#until it started to get crunchy but those first ten my god

[thisgodwontforgiveyou]

fightcade works so much better than i thought it would

#it being organized like a discord server but you can just click on ppls names to play with them is so smart #the rollback is also every bit as crazy as people said it was #like strive has good netcode this shit is on a different planet #i was fighting a guy from chile with 0 bars and it felt like i was sitting next to him for 10 games #until it started to get crunchy but those first ten my god

[incoherentbabblings]

Tim gets himself turned into a cat for a week and is forced to stay at Stephanie's until the spell wears off on its own. Honestly, it's not as traumatic as it sounds. For Tim.

“I refuse to take responsibility,” Damian said. He was holding a glossy short haired black cat with a long face and sharp features. It had big bat ears and lovely big blue eyes whose pupils dilated when Stephanie looked at it. Damian held it out for Stephanie to take, lower legs dangling from a slim body. Its tail whipped from side to side, irritated.

Apparently, it was Tim after one ill-informed altercation with that magician villain who the Teen Titans and the Flash fought occasionally.

Stephanie smiled tightly to the point where Damian thought she was in physical pain.

“Do you want to come in? Have a cup of cocoa maybe?”

“Not even slightly. I have a litter box and some compostable wood pellets for litter,”

Oh my God –

“and father insisted that someone within Gotham care for him until this passes whilst he is off planet. Zatanna says it will end on its own in a week and is less likely to end in permanent brain damage than trying to reverse it artificially. More brain damage than Drake already –”

“Yes, Damian, I get it.” Stephanie sighed, pouting as she inspected Tim, still patiently dangling in Damian’s outstretched arms. “Do you understand us Tim?”

The cat – Tim – yowled in a way which sounded partly like a Siamese cat and partly like an car engine struggling to start, but Damian shook his head.

“No. His brain has shrunk to the size of a peanut. Apparently, he will remember nothing, which is good, all things considered.”

Stephanie frowned, then leaned down directly into the cats eyeline.

“Would you rather stay with me over Damian?” she asked it, regardless. “I guess it makes sense, mom is visiting Florida for the week…” she mused out loud, feeling supremely stupid.

Tim yowled again, and his pupils impossibly grew bigger.

Groaning, Stephanie conceded. “Fine, but –” wasting no time, Damian practically tossed the cat into her arms. She caught Tim clumsily, and he meowed in distress, scrambling up to cling to her shoulders.

“Ow, ow, ow! Claws. Claws, Tim ow!”

She held him tight under his little bum, and as she watched Damian run back to the Alfred chauffeured car for the bits and pieces she would need. Stephanie turned, leaving the front door open, and went upstairs to her room. Tim clung to her tightly, little claws making an imprint in her skin. When she reached her bed she leaned forward, letting him turn on his own and land on his feet in the centre of the mattress. He plopped down, sitting perfectly straight with his tail still swishing, and watched her as she proceeded to help Damian move all the pieces of kit inside. She placed the litter tray in the bathroom, wondering briefly about those YouTube videos she’d seen of cats using the toilet could be applicable. She sighed as she sat the plastic tray down, wiggling little wood pellets a couple of inches deep. Tim had come over to join her in the door frame. He looked up at her, and she looked down at him.

“Tim, I’m going to be scooping up your poo and pee. You better give me a big boon when this all over.”

Tim mewled, and to Stephanie it sounded like a bargain had been struck. Damian handed her a plastic bag filled with cat food – whatever Pennyworth did not wish to eat he explained – then left her to it.

“Do not let him go outside.”

“Yes, Damian.”

His round cheeks puffed up, and the bridge of his nose turned red like it did when he was embarrassed.

“Thank you, Stephanie.”

Somewhat mollified, Stephanie said he was welcome and then Damian and Alfred were gone. Shutting the front door, she turned around to see Tim sitting on the stairs, watching her.

Stephanie jumped, unnerved.

“How much of your peanut sized brain is like… at human level smartness?” she asked.

Tim sat quietly for a moment, watching her with those unnatural icy blue eyes. His tail, disproportionately long, smacked against the floor with a heavy thump.

“None then. Well, still, let me know when you want feeding. Or bathroom breaks so I can clean it up before it stinks out the house. I have to work on college. So… go take a nap or something. You probably need one.”

Tim blinked, stepped down the stairs, went through to the living room, sat on her sofa, and rested his head down. Like the cat he was, he was soon asleep in the late afternoon sun.

Stephanie followed him curiously, peered over the back of the couch, admiring his glossy coat then shook her limbs loose.

Just another day in the life, she told herself.

Having her ex-boyfriend slash transmogrified cat living with her for a week. Sure. Cats were distant creatures, and so were her and Tim in recent years. They could get through this week, surely.

Oddly, having another creature in the house made her feel more lonely.

 *****

 Tim had enough self-awareness to realise he was in fact a cat, but also not enough self-awareness to realise that there were certain behaviours he should not indulge in.

Nobody believed him that he could understand what was being said, so he decided to just go with the flow for the next six days. Abdicate all responsibility. Be feral. Receive the occasional pat on the head. All in good fun. Bizarrely, he was enjoying the drama of it all.

The first issue came about at dinner. He had woken from his nap with a hunger that he had never in his eighteen years (did that make him around two years old in cat years?) of life felt before. It was as if he had not eaten in weeks he was starving he was voracious he –

Needed help in opening tin cans.

Dammit.

Honestly, Tim would have been feeling much more humiliated and more willing to jump out of a window to end it all if he was not so sure that he would instinctively land on his feet.

Just a week. And Stephanie would take care of him, loathe as he was to admit it. She would find it uncomfortable and painful with each interaction, so he would take great care in staying out of her way. Things were awkward enough between them without the knowledge that she was going to have to brush him and feed him and clean up his poops and hairballs (he loathed how easily the concept of grooming came to him). He didn’t need to inflict anymore grief on her than she had already reluctantly accepted.

None of this stopped him from being very hungry when he woke up. He needed food. Preferably ten minutes ago.

He leapt down with a solid thud from Stephanie’s sofa, shaking his head to clear any remaining nap time fuzziness, then plodded upstairs. To his own ears, it sounded very cheery.

She had left her bedroom door slightly ajar, and Tim slid in. She did not hear him enter on account of her having a giant pair of red headphones blasting music at far too loud a volume to be good for her hearing. Or rather, he assumed they were red. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that his vision had been altered. Shades of red and green blended together in assorted shades of yellow and brown, and even the blues of the world was washed out and pale. Everything had a slight blur to it, especially for objects further away. When he had first been held up to Stephanie, he realised that the blue of her eyes now seemed almost grey, and her skin was sickly. Of this change, Tim hated the most.

She was leaning over piles of notes, hands stained with highlighter and pen ink. Tim noted her expression and found he did not like it.

She looked very sad.

He meowed to try and get her attention, but with her music playing as loud as it was, she did not hear him. Drastic measures were needed. He would soon be dead from starvation before too long.

He slinked up to the side of her chair, noting the convenient space between her lap, chest and desk. He looked up at her, yowling one more time to try and give her warning, but she did not notice.

Tim blinked slowly. Her eyes were wet.

He leapt up onto her lap, fully expecting her to shriek, to lift and throw him across the room reflexively. However, she just gasped gently, surprise quickly fading, and laughed. Good. The wet look in her eyes vanished with genuine joy. She paused her music, clumsily taking off the headphones and setting them on the desk. She adjusted her lap so Tim could sit more steadily and rested her hands at the base of his back and tail, scratching absentmindedly. He chittered at her and she raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“What?” she whispered conspiratorially. Oh, she was enjoying this. Tim grumbled, body vibrating, then hopped up another level onto her desk. With a purposeful tap, he smacked her wrist.

“What is it you little goblin?”

Rude. Tim yowled, and paced back and forth. Stephanie huffed, reaching to pick him up and put him down. When she turned, she saw her alarm clock on her bedside table. It was six o’clock.

“The time?” Her eyes widened with realisation. “Oh? Dinner time?”

His loud, drawn out meow made her wince, but she nodded all the same. “Alright then sir, come on. Let’s see what we can do for you.”

He merrily leapt down from her arms, jogging away down the stairs to the kitchen. Jumping up on the counter, he pawed insistently at the food still in the plastic bags Damian had brought. Food. He needed food. He was wasting away; why couldn’t she see…

“Right, what did Damian gift us with… Oh. Biscuits huh?”

Tim froze. Cat food. He was going to have to eat cat food.

He was a cat. But not that much. He was finding it difficult enough to imagine going in that litter box in not too long. He quietly made a little meow, distressed.

Stephanie opened the bag, and the smell of dry crunchy biscuits filled the air. Tim visibly gagged, and Stephanie quickly resealed the container.

“Yeah, I agree there Timbo. I can’t give you the wet food either, that jelly is disgusting... but your stomach can’t handle human stuff. You’re a carnivore now bud.”

She hemmed and hawed, opening assorted cupboards, looking for something suitable. Tim meowed mournfully. He was going to starve unless he ate the biscuits, but he so did not want to eat the biscuits.

“Oh!” Stephanie chirped, pulling a tin down. She held it up to him for inspection. “Tuna in spring water. That’ll do, right? But how much…”

Tim paced frantically back and forth as she googled portion sizes. Starving, starving, he was skin and bones, no chance for recovery. It had been eight hours since he last ate, how did she expect him to –

She placed a shallow dish in front of him, half of the can placed sweetly in front of him. She then placed down a small glass bowl, filled with fresh water. Uncaring of his dignity, he began to eat voraciously.

Stephanie leaned on the counter, watching him do so.

“I’m sorry there’s no milk. I heard cats are actually lactose intolerant, so just water for you this week.”

Tim ignored her, so delighted with the taste of fresh tuna that the lack of milk was so far down his list of priorities. It was only when Stephanie, in an apparent act of madness, reached down and ran a hand from his temple all the way along his back to the tip of his tail did he look up. Somewhere in the back of his little kitty brain, he noted that his muscles had tensed up, rising to the pressure of her hand as it made its way down his spine to make the contact firmer. Her hand was warm. He looked up from his feast, confused.

She was still smiling, but it looked melancholy to Tim.

“I don’t think you can actually understand me,” she said quietly, half speaking to herself. “Which is pretty expected for us. I think it’s just the fact that you’re a vocal kitty who isn’t going to remember anything in six days’ time. Which is just as well. I can tell you all my secrets then?”

Tim wanted to protest her falsehoods but found the taste of tuna too distracting.

Stephanie continued, “I’m going to go on patrol now. There’s been a monster of a case I’m getting nowhere with. I’m having another go tonight. Don’t sleep on my bed when I’m away okay?”

Tim wanted very much to yowl, to let her know that he could understand, and to ask her why she was being so mopey. It seemed more than just a sadness over his situation. He wanted to explain that, honestly, he was fine with it. Well, not fine. But he had endured much worse. He knew it was temporary, he knew things would return to normal soon, and he was warm, looked after and almost looking forward to a week’s peace.

So what if he was a slightly goofy looking black cat who had the sudden urge to lick himself clean every few minutes? In the grand scheme of trauma he had undergone in his short life, shitting in a box was pretty low on the list.

He tried to tell her it was fine, only to drop tuna all over the counter. In a fumbled attempt to clean up after himself, he licked the surface clean. Stephanie groaned, then rose away from him.

“Enjoy the evening Tim. Don’t bother me when I get back. Don’t puke anywhere.”

Tim, in fact, did not puke that night. He did use the litter box however and hated it. He tried very hard to make as little mess as possible, ensuring all the litter stayed within the box. He was here because of Stephanie’s good nature; he was not about to blow it.

He did, at around 3am, however, experience what he had heard Selina refer to as ‘the zoomies’. It was a frantic pent-up energy that he did not know how to expel. The only way that came to mind was to dash across the house in a desperate attempt to tire himself out so he could return to sleep. So, he ran, up and down the stairs, leaping off the banisters and hopping over chairs and coffee tables. He did so, bored out of his mind, until he saw the lights of her vehicle pull up. He ran up the stairs in time for Batgirl to crawl through her window. He sat patiently in her doorway, waiting for the right moment to greet her, when he saw she collapsed to the floor with a distinctive and heartrending cry of pain. His little heart pounded painfully at the sound, but he did not move.

He watched as she cursed up a storm, correcting her position so she could take off her costume piece by piece. She did so wincing, crying out, and swearing with each painful movement. If she had someone to help her, she would have been able to get ready for bed in much less agony. Whatever she had dealt with this night, it had been rough.

She crawled around on the floor, apparently unable to walk now that the adrenaline had worn off. She remained in her shorts and sports bra, and without showering, crawled into bed. Tim watched as she reached into her bedside table, pulled out two painkillers, and like a baby, swallowed them with some water from a sports bottle that stood nearby.

He thought he heard her very quietly cry to herself, but that couldn’t be. Stephanie did not cry. His hearing had been different since the transformation last night, sounds and noises did not compute the way they used to. The sound she was making very quickly stopped though, and instead Tim heard her very determinedly whisper to herself,

“Always better in the morning.”

It wasn’t a philosophy he completely agreed with. Sometimes the morning just brought clarity of the previous day’s horror. But her odd breathing stopped, and soon it was replaced with the deep gentle snoring of someone sleeping. Finally, Tim moved. He wanted to curl up next to her. Stephanie was warm, and he had discovered recently that he liked warm places. He wanted her hand to stroke him again.

But no. She had said to stay off her bed for sleeping. She has asked him not to bother her. She certainly would not be happy to find him sleeping next to her. Tim tried to remind himself that he was only getting away with certain behaviours because of his size, and there were some boundaries that he should not cross. What if she woke up in the morning, only to find that the spell had worn off early, and there was a naked human Tim Drake in her bed?

Oh no. That would be very embarrassing.

Besides, he didn’t have that kind of relationship with her anymore. He didn’t have the right anymore to insert himself into her space. They had decided not to pursue it. Not good for her, she’d said.

Tim could no longer remember his own reason. He suspected it was moot after she had become Batgirl.

And yet… she’d been crying. Tim wanted to help her. How could that not be good? Surely if he could provide comfort, if he wanted to provide comfort, she would allow it?

He turned away, not liking the way it felt like turning away from someone calling for help and returned to the living room sofa. He curled into a ball, and slept until the morning, whereupon the hunger pains hit him once more.

And so, a routine began. Tim would yowl like he was dying outside Stephanie’s door, reluctant to intrude whilst she slept. Eventually, Stephanie would emerge, ready to feed him chicken or another half a tin of tuna. He was not so secretly delighted at the way her eyes lit up with humour when she saw him, spinning in circles unable to contain his excitement, though Tim would note locations of bruises that had not been there the night before. She was struggling, it seemed.

