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oreomonsterhunter · 4 years

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Life Sucks

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Word Count: 10K (I know.....this was a surprise for me, too)

Genre: fluff, romantic comedy

Warnings: language (our characters have a tendency to curse, apparently)

Summary: Sunshine reader is in love with love, but hasn’t had much luck with it herself. When she meets Minho, a self-proclaimed cynic and disbeliever of “true love”, she’s determined to change his life. If she can’t find the love of her life, she’s going to try to find his.

This fic was inspired by a tag game once upon a time. It was supposed to be a short drabble, but apparently I can’t hold back with Minho. Tag game featured this specific Lee Know and just kinda spiraled from there lol

Nearing the end of January, winter sometimes seemed endless. Yet when you stepped out into the morning chill, you were pleasantly surprised to find the snow banks melting a bit. Your boots splashed through small puddles as you strode down the street, and you smiled softly at the lavender sky. It was still early enough—for a Saturday—that the sidewalks weren’t too packed yet, so you indulged in a more leisurely walk than usual, dancing along to the music from your headphones. You caught a few odd looks, but you simply smiled and waved at everyone you passed. They could judge your happiness all they wanted, nothing could possibly spoil your day when it was off to such a good start—

“Shit,” you gasped, jumping back onto the curb as a car barrelled through a red light. Had you been a second slower, you would’ve been a vehicular manslaughter case. “Asshole,” you hollered after them, flipping two middle fingers in the air.

You exhaled a sharp breath through your nose, attempting to banish the exasperation and get back into your music again. More careful this time, you double checked both ways down the street before entering the crosswalk.

Unfortunately, your streak of bad luck continued. Just as you hopped off the street, a truck passed by behind you, tires bumping through a pothole. And with the recent snowmelt, this resulted in a spray of cold water hitting the backs of your legs.

You froze, mind stuttering as you tried to comprehend how the morning had taken such a turn, all within your first five minutes outside. Pursing your lips, you twisted around to inspect the damage. The dirty water might stain your jeans, but the most pressing matter was the cold and wet denim now plastered to your legs from your calves to the backs of your knees. You bit your lip, contemplating just turning back and spending the whole day in your apartment. Pajamas, a blanket, hot coffee and tea readily available. Maybe a movie, just because you could.

Then you shook your head, determined to make the best of the day. You wanted a cappuccino, dammit. And chocolate babka from the cafe. No homicidal drivers or puddles could stop you. It was a Saturday, just past sunrise, and you had a whole day ahead of you. No need to wallow a few minutes in. And besides, who knew what would happen.

You set off for the cafe, determination heavy in each step. You forced a smile back onto your lips, though it was thinner than before. You switched to a different playlist so that your boots could thump the concrete in time. And you breathed, spooling calmness back into yourself.

It was a Saturday. You might meet the love of your life today. And nothing could stop you from finding out.

The bell over the front door jingled merrily, and you softened a little further, relaxing into the familiar surroundings. You hardly even noticed the damp denim chafing your legs as you skipped up to the counter.

Ruth, currently manning the register, chuckled as she rang up another customer. “Well would you look at that, the sun came shining right in our front door,” she said.

“Good morning,” you giggled. You waved to Jonathan, Ruth’s husband, in the back. The couple had been running the little cafe and bakery for years, and you were a faithful customer, coming by at least once a week since you first moved to the neighborhood.

“Morning, Sunshine,” he called, hands busy kneading dough for what would doubtless become something delicious. You hummed thoughtfully, considering the baked goods in the glass case before you.

“Your usual?”

You tapped a finger on your chin, “You know, the poppy seed muffins look awfully tempting. I might just have to switch it up today.”

Ruth nodded, tapping on the register. You handed over the requisite bills and she shooed you off, sliding the muffin over the counter. “Go on now, a table opened up by the window, perfect spot. I’ll bring the coffee in a minute.”

“Thank you,” you said, but Ruth was already fussing over the espresso machine. Shaking your head, you weave through the maze of tables and chairs, dodging patrons on your way to the window seat.

You had your eyes on the prize, and you were only a few feet from the chair when you pulled up short. A stranger, their back to you, plopped down in your chair. You blinked, suddenly and painfully aware of your wet pants, the muffin growing cool in your hand, the fact that you could give up now and walk home but perhaps you’d just get hit by a car and never get a chance to enjoy your breakfast. You sighed deeply, breathing out through your nose as you closed your eyes, seeking inner peace or something.

“Can I help you?”

The voice knocked you out of your momentary meditation, and you looked at the table thief in surprise. He loosened the fluffy scarf around his neck before sliding his arms out of his winter coat. A beret, of all things, tilted dangerously to the side before he adjusted it on his head. He looked like some kind of absent-minded professor, but for the youthful features that peered up at you. A sharp nose, tinted red from the cold, and a soft mouth. Dark and depthless eyes, paired with high cheekbones and a cutting jawline.

You realized you were staring when he waved at you, eyes widened. “Hello?”

“Um, sorry, I just,” you stammered, lost for words.

“Do you want to sit or something?”

You stopped again, mouth dropping open. You checked the time—you had fifteen minutes or so, enough time for another table to open up. “Uh, sure, if that’s ok with you. I was hoping for a table, I’m meeting someone,” you said, beginning to ramble.

“No problem, I don’t need all this space, and I’ll head out soon,” he cut you off, raising one brow at you when you continued to stand there, rooted to the spot.

Ruth’s arrival with your cappuccino was what ultimately forced your hand. You sat down, gratefully accepting the drink, your smile less shaky with a taste of the familiar.

“I didn’t think they did table service,” the stranger mused.

“They don’t, I just know the owners,” you shook your head, cutting yourself off when you saw his disinterest. “Sorry, I should introduce myself,” you switched tacks, giving your name with a bright grin. So what if it was forced?

The stranger looked at you, and his lips twitched in a shadow of a smirk. “Minho,” he responded.

Silence fell, heavy and awkward, and you found yourself leaning forward desperately. “So how’s your day so far?”

Minho snorted, reaching for his own drink—an iced americano, you guessed, despite it being the middle of winter. “Probably better than yours.”

“What?” your brows furrowed in confusion.

He gestured to your legs with one hand. “Unfortunate accident this morning?”

Your lips tightened, holding back a frown, “Puddles, you know.”

Minho sighed, sounding sympathetic now, rather than snarky. “Yeah, life sucks, doesn’t it?” And there was the sarcasm again.

“One or two bad things doesn’t mean life sucks,” you countered, sipping your coffee. “I’m excited about the rest of the day, it’s not even eight in the morning! And it’s the weekend, and it’s sunny and warm, and I have hot coffee and a delicious muffin, and the world is out there and ready to be enjoyed,” you finished, lips curling up as you looked out the window at the sunrise, the horizon flaming golden.

“Sounds like you’ve never had a job,” a harsh voice cut into your admiration. Your smile faltered as you looked back at Minho. You gaped at him, brain processing the way this soft-looking boy sounded like the king of cynics. The last thing you expected from someone wearing a fuzzy beret and looking like a sly teddy bear was this blunt conversation. “No one’s that excited when they have to work fifty plus hour weeks to pay the bills. Trust fund baby?” he inquired, sipping calmly.

Yep, there was no fighting the frown now. “No, and I don’t appreciate the judgement. Why can’t I just be happy?”

Minho smirked, “Never said you can’t. I just wanted to see if you had a personality beyond being Positive Polly.”

Your eyes flamed, but your phone buzzed, distracting you before you could smite the snarky boy. You fumbled at your coat pocket, whipping out the device to check for a new message. You slumped—just a spam email.

“Waiting for something important?” Minho asked, tilting his head.

You huffed, shoving the device back in your pocket. “As a matter of fact, yes,” you sassed, tossing your hair over one shoulder. “I’m waiting for a date.”

He hummed at you, expression unreadable. “You’re too excited.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, eyeing the clock on the far wall of the cafe.

“You’re significantly early, watching the clock like a hawk, and they haven’t even texted you an update.” He took a long sip. “What time is your date anyway? Eight in the morning? They’re not coming.”

Your smile faltered again. Damn him, why was a total stranger dimming your joy? You shoved your chair back, even though no tables had opened up yet. You’d wait by the counter and chat with Ruth. Anything was better than this asshole.

Minho glanced over his shoulder, checking the clock himself. “Five past, and still nothing,” he commented.

“Fuck you,” you spat.

A spark appeared in his eyes, and he grinned. “Good to see you have some backbone,” he commented.

You could’ve sworn steam was coming out of your ears, but your phone vibrated again. You checked the lock screen, seeing a new text pop up from Jay: hey I can’t make it. You swiped on the message, but nothing followed it. Seriously? That was it? No explanation, and not even a half-assed apology?

“Told you so.”

You spun to face Minho, glare renewed. “And what makes you so sure of yourself and my date?” you demanded.

He snorted, “Life sucks; so does dating. The only thing you’re guaranteed is disappointment.”

Your anger faded slightly as you watched the boy sip his iced coffee, his silhouette stark against the snow outside. When you took a breath to get past your own mingled frustration—both at Jay and your new snarky companion—you saw the tense lines of his face. You wondered what disappointment had left Minho so defensive.

“Alright, enlighten me,” you said, throwing yourself back in the chair. This time, you settled in, sliding out of your coat and leaning forward with your coffee. “Who broke your heart?”

A look of disgust slid over those pretty features. “No one broke anything,” he scoffed, turning to the window and giving you another dose of his sharp profile. You rested your chin on your hand thoughtfully, just watching him and waiting. “Stop looking at me like that,” he muttered. “You’re not my therapist.”

“But I am a perfectly kind stranger. And strangers are the easiest people to talk to,” you said sunnily.

“And don’t sound so happy.”

“No can do, people call me Sunshine for a reason.”

Minho gave a long-suffering sigh. “I’m not calling you that.”

Now you were the one with a cocky smirk, “Why, does it hurt your delicate masculinity?”

A beat of silence, and then, “One of my best friends is called Sunshine.” Minho looked at you sharply. “I’m not calling you that,” he said again.

You waved him off, oddly touched in spite of his gruff tone. This human version of grumpy cat had a best friend named Sunshine? Incredible, and surprisingly soft of him. “Ok fine, no arguments from me. Tell me about her. Or him, whoever it is,” you stumbled over your words.

Minho didn’t seem to notice your blundering. He stared somewhere beyond your shoulder, “No one broke my heart.” Then his eyes focused on you again as he asserted, “I’ve just experienced enough to know better than to hope blindly. The world isn’t looking out for you.”

Humming, you folded your arms as you considered his statements. “Well, I believe in true love,” you started.

“Why am I not surprised?” Minho groaned, rolling his eyes.

“I also believe in the power of positive thinking,” you continued as if he hadn’t spoken. Ignoring his dramatic moaning, you steamrolled ahead. “Yeah, my morning turned out pretty shitty, but if I just go crawl back in bed, I’ll have wasted a whole day over something as silly as wet jeans.”

“Wet jeans and being stood up.”

“And being stood up,” you allowed, gritting your teeth to maintain a smile. “But if I let that stop me from living my life, then I’ve let the negative win. If I go check out a new dating app or two and keep trying, one day I’ll have something good.”

Minho put his coffee down, resting one hand on the table as he met your eyes, gaze hard. “Listen, nothing good comes out of a dating app. You’re wasting your time. And didn’t you say you hate doing that?”

You wanted to argue, but your friends had told you much of the same. Minho was just less polite in his delivery. But you hadn’t had any luck with real life men, either. Case in point: your irritating argument with the perfectly attractive guy in front of you. So that left apps, even if the pickings were regrettably slim. And only growing slimmer, if the ghost date was any indication. You didn’t have the guts to tell Minho that this wasn’t the first time you’d been stood up.

Then you had an idea. Your grin widened, and Minho’s irritated expression faded into apprehension. “Well if I’m doomed to never find love,” you started, batting your eyelashes teasingly. “Why don’t I look for the love of your life instead?”

Minho blanched, recoiling with enough force that his chair rocked back on two legs. “Yeah, no. I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

“I think it’s a terrific idea,” you beamed at him. “I’ve been a successful matchmaker for a bunch of my friends, too. I’ve just had trouble finding my own love interest.”

“What is this, a rom com?” he hissed.

You clapped your hands, overcome with excitement for the first time since the puddle. “Oh, a romance, I wish,” you nearly swooned at the thought. “I promise I’ll do my best. You’d get along great with one of my friends, they’re just as irritable as you.”

Minho exhaled sharply, massaging his forehead with one hand. He closed his eyes, muttering, “What am I doing here?”

“Wait, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. No matchmaking until I know you better,” you amended, whipping out a notebook and pen from your bag. You had just about everything in there—you never knew what emergency might pop up, like brainstorming a match for a stranger. “What are some of your hobbies? Favorite color? Ooh, what about first date activities you love? Oh my goodness, wait, are you looking for men or women?”

Part of you expected Minho to shove his chair back and leave. You wouldn’t be too upset, that just meant you’d have the table to yourself, even if you weren’t waiting on a date anymore. But you didn’t totally hate this guy. And another part of you kind of felt bad for him. He’d never experienced love! Not that you’d had a taste of true love, either, but you knew what was out there. And it was a shame that he didn’t see that too. It was like...someone hating your favorite holiday—unacceptable, if only because you wanted everyone to enjoy it as much as you did.

You begrudgingly admitted that another teeny tiny part of you thought he was too attractive to be so cynical of love. Some lucky girl out there was waiting for Minho, and you were gonna help her out, even if it meant dragging the man kicking and screaming towards her.

But Minho didn’t do what you expected. He didn’t storm off, coffee in hand, scarf flapping in the wind dramatically. He sighed and stood up, but made no move for his coat. “If we’re doing this, I need more coffee,” he said, then turned and made a beeline for the counter without any further explanation.

You blinked after him, more than a bit surprised. He was...going along with this? You tapped the pen against your chin thoughtfully, watching his shoulders flex beneath his turtleneck as he talked to Ruth. His head turned slightly, and you caught a glimpse of his smile—a real one—taking your breath away.

Now, if only you could get him to smile like that for any potential dates. You clicked your pen with renewed vigor, laughing when Minho approached with a new coffee, exasperation written into every line of his face.

* * * * *

It was a lovely Thursday night, and you were curled up on the couch in your comfiest pajamas. Your only companions were a blanket, a mug of tea, and your phone, which you checked every fifteen seconds. The first time all week that Minho hadn’t answered your messages, and it was the night of his first date. You were buzzing with anticipation, practically vibrating as you waited for news, not caring who it came from first.

Finally, you gave up waiting, throwing the blanket as you went to reheat your tea, since you’d let it grow cold while refreshing your messages. The second you reached the kitchen, however, you heard a buzz. You dashed to the couch, scrambling for your phone to find a text from Mari:

He had to dip early, lame date

You nearly screeched. He left? Your fingers pounded the screen:

What!?!?!! Did he say whyyy?

Mari’s response was short and to the point:

An “emergency”

You could read between the lines. Mari was irritated, to say the least, since the blind date had been your brilliant idea. But what on earth had happened with Minho? Your stomach dropped, considering that he might have an actual emergency. You quickly tapped out a message to him to check in, gnawing your lip in worry.

Hey, Mari said you had an emergency, is everything ok?

You waited what felt like ten thousand years before finally seeing the little bubbles appear. His message, however, was not worth the wait:

Didn’t get on with her

You fumed, pressing dial on his contact with enough force, you were amazed your screen didn’t crack. “You left because you didn’t like her?” you screeched as soon as he picked up.

“Yes.”

Gaping like a fish, you fumbled for words to explain how bad that was. “You can’t just—”

“But I did,” Minho cut you off.

“But you can’t,” you said, exasperated. “Jeez, I thought you knew what you were doing. Obviously not. You need a practice date or something so my friends don’t murder you.”

Now it was Minho’s turn to squawk indignantly. “I do not need practice,” he started.

“Yes, obviously you do. You might look like a player but you’ve obviously never talked to a girl for more than ten minutes,” you scolded him. “Who leaves in the middle of a date? With that bad of an excuse?”

“I hate wasting my time. Didn’t we discuss how we should avoid doing that with our love lives,” he snarked.

You groaned, “There’s a difference between not wasting your time and being rude as heck.”

“So what? She was abrasive, rude, cynical, and had a terrible sense of humor,” Minho said, as casually as if he was discussing the weather. “I can’t believe you’re friends.”

“That’s a pretty great description of you, too,” you sassed back, irritation taking over. “We might not be that close, but you can’t just insult everyone I set you up with.”

“Who said I wanted you to set me up with anyone?”

“I assumed you did, otherwise why are you going along with this?” you tried your best to calm down, lower your voice. But something about Minho just put your back up.

“Uh,” Minho actually seemed lost for words. Your ears perked up, eager to catch his answer. “My mom wants to set me up with her friends’ daughters,” he tossed out at last.

Seemed a bit too easy. “Sure,” you drawled, leaning back on the couch.

“Yes, really,” he sneered, and you giggled, picturing the exact expression on his face.

“Ok, whatever you say,” you allowed, laughing slightly. “But you’re still going on a practice date. Tomorrow night, six o’clock. Meet me at the cafe. If you’re not there, I’m gonna find your mom and help her out.”

