kate Bishop or Green Arrow. A challenge I want to give myself is to make a build that could function similar but does not use the same baseline, so no Arcane Archer. And I have a character I think can be perfect for exactly that.

First, let us write down our goals for this build. We need to make Emiko an archer so good even her own brother admitted she is better than him. Then we need to make her stealthy - she is a former assassin and you don’t put an arrow through Deathstroke’s head by loudly announcing your presence. Finally, we need to get our own equivalent of trick arrows.

For Ability Scores, I’ll be using standard points array, if you or you DM prefers to roll or use point buy, treat this as a guideline. Dexterity is our top priority since this is the basic of archery in the game. Wisdom next, Emiko surprises her enemies, not the other way around. Constitution next, we will need it for concentration. Intelligence as Emi isn’t known for bad grades. Charisma is on the low but, in all fairness, she can come off as abrasive or arrogant at times. And we will dump strength - you either go all-in with it or you drop it. The Stats should then look like this: STR 8 DEX 15 CON 13 INT 12 WIS 14 CHA 10

Now for species, or how D&D likes to call it, Race. Emiko is a Human, there is nothing meta or alien about it, it’s part of the whole badass normal appeal. So we will make her the most badass human, Variant Human. Add +1 to your Dexterity and Wisdom, choose Athletics for your bonus skill, any language of your choice and Sharpshooter for a feat. It lets you make long-range attacks without disadvantage, ignore half and three-quarters cover and take -5 to the attack roll for +10 to damage if you hit.

For the Background, we cannot choose assassin but Urban Bounty Hunter will work just fine. It lets you choose proficiency with a musical instrument and a set of gaming tools and two skills. We will go for Deception and Insight. It also gives you an Ear to the Ground feature, which allows you to have contacts in every city, which you can use to get information on criminal activities. I assume Emiko gained a few of these during her time under Simon Lacroix, in Team Arrow or Teen Titans.

For the Classes, we are multiclassing two classes, one of which is Rogue. And if there is one thing that has been true in D&D even waay back during 3rd edition, it is this. If you’re multiclassing with Rogue, start with the Rogue. First level gives us proficiency in all simple weapons, light armors, thieves’ tools, secret Thieve’s Cant language, Intelligence and Dexterity saving throws and four skills - choose Acrobatics, Stealth, Perception, and Investigation. We then get Expertise in two of those, letting us double the proficiency bonus to them and you should pick Stealth and Perception.

We also get Sneak Attack, which allows us to deal an extra 1d6 damage on a hit with finesse or ranged weapon, as long as we either have advantage on the attack or the target is standing no less than 5 feet away from someone hostile to them who isn’t incapacitated and we do not have disadvantage on the attack roll.

You might have noticed that this does not give us one crucial thing - proficiency with the longbow. Let us fix that. First level of Ranger gives us proficiency with it and all martial weapons, one skill of choice, choose Survival. You also get two features.

UPDATE Since this was published a new Unearthed Arcana presented variant features for the Ranger that let us replace the shitty ones from main build and still stack with prestige class we’re using, we’ll take them.

Favored Foe lets you cast Hunter’s Mark, with a casting time of 1 bonus action and a concentration time up to 1 hour, lets you mark a single target, deal 1d6 extra damage whenever you hit them and gain an advantage on Perception and Survival checks to find them. If the target dies before the spell's duration ends, you can move it to another one. This spell does not count against the number of spells you know and you can cast it without expending a spell slot (more about that in a moment) number of times equal your Wisdom Modifier per long rest.

Deft Explorer lets us choose one of three options. Tireless let us remove one level of exhaustion whenever we finish short rest and let us heal 1d10+WIS modifier as an action, usable equal amount of time per long rest as your WIS modifier.

ALTERNATIVE: You might have noticed I’m using standard Ranger and not a much better, revised version. This is because we will be taking an archetype that officially cannot be combined with the revised Ranger. If your DM would let you combine them then a) cherish your DM like a fool they are and b) you get to choose only one type of humanoid for favored enemy but get +2 to damage rolls against them and you natural explorer gives you an advantage on Initiative rolls, advantage on attacks against creatures that have not yet acted during your first turn of combat and lets you ignore difficult terrain.

Second level Ranger gets to choose a Fighting Style and Archery gives us +2 to ranged attack rolls, helping mitigate that pesky -5 from Sharpshooter. We also get to learn our first two spells. Ranger’s spellcasting works like Sorcerer’s - we get to know a number of spells according to the level and have a number of spell slots and we have to burn to cast a spell. You can cast a spell using a higher level spell slot to give it a bonus, you can change one spell you know for another whenever you take a level in Ranger and you cannot learn a spell of a higher level than your highest spell slot available. If a spell allows a saving throw, the difficulty is your Wisdom modifier + your Proficiency Bonus and if it asks for an attack roll it’s those two +8. And thanks to Spell Versitality from Unearthed Arcana, you can replace spell you know with another spell of the same level every long rest.

We get to know two spells on the first level and we will pick two to make our first trick arrows

Ensnaring Strike - next time you hit a target with an attack, they must make a Strength saving throw or be restrained by magical vines until you break concentration, after a minute of time or whenever they or another creature wastes an action to take another Strength check to free them and actually succeeds. Also, the target takes 1d6 poison damage at the beginning of each their turn. This is our net arrow.

Fog Cloud creates a sphere of fog 20-foot radius, in which the area is heavily obscured. You can concentrate on it for up to 1 hour or until a strong enough wind blows it away. This is our smoke arrow.

Now back to Rogue at second level we get Cunning action, letting us take hide, dash or disengage as a bonus action.

3rd Level Rogue updates their Sneak Attack to 2d6 and gets to choose a Roguish Archetype. And we will, of course, go with Assassin. I mean, Emiko is one, it kinda goes without saying. 3rd Level gives us proficiency with disguise and poisoner’s kits and a creatively called feature of Assassinate - it gives you an advantage on attacks you make during the first round of combat against enemies that haven’t acted yet and makes any hit automatically count as a critical hit.

Neat, huh? Well, let us make it even better. 3rd Level Ranger gets to choose their own archetype, Ranger Conclave. Gloom Stalker gives you Umbral Sight, which grants you Darkvision up to 60 ft - you see like normal in dim light and like in dim light in darkness - AND in darkness you are invisible to any creatures trying to see you with Darkvision.

But the real treasure of this archetype is Dread Ambusher lets you add your Wisdom modifier to Initiative rolls. And during your first turn of combat your speed increases by 10 feet, as long as you won’t interrupt your move by any other action (eg. if you move, attack and move again you’re back to your normal speed) and lets you make an additional attack as a part of that turn and if that attack hits, you add 1d8 to the damage.

Let me lay it down for those who were not paying attention. You add two your highest modifiers to Initiative, you get to make two attacks with advantage and if you hit you add 1d8 to one and your Sneak Attack damage to both AND then roll that damage twice for an automatic crit. On top of having Hunter’s Mark

Gloom Stalker also adds Disguise Self to your Spells know, without it counting against the maximum number of spells you can know. It allows you to change your appearance for up to an hour without need for concentration and you cannot change your body type (in a sense you cannot grow extra limbs, horns or wings, not making yourself look more muscular, thinner etc.) and you cannot make yourself look more than 1 feet taller or shorter than you already are. It’s an illusion and falls doesn’t hold to physical inspection. I don’t know if it is an Emiko thing, you can always keep it to exchange for something else later.

Strategy: At your first turn pick up the most dangerous-looking soon-to-be-dead enemy, put Hunter’s Mark on them and make them take 26 on first and 34 on second attack on average, 52 and 68 respectively maximum. And that damage will only grow with the levels. Now imagine you also get advantage on Initiative rolls and +4 to that damage and you understand why a DM that lets you combine this with Revised Ranger is a fool.

You also get a rather mediocre and situational Primeval Awareness so we will exchange it for Primal Awareness from Unearthed Arcana, which allows us to add following spells to spells you know, without them counting against the limit of spells you know, on top of the one you get to pick. on this level

Detect Magic allows you to sense magic around you up to 10 minutes on Concentration, within 30 feet but blocked by 1 foot of stone, 1 inch of common metal, a thin sheet of lead, or 3 feet of wood or dirt. You see aura of magical objects and beings and can recognize what school of magic it is. Some sort of radar or scanner maybe?

Speak With Animals - up to 10 minutes, no concentration, you can communicate with animals and convince them to do you small favors or ask minor things like the location of monster they’ve seen within a day.

Hail of Thorns has concentration-time up to one minute and casting of 1 bonus action and lets you make your arrow burst with thorns. When you hit a target, it deals 1d10 (+1d10 for each higher level of spell that it is cast from) piercing damage to them and everyone within 5 feet of them, half on successful Dexterity saving throw. Exploding arrow.

Fourth level Ranger gets an Ability Score Improvement or a feat. We will pick Weapon Master, which lets us increase our Dexterity by 1 and get another Fighting Style out of Fighter’s list - Close Quater’s Shooter from Unearthed Arcana grants you +1 bonus on ranged attacks and lets you make ranged attacks within 5 feet of enemies without disadvantage on the attack roll.

Alternative: If your stats are high enough you do not need an extra point here to round everything up and prefer to stay away from enemies at all times, pick up Alert instead - you get +5 to Initiative, cannot be surprised and hidden enemies do not get an advantage on attack rolls against you.

Fourth Level Rogue gets their Ability Score Improvement, letting us add +1 to two stats and round up Dexterity and Wisdom.

Fifth Level Ranger gets an extra attack, letting you attack twice as a part of the same action. Making it three attacks on your first turn. You also get to learn a new spell and it can be a 2nd level spell even.

Cordon of Arrows lets you place up to 4 arrows as an action in an area, protecting it for up to 8 hours, and whenever another creature will get closer to it than 30 feet to any, it will fire and force a Dexterity saving throw or deal to that creature 1d6 damage.

And of course, Gloom Stalker lets you learn another one - Rope Trick. It lets you turn a rope for 1 hour into a way to another dimension, where up to 8 medium or smaller creatures can rest protected from attacks or spells and invisible to anyone. Between these two spells I assume Emiko is paranoid about being ambushed.

Primal Awareness gives us two more Spells, Beast Sense has a concentration time up to 1 hour and allows you to touch a willing beast and on action hear and see all it does. I guess you put a small camera on it?

Locate Animals or Plants allows you to describe a specific kind of animal or plant within 5 miles.

But if we need something more defensive in combat, we should head back to the Rogue. 5th level Rogue rises our Sneak attack to 3d6 and gives us Uncanny Dodge - whenever you get hit with an attack, you can use your reaction to half the damage you’ve taken.

(Just to be clear, this is THE OPPOSITE of what she’s doing here)

6th level Rogue gains expertise in two more skills, Acrobatics and Survival will nicely fit the build so far.

7th Level Rogue gets Evasion, meaning that whenever an effect would call for a successful Dexterity saving throw to take half damage, you instead take no damage as long as you pass the saving throw. And Sneak Attack increases to 4d6.

8th and Final level of Rogue gains Ability Score improvement, you should be able to cap out Dexterity

6th Level Ranger gets boring extra favored enemy and favored terrain. 7th level is better, you get a Gloom Stalker feature, Iron Mind, which gains you proficiency in Wisdom Saving throws so that Count Vertigo won’t trap you in fantasies about Nightwing again.

You also learn a new spell but honestly and Unearthed Arcana added few good ones. While usually, I’d go with Enhance Ability, Gust of Wind feels like a better fit for trick arrows theme - it’s a concentration for up to 1 minute and creates strong wind in 60 feet long and 10 feet wide radius in any direction you want (which you can change on each of your turns), removing gas and vapor from it, extinguishing all unprotected flames and having 50% chance on doing so to protected ones. Creatures in line move with half of their movement speed against the wind’s direction and on the beginning of their turn they must make a Strength saving throw or be pushed 15 feet away. Wind Arrow?

8th Level Ranger gets an Ability Score Improvement, raise your Wisdom. You also get Land’s Stride, letting you ignore the effects of nonmagical difficult terrain and advantage on saving throws against plants magically made to impede your movement.

9th Level Ranger gets to learn 3rd level spells. Chances are you might also want to replace some less than useful ones you picked so far, so I’ll list all best options here

Conjure Barrage lets you throw an arrow in the ait to make it rain arrows, dealing 3d8 damage to every creature in a 60-foot cone, half on a successful Dexterity saving throw. Less a trick arrow and more you replicating that time Ollie fired five arrows at different targets all at once.

Flame Arrows - concentration up to 1 hour to let you make your arrow deal extra 1d6 fire damage. Heated arrow, if that is a thing.

Lighting Arrow allows you to transform your arrow into a freaking lightning bolt, dealing target 4d8 lightning damage on a hit, 2d8 on a miss and whenever you hut or not every creature within 10 feet of it takes 2d8 lightning damage, half on a successful Dexterity saving throw. Electric arrow.