She would then go take a shower, clean out his litter tray with a pithy comment, then go to class, leaving Tim bored until she would return after four, ready to clean his litter tray once more, provide dinner, then spend a couple of hours doing homework before leaving again for patrol. She would return at first light, looking more defeated with each passing sunrise. She would be smiling come the morning, but – even with a brain the size of a monkey nut – Tim saw it was shallow.

It did not escape Tim’s notice that she was going out of her way to avoid him. He understood it. She did the same thing when he was human. He would call for her help from time to time with a case, which she gave without reservation, just as she had done now for kitty him, but rarely, if ever, did she call for his aid.

Her stubborn independent streak had not abated with time it seemed, even when it came at the price of her safety.

That and she just seemed sadder than usual. Or was this usual, and he was just never around and allowed to view it?

His tiny mind whirled and churned, and with no outlet, he stewed, glaring out the window at passer-by’s and their dogs.

Regardless, on the fifth night, after hearing her stilted heart-rending sobs and half-hearted and self-inflicted words of comfort, he decided to break the one boundary she had set.

He jumped up onto the bed, moving until he had clambered on her sternum, then folded down into a loaf position. Stephanie tensed, unsure what game he was playing, until she felt him begin to purr.

She laughed brokenly, more of a whimper than a genuine expression of joy and reached up to scratch behind his ears.

Tim purred louder, to her delight.

“I’m having a bit of a rough time,” she spoke quietly in the dark, as if reluctant to break the thick, dark blanket of warmth and comfort. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Tim gave a small ripple of a meow in response. She was not a burden.

“I can’t get a crack on this case,” she explained. “I make a dent, get hurt in a fight and am fine in the morning, but then so are they. I’ve hit a wall. But I have to do it alone. Bruce and Babs expect me to now… I have to…”

Her voice broke and she cut herself off. She smiled crookedly, painfully trying to dispel her sadness. Tim began to make biscuits. He didn’t understand why, but he thought the pressure would help. She was a little furnace beneath him, and he purred loudly, drowning out her shaky breathing.

Stephanie chuckled at the sensation of his little vibrating chest. She ran a hand down his back again, enjoying the smooth coat. Contradictorily once more her eyes became wet.

“Do you think, when you are back to normal, we could talk? There’s…there’s no-one else who would understand. Though I think I’d make Cass sad if I told her that. But I miss you. And I think it’s my fault.”

Tim shifted upwards, until his nose rested under her chin. He continued to purr loudly, nearly trilling with the force of it. Steph nuzzled in close and kissed his forehead and flicked his large ears.

“Silly boy. I hope you don’t remember this. You’d hate me for it.”

Tim meowed grouchily. How she could lie to herself like that…

They’d burned their bridge long ago. He knew this. And him being a cat for a week was not going to mend it. But it made his heart ache like nothing else to see her despondent. He silently promised himself that he would extend an olive branch before the end of next week. They couldn’t continue like this, tip toeing around each other with Tim occasionally stepping too close and making Steph flinch back away.

She wasn’t flinching away now though.

She picked him up so she could sleep better and set him on the pillow next to her. Turning on her side, she reached up and placed a soft, warm hand on his shoulders, rhythmically petting the fur there.

Her quiet sniffles died off, Tim’s purring acting as a lullaby, and she fell asleep before the sun rose.

Throughout the night he shifted closer, until he was practically resting on her head. He rested his chin on the crown of her head, her long golden hair acting like a silken pillow, and kept guard for the rest of the night.

 *****

 Stephanie awoke to her nose being licked. She opened her eyes blearily, and realised it was Tim cat. She blushed, remembering what had transpired last night. She told herself it was fine, opening up like that. It was only a cat. It was only Tim. Tim, who would be blissfully ignorant come the evening. Though that reminded her, she better lay out some clothes for him. Her mother was coming back at some point in the next forty-eight hours. The idea of her walking in on a naked Tim would cause a conniption.

She smooched Tim’s head, and he meowed cheerily at the wet smack, and continued to press up against her.

She had kept her distance at first, struggling to reconcile Tim with the little sleek gremlin cat meowing at her feet. It felt weird, so she – for a lack of a better term – ignored him. He would be so angry when he changed back, she wanted to avoid anything which he could extrapolate from the week as her being mocking or patronising.

Bruce’s anger she had learned to ignore, Tim’s she hadn’t figured out a knack for yet. It hurt, in a physical manner that she could not explain. Like he was kicking her in the gut again. She found herself actively taking steps now to avoid it. Avoid the concept of it.

But she was exhausted, physically, and emotionally. Years ago, when she would reach such a state, Tim would somehow figure it out and slink in through her window or take her on a quiet date. The two would hold on to each other, and let Stephanie catch her breath and perspective with a warm pillar of support behind her.  

Despite Tim now being a cat, it seemed he still had this perception, and had sought her out to give comfort. Weird how animals could sense those sorts of things.

Fuck it, she thought. It was the last day, she was feeling miserable, and there was a perfectly cuddly vibrating fluff ball in her arms, who showed no signs of irritation and instead was offering comfort that she didn’t get much of in recent years. She was going to milk this for all it was worth. Maybe she could take some photos and videos later – humiliate or blackmail Tim later. All in good fun, of course. She never wanted to genuinely upset him.

She continued to give him sweet pecks on his head back and sides, which she thought he liked, as he meowed and headbutted her.

“Sweetie,” she praised, and she picked him up to cradle him properly. He flipped over, being held like a baby, as she continued to croon, “Last day as a kitty. Tomorrow you won’t remember a thing, and we won’t be able to talk like I am now… isn’t that sad? I think we should spoil you today. Lap of luxury and all that. It’ll keep my brain busy, if nothing else.”

He pawed at her chin, and she kissed his toe beans.

She spent an embarrassingly long amount of the day starfished on the floor, playing with Tim. He was a chatty little cat, more so than he ever was as a person. His meows sounded like a revving engine and were as long as he could hold his breath. He was graceful though, despite his lanky limbs and giant ears. He leapt from surface to surface and straight into her arms with seemingly no effort, and whenever she let him roll out of her embrace, he landed neatly on his feet every single time.

Stephanie couldn’t help it, but when she pulled out a little laser from her Batgirl belt, she recorded Tim’s feral delight, chasing a speck of red across the house. She laughed more than she had in a long while, partly because it had been so long since she had seen anything so unabashedly goofy as Tim as a cat, shaking his little bum, pupils dilated larger than dinner plates, in preparation to jump a red point of light.

It was delightful and made her wonder if she could convince Crystal to adopt a cat once she returned. Poor Tim, he’d have no clue what he’d endured come the morning, but at least in that moment, he seemed happy.

When it reached eight pm, Stephanie sighed, realising she had another night of patrol to face. Selfishly, she wanted to linger, to keep company with the cat, but she quickly shook that thought off. People needed her. She wanted her case over and done with.

“One last go,” she whispered. “I can do it tonight. I’m nearly there.”

Tim hopped up onto her lap and she was sliding on her gloves. She chuckled lightly and scratched under his chin. He purred, craning his neck to allow her better access.

“I’ll lay your human clothes out for you on my bed, okay? If it’s not fixed by the time I’m back… I’ll put you in your boxers and jeans and hopefully come morning…” She got up, hoisting Tim to rest on her shoulders, and tugged one of the plastic bags Damian had left for her. To her growing dismay, she realised there was only a pair of underpants. She looked sideways, Tim peering over her left shoulder. “Oh dear, Tim. Damian really is out to get you, huh?”

He chuffed, like he was grumbling to himself. She pecked him once more, and he meowed more firmly, hopping off her shoulders as she made her way to rummage through her wardrobe.

“I don’t want my mom to come back and find you in your undies in my room and me being AWOL. That would just be one step too much for her, I think. I still have some baggy sweatshirts…pants though… pants…”

She tossed clothes haphazardly, at one point burying Tim under a pile of bras and underpants that she shrieked at, loudly and joyously, when she realised what she had done. Eventually she found a pair of jeggings which she hoped would suffice. Tim looked almost suspicious. If he had eyebrows, they would have been raised.

“You have skinny legs,” Stephanie justified, feeling insane talking to the cat. “It’s fine. Just until the morning. I’ll drive you back and no-one will see your shame. Not even Damian. We’ll sneak. Promise.”

She carefully laid out the clothes, and shoved what she had carelessly tossed out her closet back in with equal zeal. Pecking Tim once more on the head, she moved the litter box into her bedroom and shut the door.

“I can’t have mom coming back to a half naked boy in my living room and a box of used kitty litter. You’ll have to stay in here. Hopefully, I’ll be back before she is. She said she’ll drive the whole way and not stop. So, maybe by seven in the morning? Fingers crossed.”

She opened up the windowsill, slinking her leg over. Tim hopped up on her desk, as if to follow her out.

“Uh-uh,” she warned, pressing on his wet nose firmly. “You have to wait here. Damian made me promise you’d stay inside. I can’t risk losing you.”

She caught herself speaking more desperately than she intended and shuddered. “You know what I mean. Naked boy CEO found running through the streets of Gotham is not the kind of attention the family needs right now. Be good, Tim. And thank you. You cheered me up so much today.”

One more kiss, then she was out the window, sliding it definitively shut. As she mounted the bike, Tim perched himself at the windowsill, watching her shoot off down the street.

When she was out of sight, he jumped down and paced endlessly, stressed and worried. She had been struggling so much with patrol, and he was unable to help her. Feeling utterly helpless, he jumped up onto her bed and settled on her main pillow. Curling up into a ball, he settled in to wait, praying that she would return home safely, and before Crystal arrived back.

He awoke, briefly, when he felt a soft pair of hands lifting him up. He chirped and chuffed, and it was Stephanie hushing him. She wrapped him up in his boxers and sat him next to her under the covers.

She was smiling, albeit a tired smile.

“I did it,” she whispered, scratching his ears. “Tim, I did it.”

Tim meowed a congratulatory chitter, and Stephanie smiled wider.

“Sleep now. I’ll explain more in the morning.”

In an act which utterly took Tim off guard, she pulled him closer, curling around him in a crescent moon shape. Under the covers in the dark, surrounded by her scent and soft breath, Tim began to purr once more.

 *****

 “Steph? Steph…”

Stephanie grumbled, then opened her eyes when cold fingertips pressed against her cheek. Looking at him with an expression Tim could not decipher (relief? Disappointment? Fright?) Stephanie inspected Tim up and down. He had put on his boxers and her sweatshirt but had yet to touch her trousers. Nevermind. He was kneeling on the floor next to her bed. According to her clock, it was just after six in the morning.

Right, Tim needed context.

“I suppose you are very confused right now… Being in my room in your undies… so let me explain—”

She yawned then, arms emerging from her duvet to stretch dramatically. Tim watched the muscles in her neck, then chuckled to himself.

“No, Steph. I remember.”

“Oop.” She froze, watching him anxiously, like an antelope faced with a lion. “Everything?”

“Everything.” He then snorted defiantly, “despite what Damian insisted, I was still me. Shockingly, he is not omnipotent.”

Chewing her tongue, Stephanie narrowed her eyes, not having it at all.

“Oh c’mon, you are lying out your butt.”

“Am not.”

“Are too! There’s no way you’d lower yourself to chasing my laser pen across my living room. Oh gosh, Tim, it must have been horrible…”

Tim shrugged, making a noncommittal noise.

“Maybe I wanted to catch that point of light, huh?” he teased. He then conceded, “Maybe I had a bit of trouble keeping cat me and human me straight in my head.”

“Yeah, that I believe.”

“But honestly, having a week where my biggest concern was whether I was getting tuna or chicken for my next meal was sort of refreshing.”

“I can find a way to turn you back if you like.”

“Hmm. Pass.”

Stephanie giggled, but cut off abruptly when Tim shuffled closer. She felt herself grow cross eyed as she watched him move in so intimately. Tim’s warm breath blew over her as he continued,

“Yeah well, having said that… You mentioned that I helped you. Cheered you up.”

Tim’s teasing look softened, and in that moment looked at Stephanie with such unabashed and unfiltered affection that she felt incredibly self-conscious. Tim was only in his boxers and her sweatshirt, and she was only in a baggy nightgown that she had tossed on when she had arrived home; the first time in weeks she had been uninjured enough to change her clothes.

“Maybe,” Tim continued, “I wanted to see you smile. You were so sad all this week… I needed to help you. Even if it was as dumb as chin scratches – as good as they felt – and chasing lasers. I… I heard you crying, Steph.”

Her arms came down from their stretch, and rested on his shoulders, fingers gently stroking back and forth.

“I’m okay,” she promised, like she was the one comforting him.

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed. “I could have helped you before now.”

There was no chiding in his tone, only pleading, but it made Stephanie feel guilty, nonetheless.

“I had to do it alone.”

“No, no you didn’t. You don’t have to be alone for anything.”

“You’re such a big softie.”

Tim laughed gently, “With you, sure.” Taking a deep breath, he moved even closer until he was practically leaning over her, tips of their noses touching. “Steph… I need to ask you something.”

Stephanie nodded, eyes growing damp. “Shoot,” she whispered, voice cracking and betraying the nonchalant words.

“Could we –”

Crystal opened Stephanie’s bedroom door, and the pair froze. Instinctively, Stephanie raised an arm with a shocked cry, slamming Tim in the face. He wheezed and shot up into standing, which only proved to give Crystal a good view of him in his underwear and daughter’s clothes. Looking somewhat dazed and yet unsurprised, she looked to Stephanie for whatever lie of an excuse her daughter could conjure up.

“Mommy!” Steph cried out. “I did not hear you get back. How was Florida?”

“I was being quiet since it was still early,” Crystal grumbled, unamused by Stephanie’s glib tone. “But then I heard talking.”

Crystal glared at Tim, who fidgeted, finding no dignity in any pose he maintained. Stephanie scrambled upwards so she was sitting, thankfully she had managed to put on pyjamas last night, and clambered for some excuse, any excuse.

“Tim was… It’s not… ”

Seeing her daughter fail to come up with some vaguely plausible non incriminating reasoning, Crystal turned to Tim, glaring holes through his head. He would crack in a way that Stephanie would not.

“Why are you here, Tim?” she demanded.

“I… I…” Tim began to shiver with nerves, face flushed red and eyes bright with panic.

“Where are your pants?”

Tim choked on air. “…I don’t have any. With me.”

“And no shirt either?”

Tim very much wished the ground would swallow him up.

“No.”

Stephanie groaned, throwing herself face down into her pillow. “Good job, Tim.”

“It’s the truth, Stephanie!”

Crystal’s fingers twitched on the door handle, and Stephanie could see one of her pressure headaches building, like a throbbing in her mother’s temple.