You hung up on him before he could argue with you, grinning madly as you concocted your plan.

* * * * *

You half expected to wait for Minho to show up, much like your friend did, but much to your surprise, he was waiting for you under the awning when you arrived. “You’re late,” Minho accused, and you grinned sheepishly. You may or may not have lied about the time. Just in case.

“The queen is never late. Everyone else is simply early,” you quipped. Minho rolled his eyes—absolutely what you expected. You giggled, linking your arm through his and tugging him down the sidewalk with you.

“Woah,” Minho yanked at his arm, trying to free himself. “If you wanted to hold hands, you could have asked.”

“You’re too much of a grinch, you’d just say no.”

“Exactly. It’s called consent, sweetheart.”

He nearly fell at the sudden freedom when you released him, shoving your hands deeper into your pockets to escape the chill. “Alright, follow me then, you unromantic dork.” He muttered under his breath as you skipped away, having fun despite his attitude. Time to show him what a real date looked like.

Five seconds later, and not even two blocks from the cafe, Minho groaned, “Are we there yet?”

“No.”

A pause, then, “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” you told him, not for the first time. He’d texted you all night, demanding to know, but your lips were sealed.

Except a certain someone seemed determined to annoy the answers out of you. “Are we there yet?”

You sighed, your skip feeling a little less peppy. “No.”

“Are we—”

“Minho,” you ground out. “If you ask me that one more time, I’m taking you to get your nails done.”

“Ok, sure. I could use a bit of pampering,” he said, the epitome of casual.

You stared at him. “This feels like a trick,” you said slowly.

A grin flashed, “That’s because it is. It’s after six, they’re all closed by now.” But then he frowned slightly. “Now you have me wanting a manicure though, I’ve never gotten one.”

Your brows were practically in your hairline but you just nodded. “Ok, another time, then,” you agreed. You caught sight of a familiar street sign and quickened your steps. “Almost there,” you were nearly vibrating in excitement. You felt Minho’s eyes on you, your skin prickling with awareness, but you ignored him in favor of racing around the street corner. And there it was—the zoo! All lit up...all lit…...not lit up at all. Your feet stumbled to a halt.

“So the zoo is open at night now?” Minho inquired at your shoulder.

You gaped at the dark expanse before you. “But where are the lights?” Because indeed, not a single light was on in the zoo. You’d just visited, not too long ago, and they had been open for night visits, so guests could walk around and see the trees all lit up, and wave hello to a few animals in the enclosures.

“Lights?”

“The Christmas lights,” you cried out, frantic. “They were up the last time I was here.”

“You mean a month ago? For Christmas? Back when it was still December?” Minho questioned you. You nearly snapped back before you realized. It was January. February next week. Of course the lights were down, what kind of idiot were you?

You groaned in defeat, slumping against the wall and sliding down to a crouch. You threw your arms over your head. “I don’t know what we’re going to do, then. I’m sorry I made you walk all this way,” you mumbled into your knees, wishing you could disappear into the sidewalk. Gosh, and you’d really dragged him along, hadn’t you? He obviously hadn’t been that excited, and all of your mysterious “it’s a surprise” nonsense only made this a bigger disappointment.

“It’s a Friday night, things are still open, you know,” Minho pointed out. “So what if you somehow forgot a whole month happened. I forget the year sometimes.”

“What are you, an old man?” you tried to perk up, but the tease fell flat.

“I’m only twenty-two. You must be ancient.” You picked up your head to look at him. A faint smile curled on his lips as he played along.

“Oh my gosh, I’m your noona. If you’re a grandpa, then I’m practically in the grave,” you forced out a chuckle.

Minho’s smile grew, and he extended a hand. “Come on, get up. Night’s still young.”

For a moment, you simply stared at his hand. Then you met his dark gaze, “You aren’t going to take advantage of this? I thought you hated the whole practice date idea.”

He sighed, wiggling his fingers at you. “I don’t hate spending time with you, alright? Now get up or I’m leaving you here.”

Your mouth twitched, a true smile threatening to form, and not just a cover-up. You slid your hand in his gratefully, and Minho pulled you to your feet with more strength than you thought he had. You blinked at him, realizing he hadn’t let your hand go yet. But the second his eyes followed your gaze, he dropped it, sliding his hands into his pants pockets instead.

“So where to?” Minho asked.

You opened your mouth to respond, remembering a pretty little outdoor skating rink, but the skies cracked open, interrupting you with a sudden deluge. You gasped as the first fat raindrops splattered on your forehead, eyes widening before you made a mad dash for the nearest storefront, Minho already a few steps ahead of you.

You’d barely been in the rain for a minute, but the icy water had your teeth chattering already. Had it been any colder, this would’ve been pretty snow. Instead, you got an arctic firehose.

Arms wrapped tightly around yourself, you peered down the street. Beside you, Minho checked a weather app, hissing through his teeth. “Looks like rain all night,” he muttered.

You groaned again, wanting to cry. You’d completely messed up the evening, first with the lights, and now by not checking the weather. You’d planned an outdoor date, why hadn’t you checked?

A hand brushed your shoulder lightly, barely detectable through your coat. “Um, this might not be what you had planned, but my apartment is actually on this street. Wanna just order pizza?”

Your first instinct was a vehement “no”, but you stopped that answer on the tip of your tongue. Minho wasn’t one of the sleazy guys you’d gone out with in the past, the ones who’d thought an apartment invite was more than that. Plus, this wasn’t a real date or anything. It was a practice date, just pals, nothing crazy about that. So why couldn’t you grab pizza at his place? Especially with the monsoon and a long walk back to your own place. And no umbrella.

You found yourself nodding, shivers wracking your body. Minho’s teeth flashed in another fierce grin, “Alright, sweetheart, let’s make a run for it. In three, two, one—”

The two of you raced down the slick sidewalks, dodging lampposts and puddles alike. You skidded to a stop at one of the apartment buildings, nearly slamming into Minho’s back as he yanked the door open, and the two of you tumbled into the warm lobby. Once out of the wet, Minho shook his head like a dog, water droplets spraying everywhere, and you shrieked, hands coming up to protect yourself.

“Sorry,” Minho laughed, not sounding apologetic in the least. “I’m on the sixth floor, so we can take the elevator,” he said, pointing you in the right direction.

The ride up was awkward; the only sound was your jacket zipper rattling from the force of your shivers. Minho unlocked the door to his apartment, waving a hand dramatically. You stepped inside tentatively, toeing off your boots by the door. You watched Minho follow suit, then pad over to a closet along one wall. Your confusion abated when he emerged with towels, passing one to you with raised brows. The two of you were still soaking wet, and you didn’t want to track rainwater all over his apartment.

Minho was already drying his head off one-handed. When he stopped, letting the towel slip down to rest on his shoulders, you giggled at the sight of his hair. He made a face, only adding to the comic effect of his hair standing on end.

“I know you drink coffee, but what about hot tea?” he asked, making his way to the kitchen while you continued to dab at your clothes.

You nodded enthusiastically, eyeing the space from where you stood in the entryway. It was pretty minimal, not a ton of color or anything, but cozy. Black couch, gray curtains, some photos on the wall. Fairly tidy, but definitely nothing out of a magazine. A meow at your feet interrupted your train of thought, and you looked down to coo at the cats that were slowly approaching. “Well aren’t you gorgeous,” you complimented the bravest of the three, who nosed at your hand gingerly.

“Soonie, Doongi, and Dori,” Minho said, pointing at each cat in turn. He leaned on the counter while waiting for the water to boil.

“They’re adorable,” you beamed at him. “And much more friendly.”

“Hey,” he narrowed his eyes. “I’m friendly.”

“Yeah, right,” you laughed at him. Your mirth was interrupted by a fierce shiver, reminding you that you might not be dripping wet, but your clothes were still icy cold.

Minho eyed you as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “I have sweats you can borrow.”

You started to protest, but the next shudder of cold made you change your mind. Besides, you didn’t want to get his furniture soaking wet. So you nodded and waited while Minho disappeared into the bedroom. You shuffled awkwardly to the kitchen, toes curling in your socks.

Minho reappeared. “Here,” he said, voice gruff. He pressed a pair of sweatpants into your hands, along with a fuzzy looking sweatshirt. Your turtleneck wasn’t too wet, just a little damp along the neckline, but you slid the extra layer over your head gratefully. Before you had to ask him, Minho pointed to a half-open door. “The bathroom. I’m going to get something dry on, too,” he added.

You smiled in relief, escaping to the small bathroom gratefully. As soon as the door was shut, you were scrabbling at the soaking wet denim, peeling it down your legs. You grimaced, not missing this experience at all after the last time. Minho’s sweatpants were soft and oh so warm by comparison. And fleece-lined, too. You slung your jeans over the shower rod to dry, rolled the ankles of your borrowed pants—just enough so you wouldn’t be drowning in excess material—and went in search of that promised hot tea.

You found Minho on the phone in the kitchen. When he noticed you, he waved you closer. “Do you like anything on your pizza?” he asked.

“Um,” you scrambled to collect your thoughts. “Cheese?”

Minho cracked a smile. “Cheese it is then. And peppers, onions, cherry tomatoes, garlic, basil,” he rattled off what sounded like an entire grocery list. When he noticed you staring, Minho raised his brows in confusion. You shook your head with a small laugh, leaving him to it. On the counter behind him, you found two mugs, tea bags already steeping. You wrapped your cold fingers around one, humming in contentment. Finally, the shivers stopped.

“Wanna watch a movie while we wait for pizza?” Minho asked, but then he froze, grimacing. “Oh shit, sorry. I mean, you can go home if you want. I don’t mean to keep you if you don’t want to stay. I have an umbrella, and you can keep the sweats I guess—”

“Sure how about a romance?” you interrupted him, grabbing your tea and making your way to the couch. You plopped down, eyeing Minho, who was still stiff as a board by the counter. You giggled at him, “Maybe you’ll learn a thing or two from Mr. Darcy.”

That seemed to knock him out of his stupor. An indignant expression wiped away any trace of sheepishness, and he stomped over to find the remote. “Yeah right,” he scoffed. “I’m not watching a romance.”

“A romantic comedy then,” you decided, snatching the remote out of his hands.

He grabbed it back, lightning quick. “Action.”

You narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms defiantly. “Drama. Fight me and I’ll demand a Hallmark movie.”

Minho smirked, “Fight me and I’ll make it a horror movie.”

You groaned in disgust, glaring at him. “Ok, fine, let’s fight over it. Rock, paper, scissors?”

He rolled his eyes, but ended up on the couch beside you, holding one fist out to meet yours. “Best out of three,” he smirked. “Get ready for a zombie fest.”

After a crushing defeat, Minho slumped on the couch, moaning dramatically when you selected Pride and Prejudice. You giggled at the grumpy man beside you, and his similarity to Mr. Darcy. Most notably their matching pouts.

To your surprise, Minho didn’t interrupt the movie once. Sure, he grumbled at first, but when you snuck a peek at him after about half an hour, you caught him watching intently.

You’d seen the movie at least a dozen times by now, but you still couldn’t resist the pull, and your heart fluttered at the brush of hands the way it did every time. Your breath caught at every interaction, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away to save your life. Until the pizza arrived, at least. You were about to press play, two slices at the ready, when Minho looked over at you. “Why are you so in love with the idea of love?” he asked.

You gaped at him for a moment, taken aback. “What?”

“Not just the movie, but real life,” he said, twisting to face you fully. “Why are you so determined to find Mr. Right? Or to set me up on the perfect date?”

“Don’t you want to find someone?” you questioned him, backing away from the question. “You can’t possibly be putting up with me just to avoid your mom playing matchmaker. I’m literally no better than that.”

He scoffed, “You haven’t met my mother.”

“Maybe I should team up with her.”

“Oh please no.”

You grinned, grabbing a slice of pizza. “Oh please yes,” you teased. “Two matchmakers are better than one.”

Minho shot you an unimpressed look. “I told her I already have a girlfriend, but I felt bad lying to her, so I’m hanging out with you instead.”

You nearly choked on your pizza. So you were a pity friend, great. Or worse, you weren’t even real friends, you were just a convenient excuse to alleviate Minho’s guilt complex. You set the slice back down, no longer hungry.

“Hey, you know I’m joking, right? That was a joke. I’m sarcastic all the time, remember?” Minho nudged you.

“Yeah, sure.”

Minho sighed, leaning over to bump his shoulder into yours. “I might not love the matchmaking, or this dumb movie, but I guess I’m glad we bumped into each other so I could tell you to dump ghost boy from Tinder.” You snorted, biting back a small smile. Noticing this, Minho forged ahead, “And this better not be part of the act to get me to forget my first question, because you still haven’t answered.”

“Minho,” you whined. “Why does it matter?”

“Pretend it’s girls night. We’re practically having a sleepover, minus the nail polish and braids. This is the part where we talk about boys,” he smirked.

“I hate you.”

“Do we need to watch 10 Things I Hate About You next?”

Your brows rose. “I thought you didn’t like romance, how do you even know that movie?”

“.....No reason. Now answer the question already,” he huffed.

You sighed, curling up on your end of the couch. “I guess it’s just something I’m not good at, so I can’t help wanting it to fall in my lap,” you said. “I can’t pull all nighters to find love, that’s not how it works.”

“Well no, studying isn’t the answer,” Minho agreed.

“My parents have the kind of love I want. I’m not rosy-eyed or anything, I know it’s hard work and commitment. But the friendship—that’s what I love the most.”

The two of you sat in silence for a little while, Minho chewing on your words. And you mused on your recent attempts to find a partner. Perhaps dating apps weren’t the way to go, you admitted. Not to Minho, though. He’d never let you hear the end of it.

“Maybe,” Minho started. “You should look for new friends instead of new boyfriends.”

“What do you think this is?” you laughed. “I’ve been setting you up, not looking on Tinder or whatever for myself.”

“Good, you’ve wasted enough time on those trash apps already,” he groused.

You grinned at him, “So I guess you don’t want me to start looking for Bumble girls, huh?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

You giggled, but Minho pressed play on the movie before you could tease him any more. To your surprise, he looked as interested in the ending as you were. You doubted he was misty-eyed like you, though.

A yawn snuck up on you, and you glanced at the clock in surprise. How had it gotten so late? “I should probably be going,” you started.

“I’ll walk you home. It’s late.” Minho grabbed your dishes to bring to the sink, snatching them right out of your hands. You blinked after him, then shrugged, making your way to the bathroom.

Unfortunately, your jeans were still damp, but they’d be fine for the walk home. You squeezed yourself back into the denim, emerging with the borrowed sweatpants. “Laundry?” you asked, since Minho was busy with the dishes.

“Just inside the bedroom, next to the door,” he gestured with his chin, hands still sudsy.

You slid the sweatshirt off as well, placing both in the hamper by the door. Despite your curiosity, you didn’t linger, but you caught a glimpse of an equally tidy bedroom. And a large bed with dark sheets. Why was your heart pounding? Mr. Darcy hadn’t been that distracting. You shook your head, hurrying out of the room. Only then you came face-to-face with Minho, and you had to fight a blush. What on earth was wrong with you?

The awkwardness continued, and you felt strange and itchy the whole walk home with Minho. You were hyper aware of how close you were under the umbrella, of the way your elbows brushed every few steps. Minho was surprisingly quiet, as well. Ordinarily, he’d be making fun of you by now.

As you walked the last block together, you tilted your head to look at him. “So tonight was a fail,” you said.

“What the heck are you talking about?”

“The practice date?” you giggled at his expression. “Total failure.”

Minho’s frown deepened, “I thought it was fun. Even if you made me watch a period drama.”

“Oh no, it was wonderful, but the date part of it was a bust. We need to do another, since tonight doesn’t count,” you told him, slowing to a stop in front of your building’s entrance.

“Well what does count?” Minho asked, exasperation dripping from his tone.

“Hmm, something in public. No one ever does a private first date, and obviously that’s what you need the most help with,” you sassed. “Maybe I’ll kick your ass in laser tag or something.”

“Maybe I should beat you in bowling,” Minho retorted.

You hummed, tapping a finger off your chin. “You might be onto something, actually. How about you come up with our next practice date. That’s your homework.”

“Since when is this a class? With homework assignments?” Minho demanded.

“Oh shut it, or I’m making profiles for you on every dating app I know.”

* * * * *

You looked over at Minho, suspicion tugging at you. “So when you said you should beat me at bowling, did you mean it?”

“I’m going to try and win at whatever we do, I’m competitive like that,” Minho said, holding the door open for you.

“No, I mean, are you secretly a professional bowler or something?” you corrected, making your way towards the shoe rental.

Minho chuckled, “I doubt you’ll believe whatever I say.”

You opened your mouth to object, but decided he was right. “You better not be hustling me,” you threatened, slapping cash down on the counter.

“Pay per game or pay per hour?” the attendant asked.

Minho cheekily slid a few bills beside yours. “Best out of three?”

“Insufferable,” you muttered, watching as the attendant took his money instead of yours.