Gloom Stalker adds to this Fear - every creature in a 30-foot cone must succeed a Wisdom saving throw or become frightened of you for up to 1 minute (requires concentration) or on successful Wisdom saving throw granted if the affected creature loses the sight of you. Frightened creatures drop whatever they’re holding and must spend their turn taking dash action to move away from you, if they can. “I Borrowed a Page From Scarecrow’s Book” Arrow.

10th Level Ranger gains another favored terrain and Fade Away from Unearthed Arcana, which once per short or long rest allows you to as a bonus action become invisible until start of your next turn.

11th Level Gloom Stalker gains Stalker’s Fury - from now on once on each of your turns if you miss an attack you can make another one as a part of the same action. Meaning if one of your 3 attacks with advantage and auto-crit won’t hit, you can just add another one to it.

Our Captsone is 12th level of Ranger, letting us cap that Wisdom.

You are Rogue 8/Ranger 12, let us consider the pros and cons of this build. First of all, you go first. With +10 to initiative (+15 with Alert) you plain and simple go. First. You go first and someone dies when you put three arrows in them and throw a fist full of d6 and d8 dice at the DM. With Sneak Attack, Dread Ambusher, Hunter’s Mark, advantage on attack rolls, automatic critical hits and an ability to reroll a failed attack because you can deal from 2 to 4 d8 + 10d6 damage. Second, you have multiple ways to ambush or sneak upon your enemies and make sure they do not sneak up on you. Finally, Hail of Thorns, Fear and Lighting Arrow give you something against a group of enemies.

Now for the cons. First of all, you’re pretty much a one-trick-pony, focused on taking an enemy down fast, before they can even act.You drop someone on the first turn but are not that effective on the next ones and DM can quickly learn to simply add more enemies to every encounter. Second, your Constitution is not that high and both your HP and Concentration are lacking, while you need the latter for many spells and the former...you’re not within the Power Word: Kill range, but a single attack could drop you there. You also deal piercing damage and even the alternate types of damage you can deal are ones that many high-level enemies will have resistance or immunity against. Finally, you are all about stealth so you may not work well with a group more about full-frontal attack. But you still work best with a team. Be it Team Arrow or Teen Titans, you are most effective when you keep your distance and support first-line fighters with deadly strikes. Remember, you took down the world’s deadliest assassin when he was preoccupied with Robin.

Suggested choice of partner to team-up with.

ALTERNATIVES:

If your stats are good enough you can max DEX and WIS with just 4 Ability Score Improvements, consider 2 levels of Fighter to gain action Surge - suddenly your 3 attacks in first round become 5 and you can still pick second fighting style without taking Weapon Master feat.

If you want to sacrifice your stronger trick arrows to be stealthier or deadlier, consider replacing 4 levels of Ranger with Monk - you gain unarmored movement, add Wisdom to your Armor Class, get an unarmed strike to defend yourself in close-combat. Pick Way of the Shadow for a set of spells that make you stealthier.

If you want to say fuck off to the trick arrows aspect completely, be Rogue 8/Ranger 6/Monk 6 and pick either Way of the Kensei, letting your arrows become magical and allowing you to spend ki points to add even mroe damage to them or Way of Shadow for freaking teleport.

Mind you, do not pick Way of the Kensei for 4 levels of Monk, you can only add 1d4 to your ranged damage for a bonus action and Hunter’s Mark and Hail of Thorns just do it better.

You have any suggestions of criticism? Or maybe a character you would like to see turned into a D&D build? Always open to constructive criticism or ideas.

ERRATA: Since the publications for new class options from Unearthed Arcana I have updated the build to include them.

- Admin

#Red Arrow #Emiko Queen #DC #Dungeons & Dragons

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aggressivelyclueless · 5 years

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Unlucky Break

prompted by @reallydumbdannyphantomaus "for once, tucker is the one injured in a ghost fight when danny can't get there fast enough" Words: 6751 Warning: brief gore, mild angst/feels, would be followed up by a halloween special if i had the time

The streets of Amity Park were silent. The moon, only half-full, glowered grimly over the town, and a low and ominous breeze swept over the pavement. The color had drained away to gray in the darkness; tall, spindly lamp-posts cast tired circles of light every fifty feet in an effort to stave off the night, but it wasn't enough. They flickered one at a time, as if directed by some distant and higher power, and one of them sputtered and went dark entirely. It was upon this dark post that the phantom perched, unseen. He cast a wary eye downwards to the streets, searching for a glimpse of movement or the echo of fiendish laughter. He caught neither. He floated off of the post, which buzzed back to life behind him, and drifted down to the curb. The chill smell of fall swept by him as the breeze shifted, and it brought his mind elsewhere. It told him of pumpkins and hayrides and bounties of candy poured out on the living room floor, and for a moment it swept him up entirely. He paused, enthralled, and inhaled as deeply as he could. The holiday was still two weeks out, but he almost didn't care. Why couldn't it have been tonight? He saw the little plastic spooks that hung from some of the street signs. In his neighborhood, most of the front lawns had been littered with fake skeletons and headstones, and the house four doors down from his had begun to trim the dead oak in the yard into a monstrous hand. They were the ones that outdid themselves every year, and he found himself wondering what they could possibly pull off after that. The breezes shifted again, and this time they brought with them a warning. He hiccuped, a thin line of mist escaping him, and refocused. Suddenly alert, he traced the alley ahead of him and crept closer. He peered into the darkness, seeing nothing but knowing he wasn't alone; he swore he heard something skitter away through some crack in the bricks, and he floated down into the alley in pursuit. He made out a vague rectangle on one side of the alley - a broken window, perhaps - and he was certain that the skittering thing had escaped through it. He phased after it, not wanting to touch the jagged shards directly, and found himself in the disused back room of an empty shop. Inside, it was pitch-dark; the thin green ring in his periphery only allowed him distorted and hazy shapes, but at least he could see. Edges of old crates and forgotten merchandise blurred together if he wasn't looking directly at them, but the strangeness no longer bothered him. The back door to the shop had been left ajar, he noticed. From it, an inhuman laugh echoed. He turned, slinking like a wisp across the space, and slipped through the door to the alley on the other side of the building. He could see the culprit: a spidery little thing, with eight jointed legs, rooting through an overturned garbage can. It was smaller than he'd expected, only the size of a city rat (it had a tail like one too, he noticed), and it scuttled back into the alley with a scrap of discarded meat in its mouth. It paused, gulping the scrap down whole, and then spotted him. It froze up at once, startled. Its four eyes widened as much as they could, and one at a time it began to rearrange its limbs under itself as if it might appear more demure that way. It aimed for the image of the little gray cat it had seen wandering the alleys in nights past, and by the time it was done it wasn't far off; it was enough, at least, to keep from being attacked, and it found that outcome suitable. Danny watched the little gremlin in silence. He'd seen it before (or perhaps another one just like it) and he knew that it was harmless. It wasn't a shapeshifter, at least not outright - a mimic, rather - and he'd begun to wonder where they were coming from. That's the third one I've seen this week, he thought to himself as he bent down to meet the little troublemaker. He'd scared the first one away before he'd been able to capture it, but he'd since figured out how to catch them without much fuss, and he offered one hand for it to explore. The anomaly did, and sat for a moment in his palm. Up close, he could see four of its legs hugging its belly to make it appear rounder. It had squinted two of its eyes shut, hoping he wouldn't notice them, and the remaining two stared up at him. Its defense had succeeded; it knew that he thought it was cute. "Wonder where you guys keep coming from. I mean, I guess I don't really mind," Danny thought aloud, giving the little creature a scratch with one finger. It had been right; he thought it was adorable. "Only thing is, you keep making my ghost sense go off and one of these days that's gonna get me in trouble. At least you're not out to get anybody, though. I suppose it could be worse." Into the thermos it went. He flew up higher, taking a moment to survey the streets from atop the roof of the shop, and then spotted two silhouettes up on a different roof three blocks down. He flew over to them, landing on top of the air-conditioning unit and reappearing before them. "Slow night?" Sam asked. "You know it," said Danny, "I found another one of those little spidery guys, though." "You catch him this time?" "Yeah." Tucker turned to him. "Wonder where those guys keep coming from? You think there's like a whole building infested with 'em someplace?" "I'm starting to think so," Danny admitted, "They don't really seem to do a lot, though, so I'm wondering if they'd even be worth the trouble?" "You're a ghost catcher," said Sam with a shrug, "I'd say so. Maybe they're poisonous or something, and you just don't know it yet. You wanna wait until one of them bites you to find out?" "I guess not." Sam turned back out to the cityscape around them. She and Tucker came up here every night that Danny was on patrol; they could see half the town from this particular corner of the roof, and make sure things didn't get too out-of-hand. "Slow, though. You didn't find anything running around last night, either." "No, and it's starting to worry me," said Danny, "Having a quiet night is one thing - but it's been so empty lately I'm starting to find little guys like this that aren't even worth my time." He held up the thermos, giving it a little rattle to illustrate his point, and sighed. "I kinda hate to say it but I'm starting to hope for a decent fight, you know?"