“You know what – just leave Tim. And we won’t discuss it again.”

Tim would take that and run. At least this time he wasn’t being chased out of a house with a shotgun like Ariana’s uncle had done.

“Sure. Sure. Can… Steph. Can I borrow your phone?”

“So someone can come pick you up?” Crystal snorted. “What? Don’t you have shoes either?”

Tim realised if Crystal had her way he would have been forced to run back to the manor. Death at this point really would have been preferable. Weakly, he just stated, “No, Mrs. Brown.”

Stephanie spoke at her mother and into her pillow, unable to look the embarrassing situation in the eye.

“Mom, please. The guy’s dignity has already been shot. Please don’t make him walk back to Wayne Manor in his tidey-wideys. I can give you a lift Tim, I said I would.”

“No, no,” Crystal insisted. “I’m sure you’ve done enough Stephanie.”

Stephanie shrieked, muffled but distressed. Dramatically, with exaggerated movements, she removed her phone form under her pillow and unlocked it without looking, then tossed it up the air. Tim scrambled to catch it, then dialled for the manor. Crystal stood aside, indicating it was time for Tim to leave the room. He looked back to Stephanie, still buried in her bed sheets. It was a look of desperation on his features that made Crystal feel almost guilty for separating the pair, but honestly, she did not trust her daughter, and she did not trust Tim, however soft spoken he may have been.

When Tim exited the room, Crystal shut the door with a definitive slam behind him. Turning back to Stephanie, she saw her daughter’s shoulders shaking with quiet crying. This only served to befuddle Crystal more, but before she could say or do anything else, a shallow container on the floor by her daughter’s desk caught her eye.

“Is that a litter tray?” she asked, confusion reaching fever pitch.

Stephanie raised her head to stare at her mother, eyes wet and pout overwhelmingly sad.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth.”

 *****

 “Alfred washed it. Got rid of all the cat hairs.”

Tim held up the blue sweater for Stephanie to take on her doorstep. She took it reverently and inhaled deep. Alfred always used an excess of fabric conditioner that made clothes smell lush. Tim, for his part, looked apologetic.

“I’m sorry you got drawn into all of that. I’m sorry I made you and your mom fall out.”

Stephanie said nothing, keeping Tim on the doorstep as she set down the sweatshirt. When she looked back to Tim, closing the front door behind her, she was struck by the thought that he seemed much younger than eighteen. He was scuffing his feet on the concrete, hands behind his back, like a bashful child.

“It was all because I was careless with Abra Kadabra and it bit me in the butt and Damian didn’t want to have to deal with me so he burdened you with it. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t a burden,” she replied quietly. “I liked it. The last day.”

“Oh,” Tim blushed, looking anywhere but in her eye. “Me too. For what it’s worth. Honestly, it was actually really nice. Relatively. In context. You know. In a not creepy way.”

“It must have been a bit weird. Like, don’t pretend it wasn’t. All that chicken and tuna you ate for one thing…”

Tim chuckled to himself, finding something very funny.

“Yeah my digestion has been wild the past week and... too much information. Sorry.”

Stephanie tried to catch his eye, but Tim kept his head stubbornly down. His feet must have been very interesting.

“You… you were going to ask me something, before my mom walked in,” she pushed.

He coughed, choking on nothing but his nerves.

“Was I?”

“Tim.” She reached out and took his hand. Tim flinched, then relaxed and finally gathered the courage to look her in the eye. She smiled, beautifully, always beautifully, and he squeezed her fingers.

“I’m sorry if it took me being turned into a cat to actually ask.”

“That’s okay. It happens for people like us. In a way I think it puts things into perspective. So, please ask.”

“You…” 

He stared at her, admiring her, before finding words couldn’t do the job well enough. Instead, he leaned forward, meeting Stephanie who was also moving closer, and the two kissed on Stephanie’s front doorstep. She broke away with such a delighted laugh that Tim chuckled himself.

“Ask me,” she insisted.

Tim shook his head and kissed her again. Falling back against her front door, the two made out for a moment too long before Stephanie regained her senses. She pushed him back, laughing louder and more hysterically.

“Tim! No! You need to ask!”

Another kiss, this time accompanied by him picking her up and swinging her in a circle. Finally, Stephanie gave up and held him tight. Tim made a noise that she could only describe as a chirp of delight in response.

“You’re a little gremlin,” she muttered into his mouth. “Cat or otherwise.”

#dc #tim drake #stephanie brown #timsteph #my fic tag

[natbarzal]

hey guys! so I already said a few times that I have an imagine book on Wattpad and I already wrote a few imagines, but I don't want to publish imagines here right now; I think my imagines wouldn't fit in with all those amazing stories here on Tumblr

today, however, I decided that since it's Valentine's Day, I'd publish one here

it's an Artemi Panarin imagine and I think it's my best one yet, so I decided I'd try to share it with you :)

I hope you'll like it😊

word count: 1891

_________________________________________

Artemi Panarin - Surprises

The morning sun shining brightly through the windows of our bedroom woke me up.

I closed my eyes again and smiled to myself, thankful to be waking up to yet another beautiful day. I reached to Artemi's side of the bed to say good morning to my Russian boyfriend, but all I was met with were cold, empty sheets.

I opened my eyes and looked around, confused, before I smelt something burning. My eyes widened a little and I got up from the bed and wrapped myself up in my robe before going to look what was happening.

As I got closer to the kitchen, I heard my boyfriend swear a little in his native language and it made me giggle.

When I arrived to our kitchen, I leaned against the wall and enjoyed the view that was given to me. A shirtless Artemi stood facing the stove and was trying to save whatever he was trying to make from burning even more, his grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

I looked at his muscular back and those golden messy curls that I loved to play with before deciding to make my presence known to my man.

"Are you trying to set our apartment on fire or what?" I asked with a light playful smirk on my lips. I laughed as Artemi jumped a little before turning around and looking at me with wide eyes.

"You are up?" he asked and stood in front of the stove as if to hide whatever he created from me.

"Yeah, I am. And I'll tell you it wasn't very nice waking up to an empty, cold bed and a smell of food burning." I said but smiled after to let him know that I wasn't mad. "You should've woken me up, I would've made us something." I said and tried to go closer.

"No!" Artemi said and went to stop me. He turned me around by my shoulders and started to lead me out of the kitchen. "You always cook. Today I cook. You go to bed. I surprise you today."

"But-" "No. You go to bed, I be there soon." he said, pushed me lightly into the hallway and went back to work.

"I don't even get a good morning kiss from my loving boyfriend?" I called and in seconds he came back, pecked my lips and then went back into the kitchen.

I went back into our bedroom and laid in our bed, trying to think of the best way to give Artemi my present for him.

Ten minutes later, I heard a light knock on the door.

"Can you pretend you sleep my love? I want wake you up with breakfast." Artemi said behind the door. I smiled at how sweet he was and closed my eyes, pretending I'm asleep.

"Okay, I'm asleep, you can come in." I called with a smile on my lips.

I heard him open the door and a few seconds later a felt the bed dip beside me. Then I felt his hand brush my hair out of my face and a soft kiss landed on my forehead.

"Wake up, my love." he whispered in soft voice with his strong Russian accent and butterflies erupted in my stomach. 3 years together and he still made me feel like on our first date.

I slowly opened my eyes, trying to act as if I just woke up. I looked into his blue eyes, smiling up at the love of my life. "Good morning." I whispered back and leaned up to press a gentle kiss to his soft lips.

It wasn't until we separated that I noticed the tray with grilled cheese on one side and waffles with chocolate topping and strawberries on the other and some orange juice and coffee on the side.

The grilled cheese was a little darker than it was supposed to be, but just the fact that Artemi got out of bed early to do this for me was immensely sweet. And I didn't mind anyway, I like it crunchy.

"I don't know if you want sweet or sour, so I made both. And wait, I have more surprise." he said, got up from the bed and walked out the door.

A minute later he walked holding a giant bouquet of red roses in front of his face.

I gasped and one of my hands flew up to my mouth. Tears started to form in my eyes, no one has ever done anything like this for me.

"Artemi.. I.. you didn't have to! I feel like a princess right now!" I said, taking the flowers from him while trying not to let the tears escape my eyes.

"That not good. Because you are my queen." he said and smiled softly at me. "Now eat. I have more surprise after breakfast." he said and picked up one of the strawberries.

"Honey are you kidding me? I only have one present for you!" I said. I knew the one present I had is probably be the best one he I could ever give him, but that didn't stop me from feeling bad.

"I don't need presents. I already have you. Now eat." he said and motioned for me to open my mouth so he could feed me the strawberry.

I put the flowers on the bed beside me and we ate together. We shared a few laughs here and there, enjoying each other's presence and the breakfast that was unexpectedly delicious.

After 20 minutes, the tray was empty and our stomachs were full. Artemi took the tray and got up from the bed.

"You wait. I bring the surprise." he said and then he was out the door.

I took a moment to think about how lucky I was. I never thought I'd have someone who make me feel like a princess to be honest, but boy I was wrong.

I wasn't looking for anyone when I met Artemi, though I must admit I've always thought he was very cute. We met through one of our mutual friends, then we became friends and eventually Artemi asked me out on a date and I'm very happy he did.

I love the way he makes me feel. He knows that I'm sometimes insecure, but he always knows exactly what to say to make me feel better. He always puts my happiness before his own. He's the best thing that ever happened to me and I'll never stop being grateful for him.

I was pulled out of my thoughts when I saw Artemi come into the bedroom with his hands holding something behind his back.

"Close your eyes, moya lyubov'" he said and I did as I was told and my heart flattered at the nickname he likes to call me in his native language.

I felt the bed beside me dip again.

"You can look." he said and I opened my eyes to be met with a box from my favorite bakery.

They have the best cupcakes, but since I'm trying to remain fit and they're quite expensive, I don't buy them often, but Valentine's day is only once a year after all. But again I couldn't help but feel a little bad, because this meant he got up really early and went to the bakery before I even woke up.

"Artemi thank you. You really didn't have to do all this." I said, leaning closer to him to give him a short kiss and hug him.

"Look inside." he said and looked at the box.

I opened the box and when I saw what was inside, my hands flew up to cover my mouth and tears started to fill my eyes for the second time that morning, but this time I didn't even try to stop them.

Inside the box was my that favorite cupcake that I was talking about, but on top of it sat the most beautiful ring I have ever seen.

Artemi looked at my face for a minute before taking my hands into his. I could tell he was nervous from the way his hands were slightly shaking and the nervous sigh he let out before starting to talk.

"Y/n.. I love you. I want to spend my life with you. I want to fall asleep next to you every evening and wake up next to you every morning. Will you please make me the happiest person alive and marry me?" he asked and I couldn't help but start crying even harder. I didn't trust my voice so I just nodded.

Artemi slipped the right on my finger and I immediately jumped into his arms, hugging him tight. We just sat like that hugging for a few moments before I remembered something.

"Oh my god, I almost forgot! Now it's time for my surprise!" I said after I pulled away. "Close your eyes baby." I told him and when he did, I reached into my bedside table for the little box.

"You can open them now." I said after I put the present into his hands.

"You got me watches?" he asked me when he saw that the little box I put into his hands was a Rolex box. "They cost a lot of money my love, you-"

"You didn't even open it! Look inside!" I cut him off and excitedly waited for him to see what I had for him.

He took of the lid and just stared into the box for a few moments. Then he looked up at me as if he wanted me to confirm. I nodded my head and waited for his reaction.

He took the little stick out of the box and looked at it closely. Then he looked at me again.

"We have a baby?" he asked quietly.

"Yes Artemi. We're going to have a baby." I answered and I couldn't help but grin because I already knew he would be happy about the news.

Before I knew it, he threw the positive pregnancy test somewhere onto the floor, got out of the bed and then picked me up so he could spin me around.

After he put me back on my feet, he took my face in his hands and kissed me repeatedly.

"A BABY!!" he shouted and I couldn't help but laugh. I loved this man so much and now we were about to start a family together. I'm truly living my dream.

Artemi then suddenly got onto his knees and put his hands on my stomach.

"Hi baby. I am your daddy. I know you don't hear yet, but I love you. And mommy love you too. I want have you here already." he talked to my still unnoticeable belly. My heart almost burst out of joy at the sight.

He then stood back up and gave me one more sweet kiss before holding me close to him. I put my head on his chest so I could hear his heart beat and wrapped my arms around his torso, holding him tightly.

"Best Valentine day ever." Artemi said and kissed my hair lightly.

"Yeah." I agreed quietly and let myself enjoy the moment.

I just got engaged to the love of my life and we are having a baby together. This is certainly a day I'm going to remember forever.

_________________________________________

I hope it's okay. sorry for repeating the word 'said' a lot. I'm aware I do it, but my vocabulary still isn't the best at the moment, but I'll do my best to improve it

it would be great if you could give me some feedback😊

#artemi panarin #nhl imagine #nhl #new york rangers

[wearesorcerer]

[5e] 9th-Level Spells

You may be wondering why I’m starting my review of 5e spells with the highest level spells available. That’s simple: you only get one.

The 5e Sorcerer table isn’t quite like the 3.x one, but it is like the 3.5 Warlock and Psion: at any given level, you can known X spells and have Y spell level as your maximum. The table is elegant, but you have to know to level your character from first level rather than reading the table straight across if you’re making a higher level character. (I’ve made this mistake many a time. It’s why I dislike this sort of table: it looks nice but isn’t actually helpful.)

If you’re trying to have as many spells of the highest available spell level as possible, you would have from 0th to 9th 6/3/2/2/2/2/1/1/1/1. I find it easier to work backwards in this case, as you can say “I want to reserve X spells known for higher-level spells” and then figure out how many low-level ones you can have instead of getting to a higher level and running into a corner.

The question with 9th-level spells is not “what’s good?” because they’re all good. Rather, it’s “what’s worth taking as my single most powerful class feature?” That should narrow things down a lot.

Primary List

gate · mass polymorph · meteor swarm · power word kill · psychic scream · time stop · wish

I’ve written about wish and time stop ZA WARUDO! (time crunchy noises), but not in the context of 5e. Wish has changed substantially; time stop hasn’t. You have a few options, but the majority of them are boom-boom.

Gate: you can hold open an interplanar portal for as long as you concentrate (up to a minute) at the cost of a 5,000 gp diamond; if you know the name of a specific creature, you can use the spell to summon that creature. For some odd reason, gate is both the most Warlock spell in the game besides planar binding, yet is only a Warlock spell through a UA variant. For a Sorcerer, this could be useful, but you’re making your best spell cost you money every time you cast it. Strategically speaking, this spell is situational enough (read: a Wizard spell) that if you wanted it in the first place you should take it with the Ritual Caster feat, but for some reason this most obviously ritualistic spell isn’t a ritual. There are better uses for your spell known, but this is by no means a bad spell. Save for a scroll or something.

