#seek out. He’s too allergic to vulnerability for that

[kittykatninja321]

Post-Flashpoint comics have been trying to push the idea of Jason as a ladies man and each time I have just not been convinced I say this with all the love in my heart I will concede to the fact that Jason Todd has had sex maybe 3 times. If I’m being generous

[isa-ghost]

I always want more q!phil headcanons, even if there are not asks about it

Oh fuck yeah man. Here's my previous sets if you haven't read them:

Set 1

Set 2

Set 3

And here's more:

He fucking HATES feeling on edge. He's extremely familiar with it, but that never dulls his hatred for the ick it gives him. That knot in his stomach, the flutter in his chest, the reeling in his mind, the fire in his nerves, the tremble in his limbs. That unshakeable feeling that no matter what or where he is, his back is vulnerable. This man wants to be Fight over Flight or Freeze EVERY time, so when he can't control the situation or can't anticipate what happens, he mcfreaks it. How can he prepare to survive when he doesn't know what to prep against? Or in the case of the Ender King business, how can he do anything to prepare against an all-powerful God?

He's struggling a bit with the whole Rose thing. Does he keep her a Death Family Secret? Does he extend her protection to his closest friends like Fit & Ramon? He'd like to give them the same extra layer of security he has from her, even if just to give Fit a little more peace of mind, but he respects Rose & values her & her aid deeply. He doesn't want to stretch her too thin, or worse, come off like he takes her love & protection for granted. It's the one case in which, while very tempting, he resists that urge to be overzealous. He's just torn because he doesn't want to see any of his friends hurt. So because of the way he is, he feels guilty that he has a secret extra oomph to how safe he & his kids are

Speaking of Rose, when there's no immediate crisis at hand, he loves to gush to her about life. He talks so highly of Missa & Fit & Etoiles. He asks her if she's seen the latest silly things Chayanne & Tallulah have done. He rants on and on about the Federation. Can you believe those guys Rose?

He tries and, like in all other situations, fails not to swear around/to Rose. She's a deity, a very.. not exactly formal, but Prestigious deity nonetheless. It's no place for swearing. But Phil is cursed with Autopilot Sailor Mouth so half the time he's dropping f bombs while heated or scared about something, he's not even registering what's coming out of his mouth. Besides, he's gotta focus his train of thought or else them 80 HDs he's got will derail it. Can't be focused on not saying the fuck word

Speaking of ADHD, much like his swearing, he sometimes doesn't register himself vocal stimming either. Boosh boosh boosh, he's tunnel-visioned on his task. The kids & polycule find it endearing to witness. Sometimes they get passed onto other islanders

He thinks Bagi is so fucking cool. Like yeah, it's cool his good friend Cellbit has a sister or whatever but that's not what makes her cool. She's fucking brilliant. She's headstrong, she knows what she wants & what she's looking for. She gets shit DONE. And god help whoever hinders her efforts. He's allergic to giving himself any credit whatsoever, so in his eyes she's a billion times cooler & smarter & more badass than he is, rather than like. A few thousand times cooler & smarter. But yeah, she's a superhero in his eyes

Tbh putting him with either of the Theory Twins is a sight to behold. Phil is a brilliant strategist & very resourceful. There's such strong, immaculate chemistry between this man who loves to think & is a natural at planning, and either of the twins who are good at making the puzzle pieces fit & seeking out nooks & crannies for more info. When put together they truly are a force to be reckoned with to the Federation

When left to his own devices & off-duty as dad + not needed by any of the islanders for something serious, he let's loose. No more wise bad bitch crow man who's palpably emotionally damaged yet won't admit it. He's off the shits. You've seen Eggza. That's him de-stressing by fully indulging his favorite things: preparing necessities for survival & being an absolute wildcard.

I can't tell if I like the idea he legitimately can't see glass bc crow hybrid or the idea that he fakes it to amuse the kids & his friends For The Bit better. Maybe he plays it off like a bit but he legit can't see it. Idk.

I said it in a rant about Phil's characterization and I'll say it again: this man doesn't fucking realize he's flawed. Like he thinks he is but not in the way he actually is. He doesn't recognize his actual flaws as flaws. Or doesn't realize they're flaws. Or maybe is ignoring that they're flaws because he uses them to cope or something. Either way. What this man THINKS are his flaws & his actual flaws are entirely different things. In his mind his actual flaws are something he thinks are normal bc he's just Been That Way for so long.

This one follows the assumption that hc!Phil & q!Phil are the same person but his memory is lost, BUT: while making multiple bases (Phil & Missa, The Nest, Uppies 2, etc) is a strategic move against threats, it's also perhaps... a subconscious thing on Phil's part. Discovering massive, beautiful places & adding his own touches to it to either restore or improve his finds... He can't quite place or even explain why he enjoys this.

He likes to collect things that make him think of his friends & the kids ("oh Tallulah will like this!" "Ooh, Fit said something about needing that!") but because he has that good ol ADHD memory, he'll store it in a backpack for later & then promptly forget about it or get distracted

God, he is so incredibly proud of Tallulah for liking to build pretty things like her farm or botanical garden. She really is su niña <3

[Wants to support Chayanne by being involved in his cooking hobby] [Observes Chayanne cooking] [Absorbs no knowledge whatsoever] :D

He hates the rain. Not only is it a Quesadilla Island Horrors omen, but it's also annoyingly wet & makes for even more dangerous mobs around. Also the bad weather makes his wing pain flare up

If only communicators (meta: in-game chat) allowed for sending pictures. At least then he could send Missa memes while they're apart 😭

Stay tuned, I have like 4 other sets coming because I got asks. :D

[nvrcmplt]

[ Reply too ] -- @mangher

It was a sight to witness, to be in front of so raw. Misha was never like this - a joker, a jack the lad, an annoying shit that cracked all his walls by kicking open his doors like he's hands were allergic to doorknobs. The doctor however felt like this wasn't something out of the idea of needing attention, of playing with the heart but a real, vulnerable Misha.

Staring in silence after asking what was on his mind to seek out Misha's reasoning to be this way - he felt himself fall numb. A monster. It wasn't harsh to think of oneself in that manner considering what they were - but to Aapeli, Misha was proud to be himself. The beast and him, had a connection - now the doctor was going to try and pay more attention to how the two minds connected. Was it an easy slip into the bestial mind like himself? Or was it more like a fight, like his friend Andrew, who despised anything to do with his wolf. The natures of the human and animal mind were complex, and the reality was harsh…

But, as Aapeli's thoughts silenced and his frame turned upon his own chair at his writing desk - he gave the other man all his attention. Moving to stand up when Misha was struggling with words, listening on and then finally the weight of it all. The reason as to why his friend was out like a deflated balloon. A heavy, heavy reasoning that warranted nothing but the purest of Aapeli's sympathies.

He reached out though once he was close enough, a hovering touch that retracted at the right time to instead settle on his own ass next to the other figure. Instead - opting to touching their shoulders with a bump. Stretching his legs out, and resting his hands between his knees - the Doctor's features were tensed with a weary furrow. Agony, he understood - though his own bloodline was still thriving in their hideaways in Finland, it wasn't like he hasn't witnessed the death of his loved ones.

At least two packs, he's been with and watched their ruin.

Once he believed to be his second home from his first, and then last being one he was trying to help only to be shunned and no longer able to help unbeating hearts.

"I'm sorry, Misha." A soft tone, but not one to cause irritation, instead it was spoken with true intentions to let the other know he wasn't alone. "You're no monster… annoying gremlin, at best --- but not a monster." Not in the sense he knows monsters out there. His hand rose from his lap this time to reach over, palm up in offering to something else to be connected if his shoulder was or wasn't taken.

"I'm here if you need to say more… It's not good to keep it inside that head of yours." An offering to be hear more, to take on the burdens and sadness of their life and the days long gone, but emotions still fresh. "I'll set up the spare bed for you... Rest here for tonight."

[samwpmarleau]

i haven't had a lot of interest in ted lasso but that schmidt/cece comparison got me. do you think it's accurate? why do you love jamie tartt and why should he and keeley be together?

I love Jamie for a lot of reasons! They’re under the cut because this got long.

(Re: The Schmidt/Cece comparison, full disclosure, I think I’ve watched like one episode of New Girl in my life — you can thank @stonesandswords​ for introducing me to those two — but from what I understand, they end up together so I’m on board! The scenes I’ve pulled up of them on YouTube have also by and large had Jamie/Keeley vibes, which has been fun to watch. So while I can’t say whether it’s beat-for-beat accurate or not because a) I haven’t seen the show and b) Ted Lasso isn’t done yet, meaning at this point it’s more of an it’s-always-sunny-meme type of thing, what I have seen has provided some nice parallels. The answer to your last question is at the end of this post.)

Mainly I love Jamie because of his depth. On the surface, and he’s presented as such in the beginning, he’s just a dumb jock, but he isn’t that at all.

He’s not dumb, for one — he has a few malapropisms, but he knows what he means to say, it’s just the word(s) itself that he mixes up sometimes. Which can largely be attributed, I think, to the fact that he grew up poor and thus his education probably wasn’t up to par; he was scouted into football very young and so academics probably weren’t a focus in his teens either; and if you, like me, subscribe to the theory that he has dyslexia, that’s a big part of it as well.

He’s not just a jock, either. He’s one of the most emotionally intelligent characters in the series, for better or worse he says what’s on his mind, is very willing to be corrected, and readily takes advice both on a personal level and professional. He eats Keeley out with enthusiasm, too, what’s not to love?

And, of course, there’s the veneer he puts on to hide why he is the way he is. We think he’s a dick simply to be a dick in the beginning, but find out later that no, there’s a reason for that. More importantly, however, he breaks that cycle. As early as episode two we see that he wants to be more, which is compounded by the time episode six comes around, then obviously all of season two.

Despite growing up being physically and emotionally abused, he thrives on physical contact and genuine emotional connection. Despite having the “Be A Real Man” bullshit drilled into him, he seeks input from others (Keeley especially, though not exclusively) and craves validation. The little things, too: Whereas, it’s heavily indicated, James Tartt is a violent alcoholic, Jamie drinks as little as he can get away with; despite Jamie’s childhood (or at least adolescence) being stolen from him, he goes out of his way to make the kids he interacts with have a positive experience and look up to him; despite growing up with conflict, he doesn’t like it and removes himself from situations rather than escalates or continues them (with the exception of riling up Roy).

Obviously he’s not perfect. When we meet him, he’s mean and a bully and allergic to vulnerability that lasts more than two seconds. But he’s trying, and he’s made the most growth of anyone on the show, most of it all by himself. Yes, he got nudges in the right directions — e.g., Ted telling him to make the extra pass, Keeley telling him to talk to Ted, etc. — but at the end of the day, he was the one who made those decisions. He took stock of his life, said, “I don’t want to be this person anymore,” and changed his behavior. Especially for someone who had so much messed-up shit instilled in him, that’s huge! I love that he had the self-reflection to realize all of that, and that he took the steps to change it.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Phil’s part in all of this, as well. Jamie as a character is fascinating and I adore him, but I don’t think I’d be as enthralled if it weren’t for Phil’s acting choices. Even more than the main aspects of how he plays him are the subtle aspects. The flinches at sudden movement, the shutting down when male authority figures are yelling in his face, the fidgeting, the line deliveries, the way he actually made that free kick in 2x06 (okay, not that’s not an acting choice, but it’s still amazing), the way you only need to watch a single interview of the guy to see how good of an actor he is because he’s nothing like Jamie (this is one of my favorites for how insightful it is). He’s also very, very pretty.

I could go on for hours, but I hope that clears things up well enough 😄

AS FOR HIM AND KEELEY, I wrote about a lot of my thoughts on them here so I’ll try not to rehash all of that.

Were they good for each other long-term when the series began? No. I don’t think anyone has ever argued that they were. As mentioned above, Jamie had a tendency to backpedal as soon as he let down his guard even a little (though he let it down far more for Keeley than anyone else), and Keeley underestimated herself and didn’t take herself seriously. But we see how fond of each other they were and are, how when it’s just them they’re soft and silly together, how they value one another, and how they don’t diminish or patronize each other.

Most relevant for going forward is that they’ve both grown. Contrary to what much of the fandom would have you believe when it comes to talking about them in a shipping sense (which, sidebar: It’s so bizarre to me how people will acknowledge that growth for the individual characters, yet pretend it doesn’t exist when it comes to a possible relationship rekinding), neither of them — Jamie especially — are the same people they were at the start of the series.

Jamie has matured, readily shares what he’s feeling, lowers his walls, and lets people help him. Keeley has high self-esteem, gumption, ambition, and a lack of superficiality. They’re at similar stages in life, both of them having long, successful careers ahead of them, both of them relishing the excitement and possibility of it all, neither of them looking to settle down.

All of that paired with the intangible connection that brought and kept them together in the first place, their familiarity with one another, and the fact that they would know precisely what to avoid as a couple this time around, I think that gives them a very solid foundation on which to build a proper relationship. And on a more thematic level, there is something very satisfying, I think, about how it took them breaking up to become the people they needed to be to come back together again.

[drpamstaplesblog]

THREE BASIC TYPES OF DYSFUNCTIONS IN COUPLES

As I mentioned in the first part of my three-part series of blogs, there are three basic types of dysfunctions in couples. My first blog in this series described the “Hot, Fighting Couple.” This one will describe the “Cool, Distant Couple.” The last one will discuss the “Pursuer/ Distancer Couple.”

THE COOL, DISTANT COUPLE

Many of these couples don’t seek help because they think they have a “functional, good enough” relationship. When a cool, distant couple seeks help, one of the partners decides that the distancing dynamic is intolerable and wants it to change. Meanwhile, the other partner is quite comfortable and is not so interested in changing a thing.

How does a couple find their way to this dynamic? There can be a few paths to get there. One possibility is that they each grew up in a family where the emotional climate was flat and superficial. The parents, for a variety of reasons, created a family system that became “allergic” to too much emotion. Maybe they each grew up in emotional neglect. Or perhaps they learned to shut down their outward emotional life because there was no one to share it with or anyone who cared about it. And maybe they grew up with too much emotional intensity/fighting and thus developed a deep fear of conflict and showing any vulnerability was unsafe. Shutting down emotions can be a survival mechanism in a family.