The sun fell slowly. Danny sat in his room, watching the shadows on the street get longer and longer; the street-lamps all flickered on at the same time, even though it wasn't fully dark yet, and last rays of sunlight disappeared from the pavement at a little after seven. He wondered if he'd even go out tonight. Things have been too slow. Maybe I shouldn't bother? With a glance to his desk, he changed his mind. Patrol first. Homework later. Besides, maybe he'd get lucky and things might be interesting tonight. One could hope, right? He shot Sam and Tucker a text - see you guys in ten - and transformed. He left the door to his room closed; he'd told his mother that he'd be very busy with homework tonight, and could she not bother him please and thanks. He hoped that she'd listen. She did most of the time, as long as he mentioned the homework. One of these days, he told himself, he'd pull his grades up. He told himself that a lot. Unseen, he landed behind the Nasty Burger where Sam and Tucker were waiting. It was almost exactly between their houses, which made it a good go-between; Danny lived an extra six blocks further, but the fact that he flew most evenings negated any inconvenience. "Hey," he greeted, appearing before them in the air, "You guys ready?" "Ready to be bored again? Can't wait," said Sam flatly, "You know, it probably wouldn't kill you to stay home for once. If something's out there, so what? You'll catch it tomorrow." Danny grumbled. "Yeah, and if Halloween wasn't coming up, I'd be all over that in a second. You think I want to let something slip through the cracks and have to deal with it on the most exhausting night of my life? I'm keeping on top of it this year and I've still got a bad feeling there's something I don't know about yet." "Danny, look," said Tucker, exchanging a glance with Sam, "I know you've been really on-edge this whole month. I get it. Halloween, craziest night of the year for keeping a lid on the ghost stuff. But, dude. You haven't caught anything all week. Maybe just - I don't know - chill for a little bit?" Danny loosened. "Yeah, I guess maybe I keep getting kinda worked-up over some stuff. Tell you what. If we don't catch anything tonight, I'll take the whole weekend off. We'll go see that new Terminatrix movie that came out. Sam, I know you've been itching to see that one." "Yeah, kinda," she admitted, "I heard this time she chops a guy's arm off and beats him over the head with it. Sounds promising." "What about you, Tuck?" Tucker hesitated, but then nodded anyway. "Yeah. Guess it's back to the roof for us, then." "Hey," Danny frowned, "You think you get bored up there? I'm by myself most of the time, you know. At least you guys get to sit and talk." "Heard that one before," said Sam, "But whatever. Let's just go." Danny kept his mouth shut. He took each of them by one hand and flew off, up to the roof of the apartment complex. When they landed he threw an arm around both of their shoulders. "I'll make it quick, okay? Promise." He disappeared, and Sam plopped down on the roof. Making herself comfortable, she pulled a notebook and light-up clicky pen from her backpack. "You really think he'll catch anything tonight?" "You mean apart from those little leggy guys he keeps finding?" Tucker asked, "Those don't count." "Oh I know they don't," said Sam, only somewhat passive-aggressively, "This weekend's gonna be fun, though. Actual quality time with all three of us? When's the last time we even went to see a movie, anyway?" Tucker thought about it for a minute. "The summer, I think. You wanted to see the zombie outbreak one but we ended up seeing the space alien one instead." "Wait, was that really the last time?" Tucker nodded. "You said it was the worst godawful CGI you'd seen since Vampires vs. Werewolves III." "Oh yeah, I remember that one," said Sam with a chuckle, "Those vampires were such a let-down." Tucker just shrugged; he'd dipped out early that day. - - - Danny floated quickly through the first half of his route. He did feel a little bit guilty about dragging Sam and Tucker out here again, but he told himself that it was because he was staying ahead. He remembered last Halloween - it had been a nightmare, and the last thing he wanted was to repeat it. Things were a little slow lately - so what? He knew they'd pick up again, even before the end of the month. He was just keeping on top of things for once. He thought about the upcoming weekend too. He really did want to go and see that new movie with Sam, although he had a feeling that Tucker would be less interested. Monster movies weren't really up Tucker's alley. Maybe he'd press for a double, and they'd go and see something else afterward. That would be a good time, he thought to himself, if it weren't for the patrols. He realized that part of him wanted to catch something tonight, and not just because it would alleviate his boredom. If he had a fight, even a quick one, he'd have an excuse to keep his nightly streak going over the weekend. He paused, frowning. Why was that? He always had a blast when he'd go out with Tucker and Sam. He wouldn't really rather stay home the whole weekend, would he? Maybe Halloween was starting to get to him already. Thinking about it beyond just yeah-it's-coming-up or I'll-be-ready-for-it-this-time made him anxious, and it was still two weeks out. He knew it was going to be crazy, no matter if he kept up on his patrols or not, and part of him wanted to forget all about it. Sounds like a problem for future Danny, it reasoned, you've got plenty of time to worry about it later. He'd ignored it as diligently as he could so far. It seemed to be working; he hadn't missed any of his patrols since the beginning of the month, and he admitted he was somewhat proud of himself for it. He was increasingly certain that if he skipped out for the weekend, he'd lose the momentum he had going for him, and he'd skip out on the more important ones later in the month. Still - doesn't a hardworking ghost like you deserve a break? He squashed the temptation down. Yeah, I do - the night after Halloween. - - - "Well," said Sam, setting her pen down and turning over to sprawl on her back across the roof. "That didn't take long. I'm bored now." Tucker looked over at her. "You and me both. We kinda knew it was gonna be a slow night. Wish I woulda remembered my Gameboy, though - found that old thing a couple of weeks ago and restarted Red." "Yeah?" said Sam, not wholly listening. Tucker closed his mouth. After a beat: "You think he's gonna try and rope us into this over the weekend?" "I'd bet money on it," Sam groused, "He's been really worked up about it since the beginning of the month. Like, on one hand - okay, it's probably gonna be insane, because duh, of course it will, but on the other hand - we're gonna be there to back him up, so I really don't think it's going to be as bad as he thinks it will. Try telling him that, though? Watch him get all freaky-outty about it? Ugh." Tucker slid her a look. "If he does try and bail on us - you think we're allowed to put him in the thermos for a time-out?" Sam snorted into laughter. "Do it. That'll show him." Tucker smiled, glad that he'd made Sam laugh for once, and turned to try and spot Danny below. He grabbed their shared pair of binoculars, tracing along the most visible side streets, but then paused. Adjusting the focus, he groaned. "Um, Sam? You wanna take a quick peek?" "What? Nah, I'm good," Sam replied from partway across the roof, "Same boring view as always." Tucker held out the binoculars anyway, turning and giving her a quick shake of his head. "I'm serious, man." "What, like an actual ghost? Finally?" Sam pulled herself up to her feet, taking the binoculars and following Tucker's pointing finger. "Oh. Yeah that might be a problem." The binoculars, now in focus, were trained on the vacant pet supply shop beyond the park. She could see the truck bay on the side of the building; one of the doors had crumpled inwards, like an angry giant had given it a solid one-two punch, and something inside cast an ethereal green glow. Tucker turned to her and shrugged. "You think we should tell Danny about it? I mean - that can't be a good sign, but - " " - and guarantee he'll skip out on the whole weekend and keep dragging us out here for all this extra ghost stuff?" Sam crossed her arms, setting the binoculars back down on the roof, "Hey, wait a second - did you see this last night too? And you just didn't say anything about it?" Tucker nodded. "Yeah. Didn't look bad last night, though. I kinda thought Danny would have found it on his own. He didn't, and I guess I forgot about it." "You think it'll be an issue?" Sam asked, "Before the weekend, I mean. He's been scouring the town for two weeks straight - if it was bad news, or even was shaping up to be, he'd have found out about it already, you think?" Tucker frowned. "Wait, we're really not telling him about this?" Sam took another look through the binoculars. "Not until at least Saturday. Doesn't even look like there's any ghosts there. Place looks empty to me. Just kinda spooky." - - - So far, Danny had caught nothing. This was the slowest week he'd had in a long time - especially for mid-October - and he finally relented. Take the weekend, he told himself at last, de-stress a little. He slowed to a halt in the street, took a final look around, and transformed. Stress always got to him more when his heart beat; he didn't miss it, but he'd have to live with himself until Monday. How hard could that be, he told himself, movie night with Sam and Tuck? It'll be fun. He turned and started down the streets to go and meet up with them. He knew they'd be glad he cut his patrol tonight short; he'd had a feeling they hadn't even wanted to come out here tonight at all, and thought with a twinge of guilt that he'd roped them into it anyway. Ugh, good going. He hoped they wouldn't be too cross with him - Sam, in particular, was the one to remember things. She wouldn't always hold a grudge, but she never forgot anything that he or Tucker said, even if it was an off-hand comment at the time. The wind shifted, making Danny pause. He turned, hoping for another whiff of hayrides and nostalgia, but what hit him instead was a pit-in-your-stomach wave of dread that sucker-punched him out of left field. He felt his mouth run cold all at once, and his nostrils froze before he could even let any of it out. "Oh, hell," he said out loud, pressing his palm on the bridge of his nose in the hopes that he wouldn't give himself brain-freeze on top of all that. He'd never gotten such a strong reaction from his ghost sense before; why would it all of a sudden flare up like that? He turned and stared down the empty streets; two pairs of little black eyes stared back at him from behind a shopside trash can. He knew what that meant: he didn't even have to bother transforming again, which was a plus. He should have known those little mimicking ghosts would be out again. This really was too easy, though. Point, click, capture. It almost didn't even count, he supposed - although he might tease Sam and Tucker about it later. He noticed a second one clinging partway up the drain pipe, and a third - wait, is that one bigger? - and a handful more appeared from the inside of the shop. He realized that was probably what had made his ghost sense react so badly - he'd sensed them all at once - and he turned the open end of his thermos to them. They didn't seem to know what was coming, but he concluded that he should probably investigate a little further anyway. He wondered what they were doing in town like this. Sentient ghosts often lurked in empty buildings or alleys; less form-constricted ones were rarely seen within the city limits. Was there something here that they wanted? He phased through the locked shop and took a look around the inside, keeping out of sight in case any security cameras were still active. He didn't think so, though; it appeared to have, once, been a pet store. Empty fish tanks and displays of puppy toys lined the shelves, and one on a line of hamster wheels still spun. He could count at least eleven inside, and floated still for a moment to see if he could spot more. This must be where they're coming from, he thought, although he still didn't know why. They certainly didn't look like they were out to destroy anything. They scurried in and out of visibility on a whim, and one of them ran right under his feet and skittered under a dusty shelf. It turned, peering out at him. It wasn't until Danny uncapped the thermos that he realized exactly how many of them had noticed him. He'd counted eleven at first glance but, taking a second look around, he saw that number double, then triple. He saw, too, that he'd only been catching the small ones; several that appeared from behind the puppy display were at least puppy-sized, and one that could have mimicked a retriever stared out from atop the empty register. They stared, deathly still and unblinking, as if waiting for him to make a move. Danny did. Six of them were sucked up into the thermos at once; the remaining ones all leapt at him; he backpedaled out of the shop, transforming as he turned to run; they screeched and gave chase; several larger ones clambered up from the storm drains by the curb; he ascended higher and began taking potshots at the closer ones. The front door of the shop flew open, and out crawled the biggest one by far. It was at least twice Danny's size, and it muscled its way out onto the streets one or two legs at a time. It faced him, and he realized he had made a horrible mistake. At least fifty of the mimicking spirits had him surrounded. They all attacked him at once, and in a panic he fled higher. He could hear their angry screeching behind him, directed by the lower roars of the one he guessed was the mother. He ducked through the second-story window of another building, hoping they'd lose him. It appeared that they did. He ducked back under the window so that they wouldn't see him, and checked the space in his thermos. He knew that, in theory, there was a limit to how many ghosts he could cram inside the thing, but he'd never reached it. Most of those mimics were pretty small. He'd be fine. He floated out again, hoping to catch at least another dozen of them before they noticed him. He could see them up on the roof of an old office building, and he flew up after them. One of them spotted him and sounded the alarm; a dozen of the smaller ones dive-bombed him, keeping his attention so that the monstrous one could headbutt him from the side and knock him out of the air. He fell, instantly set upon by dozens of underlings, and the thermos went skittering across the pavement and came to a stop against the grate of one of the storm drains. Danny made a grab for it, missed, and flew up again. He shook off most of the gremlins that were clinging onto him, grabbing onto one that was particularly stubborn and hurling it away, and refocused. Apart from being caught off-guard by their numbers, he remembered he really had wanted a fight tonight. He spotted his thermos, debated for only a second whether or not to make it a quick fight, and decided that he'd grab it when he was done so that he could mop up. Ectoplasmic sparks danced between his fingers, and he turned to the swarm with a grin. Let's do it. - - - "Looks like he's gonna bail," said Tucker, watching events unfold from the roof. "Yep. There he goes." Sam groaned. "I knew we should have put him in a time-out. Wonder if we can at least drag him out to go see Terminatrix. Maybe a matinee or something?" "Don't count on it, dude. Looks like he's - oh, nevermind, they're ganging up on him." "Lemme see," Sam grabbed the binoculars without waiting for a response, giving them a brief focus adjustment and then frowning. "You think we should go and help him? Looks like there's kind of a lot - wait, no, I think you're right. He left his thermos behind. He's enjoying this." "Told you." Sam watched Danny fly around for a minute, hands ablaze with ghostly energy, and sighed. "Yeah. There goes the weekend. Guess it's just gonna be the two of us." "Two of us?" Tucker asked, "I'm only gonna sit through Terminatrix if you sit through Star Quest first." Sam thought about it for a moment, noting with some distaste that the aliens in the Star Quest franchise weren't horribly scary - usually, just humans with antennae or pointed ears glued on - but then nodded anyway. "Yeah. Sounds fair. Hey, check it out," she handed the binoculars back over to him. "I think he lost track of a couple of them. Maybe he's having too good of a time? You think we should tell him to wrap it up?" Tucker gave the fight below a glance. "Yeah. Probably. If he spreads 'em too thin I bet he'll miss some when he's done. Plus, that big one looks kinda mean and I don't want him to be on the wrong end of those teeth. He's come close a couple of times already." "On it," said Sam, reaching into her backpack for her walkie. It was connected to the wireless earphones that Danny wore, and she hit the button on one side with her thumb. "Danny. Looks like you're having a blast down there but could you maybe keep it contained a little? You're spreading it out more than you think you are." "Sam?" Danny responded, floating up a little so that he had a second to answer her. "I mean, you're right about how much fun I'm having - this is the first fight I've had all week! It's like instant stress relief! Hey, listen, I've been doing some thinking - it's about this weekend - " Sam knew what was coming, but hearing him say it brought her temper immediately to a boil. "Yeah, I'll bet it is," she snapped, "I've heard it all before, Danny, and we're done trailing along behind you every night for this. Go on as many patrols as you want. Fill up that stupid thermos as many times as you think is good enough. Just do it by yourself. We'll have your back on Halloween, but until then you're on your own. Maybe if you get really lucky, we'll let you catch up with us on Monday." There was a brief silence as Danny processed all that. He'd known that Sam and Tucker had gotten the short end of the stick for nearly two weeks; he really had wanted to make it up to them, but hearing Sam lose her cool about it was like a punch in the gut. Not only had she not wanted to come out here tonight - she and Tucker both had expected him to bail on them, he realized. That was probably what stung the most. When he finally found the words, he knew it wasn't going to be enough. "Sam, I - I was gonna say we could go and catch - " One of the mimics blindsided him. He spiraled out of the air, descending through the asphalt of the street below and catching himself in a tangle of sewage pipes, and reappeared a moment later. He turned his attention to the swarm of spirits around him, but part of him still couldn't focus. Are they really going to ditch me? He knew that it was time to wrap the fight up. He still had to bring Sam and Tucker home afterwards; he'd talk to them about it then. He could see them up on that rooftop - maybe I should have kept this fight a little closer together - and he knew they were watching him. He'd lost track of the thermos, he realized, and floated higher in an attempt to spot it. He didn't, and the swarm was beginning to converge on him now that he was up in plain sight. Now serious, he aimed more carefully. Most of the mischievous spirits weren't terribly robust, and fell with one or two shots; it was the leader he was becoming worried about. He must have hit it at least half a dozen times, and it just seemed to make it angrier. It roared, clawing its way up the side of a building, and leapt at him. One of its jointed legs swatted at him, and it climbed up higher to keep up with him. He hit it once, glancing briefly at the underlings below him, and it tackled him across the empty space over the street. They both flew in a tangle of limbs into the side of the building on the opposite side, breaking through the bricks and snapping one of the old wooden supports clean in two, and he extricated himself after it nearly bit his head off. He disappeared, splitting his attention as best he could between it and its horde of minions, and finally spotted the thermos by a storm drain two blocks down. He swooped, grabbing ahold of it before any of the other spirits could catch him, and turned to finish the fight off. The smaller ones were caught first, and he turned his full attention back to the leader. The gremlin hissed at him, turned, and crawled upwards. Its claws left hard scratches in the bricks as it went, and put out one of the windows about halfway up the structure. Danny flew after it, thermos in hand. He realized as it made its way up the side of the building that Sam and Tucker were up on the roof, and a wave of dread hit him. "Guys, heads-up, you better get out of there - !" The monstrous mimic clambered up the last floor and hoisted itself over the corner of the roof, scraping a handful of bricks out of place and baring the wooden beam that held up the corner of the building. Under the monster's weight, it held for the moment but creaked unhappily. Danny could hear Sam and Tucker both scream, and threw an energy blast to get its attention if nothing else. It lurched forward, hit but not horribly injured, but wouldn't turn to face him. Danny reached the corner of the roof just in time to see it collapse onto the top floor. Bricks, wooden supports, and debris crumpled inwards, settling into a pile of rubble in the space below, and the spidery gremlin toppled down along with the rest. He could see Sam on the other side of the roof, having scrambled away from the damage. What about Tucker? He panicked, blasting the giant mimic with a two-handed attack to get it out of the way, and dove into the rubble. "Tucker?" The ghost came at him again, and his control lapsed. He turned with an inhuman cry, both his hands bursting into a crackling blaze, and the second he locked onto his target he let loose with something he didn't know he had. The next thing he knew, the mimic had been utterly obliterated, and he'd taken out the rest of the corner of the roof too. The dizziness of overexertion clouded his head, but he shoved it aside and turned back to the pile of rubble before him. Without a second thought, he dove down and sifted through it as quickly as he could. Hold on Tuck oh dear god please don't let him be dead - He found Tucker under a splintered wooden beam. He looked like he'd been half-crushed; one of his arms was bent the wrong way, and a piece of the split beam had lodged itself in his shoulder. Fragments of bricks and debris had closed him in. A wide splatter of blood covered almost half of his face; his nose had been broken, and he only barely appeared to be breathing. "Tucker!" Danny cried, pulling the beam away from him in a blind panic. He'd gone almost entirely numb, and hesitated even to touch him. He knew this was his fault - still having fun, are we? - and the knot of dread in his stomach sharpened into a spear of guilt. "Tuck, I - I'm so sorry - " "Danny?" Sam's head appeared over the edge of the destroyed roof, "The hell was that? I've never seen you go ham like that before - " Danny turned up to her, pale and tear-stained. "Sam, I - " Sam's eyes widened as she realized what had happened. "Oh my god is he okay - ?" Danny, without words, shook his head. Sam jumped down without hesitation, scrambling over the fallen debris and kicking pieces of the former roof out of her way. Seeing him up close, one hand came up over her mouth. She stiffened. "Is he - is he breathing?" "Yeah," Danny whispered, unable to manage anything other than that, "But - " "We gotta get help," said Sam, her mind already racing for the least damaging solution. Her eyes flicked to Danny, and her voice was suddenly sharp; she'd just assumed control, since she knew Danny couldn't take charge. "Overshadow him." "What - ?" "You heard me!" Sam barked, "Keep his head up, if you can - but don't you dare twist him around - I'm calling the hospital - let them know he's coming - " Danny turned back to Tucker. He hadn't wanted to even touch him - dear god, he was just so fragile - but he did as Sam instructed. He slid carefully into Tucker's body, and the pain hit him all at once. Tucker had blacked out, but Danny felt it all. It paralyzed him as his mind grappled to keep his focus; for a second, he pulled himself away, but he knew that Sam was right. He forced himself to keep control, and slowly the pair levitated upwards. He was aware that Sam was making a phone call - anything beyond that was incomprehensible. He could feel exactly how close Tucker was to the edge; overshadowing him in this state was almost like trying to overshadow another ghost, and he didn't dare make his body twitch in case it would sway him over completely. "Come on," said Sam, and it took Danny a moment to realize that it had been directed at him, "I told them we'll be there in five - it's just down the block, but - dear god, that's so much blood..." Everything that happened over the next hour blurred together. Danny kept Tucker together, but only barely; he fell out of him the second the medics took over, exhausted and reeling, and only re-materialized after he'd caught his breath. He and Sam waited for almost three hours for the emergency night surgeon to come out, and not a word was said between them the whole time. He'd been in tears the entire time. This was because of him - Tucker might be dead because of you - and despite any and all efforts, he could think of nothing else. It was unbearable. Finally the surgeon met with them, and gave them the run-down on the damage: broken arm, displaced shoulder, three fractured ribs, cranial bruising - he got lucky his skull hadn't caved, he'd said - and anemic blood loss. He asked, of course, how it had happened. Neither Sam nor Danny answered that one. He asked them if there had been any hard drugs involved, just so that he could keep Tucker medicated; they said there hadn't. He asked if their parents knew about any of this, and they just exchanged looks. He said he'd be making some phone calls, and that no one would be in any trouble if he could help it. It's a miracle you got him here in one piece, he said. Wonder how you managed to keep him together all this way. I tell you - by all means, the base of his skull should have caved under its own weight. Tucker's parents were devastated. This had come seemingly out of nowhere - and in the middle of the night, no less! They had both been prepared to blame Danny and Sam wholeheartedly for the incident - until the surgeon told them that it was because of them that he'd made it in at all. They didn't tell me what happened, the surgeon said, but as far as I can tell, they knew exactly what to do about it. They arrived ten minutes later, and Sam's parents arrived not long after that, but it wasn't until the Fenton RV pulled in that anyone got a coherent story. Danny just sat, numb, for the entirety of the visit; it was Sam that ended up telling it. She told them that they'd gone out hoping to find a ghost - it had been her idea, she said, and she'd convinced Danny to bring a Fenton thermos with him in case anything went wrong. She'd admitted that they didn't really know what they were getting into, and she knew they should have been more careful, and that it really was stupid of them to go out like that. Jack had been about to ground Danny forever on the spot; Maddie took the thermos, about to agree with him, but had changed her mind when she had a closer look at it. It wasn't empty - far from it, in fact - and she realized just how long they must have been out there before the incident. Jack, she'd said, grabbing his arm and giving it a tug, Jack, look - this thing isn't empty! She concluded at once that they'd gotten in over their heads, but the fact that all three of them had survived was a feat in and of itself. They'd barely escaped - but they had escaped, and caught nearly two dozen spirits in the process. Still, Danny was forbidden from pulling a stunt like that ever again, and Sam's parents grounded her on the spot. Danny found he didn't care. Even after he was taken home, he didn't get any sleep. The incident played over in his mind - I should have been faster, I should have paid more attention, I should have kept it closer together, I should have sucked them all up when I had the chance. This is my fault. Is Tuck ever going to forgive me?