Mass Polymorph: you polymorph (Wis negates) up to ten creatures you can see within 120 ft. for as long as you concentrate (up to one hour), just like with polymorph. It incorporates animal shapes into it. If you want animal shapes, you should find a way of getting it instead: you don’t need a 9th-level spell slot for it (so can cast it more often -- 8th + 9th level spell slots), it lasts for 24 hours, and you can affect more creatures (30 ft. area = radius = 96 squares - the one you’re in = 95 Medium creatures [more if they’re smaller and squeezing together]). I don’t care for the concentration aspect of the 5e polymorph spells. I mean, I get the rationale, I just find it odd for this particular spell -- and I’d rather not give my opponent a tactical reason to target me. Pass.

Meteor Swarm: four fireballs fall from the sky and each deal 20d6 fire + 20d6 bludgeoning (Dex half; average 140 damage), setting everything they touch ablaze. Beautiful. I love meteor-style spells, so this is high on my list even though it’s a boom-boom spell and I’m not particularly boom-boom oriented. The best part of this is that it has a range of one mile, so you can destroy enemy armies without risking getting killed! Yay! Yes.

Power Word Kill: one creature within 60 ft. of 100 HP or less drops dead (no save). 100 HP is more than the average of many high-level characters, so unless the DM gave a boss max HP you can use this to kill even major opponents reliably. An optimizer will tell you that a spell without a save is something you should always take -- and would be correct insofar as it makes you more difficult to stop. I, however, dislike that mechanic: there’s almost no reason a spell shouldn’t have a save. This one should have the choice of Wis (resisting the mental influence) and Con (staying alive despite the heart attack/stroke/whatever). A very good spell, but I’d call it OP.

Psychic Scream: 10 creatures of Int 3+ within 90 ft. take 14d6 psychic damage and are stunned (Int half [damage]/negates [stunning]); their heads explode if they die. The beauty of this one is that it goes off of Int rather than Wis (meaning Wizards are the only targets you really need to worry about) and it automatically avoids friendly fire. Yes.

Time Stop ZA WARUDO!: you get 1d4 + 1 rounds to act, but the spell ends if anything you do (including effects you create) affect other creatures or objects someone else is wearing or carrying or you move more than 1,000 ft. from where you cast the spell. The main purpose of this spell is to buff yourself a lot, run the fuck away, or stack delayed blast fireballs to deal a buttload of damage. That’s all very nice, but it’s a continuation of the 3.0 nerf to the spell: in 2nd ed, you could pull a DIO and attack people or an Over the Hedge and steal things. Now for my main quibble. 3.5′s Player’s Handbook II had the celerity line of spells, which you could cast as an immediate action (choice of reaction or bonus action). Each one dazed (incapacitated) you afterward, but gave you an extra move (lesser), action (no prefix), or round (greater) to do with as you pleased. I’m willing to guess that there are similar spells in 5e. In 3.5, there were ways of becoming immune to dazing; maybe there’s a 5e-compatible build for that. Either way, as a 9th-level spell, I should get to throw knives at people to my heart’s content before dropping heavy objects (like steam road rollers) on them. Good, but I’m going to go to my grave complaining about the restrictions.

Wish: you can do practically anything, but you have a one in three chance of losing your ability to cast your highest-level spell. IT’S A TRAP!

For very personal reasons, I’m torn between meteor swarm and time stop, but psychic scream is also up there. I think power word kill is unfair, but I cannot say that it’s a bad spell. I don’t like mass polymorph, but I think that’s more me not liking how 5e deals with durations. Wish is too big of a risk for a Sorcerer: you have the chance of losing the most powerful class feature you get and have nothing else that can compensate for that loss (unlike a Wizard); it’s better as a scroll. Gate really should be a ritual, but it isn’t, and it’s expensive, so it really depends on how badly you need to move lots and lots of creatures or summon forth an Elder God.

Divine Soul (Cleric) List

astral projection · gate · mass heal · true resurrection

I’ve already covered gate, thankfully.

Astral Projection: exactly what it says on the tin for you and eight willing creatures. I have never understood why this spell is so high-level. Mechanically, it’s riskier and more expensive than casting plane shift, which is two levels lower. Thematically, it’s a mass version of an effect which in folklore is almost always caster-only, which makes no sense, and it’s at max-level when this is fairly standard practice for shaman and shaman-like figures. (Heck, that’s what a bunch of the associated drug culture is about!) Maybe someone can explain to me why you would want to use this spell. Pass.

Mass Heal: heal 700 HP divided as you choose among any number of creatures (except constructs and undead) you can see within 60 ft.; also cures them of all diseases, blindness, and deafness. On the one hand, this seems like a great spell with a raid or during a cataclysm. On the other, you can accomplish everything this does with lower-level spells. Pretty good, but maybe hold out for...

True Resurrection: a creature you touch (or whose name you speak) is restored to life and perfect health (no wounds, no missing limbs, cured of all diseases and poisons, freed from any curses), even if there are no remains, provided the creature has been dead for no longer than 200 years and is free/willing to return. PICK THIS ONE!

Variant List (UA)

Foresight: for eight hours, a creature you touch can’t be surprised, gets advantage on most d20 checks, and causes all creatures attacking it to roll with disadvantage. This is better than the 3.5 version, which was already very good. Yes, this. Very.

Really Cool Spells It’d Be Great to Take If You Could

Or me lamenting about the limitations of the Sorcerer list

imprisonment · invulnerability · power word heal · prismatic wall · ravenous void · shapechange · storm of vengeance · time ravage · true polymorph · weird

Imprisonment: you know any of those fairy tale/folklore/mythology spells that trap someone for, like, ever? This is it. (Combines the spell of the same name, maze, and binding from 3.5.) You’ve got options if you want to seal someone away -- and it lasts until you say otherwise. Sure, it’d be nice if it were a ritual, but it ain’t; you just gotta take a minute to cast it (and throw in 500 gp. of material per HD of the target).

Invulnerability: you are immune to damage for up to 10 minutes (at the cost of “a piece of adamantine” [in D&D, that’s closer to depleted uranium than it is to diamond] of 500+ gp.). Maybe you don’t like the cost for a spell of that level, but hey, invulnerability.

Power Word Heal: target (non-construct, non-undead) regains all HP; has the charmed, frightened, paralyzed, and stunned conditions removed; and can stand up as a reaction if prone. This is a Bard spell, but it’s on the Cleric and Druid variant lists, so probably is an option for Divine Souls. I can see it being handy, but you’d think mass heal would be a better choice.

Prismatic Wall: you conjure up a rainbow wall/sphere (as prismatic spray) that’s a bitch to get rid of. You want an abjuration? This is it.

Ravenous Void: a miniature black hole that needs some errata (how many spaces do creatures and objects getting sucked in move each round?). It’s ludicrously awesome, though.

Shapechange: other than true polymorph, this is what you want out of polymorphing magic.

Storm of Vengeance: let’s say you want all of the boom-boom of meteor swarm but are more meteorologically focused. Here’s your answer. You end up dealing an average of 49 damage (of three elemental types and bludgeoning) to each creature below a storm cloud (360 ft. radius) you conjure within sight. There’s an arbitrary distance beneath the cloud included, as it doesn’t say how far up the cloud has to be.

Time Ravage: you decrepify someone with timey-wimey magic -- but it’s somehow necromancy!

True Polymorph: you can transform almost anything into almost anything else. The limits on this spell are basically to keep you from thinking you’re a literal god and overall I’d think this would work better in a skill-based magic system, but nonetheless it’s quite clearly the best polymorphing spell in the game.

Weird: this is mass phantasmal killer. It’s directly comparable to psychic scream -- Illusion rather than Enchantment, fear rather than stunning, and more potential targets in a smaller burst instead of headsplosions.

#5e #spells

[paradife-loft]

A Smattering of More TGCF Thoughts, Having Finished Book 3

*not exhaustive, because that would be way too much; but still apparently enough rambling to need a cut for length

EVERYTHING IS METAPHYSICAL WORLDBUILDING...... I don’t even know if I have a specific place I’d want to start with this, bc it’s all just deeply fascinating trying to tease out how it all works, but. mmmm delicious crunchy worldbuilding on what heavenly officials (of each court) and ghosts even are, and how spiritual power works! what exactly ascending is, and what role “fate” plays in that, and what even is fate really? what relationship does fate have to social standing in one’s mortal life?

this is my shit. I love to know how it all works. I will poke at all the things.

BLACK. WATER. XUAN. it is probably obvious by now that I am in massive hearteyes with He Xuan?? just. the dramatic flair! the extent of being SO wronged! intense murder aesthetic!  d e d i c a t i o n. power and planning and being utterly terrifying as a trap closing in when the time comes - and an absolute Weirdo antisocial half-person Mess the rest of the time! “I am going to give you all these tests as opportunities to show that you see me, the person your successes came at the very literal physical cost of, and CARE to rectify that horrible injustice. show me that you give a fuck! show me that you’re not just stuck in your pampered myopic little heavenly heads!”

I am a little disturbed by how quickly I’ve built up a whole headcanon persona and POV for He Xuan already despite. not having finished the book yet. :’D what can I say though, intense capacity for violence, plus messy depression/depersonalisation badbrains, plus unstable identity and literally subsuming other beings into yourself, plus hella fucked up relationship with food... This Is Coming For Me Where I Live rn <33

(nom nom transmisogynists make a delicious crunchy snack~)

honestly it’s kind of like, the more intense my feelings & thoughts about a character are, the harder it is for me to really ramble properly about them without more specific prompts.... oops. but just know, I have many He Xuan thoughts. hot damn.

Yin Yu and Quan Yizhen ;____; god, I just have.... a lot of feelings about the way in which Status Issues Fuck Them Up. and about how Yin Yu ends up taking all this blame not because he’s A Bad Person, but also not because he’s Framed Horribly and Is Totally Innocent? he’s just very real, and imperfect, and his personal shortcomings combine with events to create a complete and utter clusterfuck :(

CORPSE RATS CORPSE RATS :D I am enjoying literally everything that’s eaten other spirits in this book honestly. delightfully fucked up favourite “taking on traits of a thing you consume” trope :D

Mount Tong’lu especially, but also just a certain amount of the aesthetic of this book in general, is once again Reminding Me Of Dark Souls. it’s the combo “gain more power by murdering other entities and consuming their souls” / “transformational Final Level specifically called a kiln” thing, I think.

so I guess it’s canon that the Supremes are a “mentally unstable obsessives only” club??? :’D I have a lot of feelings about much-younger-ghost!Hua Cheng just kind of. spending ten years alternately nerding out over trying to learn to read a dead language, and trying to... depict his devotion and somehow express/externalise the very story of who he even is into this empty underground series of caverns? trying to pound it into his head to, like, remember who he is and make SOME part of the world witness to what’s made him, even though (and because) he can’t actually open up about any of that to any other people?

like hmm, certainly I don’t think he’s losing it during the Mount Tong’lu experience as much as, say, certain other individuals might have (*cough*), because he’s not literally taking the essences of other beings into himself, just getting a power-up - but that alone, killing so much and experiencing that kind of metaphysical change, must already be kind of disorienting and weird? especially if you’re functionally alone the whole time?? which is to say, sure, the thousand gods and all the murals might have been a little bit of a monument to Hua Cheng being batshit crazypants for a while, but given the material circumstances of 10 years of isolation/ling nerding/murder, I really cannot blame him. (I would also rather not have other people, certainly not the object of my affection & obsession, get to see those things! that is entirely relatable, not sinister!)

(obligatory “what would a centuries-old sourdough starter from Mount Tong’lu be like“ joke....)

although. that said. I continue! to be not okay! with the extent of Literal Hero Worship happening in this relationship! “if you don’t have anything else to live for, then live for me!” like ok ok it is all very well and good that you said that as a dumbass naive teenage god, and clearly don’t believe in any such thing anymore, but. Hua Cheng! has not gotten over that! he is still very much in that headspace! “oh don’t worry my ashes are in a totally safe place bc if the place where I hid them was destroyed then I would have no reason to live either ~<3″ NO. NO BAD. EXTREMELY BAD, HUA CHENG SIT DOWN RIGHT THIS INSTANT UNTIL I FIND YOU SOMEONE TO TALK YOU THROUGH THIS SHIT.

I just. mmmmmmmnnn. I really enjoy how they interact with one another most of the time! I’m also just... not cool with the level of power disparity in terms of psychological vulnerability to one another, that seems pretty fundamentally baked into the dynamic :/

(it’s funny bc this is the opposite of the panic Mu Qing & Feng Xin were having over Hualian, oops)

actually while I’m being a whole-ass Downer about ships, I will also mention that I do Not get shipping those two..... like “excessive bickering” has never appealed to me in the first place but also. FX seems to genuinely think MQ is a bad person?? and doesn’t understand what his perspective is like in general? perhaps I am simply A Bit Sensitive to people misunderstanding someone and thinking they’re a bad person bc they’re not Nice And Cheerful And Personable, but. eugh, no thank you.

miscellaneous thoughts....

Ling Wen can honestly do as many murders as she feels like, I’m not too broken up about this ultimately :////

Xie Lian’s trauma response panic mode whenever he sees White No-Face! it’s upsetting!

White No-Face is not valid specifically for the reason that I wanted the next ghost king to come out of the kiln to add something cool to the Calamities’ color scheme >:( Give Me A Purple Ghost You Dumb Motherfucker >:(

(actually in part I make fun of him because I am otherwise also terrified of him! he is creepy and horrifying! he seems like substantially less of a Person and more like a Horrible Force of Nature than the other calamities!! also HE WAS LIVING IN THEIR HOUSE *screams*)

(you may notice there is approximately no book 2 content on here and that is.... largely bc I found book 2 very upsetting and unpleasant to read, as “overwhelming futility in the face of world affairs and mass suffering” is in fact my Least favourite emotion to have evoked in fiction. or in real life for that matter. “biological phenomenon wherein foreign entities grow in or on your body” is ALSO a least favourite thing in both fiction & real life too, funnily enough! not actually to the same extent as Futility Forever, but. no thank you.)

there’s definitely more I wanted to talk about at one point or another and then forgot, so, if there’s something you want to hear about in particular, ask me questions!

#James liveblogs books #hua cheng's ghostly down with cis bus

[thetradeway]

Session 35: 6 Mar 2021: “Touch this tool…”

Mina texted us all last night to say she has been diagnosed with Covid. She’s very ill and probably won’t make the game, so if not I offer to take Kessler for her.

Get well soon Mina!