This distancing dynamic can also evolve when one partner wants more closeness than the other partner. The partner who likes to be alone and do their own thing ends up getting their way. The partner who wants closeness eventually gives up trying to get their partner to connect. So, withdrawal meets withdrawal. However, this can lead to a growing sense of silent resentment for the partner who is not getting their needs for connection met. When a couple gets to this point, they are in what we call in RLT, “comfortable misery.” They can be in a silent impasse with one steaming inside and the other not having a clue.

I have worked with many of these couples. Here’s a snapshot of one of them. In the beginning of their marriage, she thought a distant marriage was “normal” because she grew up with parents who behaved similarly.  When she began to wake up to herself, she realized she wanted more from her relationship. He reluctantly came to couples therapy because he thought the therapist would “fix her.” She came for the same exact reason—sound familiar???

I helped this couple see the “root system” of how they each created this kind of marriage. In addition, I helped them create quality time with each other in small ways that leads to bigger ways. Quality time is the fuel supply for connection. Without it, a distant couple will perish into “comfortable misery.” I start with having them spend “shoulder to shoulder” time together, like watching a show together or going for a walk on a regular basis. I then begin introducing “face to face” time by prescribing them my version of “date night” which puts other date nights to shame, by the way.  (More on this later…).  I also add in other things that fit the couple’s interests, etc.

As they slowly became more connected, they each found it rewarding and wanted more of it. After more quality time is baked into their relationship, I help them with building more emotional intimacy and increasing their comfort level with vulnerability. It’s a process, but it’s worth it. These couples can change, and I have witnessed it many times.

If anything in this blog resonates with you, please reach out through my website. Take a look at my online group couples coaching program—Relational Joy with Dr. Pam. Please stay tuned in to read my next blog on the “Pursuer/ Distancer” couple dynamic. To find out more about my approach to helping couples and my online group program, click here: https://www.relationaljoywithdrpamstaples.com/blog

[shu-sakamaki]

Shuu Sakamaki unhealthy and spicy headcanons (I can't hold back no mo', me need to share them)

(PSA : This is purely fiction and it's mean to stay that way, if someone in real life is acting that way towards you please seek help and leaves asap, be safe out here)

- His love is overbearing and intense. This man has been in depression for centuries and you're the first and only person that he truly loves, his whole being is filled with you an you only, which can sometimes be too much. For example, I see Shuu in love with a special look in his eyes, an intense crazed-look especially when he stares at you and can leaves sometimes uneasy. Yes, he stares A LOT and follow every movement that you make, not in a mean way, he's in love.

- Not only he's been suffering for most of his life but also vampires are known to be extremely possessive creatures, so Shuu would NOT understand many "humans like things" that you wanna do such as going out with your friends without him and he will not hesitate to guilt-trip you to make you understand his perspective. Like, "why do you wanna go so bad with other people? Am I not enough ?" or "Well, I, only need you." which leads most of the time to you canceling plans or bringing him with you and he WILL monopolizes you, like you really thought you were going out with your friends ? How cute. This man has no boundaries and literally don't care.

- About boundaries, yeah...its uhm..pretty hard to talk to him on this subject. Shuu is by far the most understanding vampire of them all and this is saying something, but that doesn't mean that he'll be easy to convince, especially when we know that he doesn't like to receive orders. If you tell him that sometimes you need time for yourself or to see other people, he'll grow offended and cold and you'll be the one feeling bad because "he has suffered so much, please don't ask him to be away from you, he can't handle it."

- Sex is a weapon and Shuu knows it damn well. How many times he used sex to makes you too tired to do anything (like going out with other ppl) and clings to you like his life depends on it. We know that blondie like sex but, lord have mercy, it only grows stronger when he's with his S/O, like are you breathing okay ? Can you walk ? This man can spend a whole ass week non-stop in bed (R.I.P that pussy ayyeee) he stops to not affect you physically.

- Shuu is a protector like admin explained but also since he has huge PTSD because of the death of Edgar, he would not tolerate seeing one scratch on you. The moment he feels that you're unsafe somewhere or the slightest danger, he's locking you up. You ain't going out till he get rid of whatever is putting you in danger(mind you that can be ANYTHING, you're allergic to bees and there's one bee outside ? Miss gurl go back in the house before he locks you up for good.) Yes, he is willing to isolate you from everything and everyone if he feels like the world is too dangerous for you. He saw many humans dying in front of him, you are so delicate and fragile, he won't risk it. And this is where you need to be careful, do not make him think that you're in danger or you're never seeing the outside. Again, his love is really pure and intense, he would never wish bad upon the one he adores, but his mind is built a certain way, which can be really hard to understand. He will also take care of you and do a lot of things that you can do on your own, it's not that he's infantilising you but plea-se let him take care of you and put his mind at peace.

- Shuu is also really observant and because he have strong senses, he can feel and smell everything, the littlest mood changes or switch in you, he's looking up at you and putting his head on your lap, all up in your face "what's on your mind ? What's going on ? Is something bothering you ? Tell me please." Or if you're sick, cough once he will go "Huh ? Lay down I'm going to make some tea."

- He's possessive but also slightly obsessive, he wants to know everything about you, even the atrocious cringy stuff that you've done. Shuu is a vampire, "cringe" or "embarrassing" stuffs are obsolete for him, if not, it's only making him adores you more. He's obsessed, boy is listening to your moans when you're not here, what do you expect. He is also really open and a lot more vulnerable when he's in a relationship with you and will tell you everything that goes through his head and he's expecting you to do the same.

- Because he tells you everything, you know most of his story and what he's gone through, so it's really hard for you to be upset by his actions because you know that you're the only thing keeping him stable and happy and because you love him you don't want to hurt him in anyway so you let him do whatever he wants.

- Hickeys, teeth marks, nails line, everything, this man is covering your body with his presence (with love only, of course) and he love to takes you out on dates after when you wear a pretty little outfit showing your "decorated" neck to the public, he feels a wicked sense of pride when the flirty waiter look at your neck and see big purple splotches everywhere, symbol that you're completely his and if you want to hide them he'll pout and will be slightly salty and look at you like "wHY ?!".

Me is done, have a great day everyone, especially admin, I hope that everything will turn out fot the better, I'm sending prayers and good energy towards you. ❤

Y'all see this...? All this? Me. Perfectly and canon me.

((...Dont be proud of it. And thank you honey!! So so so much!!!!!!!! Waaah thank you!!! I LOVED THIS. It is my new bible and Im rereading it forever!!!! I loved it! THANK YOU!!!!!!

[fireinmywoods]

As the leading authority on McKirk I have a BURNING question and I need answers! What kind of person is Bones when Jim complains he's not feeling too great? Is he an absolute fusspot that insists on scanning every single inch of his husband and then doing it again /just incase/? Or is he the opposite? The kind of person who instead suggests Jim "sits outside and has a banana or something" because bodies will heal on their own dammit, not everything needs his intervention. I'm just so CURIOUS!

as the WHAT

Prior to joining up, no one in their right mind would have characterized Leonard McCoy as the fusspot type. Remember, he grew up in a family of doctors, whose attitude toward routine childhood illness tends to be: “Are you actively bleeding or vomiting? Is there a bone sticking out of you? No? Then suck it up and go the fuck to school.”

Leonard naturally internalizes this viewpoint, which only solidifies when he becomes a doctor himself, completing his residency at a Level 1 trauma center where day after night after day he’s exposed to the absolute worst of the worst that can happen to a body. By the time he signs up for Starfleet as the most spiritually aged 28-year-old in recorded Earth history, his “rub some dirt on it” attitude is all but set in stone. Our man has Seen Some Shit, and it’s his firm belief that the small stuff simply does not merit sweating over. Aches and pains and 24-hour bugs are just part of the human experience, so take two ibuprofen and don’t call him in the morning unless you're literally on fire.

And then he meets Jim, a man who never met an altercation he couldn’t escalate, who chases down the slightest hint of trouble like a sighthound tearing after a rabbit, who collects head injuries like souvenirs and does not have nearly enough fingers to count the number of times he’s broken one.

Jim, whose immune system reacts to the common cold like the Telurian plague and whose bones are apparently made out of peanut brittle and wishful thinking.

Jim, who seems to be as allergic to asking for help as he is to Edosian suckerfish.

Jim, who he loves.

To be fair, Leonard would argue that he still doesn’t sweat the small stuff. The problem is that with Jim, it’s rarely small stuff. Jim can’t just stub his toe or come down with a stomachache like a normal person; no, he’s more likely to get his whole leg mangled in a shuttle accident or spend three days puking himself damn near into a coma in the grips of the most hellish case of food poisoning Leonard’s ever seen.

Compounding this problem is that it takes Leonard years to train the kid to actually admit when something’s wrong. While Leonard's formative years taught him that minor hurts and ailments are no big deal, Jim’s taught him that they’re signs of weakness which need to be hidden at all costs so they can’t be used against him, and that’s a damn hard lesson to unlearn. Many of their early conflicts can ultimately be traced back to Jim’s terror of his own vulnerability and his corresponding instinct to lash out or close off whenever he’s most in need of help.

Ultimately, of course, Jim comes to trust Leonard - and only Leonard - to take care of him when he can’t take care of himself. But he still tends to downplay things, and in the absence of noticeable symptoms, Leonard will typically only realize Jim’s feeling poorly because he gets quieter and clingier than usual, huddling up against him, instinctively seeking comfort in the shelter of Leonard’s body.

So if Jim is actually at the point of complaining out loud that he’s not feeling too great? That’s a yellow alert at the very least. Maybe it is the sort of thing that just needs to pass on its own, but Leonard’s damn sure going to check, because he loves Jim too much to take any chances on his health or to let him suffer needlessly when there’s something he could do to make him feel better.

(Now, what would really have Leonard’s daddy and granddaddy spinning in their relentlessly stoic graves is how much Leonard has come to enjoy Jim fussing over him when he’s sick. But that’s another post entirely.)

[nicostolemybones]

Keys

(Homelessness tw)

Nico was exhausted and cold and scared and sleeping rough. He couldn’t stay at home, not like this, not after being disowned. He wished he had the money to find somewhere to stay tonight, that he didn’t have to sleep between some bins on a stained floor, that he wouldn’t have to look through said bins and eat the nearest thing, no matter how dirty or eaten or mouldy or allergic he was or how sick it made him. He hated drinking from the taps in the McDonald’s bathrooms. He hated the times where he couldn’t find a restroom and had to relieve himself into a bottle or a discarded container and discreetly bin it. He hated the fact that his skin was scaly brown and his hair was matted because he hadn’t had a wash in weeks. He hated finding somewhere to bed down and being moved on by the police, or returning to a doorway to find it soiled, and he hated having his belongings robbed or set on fire and he hated being hurt. He just wanted to go home, he just wanted to sleep, he just wanted to get warm and get rid of his nasty cough. He just wanted comfort. 

He found himself seeking warmth in McDonald’s- he hadn’t made any money and his sleeping bags had been slashed, so he was freezing and McDonald’s was open all the time. He was finally able to take his time in the bathroom and scrub himself in the sinks as best he could because nobody was there. He was finally able to cut his hair with a shard of broken mirror and get the rest of the knots out. He liked having longer hair, but it was so knotted. He was able to look in the mirror and see his reflection, and see how pale and thin he’d gotten. He’d gotten so thin, but he was so used to being cold and covering himself in layers that he hadn’t looked at his body. He was so thin and so frail and he felt so vulnerable. He left the bathrooms and looked around, going over to the bins. It smelled, but there were discarded fries, discarded nuggets, discarded half burgers, discarded fish fingers, and it was the closest he’d came to a balanced meal in so long he just scarfed it down, overgorging even when he felt cripplingly sick, because he didn’t know when he could next eat so indulgently. 

He finally settled on a long couch, and it was so very warm and comfortable. It was soft and it cushioned him, and although the faux leather was slightly cold, he could feel it warming up, and it wasn’t as cold as the streets. He lay down, almost crying at how comfortable it was, how warm it was, how safe he felt, and he let himself close his eyes and drift into a slumber.

“Excuse me?” Nico froze out of fear. He could feel heat radiating, he knew somebody was right close to him. He slowly opened his eyes, and a man was crouched on the floor, looking at him with concern. Not pity, but concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Nico lied, and the man frowned. 

“Have you had something to eat today,” he asked kindly, “I don’t mind buying you something warm.”

“I had a few fries, nuggets, a quarter of a burger, some fish fingers,” Nico said, but honestly, he was so so hungry again.

“Would you like something to eat?” Nico hesitated, then nodded, and the man smiled kindly. “What would you like?”

“Anything,” Nico replied weakly, and the man gave a kind smile. 

“I’ll be right back,” the man said softly, before leaving, but he left his bag by Nico. Didn’t he think Nico would take it, go through it, take his money, take his food, take his assets? Was he treating Nico like a person? Nico stayed where he was until the man came back, smiling gently with a double cheeseburger. Nico felt like all his christmases had come at once. 

“Thank you so much,” Nico said honestly, gently taking the burger from the man. It was so warm and it was food and it was a meal and this was precious this was survival. He gripped it for a second to warm his hands up, then started eating, savouring it, because it was tasty and it was his and it was so warm. 

“Do you have a safe place to stay tonight,” the man asked, and Nico hesitated, ashamed.

“I’ll find a doorway,” Nico replied quietly, and the man picked up his phone, scrolling through. Did he no longer care now that he knew Nico was homeless, worthless, scum?

“Okay,” the man began eventually, “I’ve checked online and there aren’t any hostels that are able to take you,” he said, and Nico lit up with both warmth and dissapointment- the man had cared enough to try to find him a home for the night, somewhere safe and warm and clean. “Well there is,” he continued, “but it’s got a lot of addicts there, and they’re unsupported, so it’s not a healthy environment, they don’t even offer rehab leaflets and they don’t even make sure users are safe.”

“I’m not an addict,” Nico felt the need to clarify, and the man smiled softly. 

“I wasn’t implying you were, just that the place is neglecting the residents’ health needs. And even if you were, it wouldn’t have made you less worthy of compassion. It doesn’t look like there’s any temporary accommodation to apply for without being put on a council waiting list…”

“It’s okay…” Nico began dejectly, “thank you for trying.”