Danny skipped class to go and see him. The receptionist pointed him in the right direction, but warned him: ten minutes only - he's still under a lot of medication. Danny said that was alright. He just needed to see him. He understood why Tucker hated places like this; the too-white walls were nearly blinding, and the polished floors were almost insufferably bare. He gave the door a little knock, but opened it anyway. "Tuck?" Tucker, only half-coherent, brightened. "Danny, s'that you...?" "Yeah, it's me. Look," said Danny, letting himself in and finding an uncomfortable spot in one of the two chairs by the window table. "Tuck, I needed to see you - " "S'okay," said Tucker, with half a smile, "I missed you too." Danny had to keep himself from tears. "Tuck, I'm so sorry - I let things get out of hand, and - this is all my fault - " "Danny," said Tucker, focusing as best he could given all the painkillers he was on. He propped himself up on his good elbow, changed his mind about it, and leaned back down again. "S'fine. I'm not mad." Danny fell quiet. He refused to meet Tucker's eyes, and one hand clamped over the other in an effort to focus on anything that wasn't crying. "You're just saying that," he said finally, "How can you not be mad, Tuck? I almost got you killed - !" "Dude," said Tucker, as forcefully as he could manage, "I swear. Just...you gotta do something for me, okay?" "Anything," said Danny, meeting Tucker's gaze. Tucker's smile broadened. "Save me some candy from Halloween, okay?"

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 19 #team ghost

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royalrastafariannaynays · 5 years

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88 or 85 please bonus points for a happy ending

“You’ve never been loved, I can tell.”

The voice seeps into your mind like so much cloying cheery-sweet poison. It’s hot around your neck, branding into your skin with every move and scorching your tongue as you gasp for breath.

“That’s not true–” you start, eyes squeezing open for a bitter and blinding second before a boot catches you in the gut, and you curl back in on yourself, coughing out against the toxic gas in the room. It’s just enough to cause you pain, but not enough to knock you out or kill you. Its ‘Condy’s Special Blend, baby boy,’ she’d said. 'Perfect for humans, ineffective on trolls, cooked it up myself.’

“What? You think he would come?” She cackles. “For you??”

You try to stop coughing, turn over into a pocket of slightly cleaner air and hold your face to the cold, cold concrete floor. Closer to the floor, less gas. It’s a kinda warm gas, so you think that’s probably true, anyway. John… John said he’d come for you. He always would come for you, no matter what stood in his way. He would understand, he would see your truth, he would hold your face and smile into it and kiss your forehead in the stupidest approximation of intimacy you’d ever seen, and he–

Another kick, and you’re coughing again.

“Dirk,” she murmurs, coming around to your front again. Her heels click and clack on the floor, her hair grazes your face and you muster up the strength to flinch away from it. “Dirk, Dirk, Dirk.”

The gas not only makes breathing hurt, and your head feel woozy, but it’s like something is sucking the life out of you bit by bit. Somewhere in your brain you’re supplied the term 'tranquilizer’ and you sigh as much as you can between rasps of breath. It couldn’t be taking your literal life force away. And why would she do that? You wouldn’t be able to give her information anymore if you died.

“You gave away the location of your base, Dirk. Sure it was the smaller one you’d just vacated, but you left yourself there alone to be pulled out as a sacrifice,” she simmers, claws digging into your chin and cheeks as she turns your head. Your eyes squeeze open, to find hers inches away. “You knew you had so much information to give me, and you still gave yourself up. For what?”

You know the answer to this one, and you just barely resist spitting right on her overblown and tacky glasses.

She smiles wickedly at your weak approximation of a scowl, and draws a line down below your eye.

“You think he ever loved you, knowing that you would sacrifice his precious little resistance, just for your little brother and sister?”

With that line, your will crumbles. That one line from the one who would eradicate your species if given a chance. You’re prone here in her personal gas chamber, about to be siphoned for secrets and codes and tortured with hallucinogens until you don’t even remember your own name. You’ve seen video of it being done. One of the prisoners chewed off their own hand while alone and bled out on the floor.

Every time you blink, John is there, gazing at you across an empty research hall, confused at what you’re doing. Why you would want to stay behind when you knew that everything was already gone from the premises. Two operatives captured meant that the facility was to be moved, and everything was to start over. And there in your lab coat, when you kissed him goodbye, you couldn’t look at him.

John was your perfect balance. He was there to tear you away from your work even if it was important, because you were more important. Kicking and screaming, you would be grabbed around the middle and dragged into the kitchen, where he would feed you some kind of awful recipe he had thought up. Itd be served on the plate Dave accidentally dropped and broke when he found out you were casually seeing each other. And there would be hot tea (decaf, because you consume entirely too much stale coffee) in the mug Dave bought for you when he found out you were 'going steady’.

You would eat the food. With the silverware John had scavenged from the burning husk of his late father’s house, and with one of his hands on the small of your back. In that warm spot that was just nice enough to be both distracting and comforting. If John was lucky, you hadn’t slept for a few days, and he’d be able to pull you into your military-grade cot in your quarters.

The gas you’re inhaling is nothing like that.

Grief hits you like a freight train, solid and impossibly painful right in the middle of your sternum.

“You know it’s the truth,” The condesce purrs, letting your face go. Your cheekbone hits the floor with a hollow sound, bound to bruise some very ugly colors. Your eyes slip down to half-mast, and you listen to her footfalls as she walks around to the gas extruder in the corner. A button clicks and a valve hisses, and soon, you can breathe again.

And she’s right.

There’s no way he could have loved you. No way he actually looked at you over poker that night in the canteen, when you were both failing miserably, and thought you were…

'Something else,’ was the term he used. You were never sure exactly what that meant. Countless times he had waxed poetic about your skin or hair or freckles or the depth behind your eyes and your determination to succeed. And a bunch of other things, of course. But there’s no way that he looked at you and saw anything but bags under your eyes, gangly limbs, OCD, stress, tension, bad dietary habits, scars from drug addiction, anything. There is no way.

It’s been twelve days and eleven nights total here in this gas chamber. Maybe more? You’ve only counted what you were awake for. So however long you’ve been here, he would have come for you already. Or you would have heard something, or–

There’s the sound of a scuffle outside the glass. You would turn and look, but you’re too weak. Too bleeding and battered and broken. And it would be pointless, anyway.

There’s another hiss from the gas machine in the corner. Something sweet goes back into your lungs, and your whole body feels light. Everything is woozy and the world is spinning so hard. When you close your eyes, it only gets worse. Your stomach heaves but nothing comes up, only the bitter taste of acid on the back of your tongue.