Can we hear Sophie eating her apple? No, but she says Matthew told her she would spoil her dinner. She thinks it’s more like having a crunchy drink.

Matthew and Ed have both hurt their shoulders this week, Matthew’s was a beer-related injury.

Joe: did they find the puncture wound where the dart went in?

Sophie, hurriedly: shut up!!

Those words again: WHAT, MIGHT, AND, THIS, TOOL, WITH, CAN, DO.

We are rested and the thieving boggarts are dead. Sadly that doesn’t mean we’ve beaten the Blue Alley. Carl is blocking the door; Gideon kicks him until he wakes up.

Brother Charity has written something for Tarragon; he hands her a sheet of paper which she accepts with trepidation. (Oh god.)

She uses a beast shape to turn into a mouse to avoid the awkward situation in which she has found herself.

We move on. Melaina and Tarragon find a hidden door in the corridor. (Brother Charity: “Tarragon my love, come down from there!”)

Another room, with bottles on the floor - some broken, some whole. The words STRENGTH, CANNOT are written on the wall; we add them to our list. There is a small gold door as well. Melaina peruses the wine and finds some nice stuff worth 10gp each. She also finds 2 RHPs. Nice!

She investigates the gold door. Gideon makes an arcana check on it. He rolls poorly, and can only tell that it is locked.

Have we got any keys? We decide, after some fluffing, that we don’t.

Gideon: “why don’t you pick the lock, elf?”

Melaina: “Why don’t you Grease yourself through it, dwarf?”

(It gets uncomfortably racial for a minute.)

Melaina sees no traps so she makes a pick attempt with a 29 but it doesn’t open. Gideon has a look for some magical locks but rolls a 12. Ahleqs has a try but can’t discern anything magical either. “Maybe it’s a pull door and you pushed it, try the other way.” 

DM: There’s no handle.

Is there a keyhole? Yes, but it looks more like a slot than a traditional keyhole shape. Perhaps there will be another key guardian further along. Or perhaps there’s one in the broken bottles in this room? We’ve earned a break, perhaps we could drink the wine Melaina found.

We exit the room and continue down the corridor to find a grate with a room beyond. Can Tarragon fit through the grate, as a mouse? Yes, but she may not want to.

The walls are lined with red bricks. There are seven circular platforms hanging from the ceiling and the floor is twenty feet below us. The room beneath is filled with smoke. Tarragon decides she will stay where she is, for now.

“This tool with a soft touch can do what might and strength cannot,” says Melaina suddenly, out of nowhere. Ooooh!

Gideon gets stuck in the wall and immediately commences panicking. Stupid Grease Wizard! (Cue image of the DM picking Gideon up by the scruff like a grumpy old man kitten to rescue him.)

We all go back to the start. On the west wall there is a relief sculpture of a human skeleton, posed as if screaming. It reminds brother Charity of a statue his father had. No wait, it was a servant.

Tarragon and Melaina spot some more secret doors with their almost supernatural passive perceptions. Melaina investigates one; if she pushes a bit of stone she thinks it will open. It does.

THE LOW WAY is written on the wall. There is an open pit blocking the way. The whole corridor is filled with dust and cobwebs. The pit is filled with spikes. Okay.

Melaina makes an Insight check; she is pretty sure she could climb down the pit and back up the other side, picking her way carefully through the spikes. Gideon calculates that with a good run up, he could impale himself about ten feet into the pit.

We try the other hidden door. (Ahleqs casts Mage Armour.) This way there is writing that says THE HIGH WAY. Colourful frescoes depicting flying creatures line the walls. Short copper rods protrude from both sides of the corridor, all the way along, and lightning arcs between them all. They’re about 15 feet up so we could all comfortably walk beneath them, which we are immediately distrustful of.

Charity goes back to investigate the statue, with help from Ahleqs. The latter sees a small iron button in the skull. Duncan wants to press it, but Ahleqs is extremely reluctant.

He presses the button, while reminding us all that he has Mage Armour up. A door to Tarragon’s right opens. Now we have a third option, so we all go and make coffee and have a think. Carl discovers that there is a nubbin at the end of the corridor. Urgh, someone’s left their nubbin out!

(Duncan got called a prick by one of the local roustabouts, for wearing his mask outside. Well, go figure.)

Well then, what sort of death would we like? Spiky, electrified, or mysterious?

We choose mysterious, and find another door. No magic, not locked. The room beyond was once plush, but has fallen into disrepair. There is a door on the east side of the room. We search for a key.

Charity finds a desk with quills and ink, but nothing of note. Melaina searches the chair for loose change. Ahleqs starts pulling books to see if anything opens, but nothing seems to happen. Melaina finds a flute made from a thigh bone which screams when played. She tucks it into her pack.

We hear a voice from behind the door: “Entertain me”.

Ahleqs ignites Simon and has him do a dance; to assist, Brother Charity has some sparks emit from him. It doesn’t seem to impress the voice. Perhaps if Melaina plays the screaming thigh flute? She could, but she’s AFK.

(Ed apologises for leaving, he went to eat a sausage.)

Gideon does a little jig, as well as his rheumy joints will let him. Brother Charity tries the handle - the door opens. 

There is a statue behind the door of the wizard Kiliare, who is rumoured to have built the labyrinth. It is encased in a sphere of force, and its eyes seem to follow us. On the wall is written “Utter madness, pure rubbish.”

Hmm.

Gideon finds some vials on the floor and gives them a bloody good sniff with a nat 20. There are various magical potions from healing potions to alchemists fire and more. Oooooh!

Ahleqs does Simon’s trick again and the statue says “Urgh! Vermin!”

We ask the statue what sort of entertainment it requires. Its favourite form is riddles. Do we have any riddles for him?

“What has it got in its pocketses?”

“What’s black and white and red all over?”

It doesn’t respond to any of this.

How about: “This tool with a soft touch can do what might and strength cannot”?

The DM says we have all the pieces, but we’ve put them together in the wrong order.

Ahleqs: “Touch this tool…”

If we put it together correctly it will rhyme, the DM tells us. Keep them in the little groups we found them in: A soft touch, this tool with, etc etc.

This tool with a soft touch -

We can make insight checks.

(It rhymes, we should be able to figure this out!)

What might and strength cannot -

Wait, we might be missing a pair of words, it turns out. Joe checks; we are. Has he forgotten to tell us some words, or have we not been to wherever they are written? We haven’t been there, so we will have to investigate and come back here later.

Melaina finds a door in the plush room, to the north.

(Brother Charity tries to stroke mouse-Tarragon; she runs and hides behind Melaina’s legs. Charity: “You’re right Carl, I think she’s warming to me.”)

Behind Melaina’s door is another corridor filled with doors. Above the first one is written “take only what you can truly afford.” Melaina is immediately disgusted.

What were we looking for again, a genie lamp? No, a unicorn statue. Behind the door are thousands and thousands of gold coins. (If Zorya were here, we’d all be fucked. Sadly, Melaina’s greed is only a shade less than hers.)

Anyone proficient with arcana can tell that the coins are infused with transmutation magic…

The coins lie in such a way as to spell out words, in common: “ALL FAKE” Melaina picks one up to inspect it. It doesn’t seem quite right…

She tries an Insight check and natty 20s it. She gets a strong gut feeling that she wants to leave all the coins exactly where they are, so she does exactly that. 

There is a door further into this room, which Melaina investigates. It is not locked. Or trapped. To her knowledge. She opens it. The door beyond is made of stone and featureless but for the black iron gates at the other end. It looks like there’s something incredible on the other side; it’s shiny and bright and Melaina can’t help herself - she goes to take a look.

What is the incredible thing? It could be the sun, it could be gold, it could be a waterfall. It’s hard to make out. Mouse-Tarragon could probably fit between the bars if she wanted to. She does so - or she tries. She touches the bar - a magic mouth appears in the ceiling.

“Beyond these gates lies paradise. Enter them as you entered life and you may yet find it. Grasp the jewel and grasp the iron and be whisked away to the truest of rewards.”

We have a jewel with a couple of gates in it... 

Gideon: “Ain’t nobody grasping my jewels, I’m staying right here.”

It said ‘Enter them as you entered life‘... Do we have to be naked? None of us are especially comfortable with that. We go back to the corridor to try more doors.

Another magic mouth appears above another door: “Blessed are those who control their greed.” Because we all left without picking up any coins, we are now under the effect of a Bless spell for the next hour. #blessed!

Above the next door is a sign that reads “Incinerator”. Moving on…

Shall we have a look anyway? It’s not likely that the incinerator will attack us at the door. Not trapped or locked; Melaina opens it. There are little hand prints on the door at about Boggart level.

There is an eight foot pit with an orange glow emanating from it. Well. I guess that’ll be the incinerator then. Melaina has a look. It’s forty foot deep and at the bottom are a couple of Magmins. Like Calcifier! Ahleqs waves at one; it waves back.

Melaina sees the glimmer of metal at the bottom of the pit - kind of molten and solidified. There is also what looks like some kind of gemstone down there. She sends her mage hand down to grab the gem - wait, mage hand can only do 30 feet.

Gideon tears a page from his notebook and drops it in the pit; it floats down, and when it hits the bottom it is immolated by one of the magmins. He makes an Insight check, being a learned fellow. The creatures are fire elementals; they speak Ignan and no other language. So probably no asking them to hand us stuff, then.

Carl will lower Melaina ten feet down the pit so she can cast Mage Hand. She ties her hempen rope around her waist. Ahleqs assists him, and they both make STR checks and are successful. Melaina grabs everything she can reach with her mage hand, passing things up to us.

The gemstone is a moonstone is worth 27 gp, and the mixed metal slag (gold silver and copper melted together) is worth another 35 gp. Melaina pockets the moonstone and shares the slag.

We have three more doors. Melaina investigates the next door with a nat 20 - not locked or trapped.

A winding path of bright yellow tiles leads to another door on the far side. Tiles depicting magical funerary rites adorn the walls. 

GET THROUGH is inscribed on the wall; we add that to our riddle.

“What might and strength cannot get through, this tool with a soft touch can do”?

Melaina follows the path of yellow tiles to the door - behind it is a unicorn statue, Yay!

She tries to pick it up but it won’t move. The DM tells her that the door closed behind her as she came in. On the back of the door she can read the words “everything you see is mine.” The walls, ceiling and floor in this room is a single reflective surface, so she sees only herself. If she stamps her heel into it, will she break it? She fails her STR check, so no.

What if she closes her eyes and tries to lift the unicorn? at Ahleqs’s suggestion, she doubtfully tries this - it works! Brother Charity opens the door to assist Melaina - and now that he can see the statue, it teleports back to its original place.

Malaina closes the door, and her eyes, and tries again successfully removing the statue from the room. We put it in the bag of holding, and those in the yellow tile room are careful to remain standing on them as they exit.

We have a look at the remaining doors.

The one opposite looks like a plain wooden door. Melaina does her ushe but rolls a nat 1. It’s not locked or trapped, luckily.

We find ourselves in what looks like a wizard workshop. There is the stench of fire and acid, arcane goo in buckets. The whole room is difficult terrain. Brother Charity makes an INV check; a 12. He makes a DEX save, hashtag blessed, for an 8 total. Ah shit.

There are vials and bottles on the desk he’s looking at - he knocked one over and takes 8 fire and 8 acid damage. “Oh good lord. Um - ”

Did he at least get the book? No, but he can see it from where he’s standing. There are formulae written in it. He pats himself out vigorously.

Ahleqs has a look at another vial, and the DM is entirely too gleeful as he asks Ahleqs to make an INV check. He rolls a 9 and uses a sorcery point to re-roll it to get a 7. Make a DEX save!

He gets a 21, so he can halve his d10 results.

Kessler gets a nat 20 for her investigation! She goes around the room investigating; she finds 5 potions of greater healing and keeps all of them.

The last door is not locked or trapped. It is the smoky room from before! There are the platforms, hanging from the ceiling.

Oh, he forgot to tell us - when we were looking at the room from the other side - just a second… (oh shit, what’s happening…)

There is on the last platform, some kind of magical rapier. Melaina immediately wants it.

Twenty feet below on the floor is a pot spewing smoke. The platforms are hanging level with the floor we are standing on outside the room. The first is about ten feet away so with a good jump -

Charity makes a jump onto a platform; he makes it, but he hears laughter. We roll initiative oh no!!

These creatures are smoke mephits. Kessler’s two attacks both hit, but it doesn’t kill the first mephit. These are normally weedy, but they have been Beefed somehow. The smoke pot, perhaps? 

Melaina’s attack also hits for 32 damage - the mephit looks real ropey, all blood and scar tissue. She makes a jump out to the platform to join Brother Charity.

Charity makes a DEX check as Melaina lands on the same platform as him. He gets a 14; he’s fine. Phew. It’s his turn. He enchants a divine hitting club, and strikes at a mephit. He rolls at DISADV because he’s trying to balance with Melaina on the platform, but manages a hit for 9 blud damage.

He hits and kills it, it explodes in a puff of smoke. It’s gone - but it’s exploded into smoke, obscuring Charity’s vision for his next attack. He makes a jump for the next platform; at DISADV because of the smoke.

Charity: “God will guide me.”

He falls in.

(it’s only 2d6 damage, but it’s super funny.) He is now in very thick smoke, and Blinded.

Grease Wizard is up.

DM: “Tell me you’re going to do a geriatric run and jump.”

(Ed has been thinking; let’s say a person weighs 70kg or so. If they fell 30 feet they would be travelling at 87 kph; if you could run at that speed into a wall in D&D, you would take 30ft of damage for a horizontal splat instead of a - anyway.)

Gideon, as he leaps into the pit, missing the platform entirely: “TALLY HOOOOOOOOO!!”

Melaina rolls to see how long it takes her to stop laughing.

Ahleqs goes up to the edge, and in no way makes any kind of jump. He stretches out a hand and casts Fireball, using Careful Spell to avoid Melaina, who now stands alone on the platform. He decimates most of the mephits.

One of the surviving ones flies around the corner and does Cinder Breath at him; everyone in the corridor makes a DEX save. Only Carl fails, and he is Blinded. Another mephit attacks Melaina but misses. The second one hits though, for 4 slashing damage.

Tarragon makes an attack with her quarterstaff after she un-mouses,  remembering belatedly that her staff is broken and does half damage when she hits. It does half the damage she had hoped for. Well, shit. She backs up, putting the thing away.

Another mephit flies around the corner and slashes at Ahleqs’ eyes with its claws. Melaina’s one hits her again for 3 slashing damage.

Brother Carl rubs his eyes and paws at the air in front of him, grunting. That’s about all he can do. (Joe can’t find the blinded icon so he gives Carl a bleedy eyeball instead.)