“I’m not gonna leave you out to fend for yourself on the streets,” he said gently, “I have a spare set of keys to my apartment, if you’d like. You won’t have to pay rent, I can cover it." The man rooted through his bag and held out a spare set of keys with a gentle smile. Nico reached for them, and the man took Nico’s hand, clasping them in his own and handing over the keys. It was the most physical contact he’d had in years, and it came from one kind stranger who didn’t treat him like a leper. “I’m Will, by the way,” he introduced kindly, “what’s your name?”

“Nico.”

“Well, Nico, I hope you don’t mind things being kinda gay, I have the flag in my apartment.”

“That’s okay,” Nico smiled shyly, “I’m kinda a little gay too.”

@solangeloweek day 6 of the advent calendar challenge

[smuttymess]

bts astro soulmate reading | for ellen

sign: leo sun | aries moon | scorpio rising

lover: Park Jimin | soulmate: Kim Seokjin

This reading is for the beautiful, smart, lovely Ellen! I really had fun writing this one as I think this is truly a match made in heaven. Hope you enjoy too :)

Action-oriented, strong-willed and enthusiastic, Leo Suns are truly a force to behold. Add in a fiery Aries Moon and you've got yourself a powerhouse who will work tirelessly to achieve any goal they set their mind to - be it a seemingly impossible project at work or playing matchmaker to a notoriously picky bestie. A big-picture thinker, you live in the here and now, focusing less on fantasy and more on the expansive potential of your reality. Supported by your innate self-confidence that radiates from your soul, you are a naturally charming and strong leader, bringing people together and making beautiful things happen (see: events!) Scorpio is a curious sign as it has the intensity of fire, but all within the magnificent depths of water as its core element. While your Aries Moon and Leo Sun is a roaring fire that burns passionately and bright, your Scorpio rising - which dictates how you present yourself - often results in a cooler exterior, with an incredible emotional current flowing just beneath the surface. To those who first meet you, you are seemingly reserved and aloof - avoiding frivolity and small talk like the plague - preferring instead to simply listen, observe and absorb before revealing your true self. This is to your benefit, as your Leo/Aries combination often lends to bluntness, sharp words, and sometimes hurt feelings - the Scorpio rising dials that back a bit, making you more cautious with your language but also perhaps standoffish at times. Despite this occasionally ice exterior, you are very keen to connect with people on a deep, emotional level, and nobody knows this better than the people closest to you. While you have many friends and admirers, there are only a select few that get full access to your heart - and to them you are unfailingly loyal, warm, compassionate, reliable, and generous. Once your trust is earned, you are likely to give your all in your work, familial, and romantic relationships - your love is big, bold, and boundless. Unlike more passive, agreeable signs, you definitely expect equal love in return - Leo/Aries needs praise, recognition, and appreciation for all of your fabulousness, and like a true fire sign, you're not afraid to ask for it. A goal-setter, there is nothing you do in life that isn't deliberate or without meaning. Your desire is to leave an impact, making your mark on the world with your own fiery personal brand, and its likely that your influence already spans further than you realize.

A true connector and creator, you naturally seek ways of construction experiences that meet your expectations and exceptional taste levels - who better than you? Being a lover of fantasy and spectacle, nobody is surprised when you create a Studio 54-inspired pop-up party, wherein you show off your curves in your best 70s get up. Blissed out in a sea of glitter, sequins, and champagne, you are simply shining beneath the dazzling lights as disco floats through the air. The tone of the evening is simply fabulous, and surrounded by friends new and old you are truly in your element. You are unstoppable, the star of tonight's show, and the only thing that could make it better is a dance with the beautiful stranger sauntering around the club in his perfectly tailored bellbottoms and silky button down shirt like he owns the place. Wanting nothing but the best in your life, you are attuned to the fact that you want him, strategically positioning yourself in the middle of the dance floor as the music plays and meeting his eyes with an inviting stare. With ample confidence and mysterious aura in your arsenal, Park Jimin does not stand a chance once your sights are set, and it is not long before you two find yourselves immersed in each other's company under the flashing lights and the sheer electricity of the evening you've created. You tend to leave people wanting more, so you are not surprised to find the flirty Libra boy in your DMs the next morning. So, when is the next party?

Developing from a flirtatious friendship into something a bit more fun, Leo and Libra are an instant hit. This is a combination of fire and air, with Jimin acting as the wind beneath your sails as the easy, go-with-the-flow, partner in crime for all of your big schemes. Possessing an innate love of beauty, of fantasy, and romance, Jimin provides a level of optimism that your fantastical mind requires - he genuinely believes that there is nothing you cannot accomplish, helping your dreams along to become a reality. A Libra's extremely affable, adoring nature is like kryptonite to the romantic Leo who does not know the meaning of too much praise. It is no surprise when these two meet it is nothing short of a whirlwind relationship, with Jimin doting on your every wish without hesitation. The combination of Jimin's Libra Sun and Gemini Mercury makes him expertly aware of how to charm you, giving you exactly what you need at the right time. A true people-pleaser, you are delighted to find Jimin highly amenable to your emotions and desires, wanting nothing more than to ensure you are content. When you feel the genuine nature of this person that simply wants you to be happy - and unwavering loyalty of his Gemini moon - you are able to fully let down the walls posed by your more mysterious, reserved Scorpio rising that initially avoids vulnerability so soon. As Leo and Libra falls in love, there is an infinite level of romance and adoration. Suddenly, you find that you are in fact a hopeless romantic, loving being that sickening couple that sits next to each other in the corner of wine bars. He helps you slow down to access a more sensual side of your sign, your fingers intertwined underneath the table in a playful exchange while his hands graze your thigh despite. Jimin's Gemini Mercury allows for a bit of mystery and impulsivity, and there is something exciting to you about not knowing what you're going to get from him on any given day - while he can easily seduce you, is more than happy to let your more assertive Aries Moon take control when the mood strikes.

While Leo and Libra are typically quite compatible, there are some underlying issues presented by your charts. While you enjoy Jimin's free-flowing nature and desire to please, you become unsettled when this behavior is not just limited to you. His eagerness to please makes him quite susceptible to peer pressure, something that you simply cannot relate to with your heightened sense of independence. When he shows up late for date night, flushed and tipsy after a couple of extra rounds with the boys, you grow less amused by this side of his persona which you begin to see as inherently weak. Additionally, his moody, sensitive Moon in Gemini combined with a Venus in Scorpio makes him an especially possessive partner, not fully allowing you to be the social butterfly you are at your core and also requiring a level of affection and attention that you cannot always provide. When you feel that your needs are not being met to the level you expect, your Leo bluntness alongside the sting of your Scorpio rising are likely to hurt the softer Libra who is effectively allergic to criticism or discomfort in their personal and romantic lives, causing him to retreat. This only serves to exacerbate the problem, leading you to end the relationship on a swift and final note.

Always on the move and averse to any type of wallowing, Leo Sun/Aries Moons are constantly ideating, creating new ways to have fun and enjoy life to the fullest. You are truly the architect of your life, moving on your own terms which often leads you in the pursuit of food, travel, music or any other experience wherein you can connect on a sensory level with the world around you. Travel to another city for a concert? Consider tickets booked. Try a foreign cuisine completely unknown to you? Why not! Your friends are more than happy to go along for the ride, knowing that wherever you're going is where they want to be. You enjoy activities which showcase your profoundly adventurous, spirited nature. Independent and proud, you adore a challenge but not known for asking for help even when you need it say, during your first foray into rock climbing experience at a facility in the mountains. Despite your assuredness that you've got this (you don't!) it is when you're stuck midway through the advanced wall you insisted on climbing that a pair of big, strong hands are firmly grabbing the harness around your waist and steadily guiding you back down to earth. Before you can even process all that just occurred, your eyes widen at the sight of the gorgeous man in front of you shaking his head in disapproval. "You weren't listening to my instructions at all, were you?" His words are stern, but his eyes bright and lips pursed into a smile as he senses your competitiveness. In true Leo form you're soon able to charm your way out of what potentially could have been a lawsuit, enjoying taking to the smoke show who reintroduces himself as Kim Seokjin before explaining the basics you so diligently ignored. Impressed, you remain composed despite the incredible visual of Jin swiftly scaling the wall with ease. Like this, see? Our Sagittarius Jin is not always extroverted, but certainly has the confidence to ask for what he wants, and it's not long before he's proposing a 1:1 lesson in the very near future. Your Scorpio rising knows to play it cool but also when to seize an opportunity, and undoubtedly this one is too good to pass up.

This is a duo that may play a few games in the early phases of dating, but one ignited there is no extinguishing this spark.  Jin's Sagittarius Sun is an ideal match for your Leo Sun as you share a warm, good-natured aura that you exude in every area of your life - its one of your signature qualities that you find most attractive in yourself and others. While there is a lot of ego in this pairing - both of you aware of your individual greatness but also in each others - you find a true partner matching your profound level of adventure, curiosity, and genuine experiences. This manifests itself in somewhat of a condensed dating phase, equipped with elaborate dates wherein the sky truly is the limit. Such a fiery countless hours together bonding over both new and shared interests - think skiing in Aspen, racing on a closed-course, a food tour of Rome - allowing them to show off their own skills while igniting their competitive fire while learning something new. Initially there is likely to be more of an investment in fun than an emotional commitment - a Sagittarius's specialty - and were it not for your other placements this could easily dissolve into a longstanding friends-with-benefits or fun summer fling. Luckily, your compatibility is deepened exponentially by several specific pairings that overlap and compliment each other. Two Moons in Aries are equally ambitious, fair, independent and honest, and you both take pride in this character trait that you are so appreciated for and allows you to be extremely successful in work and your social circles. Once you begin to explore the "why" behind your ambition - your desire for connection, improving humanity, making an impact - you are both able to open up into a deeper level of emotional understanding that few others get to access.

It is here that you find true romance, with his Venus in Capricorn appealing to your sensitive, dreamy, and romantic Pisces rising/Leo Sun. True to your Leo brand, you also need to be praised, worshipped and adored. You rule with your emotions, so acting up out of sheer passion is not unlike you. Not everyone can handle this wide range of emotions, but adaptable Jin is up for the task. He is perfectly able to navigate your moods, with the patience of a saint combined with a Mercury is in Scorpio which makes him extremely observant and strategic in terms of his communication. There is no staying mad with a Sagittarius (no matter how annoying he may be) as his need to move forward at a rapid clip makes it nearly impossible for problems to fester too long. With Venus in Capricorn there displays of grandiose affection you adore: two dozen roses at your door just because, renting out your favorite restaurant for a private meal on a random weeknight, a fully packed suitcase at the edge of your bed with an accompanying note. Madrid tomorrow morning? This is a couple that fucks like rabbits, often beginning the foreplay long before they reach the bedroom. He certainly enjoys watching you slink around the room at any party or event, entertaining the crowd with your charm and basking in the limelight, looking absolutely stunning in a dress he's gifted you. There is an air of excitement as the night goes on, knowing full well that he will be the one that has his hands all over you as soon as you get home. Its likely that the two of you get off on being the power couple that nobody can get enough of, and even more satisfying is that is just comes so naturally to you - there is no faking this level of chemistry! A mutually impulsive nature exists at the core of this dynamic, meaning you may not wait until you get home (why would you, when there's a car?)

Fiercely independent and fast-paced, more than anything you need someone who can both keep up with you and challenge you as well. Jin the Archer is notoriously hard to lock down, seeking someone who will let him be his fully adventurous, fun-loving self, and he successfully finds that in the equally on-the-go Leo. Your sensitive Leo thinks funny guy Jin may initially be a bit over-the-top in his playful teasing of you, enjoying pressing your buttons a little bit, but over time you learn that this is simply how a Sag shows love. It is this highly humorous element of his personality that opens you up to access a more playful and lighthearted side of yourself that embraces your humanity and flaws without taking them too personally. Together, Leo and Sag guide and drive each other in your respective careers, acting as partners and confidantes, while innately understanding the others need for space like few others can. At the core, this pairing has a strong foundation of friendship upon which everything else is built, creating a very open and respectful relationship which allows the other to stay true to their deeper selves without fear of judgement for being "too much". The life created between this pairing is one of fun, great wealth through your many successful enterprises, and the strongly rooted presence of family. Fiery, bold, passionate selves, this pair grows even stronger as they move through life together, inevitably making their mark on the world through charitable and culture contributions with their infectiously energetic personals and uniquely creative minds.

[qqueenofhades]

Okay ONE MORE because I'm needy. “Ring the bells that can still ring. Forget your perfect offering. There’s a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” For Garcy or Asher/Maria.

The Engineering & Aerospace Technical and Industrial Summit’s keynote opening address is held in the New York Hall of Science, and starts four minutes past nine AM on April 28, 1972. Maria is in the audience with the others, Lockman lanyard around her neck, notepad and number-two pencils at the ready. As promised, it’s a notably international gathering. President Nixon’s groundbreaking visit to China in February means that a group of student engineers from Beijing have been granted permission to attend, and they sit together in a self-contained huddle, with wary glances at the others. There are Mexicans, several Brits (instantly recognizable as they moan about the quality of the conference-supplied tea) and a decent selection of Western European intelligentsia. There are also some who may well be from the other side of the wall. Maria has heard snatches of German, something that might be Polish, and other Eastern Bloc languages, though nobody is dumb enough to openly speak Russian. The fact of this being conceived as a showpiece for the promotion and exchange of advanced American technological prowess means that it is also a possible target for the Soviets. There are a few ordinary-looking men in plainclothes, occasionally wandering up to random delegates and making friendly conversation, who Maria suspects of being CIA.

The keynote address is dull, but Maria takes dutiful notes. There are three more days of panels and papers to go, and the morning proceeds as you would expect. Weedy men in badly fitting suits struggle with their slide projectors, and drone on about bogglingly obscure minutiae in commercial combustion engine design. Even some of the other Lockman delegates are yawning, but Maria pays intent attention, and not just because it’s her job. She’s good at this, she knows she is, and she translates some of the more obtuse mathematical formulas into plain English before she hands them over to the men, who are supposed to understand better than she does, but don’t actually. Shocking.