“Dirk!” You hear, as if through a fog. You close your eyes, and John is there. He’s wearing his combat fatigues in the research hall, sprinting toward you with an arm outstretched. He looks angry, so angry. Black ooze spills from his mouth, and pus from the corners of his eyes. He says your name again, and a low moan seeps from your throat. A gentle 'no,’ an admission of failure, a desperate cry for help.

You’re flipped onto your back, and you can only tell from the fact that your eyelids turn red on the inside. The red turns to blood and lava. You hear a gunshot, and a thud, and a ripping noise, and magenta pours into your range of vision with no preamble. A blade clatters to the ground. You’re still facing up. Why?

The magenta begins to smile, touches your face in a way that you know means beatings. Another low moan.

Muffled voices are shouting and you can barely move your arms up to swipe at the pink that runs in rivulets down the domed ceiling, making hands and smiles and teeth and John looking so, so, so, so confused.

After that, everything goes to black.

……….

When you wake up, it’s to the aroma of fresh vanilla. Some noises you can’t identify yet flit along the edges of your senses. The blurry sensations of the sheets under your fingers, and the tubes wrapped around your arms, accompany the faint beeping of a heart monitor. Coming to awareness is always strange for you. It’s part of why you don’t really like sleeping a lot.

Fabric rustles, you can tell what that is now, and you lift your eyelids with no small effort. The smell of vanilla is also a little sugary, and almost like heat. There’s something around your chest that’s tight and making breathing annoying. Did you… ah. Right. Broken ribs.

A glance to the right yields you someone you’d never expected to see again, shoving a cookie into his mouth and trying very hard to not seem as upset as he is. It’s fair to assume he’s keeping a straight face for the sake of the rest of the resistance.

A cool hand touches your forehead, and your inspection of John is interrupted as someone softly gasps, bringing attention to you. It’s a troll with something like greenish-gray skin and black painted over her well-manicured claws. She’s wearing a smock that has a couple smears of blood on it, and she looks very tired. Must be the end of her shift?

“You’re awake!” She exclaims gently, and very quickly she’s taking all possible vital signs and a sample of blood from your vein catheter. She hurries off before anything else can be said to her, and you frown and sigh. You made it back.

Don’t you feel fucking stupid, huh.

“Hey,” John’s voice murmurs from beside you. Now that you’re more alert, you see the lines on his face, and the flour stains on his clothes, and you know he’s been stress-baking.

It hurts, but you try to tilt your body to him to make the pain of your neck a little less. It has the opposite effect, and spikes of white-hot shoot through your body like you’ve been electrocuted and then stabbed all over. Curses pour from your tongue and his through your teeth, and you figure out that the binding around your chest is definitely for broken ribs when you hear snickering coming from your right.

“What?!” You snap, trying to lie still and sink back into the high amount of pain meds they would have had to put you on before you woke up.

Oh fuck.

You forgot that he probably hates you now. Shit.

John is starting to frown when you look away from him in shame.

“You know I dont blame you, right?” He asks.

You weren’t expecting that, so you stay silent and try to comprehend what he could be saying.

You feel a touch at your right hand, and look over to see his calloused fingers touching yours. It’s incomprehensible. Everything you’ve been telling yourself the last two weeks, hell, two months since Dave and Rose were captured, has been a process of slowly breaking down your attachment to him in your mind. It didn’t work, of course, but you knew you would have to leave him, for good. Leave the fucking light in your life.

“Don’t be stupid,” you say, and try to pull your fingers away. Unfortunately he’s not having it.

“I’m not being stupid,” he says, unfathomably. And then continues with reiteration of what had to be fake news. “I understand why you left, even if it was idiotic.”

And… wait.

“I love you,” John says, then, and your mind is still reeling even as your chest bursts with joy.

“Did you kill the fuckin condesce???” You nearly shout, and break down into bouts of coughing and wheezing, prompting Kanaya to wander by with an oxygen tank and some cannula.

John looks sheepish.

Sheepish.

Crying will be for later. Right now, you’re too shocked to even remember what happened in the last five minutes.

----------

thank you to sam for the request, and i love you all and hope you have a good week :)

#body horror #canon-typical violence #dirkjohn #homestuck fanfiction #apocalypse au #trolls on earth #here u go sam #will go bsck sbd add a pagd break latdd #my apologies in at work and no pc #lkng post #long post #very long post #my short fics that I write

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austennerdita2533 · 5 years

Text

To my fellow PJo-loving anon:

Here’s the New Year’s drabble I told you I’d try to take a stab at all those days ago. So sorry it’s taken me so long to finish, but 2019 has been bumpy for me so far. Plus I kept reconfiguring this because I’ve never written Dawson’s Creek/PJo fic before and was looking for a way to merge the idea in my head with the words I put on the page, something I never manage to fully achieve. I’m never happy haha. Alas, therein lies my endless writer struggle.

Anyway, this is pure fluff with a very-much-alive Jen--just as you asked. :)

Also here: (A03)

I hope you like it, sweets!

xx Ashlee Bree

Always Remember Us (Quipping) This Way

“It’ll never work, Pace,” she said as she sipped a hot toddy from her chair by the bonfire. Peering out at the creek instead of at his crunching approach, the sky starless but with air brisk enough to flake the lapping waves of the cape with snow if it so desired, Joey felt the drink’s warmth soothe the chill in her mittened hands before it spread to her bones with a shiver she’d never catch. “Whatever you’re planning, I admire the effort, I really do…”

“I sense a major but coming. Dawson, Jen, Jack, Dougie—” he corralled as amusement, firelight, and perhaps one too many merry whiskeys danced in his eyes. “Don’t you hear the major but lurking in my wife’s next words?”

“Sure do, little brother.”

“She told me but was her favorite conjunction once,” Jack said with a tip of his beer and a hiccup.

Amused, Jen exhaled. Shook her head. “Sometimes I forget how much I miss you people.”

Gathered around the flames with good friends, warm blankets, and a combination of new and old memories, this group of twenty-somethings wouldn’t trade a laidback small town holiday in Capeside for anything more extravagant tonight. This was comfort at its finest. This was fun amid freezing Massachusetts wind and temperatures cold enough to give them frostbite. This was quality family time.

“Your ingenuity’s unmatched at the moment, however misguided it might be. I’ll give you that much,” Joey said as she hugged her knees and scowled in vain at the ‘something’ hidden beneath her husband’s coat while her friends laughed. All of them seemingly in on the same joke.

“I’ll take that back-handed compliment and raise you a nod in thanks,” Pacey fired back.

She regarded him with an arched brow as he neared, pointing.

“Don’t think I’m not onto you, by the way. I know that scheming look of yours all too well.”

“You know,” hand wagging, his tongue slid out over his bottom lip, “it’s not nice to accuse my face of things. What’s an innocent guy supposed to think?”

“Innocent? You?” Joey waved him off. Sighed long and well. Then she toasted with Dougie before taking another large swig from her mug. “Please, you haven’t been innocent since we were seven and you tried to trick me into eating a bucket of sand so I could protect myself from the Loch Ness Cronster who lurked beneath the Leery’s dock,” she said.

“Wow.” With a hand over his heart, he feigned stumbling backwards as if she’d shot him. “I can’t believe you’re still holding that against me. What is this, the second grade?”

Shrugging, “Potters are serious grudge-holders.”

“Notorious in your case,” Pacey added under his breath.

“Hey! Those are fighting words. Put up your dukes.”

“I told you she wouldn’t fall for any of your end of the year games this time, man,” Dawson called out with a hearty chuckle, Jen looking on by his side. Her red knitted head rested against his shoulder while one arm curled around his middle and her lips lifted in a quiet smile. Observant as always.

“I suppose we’ll have to see about that now, won’t we?”

Looking up, Joey’s eyes narrowed in challenge, “Oh, bite me Pacey.”

He halted before her then, head cocked and knees stooping so he could pull her to her feet in one smooth motion. He spun her toward him with ease, thanks to their ballroom dance lessons all those years ago. It seemed time and trust and love had finally taught them how to move in sync. Or at least had kept them from bruising the hell out of each other’s toes now that they could anticipate each other’s steps better. (Sometimes, anyway. Yeah, sometimes was still the most accurate word.)

“Whoever said anything about biting, Potter?” he whispered against the shell of her ear.

“Nice try, Fred Astaire—but no.”

“How are you objecting already?” She tried to push against his chest with fisted mittens but Pacey reeled her closer by the scarf strings. “You don’t even know what I’m about to do,” he said.

“Don’t I?”

“I promised you, remember?” An arm slunk around her waist. It held her firm against his chest where she belonged. “No pranks to herald in the New Year.”

“Oh, really?” Joey crossed her arms, playful, a little smirk forming at the corner of her mouth. “Then empty your pockets.”

Appearing affronted for a moment, but only a moment, Pacey scratched a thumb across his chin as if in thought before he reached into his coat with that grin of his widening until it was on full display. It was the cheeky one, too. Not the regular obnoxious one he wielded for sarcastic purposes or provoking alone because he knew it drove her mad, and boy, did it ever! (The number of married years under their belts did nothing to appease how much he still plucked at the nerves under her skin at times). This grin, though…this one he flashed only when some kind of raucous surprise or sweeping unexpectedness was on the horizon, and much to her eye-rolling chagrin, it usually was.

“This is how romanticism dies, I’ll have you know,” he said with a low grumble.

Joey pulled back.

“Why? You mean because I’m loath to accept that -” she swatted above them “ - that thing as a lousy substitute?”

“Yep.”

She humphed.

“Keats would be disappointed in you, my lady.”

Caught somewhere between a snort and a scoff, she gaped up at the no-longer-hidden item in Pacey’s hand before offering him a wry smile and wrapping her arms around his neck. Then she pressed their foreheads together, cupped his face in her palms. “Says the man who’s currently dangling a stalk of produce above our heads like it’s the most sentimental gesture in the history of sentimental gestures,” she pointed out.

“Come on, Jo. It’s romantic.”

“Mmm…debatable,” she said with a cute scrunch of her nose, with a shrug that caused their hips to bump. “Especially considering it’s celery you’ve pilfered from the fridge, which you then tied with a little red bow before presenting it to me.”

“That’s only because I’m conscious of how every detail matters, you see.”

“It does have green leaves, Joey. That’s festive, right?” Jen cut in at the first stroke of twelve. “Also, it’s fibrous in a non-poisonous way, so there’s that added benefit.”

“Yeah,” Jack laughed, Dougie’s hand on his knee. “It’s not like anybody here cares if the leaves are brown and wilting off the damn thing already.”

“Besides, it’s not as if we don’t all know Pacey completely ripped off this whole idea from Jacob Goldman with his broccoli mistletoe in Grumpy Old Men, anyway. So I think we can safely chalk up this amorous whim to borrowed creativity and an unspecified amount of liquor,” Dawson added in that philosophical tone of his, but with a face which was as free of jealousy as it was unencumbered by any mulling forehead lines.

“Don’t forget love, Leery,” said the borrower in question before he leaned in to kiss his sharp-tongued, big-brown-eyed girl. Their lips met just before the final midnight chime. “You know it’s about true love above all else with me.”

It always was.

Since Dawson was liable to see the film angle in everything, therefore, big or small, it was no surprise to the rest of them later on to learn that he’d found Pacey and Joey’s impromptu kiss beneath a shriveled stalk of celery in the last seconds of 2008 to be an inspiring slice of life for him. In his own words, or as he’d dubbed it in the bonus features of the Season 4 DVD, it was thereafter known as—

An absurd moment of affection, humor, and storytelling possibility.

#anonymous #dawson's creek #pjo drabbles #pacey and joey #ashlee bree's writing endeavors

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eldritchsurveys · 5 years

Text

209.

Are you a mean drunk? >> Not unless I also happen to have sensory overload or something else that overrides my ability to be sanguine.

Do you listen to a lot of mainstream music? >> Sure, I suppose. To be honest, I’m not sure what qualifies as “mainstream” anymore; I feel like it used to be a lot easier to make that divide.

Do you think you're pretty? >> That’s not the word I’d use, personally.

Have you ever been in a long distance relationship? >> Yes.

Do you go clubbing? >> No.

Are you a hopeless romantic? >> Not unless it’s on behalf of fictional characters.

When do you have to wake up tomorrow? >> Whenever I damn well please.

Do you think Ludacris is ugly? >> No.

Do you fit any stereotype? >> Yeah, probably. Shoving people into stereotypes is kind of an art form amongst us as people, so I imagine it wouldn’t be difficult to do it to me.

Do you associate songs with memories? >> Yeah, the things I remember best usually have songs attached to them to help the memory persist.

What's the weather like where you live? >> Right now? Snowy. :|

What's your opinion of Lady Gaga? >> I like her music.

Do you appreciate raunchy humor? >> Sometimes.

Do you ever listen to Lily Allen? >> No.

Have you ever been racist? >> I’m sure I have.

Have you ever added someone you don't know on Facebook? >> No.