At least Minho looked just as goofy as you did. The brightly colored bowling shoes looked very out of place against his “cool guy” outfit. You’d already poked fun at him. Who showed up to a date wearing sweats? Not that he looked bad in them, but you had at least dressed up a bit. Then again, you might not have worn a dress if you had known that bowling was on the agenda. You tugged at the sleeves of your sweater dress, feeling a bit out of place as you looked at all of the other couples. Jeans, slacks, more jeans...why had you decided to dress up? You should’ve known Minho would pick something casual.

“Hey, you wanna go first, or should I?” Minho’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you shook the negativity away gratefully.

“You go ahead,” you called over to him, trying to find a smile. What were you so worked up about? It’s not like this was a real date. You could have shown up in a potato sack if you wanted, you weren’t trying to impress anyone, least of all Minho. On that thought, maybe he had the better idea after all. You eyed his sweatpants enviously. You knew how comfy they were, and they’d doubtless be better than the tights you were terrified of ripping.

“Ok sweetheart, prepare for a thrashing,” Minho joked, selecting a bowling ball from the rack.

“You prepare for a thrashing,” you countered, despite knowing it was an empty threat. You probably needed the bumpers if you wanted anything but gutter balls. Then you caught sight of the names on the board. “Did you seriously make my nickname ‘Loser’? What are we, five?”

Minho smirked as he passed you. “We’ve been over this, I’m a grandpa, you’ve got one foot in the grave. Childish antics are beneath us,” he said with a laugh.

“So you’re ‘Lee Know’?” you inquired, curious about his chosen nickname.

Minho turned to face you, tilting his head. “Yeah, that’s what my friends call me.”

“...Am I supposed to call you that?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? Call me whatever you want. Just not ‘asshole’,” he joked. Your heart warmed, and a true smile found its way to your lips. You watched as Minho wiggled a little, eyeing the pins at the end of the lane. Then, to your utmost surprise, he turned around and rolled the ball between his legs.

“What?” you choked on a laugh, nearly falling over at the sight. Minho backed up, and you both watched as the ball rolled down the lane, painfully slow. It ended up knocking down half of the pins, much to your surprise. Minho just looked proud as he picked up another ball. Miracle of miracles, he wound up with a spare.

You had no words, didn’t even bother trying to explain how his technique had any sort of success. Your own attempt was...pitiful by comparison. Your form looked good, but both balls wound up in the gutter in a matter of seconds.

Minho didn’t waste the opportunity to gloat. “Told you I’d beat you at bowling,” he said with a wink.

You grumbled, flopping down onto the bench next to him. “I didn’t expect you to be successful at the toddler technique.”

“Give it a go, maybe we’ll change your nickname if you win,” he laughed, getting up for his turn.

Halfway through the game, you even tried the ‘toddler technique’. This was also a fail, made worse with the mortifying realization that your underwear would be visible if you bent over too far. When your attempt ended up in the gutter, you resolved to get bumpers for the next game.

But Minho had other plans. You had just approached the lane when you felt a hand on your shoulder. “Keep your wrist straight, you keep twisting it at the last second,” he said.

You turned to face him, finding him close behind you. “Anything else, wise one?”

“Don’t overthink it,” he smiled at you. This close, you could swear his eyes were twinkling. “We can both go get bumpers next round, I need them almost as much as you. I’m amazed at my own streak of luck tonight.”

“I’m terrible at bowling,” you whined, looking away from him. Your cheeks felt warm. Gosh, it was embarrassing to be this bad.

“We can go do something else, we don’t even need to finish this game, let alone all three. As long as you’re having fun, I’m happy.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, but looked away quickly. He was watching you so intently, the flush burned hotter, threatening to run down your neck. “I’m sorry you paid for so many games. We can definitely finish them, it’s fine—”

“I’ll never make you do something you don’t want to do,” Minho murmured. You looked at him in surprise, surprised to hear him sounding sincere rather than snarky. “Otherwise, I’d be a shitty friend, wouldn’t I?”

“Right, yeah. An asshole friend,” you agreed, nearly stumbling over the words.

“Ok, I’ll let you focus on your first strike of the night. Don’t overthink it,” he reminded you, walking back to the bench.

You nodded, ignoring the tight feeling in your stomach that reminded you of disappointment. And you sank another one right into the gutter.

Minho’s solution to the bowling fiasco was consolation ice cream. Somewhat surprising, since a part of you had expected him to gloat. Instead, he talked about anything and everything but bowling, entertaining you while you both sat at the window of the local shop. You simply watched him, enraptured. He had hardly opened up at all to you at first. Visiting his apartment felt like the first peek into the real Minho. The happy memories captured in picture frames, the handmade mementos here and there on shelves, all hints as to the soft interior of your once-prickly friend. Now he was regaling you with stories of his best friends—brothers, by the sound of it. Loving rivalry, playful banter, sibling torment. And the look on his face...pride. He was proud of them, his family.

Then you paused, tilted your head to look at him anew. When had Minho stopped being prickly? Where was the cynical, negative, angsty boy you’d befriended, partly out of spite? When had he stopped trying to hold you back with barbed wire edges?

When Minho caught your gaze, he lifted one brow, mouth twitching into a crooked smile. “See something you like?” he sassed you. But his remark was devoid of bitterness. It wasn’t mocking, it was warm, inviting. It was asking you to join in on the joke.

“Yeah,” you said softly. Then you turned up the wattage on your smile, grinning widely at him. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

Minho rolled his eyes at your antics, spinning his ice cream cone between his fingers. But hidden behind your grin was more than a little truth.

* * * * *

You knocked on the door, stepping back tentatively. You could hear raucous laughter on the other side, which would ordinarily have you curious, maybe a little excited to join in. Not tonight. Right now, standing in the hallway outside Minho’s apartment, you were nervous as hell. And on top of it all, you were nearly an hour late, having dragged your feet the whole way there.

“Stop it, this is ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, shifting from foot to foot. It felt like meeting the parents, which was dumb. Firstly, you and Minho were not dating. Secondly, these were his best friends, not his parents. And thirdly, you and Minho were good friends. You had nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing.

Which was why you were currently worrying all over the place about meeting Minho’s best friends. What if they hated you? Or worse, what if they pitied you? You thought you’d disappear into a crack in the earth if that happened.

Before you could spend too long contemplating your inevitable end, the door swung open, and a boy came rushing out at you. You gasped, jumping back before he could run into you.

“Sorry, sorry, excuse me!” he blurted, skidding to a stop, then immediately taking off running down the hallway.

You blinked in confusion, but your eyes only widened when a second boy came barrelling out of the apartment after the first. “Minho?”

Minho paused briefly, eyes alighting on your stiff figure. “Hi! Um, I need to take care of something, but I’ll be right back. Go on in,” he waved at you, breaking into a jog, and then a sprint.

Immensely confused, you peered into the apartment, now that the door was wide open. Now or never, you told yourself firmly. Easing through the doorway, you caught sight of six more boys in various states of chaos. Upon noticing your entrance, they all froze. “Uh, hello there,” came a voice on your right. You looked over to see two boys in the kitchen, appearing to be mid-struggle with a bag of popcorn. “You must be Minho’s friend, he said you’d be coming.”

You gave a tiny wave, pasting on a sunshine smile. “Hi guys, it’s nice to meet you, I think? Should I be concerned about the escapee?”

Popcorn boy number two laughed, arms bulging as he ripped open the bag. “Oh no, Hyunjin will be fine. Minho hasn’t made him eat toilet paper in years, he’s above that now.” You must have looked concerned, because the boy chuckled again, waving you off. “It’s all empty threats with that one. Mostly. I’m Changbin, by the way.”

Popcorn boy number one stepped forward, extending a hand to shake. “I’m Chan, and this is our menagerie of chaos. Let me introduce you to everyone,” he offered. You grinned at him, relieved.

By the time Minho returned, practically dragging Hyunjin with him, you were giggling on the couch with the rest of the boys, embroiled in a fierce MarioKart race. With Hyunjin still trapped in a headlock, Minho paused to watch. You just barely caught a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye, too focused on staying on the track. Jeongin had chosen Rainbow Road for your first match, and you were determined to crush them in the dust. Even if it had been several years since you last played.

You watched as your character was knocked off the edge, a cry of dismay falling from your lips. “Dang it, I wasn’t even in first place, what gives?”

Han grinned victoriously, only to cry out when he accidentally drove over the edge as well. “Friends fall together?” he joked.

“You made me go ziplining. Alone,” Minho said, announcing his presence at last.

“Uhhhh,” Han fumbled for an excuse. “You love me anyway, though, right?”

Before Minho could retort, Seungmin stood up. “You can play next, if you want,” he offered.

The rest of you blinked at him in surprise, before looking at his screen and realizing he’d already won the race. Jeongin groaned dramatically, flailing on the couch as he came in second. You and Han just gave up entirely, letting your characters fall off the track once more. Meanwhile, Minho finally decided to release Hyunjin, and the blonde escaped to the other end of the couch, diving into a bowl of chips like nothing had happened.

Felix looked excited, so you tossed him your remote for the next round. “I believe I was promised food,” you said, arching an eyebrow in Minho’s direction.

“I believe I told you to arrive at six,” he fired back, stalking towards you. He finally stopped a foot away, looming over you.

You smirked at him, “What did I tell you on our first date?”

The room went silent, and you froze, realizing your mistake. “You guys are dating and you didn’t tell us?” Han exclaimed, eyes wide.

Your mouth opened and closed, but you couldn’t seem to find any words.

“Oh yeah, real fancy dates, too. We had dinner at the Eiffel tower last week,” Minho drawled. “Isn’t that right, sugar plum?” The cherry on top was when he reached out, lightly pinching your cheek.

A stranger might have mistaken his dry tone for sincerity, but everyone in the room knew Minho’s humor well. Half of the group dissolved into giggles. Changbin rolled his eyes and threw a pillow, but Minho caught it before it could smack into you. “No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend,” Changbin joked.

“All those promises and no follow through,” Han clucked his tongue in mock-disapproval, then ducked when Minho tossed the pillow at him next.

Your cheeks threatened to catch on fire again. The situation only worsened when you met Minho’s dark gaze, his eyes ensnaring you. “So,” you threw out desperately, clapping your hands together. “The food? Or am I going to starve? Not very boyfriend-like,” you tried to laugh. The joke must have been convincing, because the boys merely chuckled, going back to their game.

Minho still hadn’t moved from where he stood over you. Instead of moving back so you could get up, he extended a hand. You bit your lip, teeth digging in, but you placed your hand in his rather than make a scene. The last thing you wanted was more attention, especially with your cheeks warming up past their usual temperature.

Fortunately, he released you as soon as you regained your footing. Your fingers flexed lightly, hand falling back to your side. You kept your chin high as you followed Minho to the kitchen, ignoring the prickling feeling that the boys were still watching you.

“Pizza?” you blurted out, incredulous. “Don’t you eat anything else?”

Minho snorted, leaning against the counter. “For the record, I do know how to cook.”

You snooped in the fridge, disbelieving. “Of course, all evidence points to you being a five star chef,” you said, casting a pointed look at the empty shelves within.

He chuckled, folding his arms while he watched you investigate. “Sweetheart, if you wanted me to cook for you, all you had to do was ask.”

You hummed, closing the refrigerator once more. “I’m kinda afraid you’ll burn something, to be honest,” you teased, grabbing a plate from the cabinet and selecting a slice of now-cold pizza. You popped the pizza in the microwave, then relaxed against the counter opposite Minho. He was still watching you intently, and you frowned. “What? Do I have something on my face?” you asked him.

Minho shook his head wordlessly. Self-consciousness took hold, and you looked down awkwardly, brushing your hair behind one ear. “Hey, I’m sorry about what I said. I totally didn’t mean it the way it came out.”

“I know,” he said, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a half smile.

You tipped your chin again, unable to look at him for long. Even if Minho seemed to forgive your blunder, you still couldn’t believe you’d blurted that out. Your hair fell in front of your face again, and you let it, happy to hide behind the locks.

Then another pair of feet appeared a few inches from yours. Plain black socks next to your patterned ones, covered in cartoon rainbows. Then a butterfly touch along the side of your face, soft enough that you almost doubted the sensation. You lifted your gaze, but this time, Minho’s eyes weren’t on yours. Instead, his laser focus was directed on the hair he was gently situating behind your ear again.

You realized you had forgotten to breathe when he finally took a step back, and your lungs remembered to inflate.

“For the record, you’re right,” Minho said softly. “The queen is never late.”

* * * * *

It was nearing midnight by the time Minho’s friends started leaving. You eyed the clock, then went to grab your shoes as well. “I better get going, I want to get home sometime before dawn,” you joked.

“How close do you live? Are you taking the bus?” Chan asked, worry evident in his tone.

You waved him off, “I’m just a few blocks away, not too long of a walk. Bus doesn’t run after ten or so, anyway.”

Chan frowned, but Minho cut him off before he could say anything. “I was going to walk her home, it’s pretty late.”

That was a surprise to you, but seemed to alleviate Chan’s concern. The others waved goodbye on their way out, Chan following them. “Nice to meet you,” he said, shooting you a quick grin before closing the door behind him.

“You really don’t have to,” you started.

“I want to. It’s late,” Minho reminded you.

“I didn’t argue last time, but I didn’t want to steal your umbrella.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m not some little girl in need of protection. It’s a perfectly safe neighborhood.”

Minho didn’t look up, busy tying his shoes. “I like walking.”

“At midnight?”

“Any time of day, really.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do you walk Jeongin home, too?”

“Sure did. He moved in with Han, though, so I don’t anymore,” he said simply. “You don’t have a roommate. If no one’s there to make sure you get home safe, I want to walk with you.”

You gaped at him, unable to fault his logic. And not really wanting to. “Thanks,” you murmured, scuffing one shoe into the floor.

Minho stood up again, a crooked smile on his lips. “Don’t mention it,” he said, snagging his keys. “After you.”

Walking home with Minho, you were reminded of the first time. Then, you’d been so awkward, quiet. Unsure of yourself. You’d been worried that you were some kind of pity friend at first, but after getting to know Minho, you knew that wasn’t the case. And now that you’d grown comfortable around each other, you could hardly get him to shut up. Even now, he was talking about his dance team’s newest choreo, his words running together from excitement.

You smiled, just listening. This was all you really wanted, if you let yourself admit it. The Tinder dates were just a shit attempt at finding someone to sit and listen to for hours. You wanted movie nights and quiet mornings with someone who cared about you. You wanted a cute little house and kids and a dog. Maybe a cat. Maybe three.

Shit.

You were so wrapped up in your realization that you didn’t realize you’d reached your apartment building until Minho snagged your elbow to pull you to a stop. “This isn’t a midnight hike, where do you think you’re going?” he asked incredulously.

You laughed nervously, “Oh, sorry, I was pretty lost in thought.”

“Apparently. Were you listening to a word I said? Some friend you are,” he snorted.

Friend. Right. Your realization didn’t mean much. Why were you surprised? You hadn’t had luck in the romantic department in years, why would that change now? Minho was your friend, and it was obvious that his opinion of you wasn’t going to change. Why would it? He was way out of your league.

Gosh, now you felt like a fool. You’d really just daydreamed about a happily ever after with him. Why did you ever bother getting your hopes up? You were always bound for disappointment. Hadn’t your crappy dates taught you anything?

Minho called your name, bringing you back down to reality. “Sorry,” you muttered, fumbling in your bag to find your keys.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Shoot, now he sounded concerned.

You pasted a sunny smile on your face, “Totally fine. Thank you for walking me back. I won’t keep you any longer.”

You turned away to walk up the steps, but the smile fell as soon as he was out of sight. How were you only just coming to the realization that you were halfway—or perhaps all the way—in love with him? His face was burned into your mind’s eye. Brows furrowed in confusion, slight pout, and those damned eyes. You’d probably been in love with his eyes from the beginning.

“I only agreed to let you play matchmaker so I could see you again.”

You stopped at the top of the steps, not quite believing your ears. Turning slightly, you looked at Minho over your shoulder.

Once he had your attention, he continued, “I bailed on the date with your friend because I knew you’d yell at me.”

Lips parting in surprise, you turned to face him fully. Minho put a foot on the first step, gaze locked on yours. You weren’t sure what he saw when he looked at you, but his mouth softened into a slight smile.

“I was going to do the classic move of teaching you to bowl, but I chickened out,” he said. “I wish I hadn’t.”

“What are you...why are you telling me this?” you asked, fingers curling nervously.

He ascended another step, “You only smile like that when you’re sad. When you start getting in your own head about what you deserve.” Another step, “And I’m tired of hiding.”

Now he was only two steps away. Close enough to touch, if you dared to reach out. You didn’t. “We’re friends,” you said, voice small.

“Yeah, we are,” he agreed. Then he bit his lip, drawing your attention like bees to honey. You sucked in a breath, closing your eyes firmly. When you opened them, Minho was on the step just below you. “Tell me to stop,” he said, voice low. You didn’t.

Your breath stuttered to a stop, your whole body stilling at the electric shock of his lips on yours. For a moment, you were frozen, utterly focused on the whisper of a touch. Then Minho pulled away, and you could breathe again, gasping for air. But you didn’t want it to be over. Your eyes fluttered open, finding his dark gaze melting into you.