Lunch is held in the cafeteria, a not-terribly-appetizing selection on offer, and Maria wrinkles her nose at whatever is pretending to be beef stroganoff on her plate. As she’s trying to decide whether she wants to eat it, a voice says, “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

She looks up with a start. She thought it would be one of the Lockman engineers, but it’s not. The man is tall, lean, a few years older than her, and wearing a trim blue blazer, a tie, and slacks that actually fit. He does not have one of those disagreeable mustaches; he’s clean-shaven, and his hair is thick and dark and prone to flip over his forehead. His eyes are dark too, lively and intelligent, and his strong nose suggests southeastern Europe, as does his accent. The badge around his neck reads Jugoslovenski Aerotransport. JAT, the national airline of Yugoslavia. He might be into those very engines.

Maria is surprised – yes, there is open space at the table, but there are spots at other tables too. Presumably he should be sitting with the rest of JAT, as she should be with the rest of Lockman, but she makes a small gesture, inviting him to set his tray down. He does, swings his long legs over the bench, and examines the dismal culinary prospects without relish. “Do you think they’ll make us eat this the whole time?”

Taken aback by the fact that he has read her mind, Maria laughs. It feels like something for which she should have asked permission, though from who she has no idea. “I hope not.”

“I hope not too.” He speaks English well, mostly fluently, with the careful intonation of someone who has learned it out of books. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I am sitting down next to you, and I have not introduced myself. Asher Flynn.”

“Maria,” she says by reflex, glancing down; his name is indeed printed on his badge, though it strikes her as slightly Anglo for someone from Yugoslavia. Not that it is her business why he would have any kind of name at all. “Maria Tompkins.”

They shake hands, and he nods to her, having evidently also read her badge. “You are with Lockman? That must be exciting. They work with NASA, yes?”

Maria nods back, though she cannot help be wary of why this man has chosen her to chat up and immediately seemed interested in her employer. They choke down the gluey stroganoff for a few moments, and then she says, “Isn’t Yugoslavia a communist country?”

This is rather skip-the-formalities with someone she’s just met, and Asher Flynn looks surprised. “Yes,” he says, as if that was obvious. “Well, mostly. Tito is no friend to Moscow, though, and we are officially non-aligned. We’re the only country in Eastern Europe where you can travel abroad without an exit visa, and emigrate if you want to. Those poor bastards in the USSR, they need a passport even for domestic travel, they have to request leaves of absence from their hometown council if they plan to be gone longer than thirty days, and they can’t leave the country. I wouldn’t want to live that way.”

Maria notes the elegance of this answer, how he seems to be responding to the real question (are you a Soviet spy?) hidden within her first one, while never letting on that he is. Or maybe it’s just her imagination, and he’s gotten this a lot from suspicious Americans, inclined to mistrust a dark young man with an Eastern European accent and an interest in spaceflight technology. Maybe that’s why he goes by Asher Flynn, if the name is easier for the West to trust. Maria takes a bite of bread (stale), and says, “So that’s where you’re from?”

“Yes. SR Croatia. Zagreb.” He doesn’t seem offended by her asking. “You?”

“Texas.” She bites her tongue on asking if he knows where it is. Just because she couldn’t find Zagreb on a map doesn’t mean he can’t. “Houston.”

“Houston,” Asher says, nodding. “Yes, yes. Where they launched Apollo 11. Were you there for that?”

Maria looks at her plate. She can feel the stroganoff revolting, threatening to come back up and taste even more vile this time, and swallows heavily. Asher cannot know that he has stepped directly onto her most vulnerable sore spot, her most enduring wound, and she tries to concentrate until the urge to scream and run backs down. He can sense at once, however, that something is wrong. “I didn’t – ” he says. “Sorry, is that – ?”

“I – no. I wasn’t there.” The words are dredged out of her like leaden anchors. “There was – there was a family emergency. My son, he – ” God, no, no, no, she is not telling this man she just met, she is not doing it, she is not throwing it onto him, and yet she is. “My son actually – my son died that day. It was – a bee sting, a bad allergic reaction. He – he didn’t make it.”

Asher blinks like she’s hit him. There are any number of things he could say or do in response, not least some screaming and running of his own. Then he reaches out and pats her hand; his own is large enough to cover it, if he held on, but he doesn’t. “Please forgive me,” he says quietly. “I did not know, of course, but I am very sorry. You may tell me to go away and eat my lunch somewhere else, if you would like.”

“I – no.” Maria is determined not to crumble, not to sit here and cry in the middle of the cafeteria, and she might do that if he left. “No, it’s – ”

He’s still looking at her, pensive, considering. Then he says, “What if we throw away this mess, and go get a sandwich? I heard New York has good sandwiches. The next panel I want to attend is not until two o’clock.”

Maria tenses. “Are you just – because you feel sorry for me?”

“I do feel sorry for you,” Asher says, simply and unpretentiously. “But I was going to ask if you wanted a sandwich before you said that, so it’s not why. There is a shop on the corner. It would take only a few minutes. If you would like.”

Maria supposes there is something to be said for the fact that he took the dead-son bombshell and his next move to is to seek out more of her company, to see her cracks and her ruins and somehow find them -- well, not beautiful, but not dead, unbearable, disqualifying. She can give into it, she’s never going to see him again, and the stroganoff is disgusting. She pauses, then says, “Okay.”

Asher smiles – it’s unforced, natural, dazzling, and her insides do something strange – and gets to his feet, once more nearly tripping over the bench that has not been made with the interests of a six-foot-three man in mind. He strides at her side as they leave the cafeteria, as Maria recalls the warning against walking alone in New York and then decides that after all, she isn’t alone. The sandwich shop is not far from Shea Stadium, bedecked with graffiti, and the 7 train rattles overhead on its elevated tracks, felonies presumably being committed aboard. It looks seedy, but Asher ducks inside with easy confidence, strides up to the counter, and orders them both a New York sub special, opening his wallet and carefully counting out cash to pay before Maria can offer to go Dutch. It’s hot and greasy and possibly the most delicious thing she has eaten in her life.

She looks at her watch when it’s done, decides to get back so she can serve as Lockman stenographer for the afternoon sessions, and Asher escorts her back. As he regards the Unisphere with a slightly ironic expression, Maria asks, “Is this your first time in America?”

It’s rich of her to be asking, since she’s a newcomer to the city herself, but she finds herself wondering. He nods. “Yes,” he says. “I can’t say that New York’s impressed me very much.”

“Is it different back home?” Maria has no idea what Yugoslavia is actually like, other than presumably Soviet Union-lite. The American imagination does not encompass much social diversity (or quality of life) over there in the Red parts of Europe, those oppressed and faceless millions bereft of the freedom and luxury of the West. “Better?”

Asher shrugs. “Every country has its problems. It was devastated by the war, the Nazis occupied it and turned it into a puppet state – it used to be the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, but the last heir to the throne fled in 1941, and the monarchy was abolished. That’s the year I was born, so I don’t remember, but Tito rallied the Partisans and the anti-fascist forces, and they fought to drive the Nazis out. Then he became president of the republic, and he separated from Stalin fairly quickly. But my mother was born in a farmhouse with dirt floors, in a poor and rural country that was still essentially in the nineteenth century, and now she lives in a nice rent-free apartment in Zagreb. She can go on vacations to the seaside and to cafés with her friends, her health insurance is paid for, she has a television set and a washing machine and likes to read Žena u borbi and watch soap operas. I can even take her to Paris, Milan. I don’t think that is so bad, no?”

Maria glances sidelong at him. The way he speaks about his mother makes it sounds like he loves her, and is proud that she has a comfortable life. Maria wonders what Asher is leaving out, what sacrifices are made for this, but then, is it any less than the sacrifices made in America, this increasingly strange land that they all accept as the norm? She looks at this dirty city, the trash blowing in the gutters. Remembers the pictures of burning TV sets and prostitutes and homeless people in suits sleeping in the street. She says, “No, it sounds nice.”

They reach the fairgrounds, and go inside. Asher gives her half a bow, old-fashioned, oddly charming, before he returns to the JAT contingent, and Maria finds herself inexplicably reluctant to see him go. In her defense, he was polite and well-dressed, gracious about that inadvertent emotional minefield, interesting to talk to, not from around here, and saved her from having to eat the cafeteria food. Out of nowhere, she wonders if he’ll take her to lunch again tomorrow, if she could induce him to do so, but that seems manipulative. She could even ask, but that – no. She doesn’t want to give the wrong impression. Not when, as she already has to remind herself, they are never going to see each other again.

[dayspringministries]

YOU CAN DO IT!

My wife LaWanda and I have recently celebrated 50 years of marriage.  She is an amazing person and an equal partner in this relationship.  We’ve actually experienced everything that we recited in our wedding vows - “for better, for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health.”  Through it all we have made it and made it victoriously.  We have an enduring love and are continuing to grow in our understanding of each other.  In reflecting on our relationship let me just share a few things that we have learned.  Perhaps these thoughts can be as helpful to you as they have been to us.

#1  Even in your most heated arguments never use the word divorce!

One couple said, “Tell everybody you can to never speak the word divorce.  There is something fatal in the very use of the word. Don’t let them plant that seed—it grows too wild and too fast.”

The Bible says, “The tongue can bring death or life; those who love to talk will reap the consequences”  (Proverbs 18:21 NLT)

#2  Do not think that intense disagreement means there is trouble in marriage.

Be honest when you disagree.  Express your hurt.  Let your feelings show.  People who keep things bottled up inside are candidates for all kinds of illnesses.  Most married people who have intense disagreements think they are somehow becoming allergic to one another.  They think to themselves, “Oh boy, here we go again.  It’s a hopeless situation.  We must have lost our love and respect for each other.”

Quit the theatrics.  You’re human and you will have disagreements.  Learn to get it out quickly.  Don’t ever think of quitting on your marriage because you are still weak in the area of communications.  People who keep looking for a perfect relationship are headed for real disappointment.

Most important of all—never drop “the bomb” when you argue or disagree.  Every husband, every wife, knows exactly what to say to get his or her “goat.”  Learn to admit, “Our marriage is good, we simply must learn to communicate better.”  The Bible offers the best advice of all: “Avoiding a fight is a mark of honor; only fools insist on quarreling.” (Proverbs 20:3 NLT)

#3  Never make your mate the butt of jokes—privately or publicly.

Comedic partners who poke fun at their mate think of it as “good natured joking.”  It’s not!  It is degrading and dangerous.  Making jokes about the stupid things your spouse did is another way of putting him or her down.  Behind most of the jokes is a spirit of anger and malice.  It’s a way of bringing up the mistakes so everybody can know about the failure.  Behind the laughter can be terrible hurt.

#4  Practice complimenting each other—sincerely and often!

Sadly, some husbands and wives believe they have been called to keep their mate humble.  They are constantly pricking the balloon so that he or she will not get the “big head.”  Wives tend to become as beautiful as the compliments their husbands pay them.  They become radiant when told how attractive they are. And husbands will do almost anything to live up to the compliments and encouragement of a proud wife.  The Bible says, “A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver…” (Proverbs 25:11KJV).

#5  Never smother each other—set your love free!

It has been said, “If it’s really love, set it free—and it will always return.  If not, it wasn’t love from the start.”  There is a measure of truth in that.  A husband of 45 years confessed to me the secret of his enduring marriage to one woman.  “I believe it is my privilege and duty to create an atmosphere in my home in which my wife can reach her full potential.  She, in turn, helps me reach mine.”

The most fulfilling of all marriages are those in which both husband and wife commit their love to God’s keeping, and who truly set each other free to grow and mature.  If God cannot keep you together, charm and sex will never do it.  Without freedom, there can be no growth.  Not freedom to flirt or “fool around,” but freedom to take on new challenges and set new goals.  True freedom is based on trust and trust comes from feeling secure in each other’s love.

#6  Learn how to say “I’m sorry!”  And mean it.

“Love Story” was a movie whose theme was “Love is never having to say I’m sorry.”  Well, I’m sorry, but that’s a lie.  Love, according to God’s Word, is learning how to say your sorry.  Along with learning to say “I’m sorry,” husbands and wives must learn how to say “I forgive.”  Jesus warned that the forgiveness of our Heavenly Father depends on our forgiving those who do wrong to us.

The Bible says, “A person’s wisdom yields patience; it is to one’s glory to overlook an offense.”

#7  Never shut each other out—be open at all times!

Never “clam up” or walk out when things get shaky.  One of the most aggravating actions irritating marriages today is the silent treatment.  It is deadly wrong to say to your husband or wife, “Just leave me alone.  I don’t want to talk.  I’m going through a rough place—let me work it out by myself.  I don’t want to be around anyone right now.”   There is a place for giving each other time and space, but what is a marriage all about if it is not about sharing and helping one another in our rough moments and dark times.

#8  Make a conscious effort to keep the joy flowing!

If the joy of the Lord is our strength (Nehemiah 8:10), then strong marriages should abound with joy.  When marriage loses its joy, that marriage becomes weak and vulnerable.  Show me a happy home and I’ll show you a joyful couple at the helm.  It seems to me that we’re seeing too many sober husbands and sad wives.  Sure there are problems.  There is sickness, unexpected trouble, financial problems, misunderstanding, pain and even death.  But life goes on—and it’s a shame that so many couples never enjoy life.  They keep hoping that someday they will be happy and contented, when all the bills are paid, when the kids are grown, when they retire.  But life passes by so quickly, and all they have to show for it are the wrinkles and lines on their worried faces.

The Bible says, “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones” (Proverbs 17:22)

#9  Never turn to a third party in a time of trouble.

There is always someone eager to console a hurting husband or wife.  And, when there is no one to talk to at home, many go seeking a friend elsewhere—“just someone to talk to.”  That is where many instances of adultery begins.

It should be clearly stated that there is a place for professional Christian counseling.  All marriages can benefit from godly, sensible professional marriage therapy.  But ultimately, marriage partners must lean on Jesus.  Leaning in any other direction is dangerous and can lead to a fall.  Most friends will be happy to listen to either the husband or wife and share their own feelings.  Across the years we have found it far safer to come together, open our hearts to each other and to Jesus.  In so doing, our healing has been sweet, safe and long-lasting.

YOU CAN DO IT!  These simple, but foundational suggestions hopefully will be of help to you and your spouse.  Try them!  You really can make your marriage work.  

[permian-tropos]

all right I feel shy posting this but you remember that fictober fic from last year, now on AO3 as Seed

I did do another section of it! I am fighting with all my heart not to say something self-deprecating about it

16 - “This is gonna be so much fun!”