Do you make playlists? >> I have a couple on Spotify but I rarely do anything with them. Except for the Shower playlist, because obviously I use that when I shower.

What's your worst feature? >> *shrug*

Have you ever kept a diary? >> I’ve kept quite a few.

Do you actually use your calendar? >> I don’t have a [paper] calendar.

Do you have dirty pictures in your phone? >> No.

Have you ever looked up porn on the internet? >> Yes.

Are you an angry person? >> Yeah, I’m pretty angry about some things. Mostly it manifests as depression, because I’m not really aggressive by nature.

Are you close with your family? >> ---

What kind of music do you listen to when you're sad? >> Usually just stuff I like. I don’t necessarily gravitate towards sad-sounding music.

Do you like hippie jewlery? >> Uh.

Have you ever used the word "groovy"? >> Probably.

What are your grades like? >> ---

Have you ever watched the original british skins? >> No.

Do you like oreos? >> No. I do like crushed-up Oreo (the cookie part) in like McFlurries and shit. I like the texture.

Have you ever had a sex dream about someone you barely know? >> Most of my sex dreams have been about either celebrities or some NPC my brain made up for the purpose of the dream.

Were you a cute baby? >> I don’t know, probably.

Do you ever listen to angry girl music? >> Uh...

Would you ever shoot someone right in the face? >> Probably not.

Have you ever sold drugs? >> No. I mean, let’s be real, even if I had I probably wouldn’t tell the internet.

What color are your headphones? >> Black.

What are you like first thing in the morning? >> It depends on how I woke up.

Do you get crazy sex hair? >> No.

Do you download your music illegaly? >> Not anymore, I just use Spotify now. It’s easier.

Have you ever crashed a wedding? >> No.

Were you a blink 182 fan back in the day? >> No, I just liked a couple of songs.

Were you ugly in middle school? >> To me, I was.

Have you ever been to Boulder Colorado? >> No.

Do you rage against conformity? >> Not necessarily.

Have you ever yelled at a self check out machine? >> No. Sparrow does that sometimes, but they don’t really frustrate me.

Have you ever been shot? >> No.

Is everything going to be okay? >> I mean, yeah. Eventually we’ll be dead, which automatically means we’ll not have anything else to worry about, so.

Are you stoned right now? >> No.

Do you listen to Sublime? >> I listen to two Sublime songs.

Has someone ever understood you more than your understood yourself? >> I don’t think so.

Are you on good terms with your parents? >> ---

Have you ever written a letter to Santa just for kicks? >> No.

What's your opinion on border control? >> I avoid forming yes/no opinions about complicated issues that I know I don’t understand the full extent of.

Do some people have way too much time on their hands? >> I don’t know, maybe. Depends on how they feel about it.

Do you ever drink 5 hour energy shots? >> I drank this ONCE and it was the most disgusting thing I’d ever tasted. ...It did work, though, I’ll say that much. But it really ain’t worth it for me.

Does country music ever make you cry? >> I don’t listen to enough of it to have had that experience.

Have you ever had a moment so wonderful it felt like magic? >> Yeah.

Have you ever snorted pixie sticks? >> Yeah, lmao.

Are you okay on your own? >> I am, generally.

Does your face twitch when you're about to cry? >> I don’t think so.

If heaven and hell are real, which one are you going to? >> Well, I don’t know. Because some doctrine says that if you’ve ever at all said the words “I accept Christ as lord and saviour”, then you’re perma-covered like some divinely good health insurance, and all your sins past present and future are forgiven and so on. And I did say those words as a child, because I was raised Christian... so even though I don’t consider myself Christian now, I wonder if there’s like a “no-takebacksies” kind of thing going on and St Peter would have to let me in the pearly gates regardless because of what I said when I was like eight. Or maybe another sect is right, and I’m going to Hell because [I’m a heathen/I’m queer/I don’t go to church/I say “goddamn” and “fuck” a lot]. Seems to me like it’s a crapshoot regardless.

Have you ever had a premonition? >> I don’t know, maybe.

Did you ever try cutting yourself? >> Yeah. Succeeded, too.

Do empty streets creep you out? >> Sometimes.

Have you ever seen your dad cry? >> No.

What's the last concert you went to? >> Trans-Siberian Orchestra.

Have you ever gotten sick of taking about yourself? >> No. Hence why I’m still taking these 10+ years later.

Could you ever be a therapist? >> No.

Have you ever made yourself throw up? >> Yeah.

Do you know someone who looks like one of the beach boys? >> I don’t know, I’m not sure what the Beach Boys even look like.

Are your nails currently painted pink or purple? >> No.

Do you adore mini sticky notes? >> Uh, no. I mean, they’re convenient and all, but I’m not in love with them or anything.

Do you have bad short term memory? >> Not spectacularly.

What's a song that will always give you the chills? >> I don’t know.

Have you had any major tragedies in your life? >> No.

What do you think of open casket funerals? >> I think they’re creepy as all hell-- not the “looking at a dead body” part, that makes sense to me, it’s just the painting-up of the dead body so they look... like they’re sleeping??? How does that help? I thought the point of viewing the body was to come to terms with the fact that said person is in fact dead and aid the grieving process. What purpose does the makeup serve? (I’m not terribly fond of the funeral industry in general, if that’s any indication.)

Are you bad at spelling? >> No.

Have you ever had a pet rat? >> No.

What do you binge on? >> Uh... nothing? I guess?

Do you want a cigarette right now? >> Nope.

Can you shake your ass? >> A bit.

Do you know someone named Dick? >> No.

Do you have a childish sense of humor? >> I don’t think so? I mean, maybe. I would laugh at silly things kids laugh at, but I don’t think that makes my humour childish, per se.

Do you like free samples? >> I mean, sure.

Are you a coupon fiend? >> No.

Who would you love to be with right now? >> Hm.

Could you go a year without sex? >> Yes, and longer besides.

Are you wearing any rings? >> No.

Are you homophobic? >> No, but I’ve done things that would be considered homophobic because I didn’t know any better at the time.

Do spiders make you jump around and squeal like a little girl? >> No.

Are you a sexist pig? >> No, but see the homophobia answer.

Have you screamed at anyone in the past week? >> No.

Do you have road rage? >> No.

Have you ever made yourself look like a fool for love? >> I don’t know, probably.

Did you ever see the harry potter movies on opening night? >> No.

Could you ever eat a worm? >> If I had a compelling enough reason to, sure.

Do you have low self esteem? >> Sometimes.

When you hang out with someone a lot do you start to pick up their habits? >> Some of them, yeah. It’s part of the whole masking thing-- mirroring is a masking cheat code.

Have you ever called your mom a bitch? >> ---

Do you have a cute laugh? >> I don’t know???

Do you write on your arms/hands? >> I used to, but I don’t have much reason to anymore.

Do you believe that you can get ink poisoning from that? >> No.

Do you think you're gonna sleep okay tonight? >> All one can do is hope.

#survey #surveys #random survey

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doberbutts · 6 years

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I've heard some owners don't allow their dogs to have any toys, like regular chew toys, so all the dogs' rewards/reinforcement/whatever comes from their owner alone. Is this true? Like does it work? Any drawbacks to it?

The less free stuff you give your dog, the more valuable anything you give your dog becomes. The drawback, of course, is that if a non-life-essential resource becomes too scarce, the animal learns to live without it. Think about it this way:

Scenario One: Billy’s mom never just gives him candy. She does, however, give him a sweet reward for bringing home good grades. Billy begins to associate the pleasure of eating candy with bringing home an A on a test. Billy likes candy, and is a generally good student, and so the candy remains a high value reward for Billy. If Billy wants more candy, he is that much more motivated to do well on a test.

Scenario Two: Dave’s mom also never just gives him candy, but does reward him with candy when he brings home good grades. This is a problem, because Dave isn’t really much of a sweettooth. He likes candy well enough, but he can just as easily live without it. Or, maybe it’s a problem because Dave isn’t getting the support he needs to be a good student, and so the reward of sweets after getting a good grade is too sporadic for him to really form a desire to continue to do well. If Dave’s mother wants him to do well on a test, she has to first figure out how to motivate her child more successfully, and she also has to give him the tools he needs to bring his grades up. She cannot do just one or the other, she must do both for him to succeed.

In both cases, a high value reward for most kids (sweets) has an artificial scarcity (parents blocking access) to make it even higher value. This is a trick used by many parents, and I bring it up often in my classes with my clients. It works well with some dogs, but not so well with other dogs, just like it works well with some kids, but not so well with other kids.

A dog like Creed, that considers play and toys to be high value, that has a drive and willingness to work through a problem presented to him, that’s been paired with someone capable of giving him the tools he needs to understand what’s being asked of him... then that dog would do fine with such a thing, because that’s the sort of situation that would be ideal for this method. As an aside- Creed does have a difference between “floor toys” which are free-for-all toys that are always on the floor (or in the toybox) and “training toys” which are his tugs and balls and those live in my pockets or in a drawer until I specifically retrieve them for training. Creed’s reaction is also very different to “floor toys”, which are fairly low value, and “training toys” which are fairly high value.

A dog with lower toy drive, that does not value toys or playing highly, or that frankly doesn’t give a shit about what they play with whether because that behavior was discouraged early in life or because that’s just their personality is not going to see such a big difference. At that point, finding a different reward would be better, because it doesn’t matter how scarce you make that resource if that dog doesn’t care in the first place.

Similarly, even if a dog does like and enjoy playing with toys, if they’re not being given the tools to work out the problems during training that you present, then they’re going to get frustrated and discouraged and then, at best, they lose interest in the toys and at worst you poison the entire interaction. To put it into perspective- I am very bad at chemistry. I’ll think I understand something, take a test, and completely bomb it. Which is a shame because I actually like chemistry and think it’s interesting, I want to understand things about chemistry, but apparently something is not clicking in my brain for that to work. Offering me candy for doing well on a test does not help this problem. I already have the motivation within myself to want to do well. I don’t need the candy offered to me to convince me to want it more (similarly, punishment also won’t work here, because again, the problem is not that I’m not motivated enough or that I’m performing a poor behavior on purpose). I’m not being given the tools to properly understand the information in front of me, and so when I put an answer down on a test thinking it’s the right one, the punishment of seeing that little red circle is even more discouraging and frustrating. Insisting that I’ll get candy if I just do well isn’t going to help me figure out how to do well in the first place.

Unfortunately, over time, if this specific problem is not addressed, then the learner becomes incredibly discouraged regarding the entire exchange, throws their hands (paws?) up, and walks away. Now this is a whole new problem, because now the reward for good grades (or behavior) has become very scarce because there’s very little successes going on. Even if there’s no punishment being brought into play by the teacher/parent/trainer themselves, the level of frustration and stress to be asked to do something difficult with very little chance of a reward being “worth it” will result is enough to discourage most learners from even wanting to try. I see this more often in adult dogs than puppies, but it’s always sad to witness. Why would I give a shit about candy if I know that candy only comes when I do well on a chemistry test but no matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to get better than a C-?

#Anonymous #asks

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alittletournesol · 6 years

Text

Art {JongKey}

As they were both walking along the commercial street which was separating their homes from the campus, Jonghyun couldn’t help but feel worried about his boyfriend. Holding his hand tight, Kibum was pursing his lips and seemed to be lost in thoughts since the moment they had left their respective university site. It had been a whole week now that he was concerned about something yet he would always say it was nothing for Jonghyun to worry about.

However, their daily walks were immersed in a sort of tension that was almost palpable, but the brown haired student knew it wasn’t his fault. He had done nothing wrong lately, despite that time he had nearly poisoned his boyfriend as he had tried to bake a lemon cake. But he hadn’t !

“Kibum, baby.” He suddenly said as he stopped walking, surprising the other young man. “What is wrong ? You’ve been quiet every evening for a week, I feel like you have something against me and it makes me feel really uncomfortable…”

“You did nothing, trust me.” The blond haired student said, forcing a smile to reassure his boyfriend. “My mind has been busy for days but it really isn’t about something you did, it’s all about me.”

“I trust you, I always do. But I can’t handle to see you being so troubled anymore, it’s like you’re becoming a ghost.”

As he heard these words and the sad tone in Jonghyun’s voice, Kibum sighed. The other man was right, he might feel concerned for some days but he had no right to make his love worry like this.

“It’s because of school, to be honest.” He ended up confessing as he started walking again, his hand still holding Jonghyun’s.

“School ? Your last grades are very good, though.” The brunette stated.

“I’m afraid it won’t last…”

Jonghyun frowned, turning his head to look at his boyfriend. A year separated them, and while himself was in his third and last year of literature degree, Kibum was in his second year of applied arts. Since they had both found their way, it was easy for them to keep their grades high and making the most of their students’ life at the same time.

Yet it was the first time the blond was worrying about his grades, enough to make him keep quiet when they were together. Even though they lived separately, Jonghyun in an apartment-share with his best friend and Kibum in his own apartment, they would often sleep to each other’s place for some months.