Kessler kills another mephit - it explodes and we in the corridor (Ahleqs, Tarragon and Kessler) are Blinded for one round.

Melaina shoots the mephit remaining in the corridor with us. She makes the attack at advantage because it’s engaged with Ahleqs, even though that is about the equivalent of being engaged with a piece of lettuce. She kills it and it explodes into smoke, increasing the amount by which we are Blinded.

Brother Charity blunders around on the ground. That’s his turn. He rolls to see which direction he blunders in. Gideon does the same, and manages to blunder in the exact same direction.

Ahleqs casts Burning Hands, once he’s moved out of the smoke from the mephit, and gets two of them for full damage and one for half. Another mephit hits him for 4 slashing damage.

Tarragon does a Thunderwave, killing a mephit but not before pushing it ten feet away so the smoke won’t Blind us again. Kessler’s crossbow attack kills the last one, taking us out of combat. Phew!

Carl’s eyesight gradually returns over the next five minutes or so. Ahleqs offers him some eye drops if he will just push his hood back a minute... He reaches out to push it back for him but hesitates. He changes his mind and pats him on the head instead. Carl flinches violently.

We decide to let Melaina continue hopping from disc to disc; it’s easier if we don’t join her as the platforms swing violently when another person lands on them.

She rolls a 28.

The floor below is just normal flagstones. There is some muck and slime around, but nothing especially dangerous. Brother Charity laments his shoes, which were rather nice before he fell down here. One of the pots that are belching out the smoke is about ten feet in front of Brother Charity. It’s about five feet across and doesn’t have a lid. They’re bigger than he thought they were; he had wanted to push one over or turn it upside down to stop the smoke, but he gives up on that idea.

Melaina’s roll to jump to the next hanging platform is a 12, but she’s still hashtag blessed. She makes it - with a bit of a wobbly landing, but she makes it. She makes three more checks: a nat 20 for a 30 total, then another nat 20 for another 30, then an 18 for a 28 total. Ho-lee shitt. She needs to find a new party because we’re holding her back.

She gets to the rapier. It’s magical and of some value, but roll20 doesn’t seem to have it. It’s a Moon-touched sword, which sheds moonlight for 15 feet. Woo, fancy!

DM awards her inspiration for her amazing rolls, and doesn’t make her roll to get back.

Gideon and Charity are still blundering around in the smoke below. Ahleqs and Brother Carl lower a rope and pull them up.

Brother Charity sees that Tarragon has un-moused and runs toward her; she re-mouses and runs away so he shouts his second poem after her. Oh, fuckin’ hell.

Ahleqs has never heard a more beautiful poem recited to the back of a retreating mouse.

We return to the statue and tell it the poem - the one we put together from the writing on the walls, not Brother Charity’s love poems.

The statue says, “the answer of course is a key”. A wand appears in the air in front of it. There is writing on it in abyssal and draconic. Ahleqs takes a look at it - it is made from many low quality emeralds. It is a wand of secrets, and can reveal hidden doors and traps.

Brother Charity speaks Draconic. He makes an insight check to see if he can piece the rest together.

“All that is yours is mine and what is mine cannot be hidden.” 

He keeps the wand for now, after some discussion. So there’s the High Way and the Low Way still to explore. There is also something that goes in the golden door, that we haven’t found yet. A coin, perhaps? Ahleqs puts a gold coin into the slot.

Nothing happens.

Do we need to take one of the cursed coins, and put that in the slot? We’re reluctant, because we don’t want to be hashtag cursed.

We go back to the High and Low ways. Brother Charity waves the wand at the electrified path and it points at something in the middle of the floor, revealing a pressure plate. Melaina makes an INV check; she sees scrapes on the sides of the walls. She discerns that were the plate stepped upon, the floor would lift up and deliver us to the copper rods and our electrified deaths.

She disarms the trap.

We go down the path to find a silver-plated door engraved with circles of various sizes - from coin size to about two feet across. Gideon has a silver key…

He gets stuck in the wall again and has to be rescued before he can catch up and bring us the key. He reaches up and puts the key in the lock. (In D&D land, do all doors have handles at different heights for the different sized races?)

He opens the door.

We make DEX saves; anyone who gets under a 12 is knocked prone. A wall of polished steel spheres spilled out and knocked into us. Tarragon is knocked back to gnome form; now she has no form of escape from Brother Charity’s amorous poetry.

The walls of the chamber are line with bricks - weapons and equipment alongside bones and dried gore fill the room. The floor is littered with bear traps - rushing ahead before the DM can finish his description of the room, Gideon steps in one and takes 19 damage; he is also restrained.

Melaina spots ten feet of chain, as she picks her way delicately through the traps. She also spots another secret door, but the DM realises that Gideon has set off another trap. We roll initiative, but we call the session there. Joe will roll initiative for the monster next week so we don’t know what we’re fighting. Uh oh...

#thetradeway #campaign diary #dnd

[always5hineee]

The Final Bell - Chapter 4: First Blood

Chapter warnings: Mild language, violence

Word Count: 2749

Story is also available under Taffysamg on Quotev and Wattpad.

To see the full chapter list, go to the “Final Bell” Tab on my page.

-----

       They returned to an entirely different campsite. Most of the tents were gone, leaving patches of crunchy, flattened grass in their places. There was a thin littering of unsettled dust, likely because of all the movement. Haechan and Yuta were moving boxes to a stack, preparing them to be loaded into the van. Jungwoo was putting a few accessories into the second car, but seemed mostly done with his tasks. Mark was saying something to Jaehyun, although they were far enough away that it couldn't be deciphered. Still, it was easy to tell that Jaehyun was in his usual mood, while Mark was obliviously carrying on.

       The van pulled up, Taeil coming to a slow stop as he had on her first ride. Before the exited, Taeyong turned to her.

       "I'm going to help the guys finish up. My tent is still set up, so you can go try on some of those. I know Johnny's not the most trustworthy, but I promise they're safe."

       "He even has a mirror stashed under his books." Taeil snickered. Taeyong glared.

       "Really?" He sighed. "Anyway, he's not lying. You can use it, I'll be over to break everything down in a bit, so be quick." She nodded, popping the side door. Several of the men looked over, nodding in greeting, but said nothing. She made her way as best she could to where she thought she remembered Taeyong's tent being. Finally, she came to a faded green structure. Quickly unzipping it and slipping inside, she jabbed her thumb under the hem of her shirt.

       Whatever light had been illuminating Taeyong's tent earlier that day was now off, so it was incredibly dim. Remembering his words to be quick, she decided to start undressing as her eyes adjusted. After pulling off her shirt, she decided to look for a lamp. Strangely, the sleeping bag was still there, but there were no books. Instead, there were a few boxes and stripped wires littered across the floor, as well as a notebook and some loose papers. When had Taeyong found the time to start packing? And why wouldn't he warn her?

       Suddenly, the tent flooded with light, but not from a lamp. Rather, someone had opened the tent. Rushing to cover as much skin as she could, she twisted towards the light, eyes wide. Staring back at her was a dark haired, unfamiliar face. At the same time, both of them screamed.

       "What the fuck?!" The man shouted, covering his eyes hastily. She gathered up her shirt at her stomach, struggling to put it back on. "Why is there a girl in my tent!?" She stuttered, pushing past him to try and get out, but rather than escape she only managed to trip the both of them. In a matter of seconds, both were tangled up in the dirt, making quite the scene.

       "Ah, Y/N. I see you've met Doyoung." Taeyong laughed, helping her up out of her mess.

       "I- I thought- your tent, I-" She tried to explain, pointing in random directions and rambling.

       "Hey, it's fine. I was just coming to check on you- I should have realized that you couldn't tell all the resident tents apart." He put a hand on the back of his neck, facing his colleague. "Sorry, Doyoung. That's my bad." The now red-faced boy was looking directly at the ground, muttering random, jumbled sentences under his breath. Finally, he said,

       "It's fine." Before slipping into his tent and promptly zipping it behind him. With that over, Taeyong pointed her in the correct direction, giving her another few minutes to change. Once she was inside, she finally got a chance to breathe. She carefully laid out the clothes, separating them by function.

       Surprisingly, there was a lot to work with, as it was folded neatly. There were two pairs of black jeans, one blue, and one pair of shorts. There were several clean bras and pairs of socks and underwear as well. Assuming that he thought T-shirts were readily available to her, there was only one. The other three were an assortment of nicer tank tops, and to top it off, a leather jacket. The bottom of the bag was even more interesting. It had bottles of over-the-counter pain medication, feminine products, shampoo, conditioner, and lotion. There were also a few makeup palettes, including a foundation matching her skin tone, as well as makeup remover. Finally, there was an assortment of cheap earrings, bracelets, and other accessories, along with black studded boots.

       She was astounded. Changing into a black pair of jeans, a red top, clean underwear, and the boots, she dug for Taeyong's mirror. There were tiny mirrors in the makeup palettes, but this one was infinitely better. Holding it up to her face, she realized just how truly terrible she looked. There was faded black... something under her eyes, (probably mascara or eyeliner) and her cheeks were sunken in. She looked incredibly tired. At this, she realized that she hadn't eaten or drank since she had passed out. At all.

       Much like some sort of cartoon, the second she realized this, the thirst and hunger overtook her body. Her throat felt like the Sahara and her stomach began crying out in pain. Doubling over, she clenched her belly. She stuck her head outside for a moment, seeing nobody around. Desperate, though, she exited and ran towards the still-standing storage tent. Thankfully, there were a few boxes left.

       Popping a crate, she grabbed two cans of soup- all that was in there. It wasn't long before she spotted a crate labeled "Water" as well. Grabbing two bottles of that as well, she snuck towards Taeyong's tent again. Once back inside, she quickly scarfed down all four containers in a matter of minutes. Breathing a sigh of relief, she already felt better. Still, the speed upset her system, and she had to sit still for another few minutes to keep from throwing up.

       "Hey, are you still in there, Y/N?" A familiar voice rang from the outside. Taeyong. He clearly hadn't seen her make her food run. She didn't know why, but she felt embarrassed. She didn't know these people's rules and she was already eating their food.

       "Yeah, sorry, I'm still changing."

       "Uh, no problem. Just come find someone when you're done." Once she was satisfied that he had walked away, she looked into the mirror again. The color and life were already returning to her skin. She pulled out the makeup wipes, cleaning her face up.

       "Let's see what I can do..." she muttered.

       Maybe twenty minutes later, she was finally okay with her face. She wasn't a complete girly-girl per se, but she did like to keep her appearances up. The earrings were a nice touch, as well. She shuddered, remembering her encounter with Johnny. He had somehow correctly ascertained her clothing size, skin tone, piercings, and most unsettling- bra size, from a mere glance. She had the sneaking suspicion that those skills may have been pre-apocalypse. Still, she didn't have time to think about it now.

       Leaving the tent, she saw everyone gathered near the van. She strode up nonchalantly at first, but as she got closer, she realized that they seemed fairly distressed. Yuta was saying something to the group.

       "I'm telling you, they're not even ten minutes out- I don't know what happened! You can practically feel the ground shaking, though, we have to leave now." Jungwoo cut in, voice stern, but in his usual soft tone.

       "We can't. The storage tent is going to be at least another 15 minutes to pack up, and that's assuming we get most of everyone to help. Taeyong still has to pack up his tent, too." Shit. She had taken too long. At this, Taeyong's eyes widened.

       "Fuck! Y/N is still in there! One sec, I'll-" As he turned around, he almost ran into her. "Oh, thank God, you're here. Look, the zombies are a little closer than we thought."

       "Thanks for nothing, Mark." Jaehyun jabbed.

       "I swear they were three hours out, at least!" Mark tried to defend himself.

       "This isn't the time to fight!" Taeyong reprimanded them both. "Jungwoo, you finish up the medical stuff and help break down storage. Haechan, Yuta, you two as well. I'll handle my own tent. Doyoung, I need you to get Y/N a radio right now and then pack up your own tent as well. Jaehyun, Mark, you two take Y/N and hold them off until we're ready." Doyoung ran off to grab the radio, but Jaehyun and Mark both turned to Taeyong.

       "You want us to take her into the field?" Mark asked, clearly worried.

       "That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard!" Jaehyun agreed, much more aggressively. "She obviously doesn't know how to fight, she learned how to shoot like an hour ago! What if she just falls over and dies on us, has she even eaten? Or worse, what if she just fucking shoots us once you guys aren't looking?"

       "Enough!" Taeyong demanded loudly. It wasn't quite a yell, but it wasn't far off. "I understand your concern, but I don't really have a choice!" Just as he said this, Doyoung returned with a black box- a walkie talkie.

       "Thank you." She said as he handed it to her. He wouldn't meet her eyes, and said nothing. He just nodded, then turned to run back to his tent. She was more than scared to go face those disgusting things again, but she was even more worried to face an angry Taeyong. Sighing exasperatedly, Jaehyun gestured to Mark.

       "Well, come on then." Pulling one of the two bigger guns off his belt, he handed it to her. "This is a shotgun. Aim for the heads- and don't miss." He growled, throwing her a box of ammunition shortly after. He began to run South, leaving the two of them in the dust.

       "I guess we should go." Mark said. He wanted to say something more, but they didn't really have the time. Breathing deeply, she ran after them. It hadn't even been a two minute run before they encountered the horde. She stopped, terrified.

       She had seen the zombies once before, also with Jaehyun. This time, though, the reality of the situation was finally facing her. They were hideous. Many of them were dripping some unknown fluid, and she could see skeletons through their deteriorating flesh. The smell was almost unbearable, but they hadn't had time to grab masks. The snap of Jaehyun's voice brought her out of her stasis.

       "Hey! Pay attention!" he spat. "I'll take left, Mark takes the right, you stay in the middle so we can cover you. If you have an open wound, burn it shut- I don't care how much it hurts, you're fucked if blood gets in it. Don't get any in your mouth, either. If they get to close, use your machete. Don't be stupid."

       "Wait! I-"

       "Go!" She didn't even get to ask any questions before Jaehyun barreled towards the horde, blowing their heads off left and right. Brains, blood, ooze, and bones were scattered in the dust everywhere she looked. She even occasionally saw an eyeball fly past. Jaehyun was practically ignoring her, while Mark did his best to cover both their sections Kneeling to the ground, she threw up everything she had eaten before.

       "Y/N!" A voice called from her right. She felt someone walk up next to her.

       "I'm fine..." she muttered, trying to assure Mark that she was alright.