————

“You’re awake, I see,” Rae comments, once Brentin, sprawled out on his cot in the infirmary, forms a lucid expression. He makes eye contact and creases his forehead with clear acknowledgement — ready to talk.

“And so are you,” he says. “Erm. You seem pleased about things.”

His throat sounds scratchy and his voice is thin and, while not plaintive, measured in a way that shows he’s preserving his energy. His feet must still ache, since the anchorites don’t have the means to accelerate the healing much.

It has been a full day since the two of them reached the habit house. Rae has needed the time to recover but found it dreary to lay around in bed. The anchorites suggested she join the children in their daily chores, and the pure consternation Rae’s in expression brought out the first laugh she heard from the one-eyed woman who seemed to be her appointed nurse. But she didn’t refuse, and a couple of officious little boys taught her how they boiled surgical tools and soaked bandages in diluted bacta. While bold about micromanaging her every action, they kept glancing purposefully at her as though they wanted to ask questions about her life, the war, the Empire, the galaxy beyond, but could not find an appropriate way to do so. Eventually those tools and bandages were used to treat Brentin, since his chance of recovery was deemed to be high.

Rae crosses her knees, smiling confidently at her wanner ally. “As it turns out, we might have had a lucky break. I thought this would be a setback, but…” Perhaps try not to overwhelm him with details? “We have a lead.”

But Brentin turns his head away and slumps a bit further into the meager bedding. “Oh, we do?” he says, as if it’s a further complication. Maybe he needs a few more moments to adjust.

“It was worth it,” Rae goes on, hoping he’ll catch on eventually. “You’ve been through a lot, I know, but it hasn’t been for nothing. There’s a man among the anchorites who might know why this world is important to the Empire. Well, I say he’s a man…” Sloane pauses. “He is a man. Not to the people here, to them he’s something else. We’ve found their Consecrated Eremite.”

“So that name isn’t just some legend?” Brentin tries to sit back up again. “There’s a living person attached to it?”

“He’s a strange character, from what I’ve seen.”

Rae considers inviting Brentin to join her when she meets with the Eremite, but her ally needs his rest. It would be a bit unnecessary, too. Brentin Wexley has got his own reasons for accompanying a former Imperial admiral, and they’re more personal.

What happened to him was a terrible shame, more underhanded and devious proof that the Empire could never have kept the promises it made to the galaxy. The man was brainwashed in a secret prison on the enslaved world of Kashyyyk. Rae can assume his reasoning behind his choice to work with her. If his programming got the better of him, at least he’d be far away from anyone he cared about. Over the course of their journey she did consider that they had something in common — they were looking for redemption. Like Brentin, Rae knows she isn’t who she thought she was. Like Brentin, she feels she has been controlled. She understands why he doesn’t trust himself even after the control chip in his brain was removed.

But Rae has a bit more in mind than a trial of self-discovery. This is her mission, because it is her Empire on the line, and she ought to be the one to put an end to it. Nothing else could absolve her of what she’s done, whereas Brentin did the Empire’s bidding entirely against his will. He has nothing to atone for.

So, if the Eremite is looking for someone to fulfill that prophesy, it probably refers to Rae Sloane.

“And from what you’ve seen, he’s offering information?”

“More peculiar than that. It seems I’m part of a prophesy.”

Brentin whips his head round and squints at her as if he heard her squawk like a monkey-lizard.

“Well, that’s what they think,” Rae scoffs, amused, “so I’ll just go on with it and see what it all means.”

“I’m sure you will.” He winces. “Right, now I get why you were looking so smug.”

“Oh, come on. Jealousy isn’t very mature here.”

“That’s not what I’m… ah…” Brentin is concerned, at least he’s trying to give that impression. He struggles for words. “You really think I’m jealous and not, maybe, worried about plans that were expecting us? We’re trying to break the sequence, not follow it.”

Rae hesitates as she rises from her seat. “Break the sequence?” The phrasing strikes her as odd, and it even unnerves her, because it has her wondering briefly if she’s forgotten something else she must do.

“Of the Emperor’s plan. We still don’t know what it is. I guess I thought being unpredictable was the only way to…” He shudders. “Not be someone else’s puppet.”

“You’re saying you have a bad feeling about this,” Rae offers. “I’ll be careful.” But she’s not the one who’s bedridden with an injury. Perhaps Brentin is paranoid about being put through another invasive, secret surgery now that he’s vulnerable. She deliberates, then lowers her voice. “Keep your eyes and ears open. Escaping a trap takes perceptiveness, not just blind suspicion.”

He sighs. “That’s what I’m telling you.”

“If this is a trap, we can’t turn back now. The last trap the Emperor laid got him killed, if you remember, because his enemies were much bolder than he imagined.”

“He might not be as cunning as he wanted everyone to think,” says Brentin. “But if he imagined his defeat, he may have imagined our boldness. I just feel something, like when came home but I knew I wasn’t in control of myself.” He shudders and then stills, rubs his upper arms, like he’s brushing away threads of web woven around him by a stealthy silk-spinner. “They sure put something in that sedative, didn’t they?”

“Ah.” He must mean the gas the anchorites used on both of them to keep them still. It left Rae with more of a high, while Brentin seems more anxious. “Yes, I thought so too. Let it wear off.”

Rae leaves the bedside not sure whether to pity him or admit he’s probably right to worry.

Presently, the one-eyed anchorite woman approaches her and asks if she’s ready, then leads her outside upon assent. Surprisingly, there’s no one sitting under the awning of the tent-like shrine. The anchorite takes Rae past it instead to the slope she vividly remembers crawling up with Brentin clinging to her back. The speeder remains where it was parked at the bottom, still intact as far as can be seen from here. No roaming scavengers started taking it apart for scrap, as they might have elsewhere, perhaps out of respect to the anchorites. People came here to make offerings to that god of theirs, not to steal.

“I didn’t get your name,” Rae says to the woman.

“Narawal. Come, there’s a route down.”

“Oh, frag, is there?” But it’s only a narrow, uneven, easy to miss line of steps cut into the rock, and might not have made the climb much easier. “Sorry,” Rae adds, when Narawal clicks her tongue in such a recognizable way. “No cursing.”

“This world’s cursed enough,” the anchorite says. She lets Rae walk first, and trails behind slow enough to seem almost reluctant.

“As a matter of fact,” says Rae, “that’s just what I’d like to know more about.” There’s enough of a pause that she changes the subject. “And where are we going? I thought the Eremite never left that one spot.” A possible answer comes quickly. “He’s nocturnal, isn’t he?” It’s easy to think of him as another desert animal moving as they do from a warren to the surface when the sun sets, and back in when it rises. Just like the mice.

“Yes, he is. He stays underground until the evening.”

Narawal points to a bulk of rock near the base of the hill. From this angle, the hollowed entrance on the side, rather than the outward face, is visible. If it were split into two holes by a partition across the middle, Rae thinks a bit whimsically, it might look like a nose lying on its side. Then she imagines the effect from a plume spraying from it, the gout of steam as the whole plateau sneezing.

But now all of the plumes remind her of that, as if the planet blinks up at its own harsh sun or catches grit in its sinuses and lets out that tickle in a violent burst. This world’s cursed, Narawal said, but is it sick, allergic to itself?

The Gorse system and Rae’s first captainship has always stayed fresh in her mind, but being on Jakku has brought even more of it to the surface of her thoughts. Gorse’s rocky tectonic relationship with its gorgeous crystal moon Cynda led to regular groundquakes, yet it was the moon that held the world in balance, and the mining efforts by the aggressively efficient Count Vidian — enforced by Rae Sloane — would have pulverized the satellite and brought it crashing down in pieces.

Captain Sloane, young and eager and self-important, would have allowed it. Her older counterpart can reach back easily and recapture in her mind how sensible it seemed to compromise: it would be unthinkable to bring an apocalypse to Gorse, but she was told — lied to, of course — that the planet would be bombarded slowly over the years, while its people dispersed, watching their home die by degrees. She once could believe that would be better somehow than the truth she discovered, that it would all go at once.

Jakku, too, shakes like a lie about to be exposed.

“Narawal,” Rae says, before she steps inside the nostril on the side of the plateau. “What did you expect when I showed up?”

The woman descends the roughly hewn steps with her hands clasped dutifully in front of her, face in shadow from the sun up above. “I expected you’d have a purpose here and would seek our guidance.”

“I do, and I am.” Rae puts a hand to the arch of the entrance and holds out a bit longer. “As you know, I didn’t get along well with that Niima the Hutt. I offended her. Am I likely to offend anyone again?”

Narawal draws herself up stiffly. “To speak with the Eremite, one must be cleansed in two chambers, first materially, then spiritually. First their attachments, then their preconceptions. The impatient and brash do not proceed further.”

The heel of Rae’s palm digs into a shelf of sandstone, which promptly cracks away from the tunnel archway. She drops the rock into the dust between her feet. “Right, right, right. Cleansing. Of course.” They’re going to have her sit through another dull ritual, and by now she should have learned to keep herself in check no matter how degraded she feels. I will sit this time, I will shut my mouth for once, I will be patient because there are really more important things than—

“Just go in and talk to him,” the anchorite snaps.

“What?”

“You see, Rae Sloane, if you were going in to pray to a mute hermit, you wouldn’t have anything better to do than ablutions and rites. Gives you all the time you wanted to get out of the sun and the drudgery. But he wants a conversation. He made that perfectly clear when he came out and spoke with you.” Narawal sounds a bit choked up; her eyes flash. “I know what you’re asking, no, I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect to see my friend again.”

“He’s your friend,” Rae repeats. If she doesn’t grasp this situation firmly it will probably run away from her. There’s already too much going on.

“Just make sure he tells you the truth. Squeeze it out of him if you have to.”

“Out of your god,” Rae says, almost with a level tone. It is still spoken with disbelief, without being a question.

Narawal, unmoved, peers down at her. “He’s not your god, is he? Why should you care?”

“I don’t understand anything,” Rae says. “Consider my preconceptions abluted.”

“As they should be.” The anchorite waves a hand, not bitter but resigned. “Go in.”

That’s all Rae’s going to get, then. At first the tunnel is narrow enough that going further than a few feet involves arching her back and sidling through a passage when she realizes her hips will get stuck. The tight squeeze brings up unsettling concerns about what might happen to an injured or disoriented person down here in the caves. Surely there was another way out, that decrepit Eremite himself didn’t seem up for wiggling through a crevice twice a day, and what if he needed emergency medical attention? Despite the proof that the man was surviving the arrangement, Rae worries today could be unlucky for either her or him, because you’ve got to think like that after so many brushes with danger.

Still, she duly entombs herself.

The first chamber, where she was meant to cleanse her body, is of middling size, and lit by vertical fluorescent light sticks wedged into the walls, a strange shoot of modernity growing out of primitive cracks, and the floor is a maze of finger-width grooves, like a worm-eaten slab of wood. There is nothing else in the chamber but a few tall amphorae by the walls.

“Come right through,” suggests a voice emerging as a sourceless echo from the walls, as if this cave is a cozy, presentable foyer. It’s the Eremite. After one meeting Rae already finds his voice utterly recognizable.

“You don’t mind if I skip your rituals?” Rae has no idea where to direct her reply, and turns slowly on the spot.

“We’ll come back to them later, if you wish. I want to see you first.” His voice is wistful as a curl of mist in the morning. “I’m afraid I’m impatient.”

It’s a performance. He was expecting her, and he’s prepared for the moment. Rae would like to say she’s honed paranoia to an effective art, flattery never having lulled her into an inescapable trap (some escapable ones, admittedly), but that’s what audience volunteers tell themselves as they step on stage with a hypnotist.

Remember when you thought you fancied him, first time he showed up? Rae scrapes a fingernail against her palm, unwilling to be too agitated with the recollection because it was hardly a visible moment of weakness — comes of that anesthetic gas making her so lightheaded. Heading deeper into the cavern, rounding a curved passage, Rae finds the next chamber completely unlit, a murk of pure black. Her hand immediately goes to the leftmost wall. Can’t lose her bearings.

“You’re meant to find your way by faith alone,” murmurs the bodiless voice. “Or wander for a while until you reach one of the exits. Oh it’s very tricky, actually, I really like the design of this one. I think you learn something about people from how they solve it.”

“You’ve got a maze in here?” Rae is incredulous.

“If you really want to try it,” the voice offers, sounding perked up, like he’s realized he can be patient a bit longer.

“You just said—“

“Ah, but there’s an easy way out, you could solve it in an instant, and you might just be the sort to do it.”

“So a carnival funhouse way of making me feel like the main character of my own story.” She crosses her arms. “Testing my mettle.”

“This is going to be so much fun,” the Eremite purrs. “Go on, do whatever comes naturally.”

“I’m not your brand new pet,” Rae snaps, with the dreadful tickle in her belly that assures her she’s not protesting at all, she’s bantering, and she never planned for this when she turned herself in to the New Republic, when she burned her authoritative edges to a cinder in the fire of shame. Worse than karmic punishment would be a universe that treated her with affection. She might preen under affection. She might lean into it after being starved for approval for years. “How like a god of you to be so capricious.”

“You have barely seen capricious,” he warns.

Rae turns on the spot and is about to return to the last chamber, say why not do the whole damn ritual, then? Then she sees the trick: the corridor connects two paths that lead into this dark chamber, one she came by and one leading, perhaps, to the god’s chambers. Shadows turn the slightly curved dividing wall of the fork into a trick of the eye.

Do whatever comes naturally meant get petulant and leave. Rae is rankled she’s been read so cynically, even if it was the right answer. The true believers stumble about in the dark. The ones who balk at the challenge win by giving up.

“You win by giving up?” Rae says aloud. “I hate riddles like that. It’s so cheap.”

“That’s faith for you. A maze to be transcendantly lost in until you try looking around. Yet when you know the truth, you can choose to get lost again. To take a few steps back into the dark.”

Rae takes the hidden path, which curves deeper into the earth. The voice she’s hearing starts to come from one particular direction and not echoing everywhere.

The Eremite, face hidden by a cowl, is kneeling in the center of a chamber much like the one Rae passed through before, domed roof with grooves forming ornate swirling patterns on the floor, the couple of tall clay pots standing by the wall. The two differences are the shaft of natural light that beams down on the hooded figure, and the snaking depression in the ground filled with smooth stones, like a dry riverbed cutting across the floor. The air is unusually moist for Jakku.