They were planning to move in together once the youngest of them would pass his degree, since it would make three years that they were a couple. According to them, the third year was one of the decisive ones, with the seventh and the tenth years : and it was the best one to start getting a couple life.

But if Kibum wasn’t sure about his abilities to maintain his high grades… it could cause a disequilibrium in their plans.

“What do you think about this.” Jonghyun said, his voice soft and low just as his boyfriend loved to hear it. “Instead of just taking you home tonight, let’s spend the evening together at your place and you’ll tell me everything, okay? I’m sure we can figure out what’s troubling your self-confidence.”

“Hmm… yes, let’s do that. I have enough chicken breasts to cook a salad for two persons.” His boyfriend nodded.

“Wonderful ! Let’s go.”

Jonghyun smiled and tip-toed to be as high as his boyfriend, putting a soft kiss on his lips to make him blush a bit. He loved how his cheekbones would slightly darken, taking a peach color to betray his shyness. As he finally smiled, his eyes sparkling, Kibum intertwined their fingers and crossed the road to take the way to his home.

Soon, both students arrived in front of an eleven floors flat, and the blond one typed the entry code before they entered, heading to the elevator. Kibum was living on the last floor, and he had chosen this apartment because it had been displayed as an equipped artist’s studio, with a view on the whole town.

Thanks to his parents, whose surgeon and nurse occupations had allowed for their only son’s good life, he had been able to propose a higher rent than the owner’s offer, so he was certain not to be thrown out if a better renter showed off someday.

Thus, he was the happy resident of a studio, more spacious than the average and enlightened by a whole wall only made of lattice work windows. The three other walls had been covered with real red bricks facing to give an industrial style Kibum adored. The floor was made of grey parquet and all his furnitures had been chosen in black, white tones, wood and metal materials.

And as the artist he was, a lot of canvas were spread in a corner of the living space, some still blank and some others under way or finished. Jonghyun was always amazed by the diversity of his boyfriend’s art, in terms of “equipment” as he liked to say : indeed, Kibum could make enthralling art with oil paint or watercolor just as he could draw complex pictures with only a soft-lead pencil.

He was the kind of artist who could be rough, randomly splashing vivid colors on his canvas, or extremely delicate, grazing his sheet with the tip of his dark pencil. He could create something abstract just as he could propose a precise work with a light-and-shadow game… he was born to be an artist.

Thus, how could he be so skeptical about his grades when his abilities were putting him at the first place of his school’s ranking ?

“Make yourself at home.” Kibum said as he closed his door behind them, removing his spring green jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. “Coffee or tea ?”

“As always. And tea this time, thank you.”

Jonghyun didn’t need to be asked twice, he removed his jacket in his turn, along with his shoes, and went to sit on the black leather sofa. While he was checking his several social medias, the blond student walked behind the counter that was the only furniture separating the kitchen and the living space of the studio.

The way he had arranged the whole room to his taste once he had moved in, with the agreement of the owner, was really suitable to his student life. He wasn’t often in his apartment, he would only eat and sleep there so he hadn’t lost himself in the usual way of filling a living space.

With this in mind, he had reserved one of the studio’s corners on the opposite side of the window wall to welcome his bed and a small nightstand. His sleeping space found its coziness thanks to a foldable three-parts screen which Kibum had fixed several wooden bars and rails on to also use it as an improvised dressing. After all, art wasn’t only about painting, but also about crafting and DIY !

Except for the bathroom, the rest of the studio was only made of a small kitchen with its bar counter as a separation from the living space, which was arranged with the two places sofa, a small coffee table, a wooded bookshelf and a rounded table with two chairs. A lot of plants were hanging here and there, or resting in their pots on the floor, on the tables, on the bar…

There was no television, the student liking more to stream his favorite shows on his expensive laptop — it was a good way to make it profitable. This studio could be seen as a mess by a strict mother, with canvas, tools and shoes spread here and there, but it was definitely at Kibum’s image : art.

“Here, green tea latte for the handsome boy.” The student said as he sat next to his boyfriend, handing him a steaming cup.

“Thank you baby.” Jonghyun smiled, putting his phone on the coffee table to grab his cup, slowly blowing on it.

“Quit doing that, it won’t help your drink to cool down at all.”

“I know but I guess my childish side is coming out when I see something steaming.”

Kibum couldn’t help but smile, his boyfriend was someone so pure and naive he looked like a child. He would often scold him because he was almost twenty-four and should act more like an adult but… Jonghyun’s pouts were his weaknesses. He had won so much fights with only a pout it was beyond unfair.

He was an eternal kid stuck in a muscular and manly body, yet he knew how to keep a balance between both theses sides of his. The blonde man shivered as he remembered the first time Jonghyun had shown him how manly he could be behind his childish attitude. He could remember very well his strong arms around him, his possessive hands holding his hips tight and his feverish kisses claiming him as his…

Kim Jonghyun was a passionate man, about everything and especially about him, his boyfriend for almost three years. And so was Kibum.

“So, let’s talk now.” The brunette said after he sipped a bit of his tea. “What is troubling you lately ?”

“I will start my third year soon, and you know what that means…” Kibum started to explain, his eyes never leaving his hands holding his cup. “Thesis.”

“Are you afraid of it ? You think you won’t be able to find a subject and pass your degree with it ?”

“To be honest, I think I already got my subject. But our head teacher wants us to start preparing our thesis now, at the end of our second year. He said it was for our own good, so we wouldn’t arrive in third year without being prepared.”

“He’s a really good teacher then. You will get into the swing of things and trust me, it’s better for you, I wish I had this opportunity.”

The art student sighed and drank a mouthful of his coffee. Sure, the idea was good and extremely benevolent for him and his fellows… yet he wasn’t feeling ready.

“The thing is… our teacher wants us to present him our first work for our thesis.” He pursued.

“What does it mean ?” Jonghyun asked, tilting his head.

“It means I have to introduce my subject and to illustrate it myself. It won’t be part of my final thesis, it’s just a training… for him to see if I know what I’m doing. But I don’t feel ready yet and it’s scaring me.”

“What is your subject ?”

“Male bodies.”

The brunette raised his eyebrows with surprise. Male bodies ? He instinctively glanced at the several canvas in the corner of the room to check… nothing looking like male bodies, only landscapes, some portraits and Kibum’s speciality, abstract. So why had he chosen a subject as complex as this one when he seemed to have never worked on it yet ?

Looking at his boyfriend again, Jonghyun sighed when he felt his dread and put his cup on the coffee table to take his hand in his, softly rubbing its back with his thumb.

“Sweetheart… you surprised me.” He confessed, his voice low and soft. “I thought you were going to tell me about everything else but male bodies.”

“Is it that surprising ?” Kibum asked, looking at him.

“Well, yes it is. I mean… you never drew male bodies before, did you ?”

“Actually… I did, but never for school except when we worked on nudes. I never showed it to anyone but it was actually something that was interesting me so much and… I don’t know, I was afraid to seem weird.”

“Show me. You’ll never be weird to me.”

The blonde student shyly smiled and let his boyfriend’s hand go as he stood up to walk to his sleeping space. There, he opened the nightstand’s drawer and took a sketchbook out of it before rejoining Jonghyun. The brown haired man bent his legs to put them on the couch so he could feel more comfortable, and he stretched his arm on the backrest, behind his boyfriend’s head.

Kibum cleared his throat and his cheekbones seemed to tint with a shy pink color as he revealed his hidden art. Here, either on a single page or covering two, there were countless drawings of naked male bodies, sometimes full-face yet often from the back or three-quarters.

The brunette held a whistle back as he discovered a kind of art he had never thought his boyfriend was so gifted for. The first drawings were a bit weak, proof that Kibum had started from nowhere once again, but the more you turned the pages, the more you saw the improvement of the bodies’ details, proportions, shades… most works had been made with only a drawing pencil, but some loose sheets showed how the blonde had also tried with paint.

“Baby, it’s… amazing.” Jonghyun ended up whispering as he traced the line of a hip with his finger on the page. “Since when do you do that ?”

“Since our first nudes class, during our first year.” The blonde student said. “I was so bad at it that day, the poor guy was ugly as hell on my sheet. But I somehow enjoyed trying to reproduce the lines and I wanted to improve myself. We have way much more female models when it comes to nudes classes, I don’t understand why. Even in art itself, there are more naked women than naked men.”

“Is it why you want to do your thesis about male bodies in art ?”

“Yes. So to introduce it I have to write a text about what I think, with proofs of course, and I have to illustrate my words with existing works and with my own. But…”

“But ?”

“My head teacher liked the idea I talked about for my own drawing… but I don’t know how to proceed.”

“Tell me what is it, maybe I can help.”

“I wanted to show that, just as a woman’s body, a man’s body can have its proper beauty with its lines and curves. So I wanted to reproduce a traditional way to draw the female body, but with a male body instead.”

“That sounds like a really good idea, since those kind of works are made to show the beauty of a female body. This way, you’ll show everyone how a male body can be beautiful too. So what’s the problem ? Spit it out, love.”

“I don’t have any male model to draw.”

As he said these words, Kibum turned his head towards his boyfriend and the latter could see the worry in his eyes. His fear was understandable : since he wanted to do his best, he didn’t want to draw a male body only thanks to his imagination or some pictures he could find on the internet.

He wanted to have someone in the flesh to pose for him, so he could draw the reality of a man’s body and not reproduce a retouched picture that was only willing to show abs and other muscles, without body hair nor fat. Kibum had always been like that, willing to show the beauty in its reality, in the real life.

Jonghyun could attest to this idea, and even more now that he had seen his boyfriend’s secret works : the blonde wasn’t drawing fake bodies with an excessive muscle structure, he was working on every detail a male body could offer to his eyes. The brunette had noticed the interest he had shown to body hair and natural marks on his drawings.

“Don’t you have any of the models at school who accepted to pose for you ?” The man asked.

“I didn’t ask them, because they’re too… too fake.” Kibum shrugged. “Drowning in their muscles, not a single hair on the body except their so perfectly cut beard… No way I deliberately draw them.”

“Then… maybe… draw me ?”

“You ?”

The blonde student widened his eyes as he stared at his boyfriend, surprised by the proposal. Never had he asked Jonghyun to help him with his art, never had he drawn his naked body because he didn’t want to sound like a pervert… yet here his boyfriend was, proposing to be his model for a nude.

“Jonghyun, this work is really serious so please don’t play with me.” He ended saying, not believing his reserved boyfriend would pose for hours, his naked body offered this way.

“I’m not playing with you and you perfectly know it. Listen.” The brunette straightened a bit to look at the other student in the eyes. “You need a model to draw a natural body, a body which isn’t over-muscled and has hair. I know I’m not skinny, I don’t have a lot of body hair either but… am I not natural ?”

“You got a point…”

“And I’m your boyfriend. I actually don’t want you to have some naked unknown dude posing for you when you have me.”

“Are you being jealous, babe ?”

“Yes I am. So quit worrying, I’ll be your French girl tonight. Just tell me what to do.”

Jonghyun offered his boyfriend a splendid smile, embellished by the pure love he had for him. As he couldn't help but blush, Kibum returned his smile and thanked his man without a word, only leaning to put a soft kiss on his fleshy lips.

“Fine…” He whispered. “I’ll think about where to make you pose, okay ? For now, just remove your clothes and put my robe on to wait.”

“All my clothes…?”

“Yes, all your clothes. Do it for me.”

The brunette smiled and stood up, emptying his cup before walking behind the bar to quickly wash it. The blonde imitated him and observed his studio to find the perfect spot for a model to pose ; the sun was slowly going down in the sky, enlightening the room with a warm golden light… he should use this natural light as much as he could because it was the best way to enhance the body’s features.

But he had to be fast, the sun wouldn’t eternally wait for him. No sooner thought than done, Kibum made space to move the couch, making it pivot until it was facing the window wall. Then, he grabbed one of the chairs and placed it opposite the furniture, choosing the best angle with precision. His easel was patiently waiting for his turn when the blonde grabbed it, putting it in front of the chair and sitting to adjust its height.

Once he was done, he stood up again to catch one of his special canvas, made of grain paper. He liked to paint on fabric canvas but this time, he thought paper was better just like using a pencil sounds better than using paint. He would have to play with shades and he was more at ease with his lead pencil to do it.

“Hum… I’m ready ?”

Raising his head as he was preparing his tools, Kibum bit his lip. Standing up in front of him, Jonghyun was seeming a bit embarrassed as he was naked under his boyfriend’s navy blue robe, opened above his navel. Since their bodies weren’t shaped the same way, the satin cloth was a bit too tight for the brunette yet it was emphasizing the curves of his arms and thighs, and the line of his shoulder breadth.

“Did I ever tell you that you were beautiful with my robe ?” The blonde smiled, approaching his boyfriend to style his hair.

“Since it’s the first time I wear it, no.” Jonghyun answered. “Does it suit me ?”

“A bit tight, but satin suits you for sure. Come, remove it.”

Without letting him the time to obey, Kibum lowered his head and ran his fingers on the soft fabric until they met the belt, untying it himself. Once again, he felt a sudden heat on his cheeks because of this kind of erotic situation, but he tried to ignore it as he pushed the robe away from Jonghyun’s shoulder until it fell on the floor.