This time, you let yourself fall into him, ignoring the voice in the back of your head that said this was a fantasy. He caught you, one arm wrapping around your waist, his other hand coming to your jawline. He ascended that final step, pulling your body into his. His lips were plush, a little dry. Real. Minho was here, warm under your fingertips.

His hand slid up into your hair, slowly enough to make you shiver. You sighed into the kiss, goosebumps appearing on your arms as his fingers gently tugged the strands. And then his mouth opened beneath you, and you let yourself tumble into sensation, drowning in him.

You don’t know how long you kissed, but your heart was racing when you finally came up for air. Minho panted, little breaths puffing against your lips. He rested his forehead against yours, the weight somehow grounding you.

“Do you understand now?” Minho’s voice was hoarse, deeper than before. You shivered, just a bit, and the corner of his lips twitched up.

You couldn’t find words, unable to string any coherent thoughts together. And you didn’t really want to, happy to have your mind all to yourself, no doubts in sight. You leaned forward, placing a small kiss on the tip of Minho’s nose. He scrunched his face up, making you giggle. But you needed to know one thing. “Are we—are things different now?”

“We’re dating. Unless you don’t want that,” he backtracked, eyes wide.

You grinned at him. “I do.”

He heaved out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I thought I really fucked up there.”

Now you really laughed, head falling forward to rest on his chest. Minho’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer than you thought was possible. You could hear his heartbeat, thudding just as fast as yours.

“You said the friendship was your favorite part of love,” Minho mused. You hummed in agreement, nodding against him. “Well I hope you don’t get sick of me. I hear I’m pretty annoying.”

“Minho,” you rolled your eyes.

“I know you just rolled your eyes at me,” he teased.

“Well, you are annoying. But I suppose it’s a part of your charm.”

He chuckled, “So that means you like my jokes?”

You smiled fondly, “Don’t push it.”

* * * * *

Masterlist

#skz fanfic #skz fluff #lee know fluff #lee know fanfic #lee know x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids fanfic #lee know #skz minho #skz lee know #skz imagines #skz scenarios #lee know scenarios #skz minho x reader #minho x reader #lee know fic #skz fic #skz one shot

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nerdythebard · 3 years

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#27: Athena, Goddess of Wisdom

She had to make her appearance eventually, Gods and Goddesses.

Athena is probably one of the most famous deities. Daughter of Zeus, born despite his schemes, ready to defend the people and Olympus. Contrary to Ares's bloodshed, she represents strategy, military wisdom and careful planning. Spoiler alert: we're not making her a Battle Master ;)

Next Time: HAVE YOU EVER HEARD THE JAGUAR CRY TO THE BLUE CORN MOON!?

Let's see what we need for the SMITE version of Athena to appear in our D&D game:

Ultimate Defender: Even bigger protector than Artio, Athena is a Guardian with High Crowd Control and High Defence.

Reach for the Sky: Athena uses long-reach attacks and her Ultimate allows her to appear by her companion's side for some extra protection.

You and what Army: Athena can summon the Defenders of Olympus to form a shield wall around her, as well as taunt and goad enemies into fighting her.

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I know I've done this before many-a-times, but I really have no choice here. Athena is a guardian, she has the divine blood of Zeus in her veins... I have to make her a Protector Aasimar. We get a +2 Charisma and +1 Wisdom, 60 feet of Darkvision, resistance to necrotic and radiant damage, ability to speak Common and Celestial, the Light cantrip, and Healing Hands, which lets us recover Hit Points equal to our level once per long rest.

We're going to take the City Watch background, which gives us proficiencies in Athletics and Insight, two languages of our choice, but we're actually going to customize it and replace the Watcher's Eye feature with Legal Authority from the Inquisitor background. This allows us to become a representative of the law, pass judgments and sometimes even carry out the sentence. Basically, we can now tell those who attempt to invade Olympus

ABILITY SCORES

Strength will be first, our weapon is a spear and those are not labelled as finesse. Next is Constitution, we need to be able to take hits. Follow that up with Wisdom, it's kinda our thing, especially when it comes to strategy.

Charisma will be next, it's important for a good leader (and a proud crafter). Dexterity is a bit lower than I would like it to be, but in SMITE Athena is not the quick-and-nimble type. Finally, we're dumping Intelligence. We really need other abilities more, plus it wasn't a smart decision to punish Arachne for winning a competition.

CLASS

Once again, I'm putting a small twist on the prediction and I think this is the first time on the blog we're doing this.

Level 1 - Paladin: We start with the divine warrior. Paladins get a d10 Hit Dice, [10 + Constitution modifier] initial Hit Points, proficiencies with light armour, medium armour, heavy armour, shields, simple weapons, and martial weapons. In the artwork, we see that Athena is not turtled-up in armour, so giving her a half-plate in addition to a spear and a shield seems like a good option. Our saving throws are Wisdom and Charisma, and we get to choose two class skills (Intimidation and Persuasion).

We start by getting Divine Sense, which informs us of any celestial, fiends, or undead within 60 feet of us. We know the type, but not what the creature actually is.

Lay on Hands is similar to our racial ability, Healing Hands. We have a pool of healing energy, equal to [our Paladin level x5] which restores itself at each long rest. As an action, we can touch a creature and restore its Hit Points by whatever points we have left in the pool. Alternatively, we can spend 5 points to remove one disease or poison from the target.

Level 2 - Paladin: We get Divine Smite. Whenever we hit a creature with a melee weapon attack, we can burn a spell slot to add extra 2d8 radiant damage (+1d8 for each spell slot above 1st-level to a maximum of 5d8). Damage increases by 1d8 if the enemy is a fiend or an undead.

We also get to pick a Fighting Style. To fulfil Athena's role as a guardian, we're once again going to pick Interception. Whenever a creature within 5 feet of us is hit by an attack, we can use our reaction to reduce the damage by [1d10 + our proficiency bonus]. We must be wielding a shield or a simple/martial weapon.

Paladins also get Spellcasting. Charisma is our casting ability, and we do not learn cantrips or rituals. Paladins have access to their full spell list and can each day prepare [Charisma modifier + half of Paladin level rounded down] spells. We start with two 1st-level spell slots:

Divine Favour bathes us in divine light and power, allowing our weapon attacks to deal extra 1d4 radiant damage for 1 minute (concentration).

Heroism increases your allies' morale. Until the spell ends (1 minute, concentration), one willing creature we touch is immune to being frightened and gain Temporary Hit Points equal to our casting ability modifier at the start of each turn.

Shield of Faith surrounds one creature of our choice within range (60 feet) for 10 minutes (concentration), granting it a +2 AC bonus.

Level 3 - Paladin: With Divine Health we are now immune to disease. We also get to pick our subclass, our Sacred Oath. Athena is a devoted protector of her city and the gods, so making her take the Oath of the Crown, to uphold the spirit of the nation and service to law seems fitting. We start by getting some Oath Spells; those are always prepared for us and don't count against the total number of spells known:

Command forces a Wisdom saving throw onto one creature within 60 feet of us, as we utter a single-word demand. On a failed save, the target is compelled to execute that command to the best of their ability at the beginning of their next turn. The command cannot force the target to harm themselves.

Compelled Duel forces one creature within 30 feet to turn their attention towards us and fight one-on-one, provided they fail a Wisdom saving throw. For the duration (1 minute, concentration), the compelled target has a disadvantage on attacks made against targets other than us and must make a Wisdom saving throw when attempting to move more than 30 feet away from us.

We also gain access to the Cleric's Channel Divinity. Once per short or long rest, we can use one of the two effects listed below:

Champion Challenge acts similarly to the Compelled Duel spell, as it prevents creatures who fail a Wisdom saving throw to move further than 30 feet from us. The difference is, this ability affects every creature within 30 feet radius.

Turn the Tide lets us use our bonus action to bolster the injured. Each creature of our choice within 30 feet of us regain [1d6 + our Charisma modifier] Hit Points, provided they have no more than half of their Hit Points.

Level 4 - Paladin: Time for our first Ability Score Improvement. We will, however, take the Spear Mastery feat instead. We gain a +1 to attack rolls made with our spear, the damage dice of the spear change from a d6 to d8, we can use our bonus action to extend the spear's reach by 5 feet until the end of our turn, and finally, we can prepare ourselves for a charge. If a creature that we can see within 20 feet of us gets within our spear's reach on its next turn, we can use a reaction to make an attack against it that deals additional 1d8 damage. If the creature used Disengage before, we're not getting the opportunity.

We can also grab another spell: Protection from Evil and Good grants one willing creature we touch protection from aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead. Attack rolls against the target are made with a disadvantage, and the target cannot be charmed or frightened by the aforementioned creatures.

Level 5 - Paladin: With Extra Attack we can now attack twice instead of once during a single Attack action.

We also unlock 2nd-level spells and gain two spells from our subclass spell list:

Warding Bond ties up to one target within 60 feet of us. For 1 hour the target gains a +1 bonus to AC and saving throws, and resistance to all forms of damage. Additionally, whenever the target takes damage we take the same amount of damage.

Zone of Truth creates a 15-foot-radius sphere at a point within 60 feet of us for 10 minutes. Creatures inside the sphere must make a Wisdom saving throw or become unable to lie as long as they remain within the sphere's boundaries. They are not compelled to answer, however.

Level 6 - Paladin: We get our first Aura option. With the Aura of Protection, whenever a friendly creature within 10 feet of us must make a saving throw, it gains a bonus equal to our Charisma modifier.

We also get another spell: Magic Weapon transforms our non-magical weapon into a magical one, for the purpose of overcoming resistances and immunities. Until the spell ends (1 hour, concentration), we also get a +1 bonus to attack and damage rolls done with the weapon.

Level 7 - Barbarian: Surprise! I believe it's the first time we jump into the rage machine. I can already hear you saying 'Ares should've been a barbarian!'. Maybe. Maybe not. Hear me out, though: Athena's rage is cold and calculated. Precise and bottled up, to be unleashed only when necessary.

Multiclassing into Barbarian doesn't give us any new proficiencies or skills, but we do get the Unarmoured Defence. When we're not wearing armour, our AC equals [10 + our Dexterity modifier + our Constitution modifier]. Unlike Monks, we still get this benefit even if wielding a shield.

We also get access to the Barbarian's key feature...

As a bonus action, the Barbarian can Rage and gain the following benefits (provided they're not wearing heavy armour):

Advantage on Strength checks and Strength saving throws

Bonus to damage rolls (+2; changes as we level up) for weapons that use Strength

Resistance to bludgeoning, piercing and slashing damage

The rage lasts for 1 minute (unless we dismiss it earlier, are knocked unconscious, fail to attack a target on our turn or taken damage during such) and while it's on, we cannot cast spells. For now, we can Rage twice before taking a long rest.

Level 8 - Barbarian: We gain Danger Sense, to better detect hostility. If we're not blinded, deafened or incapacitated, we have an advantage on Dexterity saving throws for effects we can see, such as traps and spells.

We can also forget about defence when making a Reckless Attack. When making our first attack on our turn, we can choose to do it recklessly. This gives us an advantage on melee weapon attacks that use Strength on our turn, but until the end of our next turn, all attacks made against us also have an advantage.

Level 9 - Barbarian: We can now Rage three times per long rest.

We also get to pick our second subclass, our Primal Path. And this is the moment where we get our Athenian warriors with the Path of the Ancestral Guardian. With Ancestral Protectors, we can call upon spectral warriors of the past which hinder the attacks of the first creature we hit while Raging. Until the end of our next turn, the target has a disadvantage on all attacks that aren't against us and when other creatures attack the target, they gain resistance to the damage type of the attack they make.

Level 10 - Barbarian: Halfway through the build and we're getting another ASI. We're gonna raise our Dexterity by 2 points.

Level 11 - Barbarian: Normally, we would've gained Extra Attack here, but we've already got it from our Paladin levels and they do not stack. We do, however, get Fast Movement which increases our movement speed by 10 feet provided we're not wearing heavy armour.

Level 12 - Barbarian: We can now Rage up to four times per long rest.

We get a new subclass upgrade. With Spirit Shield, our ancestral spirits now provide aid to those we defend. While we're raging, and a creature we can see within 30 feet of us takes damage, we can reduce the damage by 2d6.

Level 13 - Barbarian: At this point, our Feral Instincts are so sharp we have an advantage on our Initiative rolls.

Level 14 - Barbarian: Time for another ASI. Let's round up our Strength and put the other point into Dexterity.

Level 15 - Barbarian: Our additional damage while raging now becomes a +3.

We now get a Brutal Critical. Whenever we score a critical hit (Natural 20), apart from doubling our weapon damage die, we roll one more of the same die and add it to the score.

Level 16 - Barbarian: At this point, our Spirit Shield reduces the damage dealt to our allies by 3d6.

We also get another subclass upgrade. With Consult the Spirits, we can now use our ancestral warriors to cast either the Augury or Clairvoyance spells without a spell slot or material components once per short or long rest.

Level 17 - Barbarian: With Relentless Rage, we can now fight despite death. If we drop to 0 Hit Points while raging (and don't get damaged enough to insta-kill us), we can make a DC 10 Constitution saving throw and gain 1 Hit Point on a success. Each time we use this feature after the first, the DC raises by 5 and resets after we finish a short or long rest.

Level 18 - Barbarian: We get the final ASI of the build and we put two points into our Dexterity. We can also now Rage five times before rest.

Level 19 - Barbarian: Our Brutal Critical increases to two additional dice when scoring a Natural 20.

Level 20 - Barbarian: We end with Barbarian 14, which ends with another subclass upgrade. With Vengeful Ancestors, we can truly pull the Uno Reverse Card. When we use our Spirit Shield (which now reduces damage by 4d6), besides just reducing damage, the spirits now deal force damage to the target, equal to the damage prevented.

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And that is Eda Athena, the Owl Lady! Let's see what we got:

To start off, we're a tank with many protection options for both us and our allies. With increased movement, advantages on initiative and damage-dealing rolls, plus some protection spells, we can easily lead and strategize.

With a half-plate and a shield our AC is 17, we have a +2 to our Initiative, 40 feet of movement, and an average HP of 175.

Unfortunately, our spell repertoire is not great, negative modifier to our Intelligence (if you want to fix that, be sure to hunt for the Headband of Intellect), and no ability maxed to 20.

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Okay, I think this is not a bad build. As always, treat these as suggestions and modify your own builds as you please. I hope you've enjoyed yourselves and I'll see you in the next one!

- Nerdy out!

#smite #hirez smite #protector aasimar #aasimar #dnd build #dnd #d&d 5e #dungeons and dragons #greek gods #athena #paladin #oath of the crown #barbarian #ancestral guardian

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grailfinders · 4 years

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Fate and Phantasms #126: Bedivere

Today on Fate and Phantasms we're making the one delivery service with worse return timelines than Amazon, Bedivere!

Bedi's got a bit of extra witchcraft that certainly would have gotten you in trouble if you weren't rolling with the king of England, but he's also a knight who's accomplished in the art of warfare. Surprisingly, that combination means your build is actually more complicated than the immortal pseudogod you face off against.

There's really no telling what gets accounted for in D&D classes.

Check out Bedi's build breakdown below the cut, or his character sheet over here!

Next up: What a twist!

Race and Background

I mean, you were human at some point. Ol' Bedi's much, much older than he looks, thanks to time traveling the long way around to me your king again. So far, in fact, that you now count as a Reborn from that fancy new UA. Using the new lineage traits, you get +2 Charisma and +1 Constitution. You also count as an Undead and a Humanoid, meaning you're affected by both Turn Undead and Cure Wounds. Real fun for a paladin! You've got a Medium size, with 30' of movement speed. You get 60' of Darkvision, and your Deathless Nature nets you a gaggle of benefits. You have advantage against disease and poison, and resist poison damage. You also get advantage on death saves, and don't require most things needed for life. You no long require eating, drinking, or breathing, and instead of sleeping you just sit tight for four hours. This also means magic can't put you to sleep. Finally, a number of times per long rest equal to your proficiency bonus you can recall Knowledge from a Past Life, adding 1d6 to a skill check.

That almost makes up for... actually it doesn't make up for anything. Still, it's better than nothing.

Oh yeah, background. You're a Knight of the Order, like your coworkers before you. This gives you proficiency with Religion and Persuasion.

Ability Scores

Make your Charisma as high as possible. You look me in the eyes and tell me that isn't a charming young man, I dare you. After that is Wisdom, because you can't fight a war if you can't see what the enemy is doing. After that is Constitution-you survived an inordinate amount of time to get to this point, and even with a magic artifact that's still one hell of a save DC. Strength is next, you're as good with a sword in one hand as most knights are with two, but we'll get our swordfighting skills from somewhere else in just a bit. Your Dexterity is a bit low, but you wear heavy armor, so it's not that much of a problem. Finally, dump Intelligence. Like a lot of builds, Bedivere isn't dumb- we just needed other abilities more, and intelligence affects very little besides skill checks, and that's what KfaPL is for.

Class Levels

1. Paladin 1: Once again, no surprise here. As a paladin, you get a Divine Sense to locate extraplanar beasties nearby, and you can also Lay on Hand to heal a creature from a pool of hp equal to five times your paladin level, which refills on long rests.