“Be seated, Rae Sloane,” the god-man says.

[whisperilllistentohearit]

Knowing Pt. II

Hi!

This is sort of a follow up to my last piece. Again, I am no writer, sometimes I just have things in my head I wanna write out. This was inspired by the promo shot of Betty and Jughead kissing with his hat in his hand, and by the ending of last episode. Mild spoilers ahead! 

Her entire body froze the moment her gaze flittered across the old photograph. Her own smile, the one she had spent countless shameful hours flashing into her mirror, critiquing the shape, how much her teeth showed, the way her cheeks bunch around her eyes, was turned up to her from a frozen snapshot in time. Confusion prickled at her mind as she lifted the photograph and flipped it over, looking for an explanation or a notation, like the kind she inscribed on the back of her own photographs in pristine hand writing before tucking them into the frame of her mirror, but found only a blank back.

It was taken in a class room that didn’t stick out in her memory in any way, her own figure sitting at a desk, slightly turned away and erupting in laughter. She knew instantly that it was taken without her knowledge, or she would not have let her smile grow so broad, her gums showing. Judging from her clothing in the image and the roundness of her face she could guess it was taken a year, or perhaps two, prior.

She lifted her gaze to her beanie-clad partner, both of them standing out in the unfamiliar space. His suspenders were stretched over his rounded shoulders and his face was turned away as he crouched over a wide desk, pulling drawers open, shuffling through art supplies and drawings, his long fingers grazing over pens, markers, papers, unsure of what they were looking for. Betty spoke after only a moment of hesitation.

“It’s me.” She declared almost too loudly in the quiet room.

Jughead’s blue eyes flicked to her immediately, his brow already furrowed from his hasty investigation through Dilton’s personal belongings. Betty watched his gaze drift to the photo she was holding up towards him, her own confusion mirrored in his expression until is cleared away to recognition, or understanding? Before she could name is properly his face shifted to smug, the small smirk that played across his mouth confused her further. And irritated her.

Which must have reflected on her face as her mouth snapped open to demand an explanation. Jughead raised his hands up, his palms out in mercy right before she began full steam, “Why is this here!? Tucked away in a book, even! Was he trying to involve me in these rituals – Why are you smiling??”

“Ah – I’m not.” Jughead began, his hand reaching to his beanie as if to tug it, but his stayed suspended near his eyeline “You see, he is– was - “ he grimaced at his own use of present tense, licking his lips to restart his statement,

“He sort of… Had a thing for you.” His hand fell to the back of his neck, the unique composition of shame coming from breaking a confidence filtering across his face. Which she recognized easily from years of her countless demands of which girl Archie was interested in, wanting to know what Ethel had passed to Jughead in a note, demanding there be no secrets between the boys and herself.

“What..? Did he say that to you?”

Jughead shook his head, crossing his arms across his chest and lifting his shoulders in a small shrug, his gaze landing on her face again, something guarded in his eyes.

“No, but he didn’t need to.”

“Since.. When?” Her mind filled suddenly with Dilton, his nervous smile, his glasses constantly partially fogged. Insisting she read his favorite fantasy novel, offering to help her with her biology homework. Handing her a small, sloppily wrapped Christmas during secret Santa. The loss of this person she didn’t make enough effort to know, the reality that he was gone consumed her, filling her lungs with a painful ice grip. The room seemed to tilt under her feet, too warm and too muggy, this room was suddenly unbearable – which she had never stepped foot in until 10 minutes prior – filled with his things, his memories, his –what right does she have- oh God.

‘Betts”, her heart throbbed again as the familiar sensation of Jughead’s palm resting against her cheek cut through the panic. Her hand lifted to his chest, her palm flat against the spot where his heart resided. She counted the rhythm, strong and sure under her scarred skin. She allowed herself several moments of counting, the feel of his heartbeat one of her favorite sensations, before she lifted her gaze to his to repeat, “Since when?”

The question was met with his soft, concerned look she was so familiar with, that she somehow both loved and hated, that made her feel cherished and hatefully fragile simultaneously. His mouth formed a crooked line of indecision momentarily before he shrugged again, his chest rising with movement under her palm.

“Since…I don’t know. Since you wore that yellow dress…The one that was sort of crinkly material and had the bow in the back? Freshman year.”

She furrowed her brow, seeking the memory in her mind.

“You looked like lemon meringue.” He added softly, not quite teasing. Food he always took seriously.

A second wave of demanding questions was forming in her throat but stilled to silence when he continued, “Since our seventh grade science fair? When you did your presentation on those slugs, but you couldn’t complete your experiment because you became too attached to them. You spent the entire presentation explaining their personalities and why you named them after leaders of the women’s suffrage movement.”

A smile erupted on her face at the memory, recalling how she made Archie and Jughead help her return each beautiful slug back to their natural habitat, both boys gagging and complaining the whole time.

Had Dilton been in that class with them?

Her smile fell.

“Since you yelled at Reggie and called him ugly when he made Ethel cry in fifth grade?”

Betty blinked.

“You walked her home and baked her cookies the next day. They were peanut butter with a Hershey kiss stuck in the middle.”

Unexpectedly, Jughead flushed furiously, and took a step back from her. His arms wrapped across his chest, his weight shifting to lean against Dilton’s desk as he shifted his gaze away from her. She could see the flush on the tips of his ears.

Later, when writing in her journal, Betty wouldn’t be able to describe this moment to fully explain how it felt when this warmth, prickling really, started at her scalp, filled her face with heat, sent her heart plummeting into her stomach and her knees actually weaken and begin to shake. It was like the sun rising, like waking up anxiety free, like getting glasses and seeing a flower up close, this whole new beautiful world opening up to her.

It wasn’t until this very moment did she realize that she had this amazing, big hearted, mess of a boy by her side, loving her this entire time. He had loved her always.

(She knew, very clearly remembered now, that Dilton was always around on the weekends and summers, but he had undoubtedly spent fourth through eighth grade at a military school that he had begged his parents to go to. He returned to class with them after an incident in which he had pulled a practical joke on another student with itching powder who ended up having a severe allergic reaction that sent them to the hospital.)

Having also realized his slip Jughead huffed a little annoyed breath as a smile blossomed across her face, down to her toes, to the tips of her fingers, “Juggie…” she began, closing the space between them tentatively.

He pushed at his hat nervously, tugging on his hair in a familiar, anxious habit.

These moments of self-doubt and hesitation were much fewer and farther between at this stage in their relationship. The confidence that he had of her love for him typically radiated from his skin. He would drum it out from his long fingers to the length of her torso as they lay next to each other, exhausted and spent from passion. He would hold the truth of her undeniable love tucked away in the corner of his lips, always ready to pull into a smile.

This moment of vulnerability and fear felt like the last of its kind, breaking away this last hidden piece of his heart. He pulled his hat off in a fist, running his other hand through his hair a few times, readying himself to speak. She gave him this moment, this last vestige of the wall he kept around his heart that he had torn down for her. To love her and be loved by her.

Both arms were crossed across his chest in a protective pose, his hat fisted into the crook of one his elbows. His mouth was set in a stern line, but his were so, so soft when they met hers, “You are very easy to love.”

She closed the distance between them fully, pressing her body against the length of his, pushing her hips into his, threading her fingers through his hair, cupping his jaw, tilting his beautiful, stubborn face up to her own to kiss him sternly.

She held him firm and true, not caring they were wasting their snooping time, not caring they were in a strange room. She stood a little taller than him with him sitting and took advantage of the delicious angle, tipping his head back, pressing soft insistent kisses to his lips, his checks, his nose, his jaw. While his body language remained rigid, tucked into himself, his face was soft and peaceful. His eyelashes jumping and resting with each soft kiss she gave to him.

She had never really been that good with words, not the way Jughead was. He was witty, he was thoughtful. Yes, she could investigate, and push herself and write a flaming article with great talking points, but when it came to expressing her own feelings in her own voice she stumbled. She tripped up and repeated herself. She never quite got the words out the way she wanted, they never sounded to her hears the way she was shouting them from her heart.  There were so many things she wanted to tell him that didn’t sound right with her voice.

So, she slipped her useless tongue against his gently, wanting tell him everything this way. To say, thank you for loving me all along. You are easy to love, too.

She knew that she would probably feel this small guilt in her heart forever. Partially hating herself for not knowing of or being able to discuss with Dilton his affection for her, and partially hating herself that she could not truthfully tell Jughead that she always felt the same for him as he did for her. She could pour all of her love and longing and heartache into this kiss and this boy, and he would be there to take it all from her.

Eventually, and all toon soon (remembering where they were and that a grieving family was sure to walk in on them at any moment) Betty pulled away from Jughead slowly, his mouth traveling with her, his lips the last point to lose contact. His eyes opened slowly, blurrily, grief and love mixed together in his achingly beautiful gaze.

Betty had to swallow down the emotion that rushed through her, causing the corner of her eyes to prickle. Her gaze landed on the ground between them to the blank photo back innocently empty to them now.

Jughead reached over to pick up the photo that had fluttered out of her hand. It wasn’t until he was lifting himself back up with the photo in hand facing towards them did she notice the most important detail. Mostly cut off by the framing of the shot, but in the corner, clear as day, and in the direction photo-Betty was turned to,  the source of her carefree laughter, was a hand on a desk. A hand she’d know anywhere, from countless touches and moments being intertwined with her own. The hand that touch her own bloodied palms and covered them with understanding and acceptance.

Betty placed the tip of her index finger on the photo-hand that she adored and declared, “It’s you.”

Jughead jolted in surprise as he whipped his gaze to hers from the photo, her smile warming in response to his wide eyes. He blinked at her for a beat, before his features melted into her favorite half small, his eyes softening and turning her to goo all over again.

Reaching into his pocket he withdrew is wallet, folding the picture to slide it into one of slim pockets before returning it to the worn square in his jeans. His eyes flicked to her before softly wondering, “Think he’ll mind..?”

Betty shook her head softly, her ponytail brushing along the line of her shoulders, and her smile faded with the movement.

As they left the darkened bedroom dusk began filtering through the window, casting long orange shadows across the walls. In time with their padding steps Jughead’s hand slipped warmly into hers, as it often so easily did. Betty turned over her shoulder to gaze back into the room belonging to a boy she did not know well enough and closed her eyes for one quite moment. She said a small little prayer from her heart to Dilton, again, not having the right words...

I’m sorry. Thank you.

-

Any feedback is appreciated! ❤️

[crowsvalentine]

Schaduw Van De Duivel

The devil’s shadow will kill on command...and finish four plates of waffles if someone let him.

(not proof read, sorry)

People lurked in the Barrel, they were eyes in the darkest corners, ears at open windows, and hands that grabbed when the one they wanted would finally pass. Kaz could feel them all whenever he walked the streets, but he caused the lurkers to shrink back into their hiding places, the sight of him scarier than anything they could ever be. They could only watch him when he passed, staying silent and keeping to themselves, no one would ever dare to step out. 

However, it wasn’t only people who lurked in the dark allies of The Barrel, and Kaz froze when he turned and caught sight of a single, piercing, ice-blue eye seeming to float all on its own in the darkness. Kaz watched it disappear entirely when it would blink. It was raining, and he should have been seeking shelter, but there was something about the eye that had him rooted to the spot, not even when the thing stepped out into the dim light of the moon did Kaz leave.

Kaz sucked in a breath when he saw it, a tiny thing, barely bigger than his hand, darker than night and as skinny as his cane. He hardly paid attention to the signs of obvious starvation, instead he was staring at the scar that ran from where a left ear should have been to where an eye was missing. The scar looked as if it were a botched stitching job, Kaz had a scar like it running up his leg from when he’d fallen. However, that fall was an accident, a puppy missing both his left ear and eye could not have been anything but done on purpose.

“Where did you come from?” Kaz wondered as he kneeld down onto the wet ground, “what happened to you?” 

Dogs weren’t uncommon around Ketterdam, but the ones that strayed to The Barrel were always old, the ones discarded by the rich kids who had lost the appeal of a dog once they’d grown out of being cute little puppies. This one looked as if it had been a pet, but it was still young, and instead of getting treated like a member of the family, it looked to be tortured like a prisoner. Watching it walk towards him, Kaz remembered a time he’d wanted a dog, he thought they were necessary because every other farm in Lij had a dog, but his dad was allergic so he was always told no. He would never have treated one of his dogs like this, no one in the Barrel would, they knew what it was like to be helpless and vulnerable. 

No one shot at an unarmed man, no one. 

He held his hand out now, palm up, but the animal only stepped back into the shadow, just watching him, skeptical because of what its owner put him through. Sighing, Kaz dug into his pocket, looking for anything that would entice the dog to come to him. If only dogs knew the value of a few kruge.

“I will be right back,” he told the dog, holding up a finger as if it would make it understand him. He walked off, practically running, to the coffeehouse he knew was just around the corner, and ordered a couple of biscuits before running back, scared that the dog had run off in the time he was gone. Thankfully, he came back and it was still standing in its little corner, tucked up against the large garbage bin, trying to shield itself from the rain and stay hidden from the wrong sort who passed. Crouching again, he held out his hand, palm up, a crumbled biscuit covering his black gloves. He wouldn’t know what to say if someone had seen him now, crouched in an ally, treating a dog better than he treated most people. They’d laugh and say Dirtyhands did have a soft spot. 

Slowly, the puppy walked back out, sniffing at the contents of Kaz’s hand before taking a reluctant lick at them. He examined the scar closer as it ate, it was jagged, and the healing lumpy and uneven, it looked like the skin on Inej’s arm from where she’d had her Menagerie tattoo cut off. It looked like someone had taken a blunt knife to the poor thing’s ear and just kept hacking until the eye was out too. 

“How are you still alive?,” he asked sadly, he should have felt silly speaking to an animal, but he couldn’t really seem to care at that moment. The dog looked like it needed someone to talk to, like it had seen the horrors of the world and understood it all before it could even walk. “Wow you eat fast.” He pulled another biscuit out of his pocket and held it out, watching in amazement as it devoured that one too. When it disappeared, it looked back up at him, as if asking if there was anymore. “They were closing, that was all they had.” 