       "Y/N, watch out!" His voice screamed from the right once more. Wait... he wasn't standing next to her. She looked up. Practically on top of her there was a rotting purple woman, reaching her claws for the girl's throat. Screeching, she stumbled backwards, trying to stand up. Unable to escape, she fumbled to pull the machete off her belt. Thrusting it upward, she punctured the lady's stomach, just barely avoiding covering herself in the burning liquid. Knowing that she had to keep her mouth shut, she refrained from screaming again. She hadn't done any damage to the head- it was still alive.

       Jumping to her feet and kicking the body off her blade, she swung it as hard as she could, right to left. Breathing heavily in panic, she watched as the head of the zombie rolled around on the ground, eyes just as dead as when it was attached. The arms and legs moved for a moment more, before the whole person just crumpled to the ground like a wooden doll. Unable to hold it in anymore, she screamed again.

       "Cut it out! The louder you are, the more zombies follow you!" Jaehyun seethed. Somehow, he had made his way over to her, likely to keep up with the horde, who's attention was now focused on the girl. "Let me see your hand." Confused, she lifted it up, shifting her machete to the other palm. Examining it, he showed her a cut on her own index finger. She must have scraped it when trying to free her blade.

       "Did that zombie bleed on you?"

       "N-no, I-" She hadn't even finished when he reached into his pocket.

       "Good. Whoa! Look at that!" He pointed away with his hidden hand. She hadn't registered what he was holding before she turned to look.

       "What's- FUCK!" While she was searching for the source of his exclamation, her finger went into a searing pain. Twisting back around, she saw him put a lighter back in his pocket. Before she could pull away, he had already wrapped a band-aid around it. His grip was surprisingly gentle, but the tip of her finger was now throbbing.

       "Sorry, can't take chances." She jerked her hand back, compressing it under her arm to ease the pain.

       "What the fuck Jaehyun!" She yelled, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

       "Live now, talk later!" He yelled back, shooting into the mob. She managed to land bullets into a few more zombies, but for the most part, Mark handled both of their areas. She wasn't too good with aim, but she was scared to run up with a knife again. Much to her delight, their radios crackled to life.

       "We're ready to roll out, headed your way, left side!" Jaehyun turned to them both.

       "Be ready to jump in." As he was talking, two more zombies ran up behind him.

       "Jaehyun! Look out-" She attempted to warn him. Without even turning around, he spun two kitchen knives out of his belt, propelling his arms upwards and back. Both landed in the center of a zombie's forehead. She stood there, starstruck. He was scary good at that. While she was watching him, mesmerized, Mark shook her shoulders.

       "Come on! Get in! We can't hold them off forever!" At some point in her daze, the van had pulled up about fifteen feet away from them. Looking back and forth, she yanked open the door and pulled herself up. Mark climbed in after, and Jaehyun jumped, slamming the door in a zombie's face.

       "Clear," he said to Taeil, "Let's hit the road." Tires screeching in a 180 degree turn, Taeil took off North. She didn't know how long they'd be on the road, and she was too shocked to ask. Looking around, shaken, she saw Doyoung, Haechan, and Yuta in the rows behind her, and Taeyong and Taeil in the front seats. Her, Mark, and Jaehyun were all sandwiched in the first middle row.

       "Congratulations!" Mark beamed. "You've just killed your first zombie! Well, zombies." Jaehyun didn't seem nearly as impressed.

       "Lucky break. She almost died."

       "Aww, come on Jae, don't be like that."

       "Maybe I would have been able to fight better if you hadn't barbecued my finger." She argued. He glared in return.

       "Says the girl who doesn't know what the fuck she's doing." Jaehyun stuck his tongue out.

       "Ladies, ladies!" Mark said, still sitting in between them. "Don't get your panties in a twist. We're headed to the nearest major river, and I'm not gonna listen to you both bicker for the entire ride."

       "I'm sharing a row with Yuta." He grumbled, readjusting his belt and crawling over a crate to get to the second row. Yuta said nothing, but removed his feet from the seat so Jaehyun could sit. Y/N sighed, unprepared for the road trip ahead.

Go to Chapter 5

#nct #nct127 #nct x reader #nct127 x reader #nct fanfic #nct fanfiction #nct127 fanfic #nct127 fanfiction #jaehyun #johnny #yuta #taeyong #taeil #winwin #marklee #haechan #doyoung #jungwoo #kpop #Kpop fanfiction #zombie au #zombie apocalypse au #nct zombie au #nct127 zombie au

[keeroo92]

How do you feel about a reincarnation plot? Centuries ago, V and reader cherished each other deeply. All was well until a natural disaster struck, prematurely ending their lives. When reader meets V now, she remembers certain things. Another natural disaster threatens to tear her and V apart, but somehow the lovers get to safety. Enduring nature’s wrath alongside reader stirs up long-forgotten feelings. He realizes she’s his soulmate- they’ll end up together regardless of date, place, or time.

So first off THANK YOU for this prompt!!! I have loved it since the first time I read it and I am so sorry it took this long for me to respond to it. There’s so much potential and I wanted to do it justice, so there’s going to be at least two chapters for this. Once the next one is ready I’ll link it at the bottom here. Enjoy!

Word count - 1,923

_________

A Dance of Souls

Your eyes were glued to the sky in shock and awe, watching the massive column of darkness rise from the mountaintop you’d lived beneath for years. Mere moments had passed since the ground shook under your feet, the force of the rumbles strong enough to bring you to your knees. Others in the crowded courtyard mirrored you, faces turned to the realm of the gods above.

Many were praying. Two or three cried. Not one person looked like they knew why the gods were so angry.

You tightened your grip on your dark-haired lover’s hand. His locks concealed his features, but you could tell he was shaken.

“Gods… what do we do?” you asked.

He grimaced and lowered his gaze, his familiar hands seizing your shoulders and helping you to your feet. Together, you made your way through the bewildered crowd. The cloud was growing, spreading to the sides and you shuddered in growing fear. Someone must have deeply offended the gods to cause such a display of their power. You prayed to them for mercy and forgiveness, promising tribute if only they spared you and your beloved.

At first you didn’t notice the shadows growing, too distracted by navigating the swarm of people. It wasn’t until you reached the square you lived in that your worry retreated enough to notice. Your eyes shot skyward and you staggered.

The sun was gone.

The gods have taken away our sun?!

“What forces could darken the sky?” your companion murmured. You lacked the logical answer you knew he craved and supplied the only one you had instead.

“The gods are angry.”

Before he could respond, something clattered on the rooftop on your right. Another, to the left. More and more, almost like rain but the ashen smell was all wrong. You brought your tunic to your nose, but it did little to help.

Are those… stones?!

You crouched and picked up one of the clattering objects, running your fingertips over the rough surface. The texture was similar to the tablet you used to scrape your feet in the bath – pumice.

It was raining pumice.

“We need to get inside, now!”

The urgency in his tone betrayed his panic and your fear bloomed into mind-numbing terror. Nothing scared him. Nothing. Never in the ten seasons since you met him had you heard him speak with fear. Not even when you were screaming, bringing his son into the world. Even then, he held your hand and told you how lovely you looked and that he was right beside you through every moment. The child died soon after and he held you all through the night. Still, he had not been afraid.

You didn’t resist as he pulled you inside the home you shared and slammed the door behind him. His hands were shaking as he set the lock in place. What began as an ordinary day was rapidly becoming anything but.

The stones pattered on the roof for hours while you tried to withstand the chaos. It was easy to hear the screams and shouts from the street, the children crying for their mothers. You prayed for salvation, but the acrid aroma of ash only grew stronger. The gods weren’t listening to you.

He stayed with you, offering his own prayers despite his lackluster faith. If the situation wasn’t so dire you would’ve kissed him.

Ominous creaks joined the rhythmic clacks of the falling stones. Your eyes shot to your lover, wide and swimming in fear. He hummed and pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. Despite the reassurance his embrace offered, the hammering pace of his heart only heightened your panic.

“It’ll be all right, there’s nothing to fear. Tomorrow we’ll be busy clearing away the stones, you’ll see,” he said.

No, we won’t! We’re going to die!

Tears spilled forth like a fountain. It was too soon, you weren’t ready. You didn’t want to die. There was still so much left to do, like give him another son. It wasn’t fair, what could you have done to deserve such a cruel fate?

“We’re going to die. The gods have abandoned us,” you whispered.

He tightened his arms in reply, crushing you to him until you could almost forget the horror consuming your home.

Almost.

Outside, the screams were almost gone, most throats silenced forever. The roof creaked again and you whimpered, sure that this was the end. You buried your face in his tunic, thankful for every second you spent engulfed in his scent and his warmth. What a blessing, to not be alone in your final moments.

“At least we’re together.”

He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “I’d gladly sever my every limb if it meant you were far from this place.”

A surge of shame flooded you. Here you were, thanking the gods that he was with you, and he was wishing you were somewhere else. You leaned away to meet his eyes, though you couldn’t see him well in the darkness. He was such a treasure. How fortunate you’d been to have him.

“I love you,” you said, aching with grief and regret.

A rumble in the distance reached your ears as his lips opened, closer with every pounding heartbeat. You reached out to stroke his cheek one last time.

“I lo- “

He couldn’t finish as the air turned to poison, burning its way into your lungs with each breath as the rumble came to an end. His eyes went wide, his hands clawing at his throat as he fell prone. You joined him a beat later and struggled to bring his head to your lap. You curled over him as fluid filled your lungs. Both of you were crying, eyes red and swollen.

There was so much you wanted to say. You wanted to tell him how precious he was, how every moment with him was a gift. How much you cherished and admired him. You wanted to list all the things he did for you that meant so much; his kisses, his hand in yours, the sound of his laugh, the sound of his moans in the night…

But you couldn’t breathe. All you could do was stroke his obsidian hair, cough and watch the light fade from his eyes as his features went slack. The moment he was gone, your soul shattered. Nothing was ever so painful as watching the love of your life die.

At least you wouldn’t be far behind him.

-------------

You bolted upright with a gasp of agony. Sweat stained your skin, thick on your forehead and under your arms. You could still feel the fluid in your lungs, the poison in the air as you desperately tried to slow your racing heart.

What the hell was that?!

Nightmares weren’t new to you, but this one was so real… Who was that man, why did it hurt more to see him die than to do it yourself? Why did your heart still ache with grief?

Any why can’t I remember his face?

You closed your eyes and rubbed your temples, dispelling the lingering images. It helped to hear the clacking keyboards surrounding you as your colleagues worked. Nothing like working in a cube farm to make you drowsy, especially doing mindless data entry. After another beat, you shook your mouse to keep the screen from going dark. They monitored that kind of thing here, and it never hurt to cover your ass.

On that note, better get back to it.

You hadn’t even loaded the next invoice when the lucky bastard with the window seat cried out. Steven, if you remembered right. All you knew about him was his appreciation for crunchy snacks and tendency to curse when his computer didn’t work.

“Holy Hell! Did anyone else feel that?”

To your left, Shannon hushed him, but he refused to calm down, waving his arms in a gesture of panic. Whatever he was talking about, you weren’t going to let it ruin your numbers for the day. You clicked through the invoice and entered the tax codes, moving on to the next in less than five seconds.

That was when the building started shaking.

At first, you thought it was the nearby train passing, but the sound was all wrong. Too deep, guttural instead of tinny and the tone didn’t change over time. Something was wrong.

“Duck and cover! It’s an earthquake!” Steven shouted, already halfway under his desk.

The fancy artwork rattled against the walls. Drawers slammed open and closed, monitors crashed to the floor and you knew he was right with a rush of terrified adrenaline. Living on a fault line meant most people in the building saw this regularly, but you moved here two months ago. All you had to go off was Hollywood and rumors.

Not exactly trustworthy sources of survival training.

Better than nothing!

You stood and tore your keyboard from the CPU, lifting it as a shield as you crossed the aisle to the nearest pylon. Carrie always complained that the massive structure meant her cube had less functional space, but it was sturdy and thick.

The office was in pandemonium, men in suits and women in pencil skirts hustling to cover as fast as their desk job legs could carry them. You were on the eleventh floor, so they had a long trek down the stairs ahead. Someone was screaming, but they fell silent after a loud crash.

You looked up to see cracks forming in the ceiling. Why wasn’t it over yet? Weren’t quakes supposed to be short? If this went on much longer, the building wasn’t going to last. The only options you had were to wait it out or make a run for the stairs.

With a muttered curse, you ripped Carrie’s keyboard free and doubled your cover, promising yourself you’d go for it on three.

The lights flickered, cube walls waving like stalks of grass as you sprinted to the stairwell. The door was already open as people flooded the narrow opening, clawing at each other for even an inch of room. Every single one of them went down and you went with the flow, not strong enough to fight it.

“Hey! You’re all going the wrong way! We need to go up!” a voice yelled at the next landing. Black hair hid the man’s face, barely brushing against the collar of his white button up and tie. His actions matched his words as he struggled to ascend.

It made sense. With this many people crammed into a small space, the speed you’d be able to move was negligible. Not to mention that there were only six flights to the roof.

Still…

You shoved your way closer to him, muttering apologies to those you jostled out of habit alone. “Hey! Why up?”

Just as piercing jade eyes met yours, the horrendous shaking stopped. Gasps of relief filled the stairwell, laughter and cheering a beat behind but the tightness of the man’s expression never wavered. There was still something to fear.

“It’s an old building, we’re safer with nothing over our heads,” he replied.

An echoing crash rattled the railing under your grip. The crowd screamed as the building quivered, chunks of plaster breaking free and falling to the steps. Your eyes widened as the man took your hand and started running, dragging you along with him toward the elevator.

You were only three feet away when the floor dropped from under your feet and everything went black.

#fanfic #ask response #v x reader #soulmates #tw: natural disasters #dmc #reader insert #devil may cry #my writing

[m00nslippers]

Everyone Crushing on Jason AU 3

Read on AO3!

Hal wasn't sure how the situation had devolved to the point that he now had an alliance with Guy Gardner of all people, but even the extra back-up hadn't been enough to separate Jason Todd from the iron curtain of admirers that had sprung up around the man the instant he'd left Hal's sight.

The original plan had been to blandish the Supers until they changed targets to Hal himself as he slipped into their place beside Jason, but that had only resulted in Kara's eyes glowing terrifyingly red in preparation for a heat-vision blast with Hal as a target, while Superboy ignored him entirely. Meanwhile, Arsenal and Starfire had Red Hood's undivided attention for as long as they were in the man's vicinity and neither had taken kindly to Guy butting in. Arsenal and Guy had ended up in a fist fight that resulted in Red Hood himself slamming both men's heads together and leaving the two in a pile as he left the infirmary with Orphan and Nightwing, Starfire shaking her head over them both as Hal realized he'd severely miscalculated the difficulty of the task he'd taken on.