Eventually his boyfriend was as naked as when he was born, and the latter cleared his throat, looking away.

“Are you sure I must stand in front of the window…?” He shyly asked. “Someone could see me…”

“No one can see you, there is no building opposite and you know it.” Kibum smiled and picked the cloth up, putting it on the back of a chair. “But something’s missing…”

“Missing ?”

“Yes. Nudes are a thing, true, but I want you to have something on you, like an accessory.”

“Babe, I accepted to be your French girl but you won’t make me wear a necklace.”

“Necklace…”

“No.”

“It could actually work but I have something better for you. Sit down.”

“If you bring me a bow tie, I’ll get dressed and leave, do you hear me ?”

The blonde laughed at the comment and quickly walked to his bed, grabbing a box under his hung clothes before coming back, sitting next to his boyfriend. When he opened it, the sunbeams made several glass dials shine : it was Kibum’s precious watches collection.

The student possessed the latest design of the Apple Watch, yet he had some guilty pleasure for traditional, old-looking watches with leather bracelet, hands and Roman numerals.

“A watch ?” Jonghyun asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, you’ll look damn sexy with one. What do you think of this one ?”

Kibum took one of his favorite watches out of its unit, with its brown leather bracelet, golden edges and visible mechanism.

“It’s called a skeleton watch, and I think it’s perfect for art.” The student said as he tied it around the brunette’s wrist. “Like… you can see everything that makes a watch being a watch, it’s like it’s naked, just as you. Like inner beauty through physical beauty.”

“Poetic, indeed.” Jonghyun smiled, his literary side always agreeing with his boyfriend’s artistic one when it comes to beauty.

“Okay, now we can start. Let me see… women are often represented lying down from side-on, with a hand slightly covering their pubis and the other arm above their head or resting next to their face.”

“You want me to do the same ?”

“No, this position won’t emphasize your male body’s features, it really is good for women but you… no, you’ll have to lie three quarters on to me.”

Saying this, Kibum stood up and put his watches box away as he took place on his chair, looking at Jonghyun slowly lying the way he was told to.

“Just a little bit more on your left…” The blonde said, squinting. “Yes, perfect, stay like that.”

“I don’t know what to do with my hands actually.” The brunette said, clearing his throat as embarrassment made his cheeks turn pink.

“Cover your private parts, honey. Even though you're beautiful, a dick isn’t extremely pretty… and to be honest, yours is too big to be seen as something artistic. In classical art, the tinier the better.”

“Well, thank you for the compliment, my love.”

Both students laughed as the elder obeyed the command, letting his hand nonchalantly cover his parts with its wrist resting on his hipbone. His several silver rings on his fingers were grabbing the attention on them, so on the part he was covering… it was fairly erotic and Kibum had to look away in order to keep a straight face.

“It’s good, now just put your other hand under your chin, elbow on the couch.” The artist ordered his boyfriend, who immediately complied.

“This way ?” The latter asked once his chin was resting on the back of his hand.

“Yes, perfect… perfect. Can you… let me see, can you just raise your forefinger and like… put it on your lower lip ? Not really put it, like, make it graze your lip and- yes, like that ! Wait.”

The blonde stood up and walked to the couch, kneeling as he adjusted the watch on Jonghyun’s wrist. He then slightly moved one of his legs, made him more comfortable and pushed his chin up with his thumb.

“You’re the best model I ever had.” He said, smiling before he put a gentle kiss on the brunette’s nose. “Now, all you have to do is to lie still, okay ? And… never break the eye-contact with me. I need to see your eyes so be sexy for me.”

“I’m always sexy for you.”

The literature student smirked, making his boyfriend blush a bit before the latter went back to his chair. He placed his easel better and took a minute to choose the best pencil, its lead neither too thin nor too thick. Once he got the perfect one, he adjusted his glasses on the top of his nose, approach the paper with his tool, his eyes looked up to Jonghyun…

And the work began.

The last sunbeams were giving the brunette’s body a soft peach color and making it slightly yet delightedly shine. Its lines, curves and shades were emphasized with subtle delicateness, a perfection to draw.

Kibum’s gesture was gentle and precise, the graphite lead grazing the paper just like Jonghyun’s finger was grazing his own lip, dancing a slow with the grain. It was like an evidence, as he was tracing the lines of the brown haired male’s face features, insisting on the side of his jawline that wasn’t hidden by his hand. Sharp, yet so softly appealing…

The artist let the drawing of his boyfriend’s face on stand-by to focus on the main lines of his entire silhouette, his pencil sliding on the sheet to reproduce the curves of his side from the shoulder to the foot.

“Baby, try not to move please.” The blonde asked, his eyes never ceasing their back and forth between his canvas and his model.

“I’m not moving, I promise.” Jonghyun protested.

“You bent your left leg, do you have pins and needles in it already ?”

“Maybe a bit… are you done soon ?”

Kibum couldn't help but laugh to his love’s wonder. Of course he had expected that, Kim Jonghyun wasn’t someone who could stay still for too long, that man had boiling blood in his veins.

“You’ll have to be more patient than that, honey.” The art student said as he gently rubbed a line with his thumb to play with shades. “I’m drawing your silhouette right now, then I’ll go back over to trace your body’s details like muscles lines, body hair and shades.”

“Goodness, how long will it take…” The brunette whined.

“Don’t worry, I’m just doing a sketch while the sun is still enlightening you. This is only the first draft, I won’t ask you to pose for six hours like our models at school do.”

“Six hours ?!”

“Of course, it takes time to paint nudes so I’m sparing you. I’m only drafting your body’s main lines and shapes, and I’ll use this to paint you alone.”

“Thanks God.”

“Kibum will be enough, sweetheart.”

Jonghyun laughed and cleared his throat as he became serious again. So his artist boyfriend was planning to… paint him, yet he was sympathetic enough not to force him in that position for several hours. He made the most of Kibum’s silence and concentration to observe him.

Even though he had watched him draw countless times, he had never seen such a powerful flame in his eyes like the one he noticed at that moment. The blonde had always been passionate about anything he could draw, and when his face was closed for hours while he was working on his art, everything that was on his mind could be seen through his eyes.

Either was he satisfied by a line or annoyed by a failed curve, only his eyes would react and Jonghyun had noticed that ages ago. Even when it wasn’t about art, the blonde’s eyes were extremely expressive and his elder had learned all by himself to read into them. And just when he thought about it, Kibum’s left eye blinked — it was something unique, both his eyes wouldn’t always blink together — and seemed to stand for a pout.

“Did you mess something up ?” The brown haired student asked.

“Rectifiable, give me four seconds.”

“Four ? It’s really precise, how can you fix something in only four—”

“Rectified. Now please stay beautiful and quiet.”

Without hiding his smile, Jonghyun quietly agreed and prevented a yawn to leave his mouth. It was so tiring to lie without doing anything ! He couldn’t even say for how long he had been like this, posing on the couch… maybe an hour, or only ten minutes. The sun was slowly setting on the day, disappearing and only leaving a warm red light through the windows.

Before the brunette could react, Kibum suddenly stood up and caught his easel, bringing it closer to his boyfriend, really closer. He then grabbed his chair and brought it too before he sat on it again and looked straight to Jonghyun’s face.

The latter understood : the artist was done with the sketch of his body, and was now focusing on his face’s features. They were suddenly way much closer to each other than a minute ago, yet the blonde student remained focused with his eyebrows slightly furrowed and a drop of sweat slowly running down his temple.

Jonghyun looked at him deeply in the eyes, his finger still resting on his lip and his face relaxed. Be sexy for me, had he said…

“Don’t smile.”

“I’m not smiling.” The brunette protested, unconsciously pouting.

“Don’t pout.”

“But…”

“Just be quiet, someone’s working on that beautiful face of yours right now.”

“It’s hard to stay still when you’re so erotic. Has anyone told you how sexy you are when you’re focused ?”

“Yes, Minho told me so.”

“Minho ? Wait… your schoolmate ?”

“Hm. Well he said I had that resting bitch face when I’m focused but he ended up admitting it was sexy.”

“And what else does this Minho think that I should know ?”

“He thinks you’re cute and well shaped.”

“Well you’ll tell that brat that you’re mine and— wait, what did you say ?”

“Be quiet, I’m almost done.”

Jonghyun angrily pouted but obeyed, deeply exhaling before keeping a relaxed face without his eyes leaving his boyfriend’s face. Kibum’s eyebrows weren’t furrowed anymore, it seemed he had found peace in his drawing. Suddenly his orbs were like two sparkling stars and he withdrew his pencil, smiling.

Softly, he blew a bit on his canvas and stood up to walk to the table, putting his tool down and catching a baby-wipe — the kind mothers use when their babies have sensitive butts — to clean the tip of his fingers he had darkened when he had rubbed the graphite on the paper to create shades.

“I’m done.” He then said, smiling as he took the sketchbook from the easel, sitting on the edge of the couch. “What do you think…? Does it ressemble you…? Maybe I could have done your eyes better… and I’m not sure about your hips, maybe I overdrew them and—”

“Babe. It’s wonderful.”

Jonghyun sat up straight and stretched his arm to hold the canvas with Kibum, staring at his portrait. He remained speechless for a long moment, unable to think straight as the drawn body was… so him. He could see everything, his boyfriend hadn’t forgotten any detail of his anatomy.

There, immortalized on the grain paper, he could notice his thin line of body hair going from his navel to his pubis, and Kibum had played with shades to only suggest his privates’ hair, just next to the shades of his hipbone’s relief. His abdominal muscles weren’t overemphasized yet well suggested too.

But the thing that held the brown haired student’s attention was the way his boyfriend had taken the time to draw his moles. He could see all of them, especially the one on his chest he liked so much. And above this mole, his collarbones were underlined thanks to the artist’s techniques, his neck, the sharp line of his jaw… even his lips were like… a mirror.

“It’s… it’s beautiful.” Jonghyun whispered. “You said it was only a draft but it’s already so amazing, how can you hesitate to do your thesis about male bodies ? Baby, just do it. Go for it ! You have talent and you’ll succeed, I’m sure about that.”

“Really…?” Kibum asked, pouting as he seemed to hesitate. “But you can’t see all the flaws this work had, you know… while I can see them and they’re abundant.”

“You’re right. I’m not an artist, so I can’t see the technical mistakes you see. But what have I always told you about mistakes and flaws ?”

“That they can always be reduced and fixed, with work and time, but…”

“No but. You will fix your flaws, love. Please believe in yourself more, you’re skilled and the world deserves to see it. You deserve to see it.”

The blonde shyly smiled and nodded before he turned his head back towards his drawing. He was right, there were still some technical mistakes because he hadn’t drawn male bodies for a long time… but his boyfriend was also right, he could improve. He had to, and better than that, he wanted to. He deeply wanted to fix these novice’s flaws and to show everyone what he was capable of.

And he would. With the help of the guardian angel he has a his boyfriend.

“Then you’re happy about it ?” He asked, looking at the literature student.

“Of course I am.” Jonghyun smiled, raising his hand to softly caress his boyfriend’s cheek. “And I would be delighted to be your muse again, if it can help you to improve and to have trust in yourself.”

“It would please me a lot for my art to depend on you.”

“Then I shall do whatever I can to please you, my everything.”

Saying this, Jonghyun approached the blonde man’s face with his, and made their lips meet in a soft yet passionate kiss. Kibum smiled and ran his fingers from his boyfriend’s collarbone to his neck, holding his nape as he slightly moved his lips against his. With his eyes closed, he didn’t see but felt a hand covering his on the sketchbook, making him drop it on the floor before it came on his other cheek.

Soon, he was lying on his back on the couch, with the brown haired male’s naked body emitting a soft heat above his.

“Jonghyun…” The art student whispered, breaking their kiss as he put his hand on his boyfriend’s torso.

“I’m sorry, but staying there, naked with only you to look at… was deeply arousing.” The elder said with a hoarse voice, looking at the other man in the eyes. “We should do that more often…”

“I can feel that… You’re so warm and… is it what I think it is against my thigh…?”

“I think it is…”

Smiling, Jonghyun captured Kibum’s lips once again, this time more roughly as he pressed his pelvis against his, drawing a moan from the blonde’s throat.

“Jjong, baby…” The latter said as he broke the kiss once again. “Not on the couch.”

“Why not…? We never did it there, it could be a new experience…” The brunette pouted. “I posed for such a long time for you…”

“It’s pure leather and it costed me a fortune. We’re not soiling it with sweat and cum.”

“Alright, then…”

The literature student stood up and didn’t let a second for his lover to breathe as he caught him, lifting him by the waist to throw him on his shoulder. Kibum gasped and ended up laughing as he held onto his naked man, while he was being carried to his bed.

The sun had now completely disappeared on the horizon.

Sequel: Poetry.

#jongkey #jonghyun #key #shinee #fanfic #oneshot #alternative universe #art #student #pg 13

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