It just tilted its head to the side, not understanding, it stepped closer and nudged his hand, thinking he’d just produce another one out of thin air. As if realizing he was done feeding him, the dog barked, once, twice, just small squeaks but the look in its eye and the stance it took, told Kaz that it would attack if he didn’t get away.  

“Not afraid of a fight, huh? Imagine when you’re bigger, see how people get scared then, sometimes you don’t even have to bare your teeth.” It was still sneering when he reached out, but made no move to bite him when he scratched behind its one ear, it seemed to calm the dog, even getting it to sit back on its hind legs. It shut its eyes and if Kaz wasn’t petting it, he wouldn’t even know that there was something there. “I’m good at disappearing acts too,” he said, smiling when the blue appeared again, “a shadow.” 

If people cowered in fear when Kaz Brekker walked by, they jumped into canals when he was accompanied by his shadow. The dog looked as if it guarded hell itself, earning its scars from the demons while protecting the devil himself. 

The dog was a joke when he first arrived, trailing its new owner, too scared to be with anyone else. It used to nip at ankles, and now it tore out throats. It used to be the size of a dime, and now it rivaled the wolves that were locked away in Hellgate. 

Schaduw Van De Duivel, they called him. Kids whispered about him on school playgrounds and tourists recognized him when they climbed off their boats. He’d become Kaz’s second, his shadow, the only thing that put more fear into people’s hearts than Kaz himself. 

However, the Dregs just called him Schaduw, they feared him like the rest, but they loved him. The crow was their symbol, but Schaduw had become their mascot, the thing that set them apart from the rest. Schaduw slept at the Slat’s front door, and if he wasn’t there, he was laying at the boss’ feet, waiting for any instruction from the man who saved him. He was the two hundred pound puppy that played in the corners of the Slat and ate waffles thrown in the air. 

“He’s cute,” Inej said once. She was sitting on his office floor, Schaduw curled up on her lap as she scratched behind his ear. “Never took you as a dog person.”

“I’m definitely not a cat person.”

“You’re snobby like a cat,” she mumbled, Kaz finally looked up and narrowed his eyes. Ignoring him, she stood, letting Schaduw hop off her and take his spot at her side. On all fours, he reached nearly to her waist, and Kaz took a second to smile at the sight. “I’m taking him for a walk, do you want to come or are you going to neglect us even longer?” 

He decided to come, and he couldn’t lie, he liked the looks Dirtyhands, the Wraith and the Devil’s Shadow got as they peacefully walked through the streets of the Barrel. 

[theinternetismylyfe-blog]

How to heal a sunburn, because summer isn't even close to over

How to heal a sunburn, because summer isn't even close to over

Even the most stringent sunscreen users find themselves surprised by the power of the sun. UV rays don't care about your intentions and whether you meant to reapply SPF. I've lived in Florida all my life and still come home from beach days with “no idea how I got so sunburnt.”

You know, I know, everybody knows that sunscreen is important. We know we should reapply it every two hours, we know we should avoid the sun when it's at its most intense. But you're still going to deal with a sunburn at some point, and when you do, it's better to know how to heal a sunburn than to deny it ever happened.

This isn't a free pass-sun damage is serious. And if the fact that 1 in 5 Americans will develop skin cancer by the time they're 70 isn't enough to convince you, maybe this will. It's estimated that 80% of skin aging is due to the sun. All those wrinkles and that discoloration? Mostly totally preventable. So for anyone who's skin care obsessed (and especially those who aren't) sunscreen should be your most important product.

First, make sure you wear sunscreen. Every. Day. And reapply it, no matter how many poolside margaritas you've had. But when you find yourself red at the end of the day, treat your skin. HelloGiggles spoke with top dermatologists to find out MD-approved ways to heal a sunburn so you can minimize damage as much as possible.

Take a bath

Turning down the temperature and taking a cool bath will soothe your skin and decrease inflammation, but an extra ingredient can help even more. “If your whole body is burnt, try an apple cider vinegar bath. After soaking for 10 minutes, the apple cider vinegar will have helped restore your skin's pH levels and your skin will feel cool and soothed,” said dermatologist Dr. Dendy Engelman. Plus, apple cider vinegar has soothing anti-inflammatory properties, while the acetic acid will gently slough off the top layer of dead skin cells.

Stay out of the sun

One sunburn and you're done. Skin is extra sensitive after being burnt, and re-exposure will only make it worse. Wear protective clothing as much as possible, and keep applying sunscreen to exposed skin. Even as your skin heals and the redness fades, it needs to be protected. “These areas are more sensitive to sunlight and must be diligently protected for several weeks,” said Dr. David Lortscher, board-certified dermatologist, CEO, and founder of Curology.

Take ibuprofen

Start taking ibuprofen within four to six hours of being sunburned to keep inflammation from getting worse, and continue to take as directed for another 48 hours. But be sure you're taking ibuprofen (on a full stomach) rather than other pain relievers. “While Tylenol will help alleviate the pain associated with a burn, it does not have the same anti-inflammatory effect as ibuprofen,” said dermatologist and RealSelf contributor Dr. Joel Schlessinger. “When you take ibuprofen, you aren't just addressing symptoms like redness and swelling, you are also helping to prevent long-term skin damage,” he added.

Moisturize

What you do now determines how healthy your skin will appear after it's healed. Moisturizing your sunburn now can keep your skin from becoming too dry and forming lines and wrinkles. “Therefore, it's important to treat the sunburn with products that have ingredients like vitamin E, which helps the skin heal,” said Dr. Engelman.

Dr. Tsippora Shainhouse, dermatologist and clinical instructor at the University of Southern California, recommended ingredients like coconut oil and shea butter, or products with ceramides to repair the broken skin barrier. “If your skin can tolerate mild exfoliation at this point, look for lotions with hydroxy acids, like ammonium lactate to gently remove the scale,” she said.

Apply antioxidants

Antioxidants neutralize the oxidative stress that can cause cell damage, so turn to them when your skin is in most need of repair. Vitamin C will most be most effective at the cellular level, said Dr. Engelman, and delivering those antioxidants in the form of serums allow the active ingredients to penetrate further. If you don't want to use your expensive face serums all over your body, try mixing just a few drops in with your moisturizer.

Drink water

Water is always important for healthy skin, but now is when your skin needs it the most. “Sunburn can draw fluid to the skin's surface and away from other areas of the body, causing dehydration,” said Dr. Schlessinger. Stay hydrated by taking in lots of extra fluids, like water and sports drinks.

Don't apply analgesics

Many of the derms we spoke with advised against applying -caine products-like lidocaine or benzocaine-despite them being common ingredients in aftersun skin care products. While these are added to numb the skin and relieve pain, they are also notorious for irritating skin and causing allergic reactions. Stick to ibuprofen to combat sunburn pain instead.

Apply hydrocortisone

There is one topical medicine dermatologists suggest for sunburns. “Apply a thin layer of hydrocortisone cream two to three times a day to reduce the redness and inflammation in the skin,” said Dr. Shainhouse. Hydrocortisone will also reduce the itch that's associated with healing skin, and prevent you from irritating your skin further.

Don't pop blisters

It's tempting, but don't do it. Those blisters are there to promote healing and prevent infection, and popping them could lead to scarring. Instead, keep them protected, and if your blisters are especially bad, you'll need some professional help. Which brings me to my next point…

Go to the doctor

If you've experienced a severe sunburn and you're developing blisters and other symptoms, you may need to see a doctor. “If blisters cover more than 20% of the body, seek a physician's care as soon as possible. Likewise, if you experience sunburn accompanied by fever and chills, you should see a doctor immediately,” advised Dr. Schlessinger.

Have patience

“Sunburned skin begins healing by itself within several days, but complete healing may take weeks,” said Dr. Lortscher. Your newly exposed skin is especially sensitive and vulnerable to the sun's rays, so that means you'll need to take care of your skin even when the redness has faded and it returns to normal. So chill out indoors for a while, your body will thank you.

The post How to heal a sunburn, because summer isn't even close to over appeared first on HelloGiggles.

[thetradeway]

Session 31: 6 Feb 2021 EIGHTH. LEVEL. SPELL.

We begin with Gunna giving Ahleqs a pep talk; with mixed results. Kessler assures us she can replace any lost limbs; we are suitably assured.

We all had nightmares during our long rest, but no physical ill-effects. Ahleqs has the orb. Gunna asks how long it would take for the mushrooms to kick in. DM tells him to suck it and see. Gunna puts them back in his bag.

We all hear in our heads a voice that says “Yes… Approach.” Shits us right up.

Ahleqs ignites Simon. Kessler tells Gideon that the demon is going to use him as a toothpick. “Nonsense, I’m far too wide.” Gideon wants to talk first; he goes and knocks on the forcefield.

The same voice tells him that his remaining years grow short - it would be a shame to die here. It will give him great power if he leaves, otherwise he will join the bones of this place forgotten in obscurity forever.

Well shit.

Gunna bangs his shield on the glass: there’s no glory in this, Northman. No-one will ever know what became of you. Leave.

Kessler thinks the demon is scared of us.

Gideon asks the demon what it’s doing here. No answer. He explains about our quest to find Raeph; still no response.

Kessler approaches. The voice says to us, rather than to her - surely you don’t trust this vindictive goblin? She’ll slit your throats in your sleep! (Gunna thinks this demon might be winning him over.) 

Tarragon hears the voice. It asks her what she’s doing here playing the hero when Tansy lies dying. It tells her that if she leaves now she just might get back in time to say goodbye. (Joe, what the fuck, man???!!)

It tells Ahleqs - well it plays on his fears and tells him to run. He wants to make Mr. Pickles proud. “So can we have our friend back and leave? Please?”

It tells Melaina that she could seek her fortune in the world, why is she still with these chumps? Melaina asks about the raping and impregnating thing, and says that we saved her, so she’ll stick around with us thank you.

Gunna has a stab at a rousing speech while Melaina hides. Gideon places a hand to his chest and casts Protection from Evil. Kessler says that won’t save him from her. Ahleqs says that he thinks they should just kiss and get it over with. “There, if we all die, I said it.” 

He twists the orb and the forcefield drops. We find ourselves in an ancient elven throne room. Motes of dust hang in the air. On the dais at the far end is another forcefield - inside is Raeph. His hair is white and his eyes are angry. He is trying to teleport but he can’t. He cannot see us.

Tarragon decides that Popcorn should not be here for this; he can’t do any kind of damage that a demon won’t halve, and he’ll only get hurt. She sends him to hide in the shadows near the door, which he does gratefully.

“If you hunger for nothing then be food for the worthy yourselves.” Turns out we’re a snackrifice; cool.

There’s some audio from roll20, in a guttural language. Do any of us speak Abyssal? No, but Gideon has comprehend languages. He tries, but can’t pick it apart even with the spell.

The air is suspiciously still. Gunna tells Ahleqs to hang back and if we all die then he is to back off and seal the demon back inside with our bodies. Ahleqs’ lip trembles.

Tarragon calls Raeph’s name but he doesn’t seem to respond. She hears a hum from the magic trapping him inside. 22 to hit Gunna. Wait - what???

Gideon can see that the magic is some sort of barrier magic, but he is unfamiliar with it. As we look on in horror, Gunna is lifted into the air in the jaws of the demon, which is a Glabrezu. “Good Golly!”

The Glabrezu uses its Strong Hand to punch Gunna. Then it casts Fly.

(It rolled an 18 and hit for 27 - that’s plus ELEVEN. Holy shitballs.)

Somehow, when the scary music cuts out, it’s worse.

We roll initiative. Tarragon has Earthbind up her sleeve and is very pleased about it.

Until the fucker makes his STR save and now she’s wasted a spell slot. “Sorry Gunna, I can’t keep wasting spell slots on it, you’re on your own.” He gives a thumbs up, from the jaws of the demon. It casts Darkness on Kessler.

Melaina shoots and misses. Ahleqs screams at us to get away from him just in case because fuck only knows what’s going to come out of him in a minute. He casts Eldritch Blast with ToC. He hits twice for ten total damage.

Gideon sheds a tear of pride as ToC has Ahleqs cast Grease, centred on himself.

Tarragon: “Tell me more, tell me more.” The entire party turns on her. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Can Gunna attack while grappled? He uses his bonus action to do Second Wind and get some HP back. He then lets loose and attacks as often as he can.

Gideon: “Cleave! Cleave with all your might!”

24 to hit? Yes. (Someone knocks on Matthew’s door. Christmas carollers?) Can the Glabrezu make a WIS save please. 25? Yeah, that makes it but he takes 12 slashing - with a magic weapon so it’s not halved. Gunna swings again with a 19 which also hits.

19 HITS

Gunna: “Is he carrying anything?” Chorus of “Yes - you”

Gunna forces another STR save, but the thing makes it. It does take 15 damage though. Gunna uses his Action Surge to attack twice more. This is his big guns. After this he’s fucked for the rest of the game. He hits, and forces another WIS save. (The thing is making concentration checks this whole time for the Darkness spell.) It makes the save and takes 13 damage. Last attack: (Please hit) 23. How high up is Gunna? 20 feet. OK, this is going to be a risky one. Gunna forces a STR save. It rolls a 28. Dammit. Takes 13 damage, but doesn’t drop him. 

Gideon. Quick question - can he see through the darkness spell? The demon is above it so he can see it. He will - no, that’s a concentration spell and he’s already got one up. Nuttos. “Confound this magic weave! Wait - *blustering* - Mirror Image!” (Kessler: “Great, now there’s more of him.”)

Kessler. She is still surrounded by magical darkness. Are her infusions magical? Consensus says yes. Doo doo doo - she’s got her lights, so she pulls one out. Because they’re magical they should work - but her lights aren’t a higher level spell than the darkness spell. Well, there goes that plan. Magic Missile! Wait that won’t work either because she can’t see the Glabrezu. She has a crossbow, she could fire at disadvantage… Might hit Gunna though? He says he can take a crossbow bolt. She has a go but misses.

Tarragon casts Faerie Fire (would do Moonbeam, but that’ll get Gunna as well.) It fails its save - Yes!!! Gunna has to makes the save as well and fails it. Both are now surrounded in sparkly green light. Gunna is the sparkliest Northman ever. He is Elton John in Twilight.

The Glabrezu laughs, points at the ground - and its friend appears. FUCK!