You also get proficiency in Wisdom and Charisma saves, as well as two paladin skills. I've said this already, but you can do one-handed what most people need two for, so you're pretty good at Athletics. You're also able to read the battlefield well, and that most closely translates to Insight.

2. Paladin 2: Second level paladins get a fighting style, and since all your weapons are one handed, the Dueling style is perfect for you, adding 2 to all your one-handed weapon attacks when you aren't also wielding a shield or a second weapon. You can also cast and prepare spells using your Charisma. You can also burn those spell slots to activate your Divine Smite, adding some extra radiant damage to your weapon attacks.

Bedivere is known for his knowledge in witchcraft, so he gets a bit more leeway in what spells he can get. That being said, Heroism is always a good pick to calm yourself before a battle, and Bless will use your Charisma skill to improve your allies' attack rolls and saves, giving them an extra d4 for the duration.

3. Warlock 1: I know you're more of a paladin than this, but you don't have one of your arms yet, and to be honest it's cramping our style. Technically you got your arm from Merlin, but we've done more than enough crown paladin/archfey warlock combos now thanks to the Pendragon family to last a lifetime. Your powers more directly come from your arm, which is a transformed magical sword, so that makes you a Hexblade warlock.

At first level, you can place a Hexblade's Curse on someone once per short rest. This means you deal extra damage to them based on your proficiency bonus, you crit on 19s when you attack, and you gain hp when the target dies. The curse only lasts for 1 minute, but so do most D&D fights, so you're probably fine.

You also become a Hex Warrior, allowing you to use Charisma instead of Strength when attacking with a specific weapon you choose after a long rest. Once you get your pact boon, this will apply to any weapon you make with that boon (though you probably want to make your hand).

You also get Pact Magic, which is kinda like normal magic, but it doesn't mix with your other spell slots, and recharges on short rests. This also uses your Charisma to cast.

You can cast True Strike to strike true, Prestidigitation to make up for all the little magic effects we can't get you, Wrathful Smite to smite while you smite, and Comprehend Languages, because most people aren't going to know what you're talking about if you're speaking Middle English.

4. Warlock 2: Second level warlocks get Eldritch Invocations, ways to customize the selling your soul experience. Save one for next level, but grab Beast Speech so you can cast Speak with Animals for free. There's a lot of talking creatures in medieval mythology, and we spend most of our spell slots smiting. You can also cast Unseen Servant to make things a bit witchier, and also for help carrying cumbersome stuff.

5. Warlock 3: Third level warlocks get their pact boon, and Pact of the Blade will allow you to summon your arm as an action. You can also make other weapons, but regardless, whatever you make counts as a magical weapon for resistances, and can be used as a casting focus for your spells. You also get the invocation Improved Pact Weapon for a +1 to damage and attack rolls.

Finally, you learn how to cast Hold Person, locking a humanoid who fails a wisdom save (DC 8 + proficiency + charisma mod) in place and making all attacks against them critical hits. This usually ends poorly for them, especially when smites get added to the mix.

6. Paladin 3: Oh that's right you're a paladin too. You might be sick of this by now, but Crown paladins; let's talk about them. You get two Channel Divinity options, which you can use once per short rest. Both use your bonus action, but Champion Challenge forces enemies within 30' of you who fail their wisdom save to stay within 30' of you. This lasts until you're incapacitated, you die, or the creature ends up further away from you unwillingly. Turn the Tide heals bloodied allies around you a touch, to keep them in the fight a bit longer.

Alternatively, you can Harness Divine Power, turning that channel divinity use into a refilled spell slot.

You also get Divine Health, making you immune to disease.

Finally, you get oath spells, which you always have prepared. You already could've cast Command and Compelled Duel anyway, but now they're not taking up prep space.

7. Paladin 4: Just because we're taking a different patron doesn't mean we can't rep Merlin a bit, so use this Ability Score Improvement to become a bit Fey Touched. This rounds up your Charisma, and also allows you to cast Misty Step or Gift of Alacrity once per long rest for free. Alternatively, you can use your spell slots, but I'd save those for smites, personally. The former lets you teleport, the latter adds a bit to one character's initiative for a couple hours. Basically you're just telling someone to keep their eyes peeled, but magically.

8. Fighter 1: Depending on how your DM wants to rule it, Argetlam might be a regular weapon, or it might be an actual hand. Grab the Unarmed Fighting fighting style if it's the latter, or just grab Defense otherwise.

You also get a Second Wind, allowing you to heal yourself as a bonus action. You've been around for a while, you know when you're reaching your limits.

9. Paladin 5: Fifth level paladins get an Extra Attack each attack action. They also get second level spells, including your oath spells Warding Bond and Zone of Truth. Literally making it impossible for yourself to lie can be a great show of trust when meeting new people. Or new gods. Either or.

I'd recommend grabbing Protection from Poison since you'll be travelling with Serenity for a while, or Branding Smite for the inevitable fight against Sir Tristan. I hear he's kind of hard to hit.

10. Warlock 4: Use this ASI to max out your Charisma for the best attacks and spells possible. You also fill out your defensive repertoire with the cantrip Blade Ward to make yourself more durable and Blur to make yourself harder to hit. Nobody said living this long would be easy.

11. Warlock 5: Fifth level warlocks get third level spells and slots. I'd consider a lot of what the Lion King did to the round table to count as a curse, so grab Remove Curse to fight back. You also get the invocation Eldritch Smite this level, allowing you to burn a spell slot for some extra force damage. This is on top of your Divine Smite dealing radiant damage, and possibly on top of your Wrathful Smite dealing psychic damage, by the way. Argetlam's got a lot of power behind it.

12. Fighter 2: Second level fighters get an Action Surge, giving you an extra action to slap on your turn once per short rest. You've been pushing yourself for hundreds of years, six seconds is nothing.

13. Fighter 3: As a Battle Master, you really come into your own in terms of warfare. You become a Student of War, giving you calligraphy proficiency, the most powerful of abilities. On a lesser note, you also get Combat Superiority, meaning you can use three maneuvers, powered by four superiority dice. These are d8s that recharge every short rest.

Commander's Strike uses one of your attacks to allow another creature to attack instead, using their reaction. If they do so, you add the superiority die to their damage. Tactical Assessment improves your battlefield knowledge without having to invest in intelligence as an ability, allowing you to add the superiority die to one Investigation, History, or Insight check. You can also Rally a companion as a bonus action, giving them some temporary HP.

14. Paladin 6: Oh that's right you're also a paladin. Now you've got an Aura of Protection, meaning every save made within 10' of you gets your charisma modifier added to it, if you so choose.

15. Paladin 7: Your Divine Allegiance allows you to use a reaction to take another creature's damage for it. Mash is lovely, but occasionally she needs some time off tanking.

16. Paladin 8: You get another ASI this level, and your charisma's all good now... grab some Constitution I guess? More health is nice.

17. Paladin 9: Ninth level paladins get third level spells, like your oath spells Aura of Vitality and Spirit Guardians. You could also use something like Crusader's Mantle or Spirit Shroud to pile even more radiant damage onto your attacks.

18. Paladin 10: Your Aura of Courage calms allies around you, preventing them from being frightened.

19. Paladin 11: Hey, did you want even more radiant damage on your attacks? Here, have an Improved Divine Smite. Same smite taste, no spell slots!

20. Paladin 12: Your capstone level is another ASI! Bump up your strength. This doesn't give you many benefits, but you're a knight, you should be pretty strong.

Pros:

You've got a divine smite, improved divine smite, eldritch smite, and even one of the spell smites if you're feeling spicy. Four smites at once means your critical hits hurt. Especially since you can fish for them with a hexblade's curse.

Despite your damage dealing, you've also got plenty of tools in your support kit. Tank for allies, heal them, help them attack more, improve their initiative... You can do a lot.

You've got almost 200 hp and ways to heal yourself, so your survivability's pretty on point as well. Stay in the fight, and make sure everyone else does too.

Cons:

Thanks to being a reborn, you count as an undead for spells and effects. That'll seriously hinder your social standing in places that can check for that sort of thing, and it'll also make working with clerics in general troublesome.

Hexblade makes picking ASIs a lot easier, but it also means your strength and dexterity scores aren't as high. Because of that your AC isn't going to be that great. It's a good thing you can survive hits, because you'll definitely be taking them.

Despite your array of smites, you have limited spell slots to use them with. Your highest level spells are only level 3, and you don't get that many slots to work with, so you'll have to be careful of when you go all out.

#Fate and Phantasms #FGO #Fate Grand Order #Bedivere #D&D 5e

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slashgod · 5 years

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Aziraphale has BTE (Big Top Energy), through the sheer fact that he's worked in the service industry (owns a bookshop) for OVER A HUNDRED YEARS. He doesnt hire anyone so he deals with customers all his own. That's it that's the ask

Send me a word and I’ll write something cute

Crowley was pretending to be asleep. It was nice to sleep, sure, but also nice to be awake with no-one having expectations of you.

Also if he played his cards right, Aziraphale would sometimes come over, kiss his forehead and cover him with a blanket. Which was peak romanticism and Crowley lived for those soft moments.

Breathing even, eyes closed, Crowley listened to the soft rustling of pages as Aziraphale read.

Vaguely Crowley registered the opening of the bookshop door.

Something in the air chilled, enough for Crowley’s heart to skip a beat. Literally.

It wasn’t the natural chill of the cold air from outside, but the chill of a weapon of the Lord getting charged, ready to smite.

“Christopher.”

“Mr. Fell.”

“I believed we had an understanding. You being on my property breaches that understanding.”

“Our agreement needs amending.”

“The agreement terms are simplistic. You and yours are not permitted on my premises. If you failed to adhere to those terms, you were to be terminated.”

“Yet here I stand.”

Crowley's heart had given all pretence of beating. Challenging an angel was one thing, but challenging an angel after they’d set rules to keep you safe? This idiot was asking for death, and he didn’t even realise it.

“What were the terms you wanted to amend?” Aziraphale’s voice was calm in a way that had Crowley’s fingers twitching against his stomach. The calm before the storm.

“You owe payment. My guys are staying away, which means protection money and-”

There was the slick sound mixed with a snap, followed directly by the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor.

The air crackled, then faded.

The storm had passed.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, darling.” Crowley cracked open an eye, looking up to Aziraphale’s concerned face.

“Wasn’t really sleeping.” He shifted where he was laying so he could see the body in the middle of the bookshop. Before he could offer, Aziraphale had snapped his fingers and the body was gone. Probably back to base to scare the poor bastards that thought it was a good idea to shake Aziraphale for money.

“Fancy a bite to eat?” Aziraphale asked, innocently. Crowley smiled, blinking up to his angel.

“My treat. Anywhere you wanna go.”

#Big Top Energy is Aziraphale for sure #I love him being a badass angel #I hope this is what you wanted though because sometimes I get carried away in my own thoughts #Good Omens #Ineffable Husbands #Bastard Writes #Gabriels Angels #trickyanswers

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degenerate-perturbation · 5 years

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Chapters: 8/? Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe Additional Tags: Established Relationship Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one who was shackled next to you? What do you have in common, save for the chains that bound you both?

The young man arrived unassumingly, much like all the rest.

The Ferelden Wardens had been so depleted since the Fifth Blight, that if any good had come of the siege, it was that the Wardens’ fame was growing. Recruits were flowing in, from Amaranthine and beyond, from as far as Gwaren. Men and women from every walk of life came to pledge their lives to vigilance.

Yvanne had placed herself in charge of recruitment. She appreciated the bitter irony of it, but the importance of that paled in comparison to what she would do as the self-appointed head of Warden recruitment. She could tell people what they were getting themselves into—exactly what would happen during the Joining, what would happen if they got unlucky, what their approximate chances of surviving was. She could describe the life they would have afterwards—the dreams, the shortened lifespan, that constant feeling that something was scratching at the back of their heads.

Yvanne had the sense that she wasn’t supposed to tell civilians these things, that they were secrets. But she figured that if the First Warden wanted to come and make it her problem, she’d deal with him then, and not before.

Some of those that came turned away and went home when they understood what they would be signing up for. But, most stayed.

She set herself up in the Great Hall, sitting behind an oaken desk she’d had dragged into the space where the Arl’s throne had once stood. There she met with each recruit personally, recording their names and professions and where they had come from. This kind of administrative work should have been Garavel’s—he was the new Seneschal, after all—but somehow Yvanne could never get used to him. He looked so young. He didn’t know the system she and Varel had worked out together. It was easier to just do it herself.

So when the broad-shouldered young man came forward to meet with the Warden-Lieutenant, at first he seemed completely unremarkable.

“Name?” she asked, not quite looking up.

“Rolan.”

“Place of birth?”

“Jader.”

“Previous occupation?”

“Templar.”

The scratching of Yvanne’s quill ceased abruptly, blotting the sheet she was writing on. Her breath caught. Rolan only continued to smile blithely.

She lifted the pen, scattering sand over the blot.

“I don’t think so,” she said icily, not looking at him.

His light brows drew together in confusion. “I swear, ser, it’s the truth. I served in—”

“I’m not accusing you of lying,” she corrected. “I’m denying your petition to join the Grey Wardens.”

At first he stared at her, uncomprehending. “What?!” He slammed his hands on the table, rattling it. She suppressed the flinch. “But the Wardens need skilled warriors! I’ve trained in arms and armor, I understand discipline, I’m an able warrior. How can you turn me away?”

“Like this.” She took the parchment on which she’d written his name, crumpled it up, and incinerated it. She enjoyed his obvious fear as he startled backwards, eyes wide. She brushed the charred remains off her desk. “I wish you a pleasant journey home to Jader.”

He struggled to master himself. “Can’t I at least know why?”

“Certainly.” She smiled. “Many of the highest-ranking and most valued of our Ferelden Wardens are mages. I cannot ask them to tolerate your presence, given your abilities and your prior occupation.”

“Is that what you’re concerned about?” His lip actually trembled. Pathetic. “It isn’t like that at all. I’m not here as a Templar. I’m not a Templar at all anymore! I came here because I wanted to do something noble with my life, something heroic.”

“Oh, I see. You didn’t finding standing over helpless imprisoned children with a sword too rewarding? Wanted something a little more personally fulfilling, did you?”

He sputtered. “This is completely against—this isn’t—I thought the Grey Wardens took anyone. I thought you were desperate for recruits.”

Not that desperate, she thought acidly. His raised voice and the small fireball she had just created were drawing attention. Some of the Vigil’s soldiers had their hands on their weapons, watching the situation carefully. Yvanne gestured for them to hold, but Rolan was still talking.

“I thought anyone could come here and turn over a new leaf. You shouldn’t be able to hold my past against me.”

“Maybe not,” she said cheerfully, “but I am. Good day, ser. ”

He stood there gaping. Then he straightened, his jaw twitching. “You don’t have the authority to turn me away.”

“Oh? How interesting,” Yvanne said, disinterestedly. She demonstratively paged through some of the documents on the desk, not looking at him. “And here I thought I was the ranking recruitment officer.”

“ You aren’t the Warden-Commander.”

Yvanne’s smile disappeared.

“ You’re not the one who slew the Archdemon and lived.”

She felt her eyebrow twitch.

“ She’s an elf; I know that much.”

She vividly imagined what it would be like to fill this fool with lightning.

“I want to talk to her .”

“You do, do you?” Yvanne said, clasping her hands on the desk in front of her. “I’m afraid the Warden-Commander is very busy, and unfortunately can’t take time out of her day to talk to every fool that demands her attention.”

“Fine, then.” Rolan crossed his arms. “I’ll wait.”

Yvanne’s fingers tightened over her knuckles. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll wait,” he said. “I’ll camp outside the walls until she has time to see me. Every day I’ll come in here and ask to join the Wardens and every day I’ll ask to see the Commander until I get a no directly from her lips. Then I’ll leave. But not before.”

She could tell he meant it, too. She’d have to deal with him every single day until he finally got the rejection from the person he wanted, and every one of those days was another day that a Templar was within smiting distance of her. Within smiting distance of Loriel. And Anders. And Velanna. Yvanne felt a flare of the old hatred, not in her heart, but somewhere in her gut, that pool of brewing roiling viscous bile that for so long had laid quiescent.

She needed to get rid of him.

“Fine,” she snapped. “If you are so desperate to be turned away by the Warden-Commander herself, I’ll oblige you. This way. Garavel, tell anyone still outside to wait. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

She rose from the high-backed wooden chair, so abruptly that its legs scraped horribly on the stone floor, and marched off towards Loriel’s office. She would end this quickly and never deal with this cockroach again. He followed her dutifully through the halls, at least doing her the service of remaining silent.

She banged on the Commander’s office doors, waiting hardly a second before barging in. Loriel startled, looking up from sheets of parchment covered in glyph diagrams and arcane symbols beyond Yvanne’s comprehension. Her brow crumpled when she saw her and she opened her mouth to say something before catching sight of Rolan.

“Yes?” she said smoothly, her puzzled expression schooling into glasslike neutrality. “How can I be of assistance?”