It drops Gunna - who clings on, he doesn’t want to be dropped now. They make contested DEX checks. (Gideon goes for a Grease break.) The Glabrezu wins the contest, shaking him off like a cat with a bit of sellotape on its paw, and Gunna is dropped and takes some bludgeoning damage.

(Meemoo is lamp because she was over-grooming due to an allergic reaction, and she’s licking the inside of the cone. She is furious that Matthew is telling us all about it.)

It casts Confusion on Gunna and Kessler. Kessler: “I’m in Darkness, it can’t see me!” Yes it can, it has truesight. Then it can see her flipping it the bird as she fails her save, she tells us. Gunna makes his save. But he is prone though, inside the Darkness spell centred on Kessler. The Glabrezu flies over to all four of Gideon, and can see with his truesight which one is the juicy one. Duncan, OOC: “Fuck off Joe, fuck all the way off!” Joe: *evil laughter*

Gideon protests but is grabbed with the pincers. Oooh wait - he has Protection from Evil! Is that anything? The Glabrezu must be a fiend, right? Yeah, demons count as fiends. In that case! Disadv on that grapple attack! It rolls again with a 12. And Gideon’s AC is:

Eleven.

Cue all of us groaning.

It hasn’t flown with him yet so he’s not far off the ground.

Melaina takes aim at the Faerie Fire’d demon. (Gideon wonders if he can slip out if he casts Grease; Melaina tells him off for not pre-Greasing himself.) She does 21 damage with Sharpshooter and hides again with a nat 20 for a total of 30. Critical Stealth!

Ahleqs makes a DEX save versus his own Grease spell. Wait Gideon needs to make a Concentration check. He needs to roll ten or half the damage he took, which he does with a 13. He still has the other Gideons all around him, all fluffing and fretting. Daddy! No!

Ahleqs uses ToC and Eldritch Blast for ten damage. Everyone within 30 feet all are now vulnerable to Piercing damage. (Would we as characters know this? We players do, but…? DM rules that casters would know.) Ahleqs uses his movement to get further away.

Johnny-come-lately demon makes a grab at Tarragon. Nat 20s for 27 damage. Tarragon rage! She is currently vulnerable to piercing damage but the grab was bludgeoning; phew. It has hold of her and moves with her. It goes over to Ahleqs, having decided it doesn’t like the look of him. It casts Power Word Stun. Can’t save until the end of his turn. Shit. That’s an eighth level spell.

EIGHTH.

LEVEL.

SPELL.

We’re level FIVE!!! *crying*

It punches Tarragon. Fuck!

Gunna, still blinded, picks a random direction. No - he makes a Perception check. He hears Gideon screaming to the southwest, and also hears Tarragon getting socked in the guts to the south east. He goes south east and emerges from the Darkness in front of the demon. “Hey, buddy!”

Tarragon belatedly makes a Concentration check for her Faerie Fire because she got punched, and makes it with a natty 20. Yeah! Gunna attacks, for 15 damage. Nice. Bonus Action Kidney Punch. No, Bonus Action Slam A Potion.

Grease Wizard is up. What can one do when one is grappled by a huge beast? He’ll probably lose a STR check. Does he have Shocking Grasp? Yes! Gideon bites him, sending electrical energy through his teeth. “Bite! For Victory!” 21 hits. 8 damage. Yeah. The thing is resistant to lightning damage, noooo. Bonus Action Scream and Spit Out Bits of Demon.

Kessler rolls a 9; she can act and move normally. She aims at the loudest screaming and hopes to hit the demon. No, the dwarf. No, the demon! She makes a Perception check, if she rolls good then the darkness and the faerie fire will cancel each other out and she can make a straight roll. She is listening to podcasts in her suit and rolls an 8. Well…

Oh shit I’m up. Tarragon casts Thunderwave and it fails its save but its too big to be pushed, so the force of the spell sends her flying out of its grip and across the room. Fucking Excellent. Best shit that’s happened to her all day.

21 to pinch the Grease Wizard. “WHATTTT?” 16 damage, and Gideon doesn’t like that. Make it stop! Oh shit we might lose our wizard. He goes limp in its hands. It throws his little corpse to the ground. Well not corpse. Yet. No throwing would do damage, it bowls him. Like in curling. We get out brooms.

Melaina gets a nat 20 and rolls on our fancy new crit tables - and does TRIPLE DAMAGE. she kills it - yay! - and the other one winks out of existence. How de do dis!

The thing has no pockets - well, it’s got one, Gunna points out - so nowhere to hide an orb. However: with her nat 20, Tarragon knows if she removes the horns she can probably get some money for them from the herbalists. Woo! She sets about sawing them off.

Naysa arrives and whines at the forcefield around Raeph, but he still doesn’t seem to see any of us. Gunna tries to force his arm into the forcefield. (Ed has just been offered another band, woohoo!) It doesn’t work, but he does break his arm. (This is almost exactly how Halbrecht lost his arm, interestingly.) That’s his short sword arm!

Melaina checks the chest. No traps, but it’s locked so she fixes that and rolls on the loot chest macro. “Bazinga! Did it work?” She’s got some stuff, but no ball of funny light. Ahleqs tries twisting the same orb we had before, but turning it the other way. Nothing happens. Tarragon Cure Wounds’s Gunna and fixes his arm.

Ahleqs Investigates the forcefield surrounding Raeph at advantage; rolls *two separate 8s*. what the entire shit. Melaina has a go at the orb. The glow looks the same as the forcefield; with her trap expertise she can see that it was only linked to the door. We need to - wait, the terrible handsome guy not-Molly is back!

Gunna and Kessler move to flank him, and Gunna attacks first asks questions never. The sword passes right through him - he’s an illusion. He says he *was* going to help us but we can now go fuck ourselves.

“No!”

He walks straight through Gunna and out the other side. He addresses Melaina - if he gives us the key will we leave and never tell anyone about this place? “Yes! Deal deal deal gimme gimme!”

He gives her a smaller orb and says once we’ve freed Raeph, we are to leave. Melaina asks is he going to keep doing murders and rapes? That wasn’t his bag, he was just here to help.

We say thank you mister man. “Why are you helping us?” Melaina asks. She only rolls a 6 on Persuasion, but he looks sheepish; what they tried to do to Melaina wasn’t right, he says. 

We twist the orb. (Another demon appears. No.) The magic fades and Raeph slumps to the floor. Tarragon heals him and we get the fruit out of there. Fade to black! Gunna picks up Raeph, who the DM tells us is not as slight as some elves. Gunna makes a STR check to see if he lifts Raeph over his shoulder like a heroic fireman or drops and drags him. Fireman!

Gunna’s new character arc is finding Flat Top to exact his revenge.

We leave the ruins, taking Raeph with us. “Is he conscious?” He will be, DM tells us. We make camp in the woods and set watches; Kessler and Ahleqs go first.

Raeph wakes up at the end of the first watch - when he sees Tarragon, just getting up for second watch, his hair changes back to normal. She fails a Nature check so she has no idea why that happened. She asks how he ended up in all of that; he says he doesn’t really know. Some sort of fey’ri trap. He asks why we are here; she says we came to rescue him. He is touched and impressed. He notices Popcorn; Tarragon says she would love to give him back but he seems to have imprinted. Gunna grunts and turns over in his sleep, muttering “Ask him to dinner…”Tarragon ignores him. 

Raeph offers us to go with him to Eihshara as he is still on his way there; the elves will probably give us a reward for killing a Fey’ri, and they can port us back to Waterdeep as well. Yeah!

In the morning Raeph addresses us and asks the group about Eihshara. Ahleqs thinks porting sounds dangerous. (Gunna asked Raeph during his own watch if he is a vegetarian, and apologises for feeding his dog meat. He is not a vegetarian and enjoys hunting, it turns out. Gunna says they should hang out sometime; apparently he’s jumping in before Tarragon.) 

Usually elves build little villages but this is more of a city. It’s where Melaina’s from. Are her parents there? *Teenage sighing* “… Yeah…”

Naysa spends her time trotting alongside Gunna hoping for more jerky. He feeds her two lots of rations. By the end she visibly can’t Blink as far.

Kessler is throwing things she doesn’t need out of her pack and over her shoulder; included in the discarded items is a scroll of Grease. Gunna picks it up with the intention of selling it to Gideon before realising he can already cast it. Oh! Gunna Casts Grease!

We approach Eihshara. It’s the largest wood elf settlement we’ve ever seen. It looks grown rather than carved, absolutely beautiful. We’ve heard of some elves who can encourage the growth of trees into whatever shapes they want. Gideon: “Unnatural, that’s what it is.”

Gunna sniffs the air; he can’t smell a single bar in this place. Kessler goes in search of an inn and maybe some comfy beds. Gideon makes a Religion check as a man of the Cloth (he often finds himself touching cloth). He sees mini shrines in the walls to Mielikki and Sylvanus and the Leaf Lord, a member of the elven pantheon. There is also a temple to the elven god of archery, if anyone needs healing. Tarragon goes inside.

The elves have a lot in common with Melaina; they’re less slight, and taller. They wear lots of leather armour, beautifully made, and simple clothes with lots of embroidery. No wonder Melaina likes shiny things. In the middle of the temple is a statue of an elven man with a bow. Tarragon goes to say a little prayer for her sister, having been thinking about her since the demon used Tansy to try and intimidate her. (DM: “awww!”)

Gunna wanted a blacksmith, and he also wants a tavern, but he’s easy on the order that they happen in. We’ll get a discount because we’re with Melaina so it’ll be a 2sp for a meal and a room. Gunna has heard of a drink he wants to try; made of the music of a satyr and the tear of a dryad. Ahleqs has had a *day* so goes over to prop up the bar. Melaina joins him.

Gunna also wants a new set of clothes, as he had to abandon his only other set in the woods after the mushroom incident.

Gunna wants a shield just like his one, but more resistant. It’s mostly wood so he’s hoping an elven blacksmith (?) might be able to help him. They have fine quality elven shields. Mates rates would be about 112gp (for a shield of +1). He barters them down to 100. Tarragon inquires about a quarterstaff of +1 - it would be about 350gp. “Never mind then, thank you!” Melaina buys some arrows.

The barman is probably a half-elf; he says he knows about Gunna’s fancy drink. It’ll cost him a gold piece. Gunna’s in, but he wants to see it first. The barman can show him the bottle; it has kind of a shimmer to it. There is no writing on the label. Gunna hands over his money. (Those of us who rolled high on our insight are fairly sure Gunna is being taken for a ride here.)

Raeph disappears and comes back with an elf woman and an elf man; they introduce themselves as Adrytheth and Nolme - members of the Circle of Elders of Eihshara. Nolme is a druid. They ask about our encounter with the Fey’ri. Gunna pulls out the severed head, explains with his mouth full, and gets back to the business of eating and drinking as fast as possible.

These wood elves are much less squeamish than we would have thought; they smile and look impressed when Gunna shows them the head. We killed this ourselves? “Yeah, you see this missing ear? Well, it was a team effort.”

Impressive. Fey’ri are a plague. What do we want for a reward? Tarragon wants a quarterstaff of plus one please! The others want gold. Gunna wants to know if they can help him find a specific half elf? (He’s looking for Flat Top.)

Why? they ask.

He supported the fey’ri! it’s because of them! Severed heads! They kidnapped our friend! The druid says he’s loath to bring violence on a kinsman. They don’t usually cause harm…? Gunna makes a performance check to describe Flat Top aka. Schlid, and rolls a 15. Sounds like Gaernan, a member of the half elf renegades. They’re just kids with the wrong idea. They have their heads full of nonsense ideas about elven civilisations of old. Fairy stories. They’re misguided, but mostly harmless.

We’re heading back to Waterdeep, yes? Here’s some gold. (Gunna says they can keep the head.) They will transport us home, and give Melaina the rune code for a return trip if we want to. As a mark of their pride and a coming of age gift, Melaina can have either a new suit of armour or a new bow. She goes for the bow. They will have their master craftsman work on one. We can rest here and go to the circle of elders tomorrow and they will transport us back.

We wait until they leave to scrabble through the bag to see how much gold they’ve given us. Gideon checks for dwarves.

They gave us a thousand gold pieces! That’s… wait…

Drinks are free for the rest of the night since we killed a fey’ri. Yeah! What’s a thousand divided by six? Tarragon figures out she can afford that quarterstaff and immediately goes running off to buy it. (She has no chill at all and Ahleqs is here for it.) Melaina follows to make sure she gets the discount. The staff in the shop are talking about us, impressed. How impressed, exactly? Tarragon is already waving 350 gold pieces but Melaina gently lowers her arm for her and offers 275. She makes a Persuasion check with Guidance - it is accepted! (Notes are squirrelly for a bit as I add a quarterstaff of +1 to my inventory on roll20.)

We catch Raeph up on everything. He offers to travel with and help us if we ever need it.

Kessler is looking for druids for some reason? She finds some near some water, and asks about dealing with curses. What manner of curse? She doesn’t want any of us to hear this; where are we?

Still in the tavern, Gunna is letting Tarragon hit him with her new quarterstaff to see how much better it is, which she is doing, gleefully. Over and over. His head looks like a meatball. She’ll cast cure wounds on him, right?

“Nope!” she cries joyfully, hitting him again.

(Kessler is asking about her cursed bloodline; she isn’t actually a goblin. Where does she live? Waterdeep. The druid says they will do some investigating and send her an animal messenger if they find anything.)

Gunna gives her a drink when she returns; she immediately pours it on Gideon and goes to bed. He Greases the stairs as she goes up them. She fails her DEX save, loses her balance and her armour goes straight through the floor. Fortunately the inn is pretty busy so the owners don’t notice.

We go to the elders the next day and Melaina is presented with a longbow of +1. They open a teleportation circle. Raeph has some business to finish here, so he will follow us later. Do we go through?

Kessler tries to throw Gideon through the circle; it ends up looking like an awkward half-embrace almost kiss and its funny as shit. Gideon Shocking Grasps her. She punches him with her thunder gauntlets. All the elves are watching this, aghast.

The elf lady offers Melaina a place with them if she wants to leave these idiots; she thanks her and rolls the catfight into the teleportation circle.

Our table at the Dagger is occupied. Gasp! A young male cleric (or a paladin?) and a hooded figure are sitting at *our* table nursing drinks. Um, excuse you.

We go up to level 6! Yeah!!!!!