Before Yvanne could say anything, Rolan dropped to one knee, bowing his head. “I wish only to pledge my life in service to the Grey Wardens. I wish to protect the innocent, to fight the darkness, to be the shield that stands before the night. I would give my life to it.”

Loriel allowed a drop of confusion to enter her expression. “I see. And is there a problem?”

“I’ll tell you what the problem is,” Yvanne said, dripping with every bit of her old venom. “This man is a Templar.”

Loriel’s expression did not so much as twitch. “Is that true?”

Rolan hesitated. “I was a Templar,” he said, “in my old life. But no longer. I seek a different path.”

“I see.” Loriel laced her fingers together in front of her and looked down at them.

“Oh, come on!” Yvanne burst out. “Surely you can’t possibly—”

“Yvanne,” Loriel cut her off. “ Please.” Yvanne caught the tight, desperate plea in her eye. She bit her tongue. Rolan was still kneeling.

“You understand,” Loriel said finally, leaning forward, “that the Joining is often fatal.”

“I do.”

“And you understand that should you live, I will be your Commander. Warden Amell, as Warden-Lieutenant, would also be your ranking officer.”

“I do.”

“You realize I am a mage. As is she.”

“I do, ser.”

“As well as several other Wardens that have my complete trust. Free mages, whose actions you may not always agree with.”

“Yes, ser.”

“You aren’t uncomfortable with that?”

“No, ser.”

She pierced him with that deep inky gaze of hers. “Knowing that any disloyalty, any failure to comply with orders—any intentional disruptions of the Wardens under my protection—may mean that your life is forfeit?”

“Yes, ser.”

“You would abide by the oaths and customs and bounds of the Grey Wardens? You would sacrifice yourself, if need be?”

He had been nodding along, and now his head bobbed up and down like a clucking chicken. “I would. Ser. I so swear it by the Maker.”

She kept silent a while again. Then she sighed. “Very well. If you wish it, you will be Joined along with the others at the end of Harvestmere. You may report to the recruit barracks.”

He thanked her, and bowed his head again, and thanked her another time, and exited the room practically backwards, and didn’t even ask where the recruit barracks were.

Yvanne waited until the sound of his footsteps was well out of earshot, then slammed the door so hard the hinges rattled.

“What the hell was that !” she shouted.

Loriel noticed that the cap was off the inkwell, and carefully replaced it.

“That’s a fucking Templar, you realize?”

Loriel started cleaning the tip of the quill pen she’d been using, examining the tip as though to check whether it needed sharpening.

“I mean, Andraste’s bleeding tits ! We’ve spent how long trying to get away from these bastards, and you’re inviting one of them over for tea and biscuits? To stay in my Keep? To be part of our Wardens?”

Loriel put down the quill and started organizing the sheets of parchment littering her desk.

“I don’t understand! Have you lost your mind? Are you possessed by some demon of discord and confusion? Just what are you playing at?!”

Loriel left the parchments in three neat stacks on the desk, placing the quill and inkwell in their proper places.

“I can’t believe you’d do this to me! To all the Warden mages! To us. ”

Her voice caught. She collapsed into a nearby chair, exhausted. “I— I just—” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Finished?”

“Yes,” Yvanne said morosely.

Loriel rose and stood in front of Yvanne’s chair, where she sat hunched and twisted. She bit her lip, rubbing the knucklebone of her thumb.

“I understand how you feel,” she said carefully. “I’m not entirely comfortable with it either, but my position is—” She hesitated. “—precarious. My people value me more than they fear me, but if I started to behave politically like a mage and not a Warden, that might change. I need to be seen as neutral. The Wardens are meant to be a clean slate. A chance to atone. If I deny that chance to a Templar, how does that make me look? Besides, wouldn’t you rather he be a Warden than a Templar?”

“I’d rather he be dead. ”

“We don’t get to choose that.”

“Since when?” Yvanne demanded. “We’ve killed lots of people. Duncan killed Jory, just for being afraid. Why shouldn’t I kill Rolan now?”

Loriel looked evenly at her. “You won’t do that.”

“No,” she said savagely. “But I ought to.”

“Oh, Yvanne.” Loriel took her cold dry hands in hers. “How long are we supposed to stay afraid?”

“That’s not—” Yvanne sputtered, pulling her hands away and standing. “It’s not about that.”

How she hated when Loriel turned those big sad eyes on her. She held her elbows close to her body, looking small. “Isn’t it?”

“It isn’t about who he is. It’s about what he can do.” Yvanne flashed back to every smiting bolt she’d ever felt, to the warehouse, how they’d barely survived...

“If we need to fear that man because of what he can do, then why shouldn’t everyone fear us for what we can do?”

“Maybe they should fear us,” Yvanne said darkly.

“You don’t mean that.”

“You don’t know what I mean.”

“I do know.”

Yvanne said nothing.

“Look,” said Loriel, sighing again, “we aren’t Circle mages anymore. If we’re going to live— really live—we’re going to have to accept that.”

“What are you talking about?” It came out sharper than she meant it to.

She threw her hands wide. “I mean, we aren’t prisoners anymore! And that man isn’t our jailer. Don’t you understand? We’re out of the tower. We have to knock down the walls or we’ll never be able to live.”

“I thought we were living. I was. Weren’t you?” Yvanne swiped her thumb over the ring on her finger.

“I’m—” Loriel faltered. “I’m doing my best. It isn’t easy.”

A steady gaze. “You didn’t tell me.” But I knew, Yvanne thought. I knew, but I thought, with enough time...

“Because I don’t think it’s any easier for you.” She took a breath. “If I choose to be a frightened Circle mage rather than the Warden-Commander, I’ll never escape. Neither of us will. We’ll always be looking over our shoulders, waiting to be caught. If we can’t move past that, we’re doomed.”

“You can’t make that choice for me.”

Loriel looked down. “Maybe not. I’m sorry. But I stand by my decision.”

“I…” Yvanne sighed. “Maybe you have a point. But I might need some time.”

“Alright.” They stood not quite looking at each other. Yvanne’s fingernails dug into her palm. Loriel fiddled with her wedding ring until it chafed. “I love you,” she added.

“I love you, too. But sometimes I don’t understand you at all.”

A faint smile. “Isn’t that the joy of it?”

Yvanne went to her and kissed her lightly, to show that she wasn’t angry, although she was, and left the office. And Loriel was left alone to sit and idly review her diagrams and consider all that had been said and done.

She hadn’t lied, exactly. It was true, all that she’d said. She had pinned her life, and Yvanne’s life, and so many other lives, to the Grey Wardens. If she had done that, it had to mean something. She had to make it mean something. Otherwise she was a monster, wasn’t she?

And it was true, that they had to stop being afraid. That was why she’d done it.

But really...

She’d done it because she’d seen a Templar kneeling before her, and known that his life was in her hands. Known that she could kill him, if she wanted to. Yes, her position was precarious, but not that precarious. Yvanne was right about one thing: Duncan had killed recruits. At least one that she knew of, for such a petty reason, and there were probably more. And who was Duncan, compared to the Hero of Ferelden, the most famous Warden-Commander in centuries? Who would have stopped her? Who would have breathed a word against her?

He’d been at her mercy, and it had felt so good.

It had shocked her, just how good. All these years she’d been a little mouse, afraid for so long that she had not realized what it had been to not be afraid. She’d feared her parents’ anger, she’d feared the shemlen outside the alienage, and she’d feared the Templars, always the Templars. It had made her into what she was, the fear. Now that it was gone, its absence was intoxicating. She wanted more of it, that un-fear. The way she felt watching an ogre barrelling down at her and knowing it would not touch her, the way she felt consorting with darkspawn and knowing she had the upper hand—that was how watching Rolan kneel before her felt.

Yes, she was ashamed, but it was a perfunctory sort of shame. She knew she ought to feel it, anyway. Ashamed enough that she did not want to tell Yvanne, did not want her to know. Yvanne thought her better than she was, and she loved her for it. Maybe she needed someone to see the best in her—else all the worst in her would come up and choke her to death. So she felt just enough shame for that. But only just.

How pathetic it would have been to send him away. To let him win. To admit that even now—as Arlessa and Commander and blood mage and the greatest necromancer that had lived in centuries—she was still afraid of a man for the symbol on his armor.

No. She was done. The Templar could stay if he wanted. and maybe he’d die, and maybe he wouldn’t. And maybe he would be a good and loyal Warden and he would do good things with his life, and that would be good.

And then again, maybe he wouldn’t. And Loriel would boil his blood inside his veins, and that would also be good. But she would never be afraid again.

Not ever.

—

“Did I hear correctly? There’s a Templar among the recruits?”

“Yes,” Yvanne said moodily. “You heard correctly.”

Anders shook his head. “Are you sure? It could be that I’m having spontaneous massive bleeding in the brain.”

“I could give you a once-over, I guess,” she joked weakly.

“You have to talk to her.”

“I already did.”

“Well, can you do it again?” he demanded.

“I could, if I wanted to invite additional strife into my marriage.” She snorted. “But I won’t.”

He rounded on her. “You’re going to allow a Templar into the Wardens to avoid a little marital strife?”

“Step off,” she snapped. “I’m not happy about it, either.”

Anders fumed. “You know this is obviously an attempt by the Chantry to spy on us. I’m sure of it. It wasn’t as though they were going to stand for this many free mages in the Wardens. It was bound to happen.”

“Right, well, I don’t know about all that—”

“What, you think I’m being paranoid?” Anders demanded.

“No? I just meant—”

“And what about Justice? You think this Templar isn’t going to notice a possessed corpse walking around?”

Yvanne threw her hands up. “I don’t know! Half the time, I have no idea what Loriel’s thinking. But she’s always come through before, even when I didn’t understand what she was doing or why.”

“Yeah, well,” Anders said darkly, “You weren’t at Drake’s Fall.”

Yvanne’s hands tightened on the bannister. “Don’t remind me.”

“No, I just meant…you didn’t see her.”

She had, though. She thought about telling him. She’d told Loriel, who claimed it hadn’t bothered her, that she had nothing to hide, but she’d told nobody else. Even thinking about it gave her an unpleasant sinking feeling in her stomach, like she was doing something shameful that needed to be hidden.

“What, exactly, happened at Drake’s Fall?” she asked instead.

He raised an eyebrow. “She didn’t tell you?”

“She did. She told me everything,” Yvanne said, more defensively than she meant.

“So you know you she made a deal with it,” said Anders. “That darkspawn, the Architect.”

“Yes, I do.” Yvanne drew herself up. “And what about it?”

Anders shook his head, staring off like he was struggling to understand. “She talked to it like...I don’t know, like it was a colleague! An old friend, or something!”

“Doesn’t shock me. She’s always been diplomatic.” Her expression darkened. “Even to the worst monsters.”

“You don’t understand,” Anders insisted. “You didn’t see her. It was like she was a completely different person.”

“You don’t know her like I know her,” Yvanne said smoothly, but inside a little voice wailed, She was, she was different! Who was that woman I saw? I didn’t know her.

“I s’pose I don’t,” Anders muttered. “But it was bad. I mean, I’m not one to judge, personally—Loriel’s a big girl, hey? She can wheel and deal with ancient darkspawn magisters all she wants, no skin off my nose. But Sigrun and Justice didn’t feel that way.”

Alarm bells rang. “What do you mean?”

“I mean they really didn’t feel that way. I almost thought we’d end up fighting to the death about it.”

Loriel had vaguely mentioned their disapproval. Yvanne had even seen part of the argument, in a fashion. But to the death?

Anders was still talking. “It didn’t come to that, thank the Maker. She talked them both down. But for a second there I really thought I’d have to...anyway, it didn’t come to that.”

Yvanne couldn’t help but notice that Anders had failed to mention who he would have sided with, if it had come to that.

But it hadn’t.

“Nothing would have happened,” Yvanne said, less certainly than she would have liked. “They wouldn’t. She’s their commander. Their friend.”

“She was , anyway.” He paused. “Justice probably doesn’t have any hard feelings. You know how he is. Doesn’t really hold grudges. Funny, isn’t it? A spirit of Justice that doesn’t hold grudges?”

“Right. Funny. Ha, ha.” Yvanne had probably never pronounced a hollower laugh.

“In that case, we should figure something out for Justice before the Chantry’s little lapdog goes crying all the way to a Revered Mother about the revenants the big scary mage commander is hiding in her tower of horrors.”

“Probably,” Yvanne muttered, pushing past him.

—

Yvanne roiled deep in one of the worst moods of her life.

She’d been in a lot of bad moods in her life, but never this particular awful combination of contradictory feelings that overlapped and bled into each other like oil swirling upon water. It was giving her a headache. Every time she tried to be angry at Loriel, she felt guilty. And every time she felt guilty, she felt self-righteous at the very idea that she had anything to feel guilty for when she was so obviously in the right. And every time she felt self-righteous, she felt pathetic. Why did she possibly need to be so defensive here in her castle where she and her wife were the rulers?

She and her wife, she thought. Who’d have ever thought such a thing? Who could have ever imagined?

And yet still here she was, roving through her castle like a caged tiger, heartbroken and pulsating like a poisoned vein of lyrium.

She didn’t understand, she just didn’t understand. What Loriel had said made sense. They did need to let go of their past, fully become Wardens and not mere Circle mages. It all made perfect sense and Yvanne still didn’t understand. She thought again of the strange cold woman she had seen in her visions, who she recognized but did not quite know, who was not her Loriel. If only she hadn’t looked, she could have brushed off Anders’ words like so much goosefeather down. But as it was….

She found herself, almost against her wishes, making her way to the new recruits’ barracks.

When she got there, a few of the recruits, two human women and an elven man, were playing dice and chatting about something. Yvanne almost barked at them to get back to their duties before realizing that it was the middle of the night, it wasn’t their patrol, and they didn’t currently have any duties.

“Have you seen Rolan?” she asked instead as they all hurriedly rose to salute her. They didn’t know. He’d gone out less than an hour ago. He hadn’t said where he was going.

What was he playing at? Did he think she would not notice? Did he think her so stupid? She couldn’t stand for that.

She thanked the recruits and turned on her heel. It was late and dark and the lit sconces provided only barely enough light. She could have lit a magelight, but didn’t. This wasn’t a mood to be lit.

The Templar was not in the kitchen. He was not in the entrance hall. He was not in the courtyard.

Finally she found him, in the little chapel at the edge of the Keep. She hadn’t quite finished renovations here yet.

He jerked as she approached, as though startled out of deep prayer.

“Hello, Rolan,” she said, sliding into the pew beside him. She smiled broadly and clasped him on the shoulder.

“Good evening, Warden-Lieutenant,” he said, although it was well past evening. “Do you need me for anything—ser?” He remembered just in time.

“Are you a pious man, Rolan?” Yvanne asked, ignoring the question.

“I like to think so, ser.”

“One would have to be quite pious to be in the chapel this late at night, wouldn’t you say?”

“I enjoy the quiet,” he said, nervous. “It’s peaceful.”

Her grip on his shoulder tightened. “Is this piety why you joined the Templars, Rolan? Did you feel it was your duty?”

“I...suppose so, ser.” His voice wavered. Only slightly, but it did. Good.

Several times he appeared to try to speak, but every time he thought better of it. “I think I’d like to return to the barracks, ser. It’s late.”

She released him. “Yes, so it is.”

He rose and made for the exit, made to escape.

“Wait a moment, Rolan,” she said softly. “That’s an order.”

He stopped and turned around, his head lowered. “Ser?”

“I just wanted to make sure we both knew exactly where we stand,” she said. “After all that unpleasantness from before.”

“Yes, ser.” He bowed his head in contrition. “I’m sorry for how I behaved before. I hope we can put that behind us.”

She regarded him. “You’re very good at being deferent, Rolan. I suppose they taught you that in the Order.”

“Yes, ser.”

“But it won’t help.”

He straightened anxiously. “Ser?”

“I don’t know why the fuck you’re here,” she hissed, advancing.

“I explained—”

“Shut up. You know, one of my Wardens thinks you’re a Chantry spy here to report on the Commander’s activities. What do you think of that, Rolan?”

“I—”

“I said, shut up!”

He tried to speak, but whatever he had meant to say, he suddenly found his magically tongue leaden in his mouth.

She scrutinized him. “I don’t think you’re a Chantry spy, Rolan. You should find that encouraging. If I thought you were a spy, you’d already be dead. But lucky for you, I don’t think that. I think you’re probably telling the truth. I think you really believe all that garbage about a second chance.”

He gave a series of tiny, desperate nods.

“But it doesn’t matter what you fucking believe. While you are here you are a danger to me and mine. So mark my words, Ser Templar—”

He tried to take a step back. He moved quickly enough that it looked to her like an attempt to get away. A wordless gesture sent him slamming backwards against the stone walls, not enough to injure, but enough to hurt.

“Did I say you were dismissed, Ser Templar? We were having a conversation.”

She held him pinned against the wall with the force spell, his feet several inches off the ground.

“I suggest you stay still,” she said. “If I had to paralyze you in order to finish our conversation, I might accidentally stop your lungs.”

He gave the fainest suggestion of a nod, sweat pouring from his temples.

She strolled up. He was a big man, round-shouldered and burly, and she had to lift her chin to look him in the eye. “The Warden-Commander may have granted you permission to remain here. And I will not go against her decision. If you wish to stay, then by all means, stay. But let me make something perfectly clear.” She bared her teeth. “If you give me so much as a hint that any of your loyalty to the Order remains, I will kill you. The Commander could kill you painlessly, easily, with barely a thought, but I am not her equal. If I decide to kill you, I may well get sloppy. It may take you many minutes to die. And what long minutes they will be. If you give me so much as a hint, a breath, an inkling of a suggestion, that you are more trouble to my people than trouble to the Commander’s reputation, you will die, and no one will question your death, and that will be that. If, of course, you decide to stay. Do you understand, Ser Templar?”

She released her hold on him just enough to let him nod. Tears sprung to his eyes. They were a watery blue. He was terrified of her.

It suddenly occurred to Yvanne that this boy was probably younger than she was.

She stepped back, a ringing in her ears. He didn’t move. Of course not, he wouldn’t dare. “You—You may go,” she said.

He fled before her fury like a mouse before a lion.

She could have killed him, Yvanne realized. She could have killed him right then, and nobody would have stopped her. Not that she’d never killed anybody before, but never anybody helpless. And he had been helpless.

Shame filled her, hot and acrid. She shouldn’t have come here. Loriel had been right about everything.

Yvanne half-hoped her threat had worked just so she wouldn’t have to see anybody so afraid of her again. And hoped that he’d live, if he stayed, so that she’d have a chance to make up for it, somehow. No light, save from the candles, filled the chapel, and that was just as well. She felt sick and ugly.

She went to the courtyard, taking deep gulps of night air. Her lungs hurt. She drew water from the well, cold clear water, splashed it on her face, then stood gripping the cistern until her heart slowed. She lowered herself to the ground, her back against the stone, looking up at the stars.

Maybe she’d never fully escape the Tower. Maybe a part of her heart was still locked in it. Maybe she’d spend her whole life still trying to escape it.

But she had to try.

She sighed and stood up to go back inside and to bed. At least now she could stop being angry with Loriel. She hated being angry with Loriel.

Yes, she’d been right. Time to move on. Time to live.

—

Rolan lived through his Joining. Yvanne lived to be glad of it, then lived to regret it.

#dragon age #femslash #dragon age: awakening #amell #surana #dragon age femslash #dragon age: origins #please read my wizard lesbian fanfiction

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aerialsquid · 5 years

Text

Back on my nonsense.

A small fic that spun entirely out of the idea that 1. A guy named David Shield in a canon wher everyone has meaningful/pun names has a strong likelihood of being Jewish, 2. Melissa’s birthday is in early October, 3. Her bat mitzvah Torah portion was probably one of the last few chapters of the Torah. Also it’s been nearly two decades since my b-mitzvah so apologizes if I got some details wrong. It was a long day and I fell asleep on the bimah so my memories are kinda hazy in general.

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Toshinori Yagi, David Shield, Melissa Shield, Assorted OCs

Content Warning: Contains Angst and Feels.

There were three types of people in the room at Melissa Shield's bat mitzvah. .

The first type saw the massive full-rack-of-beef blonde man awkwardly wedged next to Melissa's father in a pew too small for him and assumed he must be a member of the family. A brother, perhaps. His shimmering blonde hair was only a few shades darker than that of the girl leading prayers from the bimah, after all. If anything, the huge man looked more like Melissa Shield than her father did, and he was close to David in age.

The second type knew David Shield a little better, and knew that David had no brothers but had a 'good friend in Japanese hero work', so assumed the giant muscled stranger was some gentile friend of the family. The huge man didn't pray out loud with them but didn't have that look of polite awkwardness that most non-Jews had when they were invited to attend services for a faith they didn't know in a language they didn't speak. Instead, the man watched everything with quiet determination, as if this service was the most important event of his life, as if every syllable Melissa dropped was an awe-inspiring victory.

The third type didn't know why he was there and didn't care, because the third type was two teenagers silently shrieking throughout the entire service because HOLY SHIT THAT'S ALL MIGHT HE'S SITTING RIGHT THERE THAT'S ALL MIGHT.

(There were only two people in the audience that knew all three were correct. That All Might - a friend and more than a friend - was bound to the Shield family not just by love but by blood, by the gift that Yagi gave a brilliant man who could create anything except a child. Blonde hair was a recessive trait and Dave was a brunette, but in a world where children were born with scales and spider legs, no one thought to ask inappropriate questions.)

"Five bucks says you're going to tear up before she even gives her speech," Dave whispered, smiling. "I know how you are."

"I'm not taking that bet," Yagi muttered back. "I mean, look at her."

Melissa was radiant in her red dress with ruffled hem. A custom-made talis hung around her shoulders, white and blue cloth shot through with silver thread along the edges. You could power cars with the glow coming off Melissa Shield.

Yeah, Yagi was glad he'd packed a few hankerchiefs.

Melissa's eyes sought out the two men sitting in the front row. Yagi shot Melissa a discreet (as discreet as hands that huge could be) thumbs up, and he saw her mouth twitch upward in a nervous smile. It wasn't some pass/fail test, and even if it was, she'd score with flying colors like she did every other exam. Still, she was nervous enough that she almost walked into the stubby wings sticking out from under the gabbai's talis.

"Barchu adonai hamvorach," intoned the man doing the first aliyah.

"Baruch adonai hamvorach layolam vaed!" echoed back the parts of the congregation that knew the words. Yagi, silent, tried instead to exhude as much confidence and support as he could without physically getting up and shouting how wonderful she was. It was a near thing.

Melissa stepped forward, put on a bright smile, bent her head, and began to read from the scroll laid out on the podium.

Parashah Haazinu. Book of Deuteronomy Chapter 32. Yagi's thick finger traced the tiny lines of text, following in the English. It was mostly poetry, God saving this and smiting that. Toshi had never been one for religion, especially the way it was done in America - not opposed to it either, just unfamiliar with it. Dave was the first Jewish person he'd ever met and he'd had to go halfway around the world to meet him. He knew the dramatis personae - Adam, Eve, Abraham, Moses, etc. - mainly from pop culture.

There'd been a brief moment in college when he'd decided he was going to read the entire Bible, cover to cover, in English, just to impress David. The vow had lasted for the first three or four chapters before he'd given up in frustration at how wordy and dull the text was.

Melissa's voice stayed strong, not faltering for a single syllable, and Yagi's chest ached with pride. (Mostly pride. It ached for a lot of reasons these days.)

Melissa had been practicing reading her Torah portion for months, and she'd read it out to him over video chat several times, slowly tracing the lines of Hebrew with her finger as she read them out in a sing-song tone, stopping and retracing steps when she transposed one extended vowel for another. Yagi had heard it enough times that he almost could have done the reading himself, though he had no idea what any of it meant.

His mind wandered as he read and he found himself lingering on the English side of the page, gaze occasionally hopping down to the itty-bitty footnotes printed in text he almost needs a magnifying glass to read. The book was tiny in his hands already. Yagi pushed his reading glasses up his nose and skipped past the poetry and the logistical details to the final section of the portion - Moses, leader of the Jews, going up on the mountain to die within sight of the land of Israel.

Yagi felt a twist in the stomach he knew for a fact was no longer there.

He peeked ahead a few pages. There wasn't much left, Melissa was reading from the tail end of the final book of the Torah, but there might be some shocking twist...nope, no last minute reprieve. After all his hard work, Moses died without setting foot in the land he'd lead his people to. God permitted him to climb a mountain and look into the land, but not to live in it. There was a lot of tiny-printed commentary discussing, justifying, and criticizing it, but no one was arguing that Moses was actually just resting.

Yagi's hand touched the still-healing wound at his side, then flinched away before Dave could see it.

It seemed unfair. But maybe it was sufficient to know you'd succeeded. To know your children - the ones you'd raised, the ones you'd lead to safety through adversity and hardship, the ones you'd stood as a beacon for - would find peace. Perhaps Moses was content with that.

If it was good enough for a prophet of a god, it was good enough for the Symbol of Peace, right? It had to be good enough, because if Nighteye was right it was all he was going to get.

"See? I was right," David muttered with a chuckle.

"Hm?"

"I told that you wouldn't make it through the service without crying."

#davemight #bnha #david shield #melissa shield #all might #toshinori yagi #squid writes fanfic #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #no beta we die like mne

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ragtag-writer · 5 years

Text

WIP Extracts: Prophecy Prawns

Hello, I’m not dead!

I thought I’d shove a quick thing I pieced together on here, just to keep it up and running until I can truly get around to it. University really be like that, huh!

Like I said, I kinda threw this together from some of the bits and pieces I had laying around in my files, so it’s not a masterpiece just yet, haha! If you have any feedback or questions don’t hesitate to let me know!

Lawrence hadn’t expected much trouble being a fishmonger. All he wanted to do was give people their kippers and try not to think about how much he was disappointing his parents. However, his boss had rather skipped the lesson on what to do if the king prawns started declaring themselves Prophets of Armageddon to the Sunday morning customers.

The day had started perfectly normally, with him gutting out the latest shipment of haddock from Lowport, handing Mrs Jones her weekly order of cod and setting up the front stall. It had all started when he had gotten himself into the back room and was attempting to remove the head from a particularly unwieldy salmon.

“AND LOW, TERRIBLE PAIN SHALL SPREAD ACROSS THE LAND!”

Lawrence jolted up from his stool as a booming voice echoed from the front parlour. He hurriedly stepped back from his desk and shoved through the beaded curtains to see Mrs Alderton frozen in the middle of the room.

Lawrence shuffled his way past the counters as he watched the elderly lady looking back at him in shock.

“Mrs Alderton, we’ve talked about this kind of thing not being allowed in the shop anymo-“

“IT IS NIGH, THE END, THE GREAT WINTER IS UPON US,”

Lawrence paused looking down at the lady next to him

“That wasn’t you...was it?” He asked slowly

The lady shook her head with a scowl played across her lips

“This is demons, I bet it is, can’t even go and buy your groceries without em being all over the place,” She muttered, pulling out a small vial. The same one she waved at the bakers two streets down because she thought there were trolls hiding in the bread baskets. He couldn’t blame her, the apprentices they had hired recently really were shocking.

“You know I’m right! Bet it those things from last Thursday like I said it’d be!”

“Mrs Alderton, for the last time those were scallops not demon eggs,” He sighed, wiping his hands down his apron

“Now, can I get you anything? We have a great offer on sea bass at the mome-,”

“THE DARKNESS HAS ARRIVED FOR US ALL, REPENT, REPENT!”

Lawrence froze as the voice boomed once again from behind him, filling the room. Mrs Aldertone reached into her purse again, pulling out a large hairpin.

“Oh they aren’t taking me today! Come on you bastards!” She yelled out into the room, waving her hairpin around erratically,

“There watching us! I can feel it! Demons I say, demons!” She spat out at the ceiling,

Lawrence could feel it too. Eyes, all beadily trained on the back of his neck. He slowly turned and looked downwards at the cabinet before him.

They stared up at him expectantly

Lawrence gulped, rubbing the back of his neck

“YOU SEE US, BUTCHER,”

He nodded, terror seizing him

“H-hello, can I help you?”

The eyes didn’t stray from him

“WE LIVE AGAIN.”

“I can see that yes,” He laughed awkwardly as Mrs Aldertone swang her purse towards him, clattering the back of his head

“OW!” He yelled, wincing and drawing away from her furious stare

“Didn’t they teach you not to talk to strangers!” She shouted

“I gutted them this morning, I think that makes us at least acquaintances!” Lawrence said indignantly “and what do you have in there a brick!” He winced

She looked at him haughtily

“A priest is needed here boy, and exorcists, demonologists, investigators!” She muttered, hurrying towards the door, tossing the small vial to him

“Distract them until I get back here!” She called out, the door slamming behind her. So much for not talking to demons

He turned back to the cabinet

“WE LIVE AGAIN.” They stated

He nodded

“Uh, yes, um, lovely weather for it?” He said shakily, tentatively backing away from the cases.

“WE REQUIRE WATER,”

Lawrence nodded hastily

“Yes, yes that would be for the best wouldn’t it,” He stammered, turning and facing the shop. A fishmonger, whilst very good at keeping fish around, wasn’t so much in the business of keeping them alive.

Eventually he managed to grab a bucket from under the counter that he usually deposited fish innards into. Running to the tap he hastily filled it up and placed it in front of the cabinet,

He hesitated slightly before dashing into the back room, grabbing a box of salt that his boss had bought to make the salt lines by the window after the second incident. Running back into the main room he began to tip the salt into the bucket. From what Lawrence could remember of his year 7 biology class, he was pretty sure shrimp were salt water based. Pretty sure.

“If I unlock this, you’re not going to smite me or something are you?” He said suspiciously, hand hovering over the handle to the cabinet.

“WE ARE MEARLY THE CRIERS OF WHAT IS TO PASS,”

Laurence hummed

“Do criers bite or anything?”

“WE DO NOT CURRENTLY POSSES TEETH,”

He shrugged, flipping the handle and pushing the casing up,

“I mean you’ve got to be talking with something right?”

The prawns seemed to process this for a second

“WE ARE NOT…FAMILIAR WITH THIS MODE OF COMMUNICATION,”

Lawrence finally was looking at the prawns huddled together into the ice that he had rested them on not a few hours earlier.

“You guys talk to each other? How come I’ve never heard you before?”

“BEING DEAD HAS A TENDANCY TO MAKE ONE LOSE THEIR VOICE.”

Lawrence winced

“Ok, I guess, but how are you speaking English?” He said reaching into the cabinet. One of the prawns scuttled forward and onto his hand. The rest of the watched cautiously from the ice. Gently moving his hand back, he lifted them out of the cabinet.

“WE ARE MERELY CHANNELING OUR TRUTHS INTO THE UNIVERSE, IT HAS NO BARRIER OF LANGUAGE.” It blinked from the palm of his hand.

Laurence scoffed

“Yeah? Tell that to my French teacher,” He muttered darkly, placing the prawn into the bucket

“Better?” He asked

“MUCH, THANK YOU,”

“No problem. Do you always have to yell like that?” Lawrence questioned, placing his arm back into the cabinet, the rest of the prawns hastily scrambling onto his arm, as he deposited 5 more into the bucket.

“WE FEEL IT HELPS PUNCTUATE OUR WARNINGS,”

“Yes, but it is rather loud isn’t it?”

“Sorry. It’s rather hard being taken seriously these days, it helps get the message across,”

“Which is?”

“THE ARMAGEDDON IS NIGH, YOUR GODS STAND UNWATCHING. THEY ARE COMING.”

“Huh” Laurence looked down at the bucket

“So, what happened to you guys then? The last time I looked at you, you were all very dead,”

He thought he had made sure of that.

“We are…unsure. We can only see what is yet to pass. We have been modified for purpose,”

Lawrence nodded, sitting himself down in front of the bucket. He rubbed his head slightly, leaning back against the counter. It made sense. From what he could remember, prawns couldn’t walk on land. He couldn’t exactly sell them in this state either, he wasn’t sure what the food standards laws said about demonic possessions but it at the very least fell under cross contamination.

He sighed. Mrs Aldertone had probably gotten her hands on a priest or the like by now. The last time this had happened his boss was very clear on how expensive an exorcism is and how the next one would be coming out of his pay check if he let it happen again.

The prawns looked at him curiously as he stood up

“Well, I suppose I should be letting you guys get on your way then, starting the apocalypse and such,”

“We are merely predicting it’s forthco-“

He waved a hand dismissively

“Whatever, listen, you should really be getting going, there’s a very God fearing woman about to get back here and I hear she’s got an extremely good paella recipe-“

“The human digestive tract is not strong enough to hinder u-“

“Well I don’t care! I don’t get paid enough to deal with demons this regularly! Do you know what minimum wage is? Rent? Do you know how difficult it is to get the money together for a deposit with Balthazar sticking his head out of my freezer twice a week!” He grumbled, grabbing the handle of the bucket

“We are not demons, we ar-“

“I said I didn’t care! Look, there’s a tropical fish store just down the street, I’m sure they’ll take you if you wave your claws in sync or something.”

He tugged the bucket into the backroom, the prawns clicking in protest

“WE SHALL NOT BE TREATED AS MERE PETS” They yelled back as the bucket sloshed water onto the floor. A few pincers reached over the edge of the bucket, snipping at his hands

Lawrence yelped, stumbling back

“Paella it is!” He growled, rolling up his sleeves, reaching towards bucket.

A small ding rang out from the front of the store, and he and the bucket froze.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” A female voice called from the front room.

Laurence sighed. It looked like this would have to wait. Putting on his best customer service face, he left the bucket of flailing pincers on the ground and hurried out to the front desk.

As he pushed through the beaded curtain, he was met with the face of a young woman scanning the front room. She wore a thick green winter coat, a woollen hat with stands of brown hair peeking out over her forehead, and a large brown leather satchel slung over her shoulder.

He smiled at her graciously, stepping behind the counter

“Good morning! Can I help you today? We have a great offer on sea bass this week!” He rattled off, smile twitching slightly

The woman smiled back, waving her hand

“Oh no I’m fine, I heard a woman on the street mentioning demons at the fishmongers, could I speak to them please?” She said brightly, rummaging around in her satchel and pulling out a flashy green notepad

Lawrence gritted his teeth to keep his smile in place as he mentally cursed Mrs Aldertone.

“I’m so sorry, it would go against several workplace policies of supernatural-“

“I’ll pay you,” She countered, holding up an envelope

Waving his arm back he ushered her behind him

“Right this way Miss,”

#writblr #amwriting #prophect prawns #ragtagwriting #2 #sorry for the delay in posting things lol #i am but a humble uni student with many words that I gotta put in a vague order #but yeah #thanks for reading!#it's not the most coherent thing I've ever written #or the most serious lol

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newyorkcitywater · 6 years

Note

U should drabble abt a demigod that has to work at retail that REALLY wants to smite the dumbass customers but they cant

gotcha!

Retail sucks. Retail suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks.It sucks even more when you have to remind yourself not to smite the customers.

“Hi!” I chirp in my sunniest customer-service voice. “How can I help you today?”Good gods, it’s Karen. The good old frosty blonde haircut, the kid she’s letting take EVERYTHING off the shelves, and...yup, that’s the opener.

“Can I speak to the manager?” she barks. No please, no “hi, how are you,” though I don’t know why I even bothered expecting that.

Calm down. Calm the hell down. It’s either smite her or do the whole “yeah I’m actually the manager” thing and both will end badly.

“Sure!” I say. “Let me just...” I spin around. “Hi, I’m the manager. What can I do for you?”Seeing her face go red is not as satisfying as throwing a ball of lightning into her face, but it’s still up there.

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scrawnydutchman · 2 years

Text

Why Streaming Services Should Be Free (With Ads)

I’m sure many whom are reading this have already heard the news. Netflix is NOT in good shape right now. Its stock plummeted 35% this week, lost millions of dollars and, most tragic of all, has disbanded it’s animation sector in response to this event. This is due to a number of factors, but one especially sticks out. Recent studies show that an astronomical amount of Netflix users are password borrowers. One person pays for Netflix’s subscription fee and then passes it around to family and friends. It’s so widespread that Netflix has inadvertently been essentially offering it’s service for free to millions of people. In light of this news, one may ask:

What could they have done differently?

What could Netflix have done to prevent this mass sharing of passwords? What could they do to make a significant difference against all SORTS of methods of pirating? Well, I have a suggestion. Something That I have believed to be the best method for streaming services for years.

ALL streaming services including Netflix, Disney+, HBO Max, Appletv and others, should offer their services for free with ads. And provide an option for users to purchase a subscription and in turn get their content ad free and with better video playback.

I’ve had many people express skepticism to this suggestion, but their objections have only strengthened my resolve. Here are just a few reasons why Streaming services should have a “free with ads” option.

1. It puts a meaningful dent in content piracy

Have you ever wanted to watch a show, but you didn’t have the money to purchase it, and so you start looking online for free ways to watch it and you come across a website that, while it’s littered with invasive and obnoxious ads about some MMO you don’t want to play, you still come back to this website over and over because it offers all sorts of shows and movies you want to check out for free and the video playback is relatively competent compared to other piracy websites? Of course you have. Everyone in the world with access to the internet has done this. This proves to me one thing: Viewers will absolutely put up with ads as long as they get their content free of charge. So here’s a thought. You want to meaningfully combat online piracy? Make resorting to online piracy not necessary to begin with. Just do what piracy websites do only with ads for legitimate businesses and products and make the video quality better.

2. It ends the need for password sharing

What’s the number one reason people share their passwords to accounts with their family and friends? It’s because everybody wants to watch their favorite show together but not everyone wants to pay/can pay. So the easy solution is to grant everyone access to the same account. But this is no longer necessary if the service is free with ads. If you want to make a trade off for making it so a streaming service is only accessible on one device at a time, make it so in exchange everyone in the family can still watch Better Call Saul as long as some sit through a 30 second ad once in a while.

3. Similar services already do something like this

Think about PC gaming. There are SO MANY high quality games that are free to play nowadays. Team Fortress 2. Fortnite. Smite. DC Universe Online. Many of the most popular games around are popular because anyone can hop on and play without necessarily having to pay for anything. Instead, they make bank via their purchasable customization DLC. The initial service is free and they get their player base into the game enough to drop a little extra cash. It works like a charm.

Also, consider social media apps and other internet services. LinkedIn. Spotify. Discord. Twitter. All of these services are free with extra options locked behind a subscription service.

Free with ads and limited access is the model of the modern online service. It’s about time streaming services got with the program and stopped pretending to be cable.

Now, allow me to address some of the criticisms of this idea I have already faced, because I have an answer to all of them.

“Ads don’t make as much money as a subscription. This reduces a service’s ability to make original exclusive content”.

I would like to point your attention to Youtube Red

Youtube does something very similar to what I’m describing. It is a website where anyone can have a free account as long as they allow ads to play before and after their content, but if they don’t want ads anymore they can purchase a subscription and in turn not ONLY get rid of the ads, but also get higher quality playback and access to Youtube’s original content, as well as other features the subscription offers. Now, Youtube Red is rather infamous for not having original content that is worth paying the price for. A lot of it is poorly written and poorly produced. This I will not dispute. HOWEVER. this is not because they are unable to pay for better content with the current business model. Far from it. They hired Dan Harmon to write one of their original shows, reached out to major animation studios like Mainframe to create original animated content and even premiered the critically acclaimed Cobra Kai on their platform. Youtube VERY MUCH has the financial means to create great content. You don’t get talent and resources like that by being cheap. They just need to put those resources in more capable hands and invest in better projects. If they do this, they have the potential to become an INCREDIBLY strong competitor against the top dogs of the streaming world.

“I don’t use pirating websites for my content. I torrent movies and tv shows instead”.

I can’t deny that there will always be a workaround no matter what you do. Some people refuse to make any kind of compromise for their content. But that doesn’t change the fact that many in the world use the methods I am describing and taking on this new business model will make resorting to those means unnecessary. It can’t hurt your business any more than raising prices for no good reason and locking a great deal of your content for regional purposes (region locking is an archaic and ridiculous concept in a world of such online prominence but that’s a rant for another day).

Bottom line, the key to making people want to use your service is to make the content you offer as easy to access as possible. That’s what everybody is looking for in the end: easily attainable entertainment. The harder you make it to access the harder it’s going to be to sustain your business.

#netflix original #streaming #netflix #piracy

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neviahofflame · 6 years

Text

Lyra’s Luck: The Price of Greed pt. 1

Note: This is unedited, and is part 1 of 3.

When Lyra worked in retail, she learned signs of "Bad Day Incoming". The signs were different now that she ran her own business, but she still knew them. Walking into the front room of her office to find a middle-aged woman tapping her foot was one; admittedly one shared with retail, so it instinctively triggered a shudder. Devi being nowhere in sight was another, newer sign.

"Finally! That girl just bolted out of the room and left me waiting. It certainly isn't a good impression of a business, when the secretary refuses to even speak with a customer."

Lyra forced her face back into what she called her "retail smile", meaning a polite smile without showing how much she wanted to light the woman on fire. "Allow me a moment to check on her."

The woman scowled. "I've been waiting!"

Lyra paused at the door leading to the conference room and kitchen. She owned this business. She didn't have to be spoken to like this. "Well, you can continue waiting, or you can get out. I don't care."

She left the woman spluttering in the front room, more concerned about Devi. She found her missing coworker standing over the kitchen sink, knuckles white from clenching the counter. Her sunglasses were still firmly on her face, but Lyra could see fangs among Devi's clenched teeth.

"Is she still out there?" It was hard to make out, since Devi didn't open her teeth to say the words, but Lyra was getting used to listening carefully.

"Maybe? I wasn't terribly polite, so she might have left. Care to share what's happening?" Lyra couldn't *see* anything, but the air around Devi was uncomfortably warm, so she edged toward the coffee maker.

Devi was quiet, and Lyra could see her throat working, so she wasn't surprised when Devi finally managed to whisper "Deri". Lyra stayed silent, measuring coffee grounds into the machine and making a mental note to thank Devi for filling the pot with water before this problem occurred.

Several moments passed as Lyra watched the coffee brew and Devi wrestled with her instinctive protection of her sister and the agreement she and Deri both made with Lyra. When she cleared her throat, Lyra looked over to find that Devi had shifted to face her.

"That woman is human, sort of. Maybe it is better to say she once was. There is evil clinging to her, and it called to my nature as well as Deri's."

Lyra nodded at the explanation. "Deri agreed when we started this that she wouldn't just smite people for coming to the office. We both know the evil might be an outside force the woman is looking to us for help with."

Devi hesitated. "It is possible, but without spending more time around her, I can't get any further information. I will remind Deri of her agreement, however."

"Awesome." Lyra grinned and poured herself a cup of coffee, ignoring Devi's disgusted grimace. It was mostly a joke; while Devi couldn't stand the taste of coffee, she was as much of a caffeine addict as Lyra was, and she still filled the pot for Lyra. "All right, should we see if I managed to be rude enough to get rid of a potential customer?"

Devi sighed, but followed Lyra as she headed back to the front room, head held high and confidence in her step. The woman was still waiting, face red with rage. Lyra found she wasn't terribly surprised; the woman either needed their help, or really got her jollies screaming at people.

"How dare you treat me like this? I am a paying customer-"

"You aren't, though. You might be later, but you aren't yet, since no money has exchanged hands." Lyra interrupted, a bright smile plastered on her face as she sat in the "interview" area.

Devi sighed again, but brought Lyra a notebook and pen. Lyra would be lost entirely without Devi, and she should really work to keep people using their business so she could pay Devi what she deserved. To be fair, Lyra might not ever be able to make enough to pay Devi what she deserved.

"I want to speak with the owner." The woman's face was almost purple, and Lyra was sort of concerned for her health. More for the trouble it would cause the office, but still, it was worry.

Devi disappeared into the back rooms again as Lyra sipped her coffee and decided how she wanted to respond. "I am the owner. Lyra Ballotti, at your service, if the price is right." She said firmly, letting her smile drop. "You have two choices, ma'am; sit down and talk to me about why you're here, or leave."

She had a feeling the woman would sit. People didn't seek out the services Lyra and Devi provided unless it was a last resort, since most people liked to believe nothing went bump in the night. Lyra had been one of those people, once. She wouldn't go back if she could help it, but she could understand why others would want to.

"I do hope you will reprimand that girl for leaving a customer unattended." The woman grumbled as she sat.

"I'll thank you to speak of my partner with more respect, ma'am." Lyra said, making sure her voice was cold. She wouldn't be like her former supervisors, bending over and berating employees for bullshit complaints. "Now, what brought you to us?"

The woman scowled, but settled back in the visitor's chair. "There is a demon terrorizing my home and business."

Lyra sipped her coffee once more, then set it on the coffee table between herself and the woman. She flipped the notebook open to a blank page and wrote "demon?" on the third line. "Okay, I have a few questions."

"I should hope so." Lyra forced herself to keep her face blank, despite wanting to throw the woman out. It was possible the woman was only so pissy because of the suffering she'd endured. Lyra doubted it, but still.

"How about we start with a name?" Lyra suggested.

"How should I know what its name is?" The woman demanded.

"I meant your name, of course." Lyra said smoothly, smiling at the woman.

The woman's face reddened again. "Caroline Devitt."

Lyra wrote that on the first line. "You said the entity was terrorizing your home and business. How distant are these locations from each other?"

"I said it was a demon, girl. You need to listen." Devitt answered.

Lyra looked up from her notebook and stared at Caroline Devitt until her face flushed further. "I know what you said, and we'll get to why you believe it is a demon later. Now. Your home and business?"

Devitt shifted in her seat. "They are the same location. I run a bed and breakfast in the lower two levels of my home. A Mother's Touch, though I doubt you have heard of it." The sniff following her words made it clear Devitt didn't believe Lyra even knew what a bed and breakfast was.

Lyra, just glad she didn't have to drag the name of the business from Devitt, wrote everything down on the second line. "All right. Please describe the occurrences you've experienced."

"Oh, it's awful. I have had to replace every piece of linen in the house twice due to bloodstains. It writes horrible messages on my walls, and has been encouraging my children to endanger themselves. Four guests have checked out early, citing horrible visions." Devitt recounted, and Lyra found herself surprised that the woman sounded frustrated, not terrified. That was unusual, in Lyra's experience.

"How many children do you have, and what has it encouraged them to do?" Children meant they were taking the case, no matter Lyra's dislike of Devitt. Even Devi, horrified at the prospect of caring for children, wouldn't leave them in a dangerous situation.

"Just Carol and Ben, my darlings. Carol says it whispers that she should hide knives and other dangerous objects in her room. It has apparently been telling Ben to run away from home." Devitt's face darkened as she answered, which was a more expected behavior per Lyra's experience.

"That is concerning." Lyra said. "Do you have any guests at the moment? Anyone else in the home?"

"There are currently two couples staying with me. I have another reservation for four scheduled for the weekend." Lyra glanced at the calender Devi had put up after the walls were painted. It was currently Tuesday. "I really need this demon gone."

"Well, as long as pricing works for you, we'll take the case. Let me get Devi to go over our fees so that I may begin researching." Lyra pushed herself to her feet, one hand firmly holding the notebook while the other snagged her coffee.

"Since it seems most active at night, you should probably stay at my home while investigating." There was something about Devitt's tone of voice and the way she wouldn't meet Lyra's eyes that concerned Lyra. But she'd already said they would take the case, so she shrugged it off.

"I leave Devi to finalize the details, but that does sound logical." Lyra walked away, headed for the back room they'd turned into a library. Devi was usually there, if not at her desk in front.

Devi was in the library, writing furiously in a blue notebook. Lyra didn't understand Devi and Deri's situation at all, but she did recognize the notebook as the one method of communication the sisters had, so she waited for Devi to notice her. She took no insult when Devi slammed the notebook shut once she had noticed she wasn't alone; Lyra could only imagine how hard it had been for Devi to maintain her privacy.

"What have you decided?" Devi asked, eyes on the notebook in Lyra's hands.

"If she's willing to pay, we'll take it. She has kids that it's targeting, Devi." She added at Devi's grimace. "Will you go talk pricing with her while I start some research?"

"All right. Just know that I don't like this." Devi pushed herself to her feet. "Her name?"

"Caroline Devitt." Lyra answered. "And your discontent is filed under 'of utmost importance, but we still have to eat.'"

Devi chuckled softly before putting the blue notebook in the top left drawer of their single desk. She locked the drawer, pocketed the key, then left the room. Lyra sat in the chair and regarded the drawer.

She wanted to know; she really and truly did. She wouldn't betray Devi's trust to satisfy curiosity, however. Physically turning the chair to face away from temptation, she then stood to grab books.

Their library was probably the most impressive part of the office, not that clients saw it. Lyra didn't know, and didn't intend to ask, where Devi found these books, but they were incredible.

Most were written in English, though Lyra had heard Devi mutter about mistranslations, so she could look into the beings and entities they could encounter in their business. There was an entire shelf of books Devi was slowly translating for Lyra as well, which Lyra greatly appreciated. The covers for all of the books varied in design from dizzying occult patterns to splotches that Lyra desperately hoped weren't blood. She didn't kid herself about the books on the translation shelf, though; those were definitely blood splotches; since some of those books were bound in skin. Not human skin, she hoped, but skin nonetheless.

Lyra headed straight for the books on ghosts and hauntings. Everything Devitt told her sounded spot on for ghost hauntings. She selected a couple on malicious ghosts, then stopped before the books on demons. She grabbed one with a title she couldn't read, though Devi had helpfully put a post-it note on the spine translating the title to "When Demons Interact With Children". It couldn't hurt, after all, to research demons too.

Devi found Lyra an hour later, feet up on her chair so that her knees formed a natural resting spot for the books she was nose-nearly-to-page reading. Lyra didn't even notice her until Devi's fingers grasped the edge of the book and gently tugged it away.

"Oh, hey. How'd it go?" Lyra yawned, pushing her palms against her eyes.

"She agreed to the fees, and I have the address of A Mother's Touch." Devi set the book onto the desk with the others. "When Demons Interact With Children?"

"Devitt is concerned it's a demon, even with all the evidence pointing to a ghost. Figured it couldn't hurt to research all possibilities." Lyra snagged the book back from the desk. "This is fascinating, by the way."

"'Fascinating' isn't typically the description I hear of these books." Devi responded, an odd look on her face.

Lyra floundered for a moment, unsure how to read the look on Devi's face. "Well, whoever you've talked to about these books before are wrong." She hesitated, but it seemed important, so she added "My life would be so boring without you, Devi. I wouldn't change meeting you and Deri for anything."

Devi smiled, then grabbed Lyra's notebook from where it had been abandoned on the desk. "I'll help research, then we'll get an early night, since we're expected at A Mother's Touch tomorrow at eight."

Lyra groaned, making Devi laugh as she skimmed Lyra's notes. She took a few other volumes from the shelves, propped the door to the front open in case anyone else entered the shop, then joined Lyra in research.

#Lyra's Luck #original writing #The Price of Greed pt. 1 #Lyra Ballotti #Devi #fiction #fantasy

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