But seriously, how did some no-name beefcake he'd never heard of until minutes before already have an impenetrable wall of prominent superheroes policing his personal space? It was completely unfair! Like dangling a prize in front of Hal’s face before telling him it was on the other side of a death trap. He'd been way too naive to think someone this damn sexy wouldn't already have a slew of people ready to fight for the honor of being squeezed between those muscled thighs. Clearly there was more to Red Hood than an amazing body and bad boy aura and Hal needed to find out all he could to secure a victory against his rivals.

“We've got to change tactics,” Hal told Guy in a secluded, empty meeting room on the Watchtower satellite the next day.

Guy nodded to himself, eyes narrowed and distant with consideration. “Yeah, you're right,” his fellow Lantern acknowledged, rubbing his chin. “I should wear cologne. Something that smells like, I don't know, wood or something. But what kind of wood? Mahogany, teak, sandalwood? It's a tough decision, man.”

The only thing keeping Hal from slapping himself or slapping Guy was that he couldn’t decide which he wanted to do more in that moment.

Hal groaned at the ceiling, willing some sympathetic god to strike him down and end his misery. “That is not what I meant, I'm talking about information.”

“Information?” Guy repeated with a raised brow. “What kinda information and how do you say we get it? We could barely get within ten feet of the man! We're at a real disadvantage here, Jordan. We seem to be comin' in late to the game.”

Guy scratched the back of his head anxiously, looking more troubled than Hal was used to seeing his fellow Lantern. Normally the man was all ‘go’ all the time. He never seemed to have any doubts, even when the odds were stacked against him. Hal didn't know why or how it had happened, but when it came to Jason Todd, Guy seemed to have fallen hard and fast enough to start second-guessing himself. Gardner was almost stupidly cocky, but when it came to the Red Hood it seemed his confidence might be failing him. While normally anything that took the other Lantern down a peg was something Hal wholeheartedly supported, watching the man's enthusiasm plummet made Hal realize he really didn't want to see the man moping around about lost love.

“You wimping out on me, Guy?” Hal egged on with a raised a brow. No Green Lantern could resist a jibe like that. It would set the other man straight. “Because if you want to bow out of the running I'm all for it. Less competition for me.”

“I ain't saying that,” Guy assured him, standing up straighter. “It's just usually you've only got to worry about somethin' stupid coming outta your mouth at the wrong moment, or forgetting to wear deodorant in front of the person you like. You know, normal shit. Not a damn cadre of bodyguards enforcing a six-foot perimeter. I mean, I figure with cologne at least maybe I smell good enough to lure him in close...”

Hal rolled his eyes. “He's not a shark lured by the scent of blood, cologne isn't going to do anything. We need some tangible reconnaissance to fall back on.” Hal ticked off fingers as he listed, “Conversation topics, likes and dislikes, who his friends are, where all these gatekeepers are coming from and how to get them off our backs.”

Guy bit the inside of his cheek, looking thoughtful as he warmed to the idea. “Okay, yeah I get where you're coming from with this, Jordan. We've got to investigate. Really use our heads.”

As far as Hal could tell, Guy had only ever used his head as a blunt instrument of violence, so he felt perfectly justified in asking, “That's not going to be too difficult for you, is it Guy?”

Guy punched him in the shoulder hard enough to have Hal grab it and whine an “Ow...”

“Ha ha,” Guy deadpanned without humor. “Sure, insult my intelligence.You're the one whose had your brain turned into scrambled eggs by Parallax more than once, but I'm the dumb one of the two of us. Yeah, that makes sense.”

Hal held his hands up, absolving himself of responsibility. “Hey, you said it not me.”

Guy huffed, but suddenly looked smug and knowing as he said, “If I'm just so dumb, then why do I know exactly who we've got to hit up first for information?”

He'd already had a few people in mind when he suggested the course of action, but Hal figured hearing Guy's take could make for a good laugh. “Fine, I'll bite. Who?”

Snapping his finger with a grin, Guy revealed, “Our boy, Rayner! He and Hood seemed pretty tight yesterday. If nothing else he can probably point us in the direction of someone else to interrogate.”

Kyle, huh? Hal had honestly been thinking of going to Barry, just because his friend seemed to always have answers when he needed them. Or maybe Nightwing, since he and Red Hood were clearly close by the way he glared Hal down while stitching up Red Hood's side with full trust, but Kyle was probably an even better bet. They had so much more blackmail material on Kyle than they did on Barry or Nightwing. For once, Guy had a good idea.

“You're right...yeah, let's hit him up,” Hal agreed. “I thought I saw him in the Watchtower Canteen just earlier.”

“I call 'bad space-cop',” Guy said immediately, forcing Hal to scowl in response.

“We're not going to 'good space-cop'-'bad space-cop' another Lantern!” he protested.

Guy shrugged. “You say that now, but you'll be singin' a different tune when he clams up.”

Personally, Hal was skeptical that Kyle could resist telling them anything about the Red Hood. Kyle had his moments of stubbornness and snark but he generally liked to live up to expectations. He was a good kid. Not to mention bad-mouthing Jason Todd seemed to be a secret hobby of his that no one had known about, and Kyle really enjoyed his hobbies. Look at how often they found the guy doodling super heroes between meetings.

“Well if that ever happens, I call badder space-cop,” Hal decided, mostly just because he knew it would get a reaction from Guy.

Of course Guy's brows snapped together instantly and his face flushed with anger. “Like hell! You can't do that, I already called bad space-cop!”

Hal threw up his hands with no shame, internally grinning. “Can. Did.”

With an irritated snort, Guy growled, “Fine, then we'll just ask him normally. Jeez, you've just gotta ruin everything, don't you Jordan?”

Hal smirked. “It's what I live for.”

- - -

Kyle didn't look up from his sketchbook as Guy and Hal took seats across from him in the Watchtower canteen. He just focused on fleshing out the lines and curves, adding shape and depth and shading, breathing life into his work. When the lines began to take familiar paths, the image clarifying into someone recognizable, he frowned to himself and purposefully changed the design, trying to deviate from the real-life inspiration making itself known on his page.

Lately he was growing increasingly frustrated with how suspiciously similar his random character sketches were becoming to a certain vigilante with a red helmet. Despite all the references and inspiration at his fingertips from being a member of the Justice League, all his hand seemed to draw was an idiot by the name of Jason Todd with his dumb smirk and his stupid white streak and his sexy thighs and—

Kyle swallowed the urge to smack his head against the table and instead just roughly flipped his sketch book closed so no one could see the evidence concerning what was preoccupying his mind. There was no way in hell he was going to become one of the Jason-groupies that seemed have coalesced from the aether the instant the man had been accepted into the League.

Seriously though, when had Jason freaking Todd become so popular?

“No,” Kyle said as soon as Guy opened his mouth.

Guy's face wrinkled in an angry pout as Hal snickered next to him. “I didn't even—” he began but Kyle cut him off again. Guy always seemed to be able to talk him into things, he had to shut this line of questioning down quick.

“Nope!” Kyle insisted and finally opened the bag of chips he'd been neglecting for twenty minutes as his sketches stole his attention. “I'm not spilling my guts about Jason. No way, no how, I don't want anything to do with the guy.”

And as if to drive that fact home, Kyle loudly chewed on his potato chips at a volume his mother would absolutely disapprove of.

But of course there was no drowning out Hal. That man was used to talking over the sounds of an airfield with fighter-jets going in and out all day, so crunchy chips weren't even a challenge.

Hal smirked, waving an accusatory finger at Kyle as he pitched his voice louder. “See, you say that but the sexual tension between you two yesterday was palpable.” Kyle nearly choked and spat out his chips, as Guy smirked and Hal just kept talking, unconcerned that Kyle might be choking or that more than one person in the cafeteria had started paying too much attention to their conversation. “You're just trying to get rid of the competition and while I admire your strategic mind, I question your integrity as a Green Lantern—because that's just not fair play!”

Kyle coughed a few more times and smacked his chest before he managed to sputter, “'Sexual tension?' I do not have sexual tension with Jason freaking Todd, of all people!” And he'll admit his voice was tinged with an edge of hysteria but this was a serious accusation!

Hal was clearly not buying what Kyle was selling as he crossed his arms and eyed the younger man incredulously. “Oh really? So you don't think he's hot.”

Kyle rolled his eyes because admitting Jason was hot only proved he had functional vision. If Jason hadn't been a walking wet dream then Kyle wouldn't have been so terrified when the man started hanging around Kyle's at-the-time ex-girlfriend, Donna. And it wasn't even just his looks—Jason was smart, and talented, and well-read and was respectful to women and rode a motorcycle—basically a really cliche romance novel love interest.  

“Of course I think he's hot,” Kyle freely admitted, starting to feel himself get angry as he remembered everything about the man that made him feel inadequate. “Have you seen those honking thighs? You know he has to buy a bigger size pant and take it up in the waist to fit? And he does it himself, the multifaceted piece of shit...” Seriously, why was Jason so dang good at everything? It wasn't fair, how was a normal guy supposed to measure-up?

Guy slapped the table, eyes huge as if he'd just been told he'd won an all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii. “Oh my God, he can sew? Damn, that's wife-material, right there.”

Hal ignored Guy and instead frowned, leaning over the table and trying to loom threateningly. “How do you know all of this, Kyle? We are your mentors, you owe us this.”

Kyle felt his temper pique at the idea that he owed anyone an explanation regarding himself and Jason Todd. He didn't like the guy, didn't want to think about him or talk about him. And yet the man was everywhere he went all of a sudden. Now Kyle couldn't even eat his chips and draw in peace because every time he put pencil to paper it turned into Jason Todd and people got in his face demanding he tell all when there wasn't much to tell to begin with.

In an incredulous tone, Kyle said, “'Mentors'?” Raising his hand, he tapped the glowing green ring on his finger with emphasis. “When I got this ring, I was the only Green Lantern in the galaxy. By the time there were any other Lanterns around, I was already an expert. You guys are like...senior colleagues at best.”

Hal whistled. “Ouch. That hurts, Kyle.” He seemed impressed at Kyle's level of shit-talk, which was unsurprising because shit-talk was Hal's first language and the form of communication he seemed to respond the best to.

But Guy on the other hand did not look impressed. He looked angry and hurt, his hands on the table tightening into fists, his cheeks and forehead flushing red beneath freckles as his eyes lit with fire and the overzealous passion he always put into everything. All at once Kyle felt awful about what he'd said and wanted to take it all back.

“Come on, man!��� Guy demanded, lip lifted in a snarl. “Screw being mentors or colleagues, I thought we were friends! I gave you the 'friends-and-family discount' on your tab at my bar!”

“You get a discount?” Hal interjected. He turned to Guy and complained. “Why does Kyle get a discount? I don't even get a discount...”

Completely ignoring Hal, Guy stabbed Kyle right in the conscience as he slapped his own chest with emotion, the ache of betrayal in his expression. “That meant something to me, I thought it meant something to you too...”

And now Kyle felt like a total piece of shit. He really wasn't like this. He wasn't snappy and snarky and angry. It was only when the Red Hood was around that his personality did this one-eighty. He'd been joking about the mentor thing, he really did look up to Hal and Guy. Kyle was letting his frustration with Jason-Jackass-Todd get the better of him and that wasn't okay.

“No, you're right, Guy,” Kyle agreed running a hand through his hair. “We're friends and that's important me.”

Guy's expression was mulish, not quite ready to forgive him. “And friends tell each other shit, especially about their future significant-others, right?”

Kyle sighed and nodded agreement, though the idea of Jason being Guy's future wife seemed like a joke with no basis in reality. “Yeah, I get it. What did you want to know?”

The anger and hurt finally seemed to bleed out of Guy, but he still answered with a forceful, “Everything. You're gonna earn that discount, Rayner!”

Hal's eyes were narrowed at Guy as he promised, “We'll talk about discounts and why I don't get one later. For now let's start at the beginning. We'd never even seen him until yesterday, so how do you know Jason? Unless you're spending way more hours Earth-side than I know you are, you wouldn't have had enough contact to be slinging sexually charged insults at each other unless something fishy was going on.”

Kyle nearly started choking again on nothing but air. 'Sexually charged insults'? Not even! Jason had a smart mouth and hot lips but he wouldn't know attraction if it hit him over the head with a crowbar. Kyle had seen enough sad losers make passes on Jason to know the man was denser than concrete when it came to the subject. The ungrateful asshole had men and women hanging on him left and right and he didn't even seem to notice.

“There is nothing going on between Jason and me—Never was, never will be!” Kyle assured his fellow Lanterns. “Me and Jason were never even friends, okay? We got stuck doing this reality-traversing gig with Donna and some jerk named Bob to save the multiverse together in an alternate timeline. Then the universes merged and everything we did technically hadn't happened anymore but we still had the memories intact since it all took place outside our world.”

While Hal stared at him in wonder, processing the ridiculous but true explanation regarding Kyle's association with Jason Todd, Guy's face was screwed up in something between confusion and outrage.

Guy held up a hand. “Wait wait wait...So you went on a universe-hopping adventure to save the very fabric of reality, with your ex-girlfriend and Jason Todd, that got erased from history and you never told your buddy Guy Gardner?”

Okay, when put like that Kyle admitted it was the sort of thing he should have mentioned to his friends. Especially Green Lantern friends who were used to branching timelines and multiversal weirdness and wouldn't even question his story.

“Well...” he trailed uselessly.

Clearly Kyle's response was not adequate because Guy shook his head at the table and muttered to himself, “I feel so betrayed...giving you the ‘friends-and-family discount’ is supposed to mean more than this...”

Kyle blushed with shame. “I'm sorry, okay? It just...didn't seem relevant.”

Hal smacked the table with a frown. “A piece of man-meat that sexy is always relevant, Kyle!”

“Not to me. Most of the time I try to pretend he doesn't exist,” Kyle confessed.

Guy tapped his chin, eying Kyle with suspicion. “Oh really? You just seem territorial, to me.”

Kyle scoffed. 'Territorial'? Over Jason Todd? Pff, that was just...no way, that could ever...Kyle shook his head. No way was he feeling territorial over Jason. The fact that he'd known Jason way before any of the people suddenly following him around like a lost puppy had appeared, back when Red Hood had no positive connections to anyone, in a universe where no one showed any interest in him, was no reason to think he was territorial now. It really just had no bearing on anything...

Seriously, it didn't!

“I am not territorial,” Kyle hastily assured them with a sniff of contempt at the very idea. “I just don't want to see you guys waste your time trying to go after Jason Todd when I can tell you from experience that it isn't going to go anywhere good.”

“Experience. Right,” Hal deadpanned. “This experience that took place outside our universe in an alternate timeline that no longer exists.”

Shrugging, Guy said, “Eh. I wouldn’t put it on your resume, kid.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “The world might be different, but Jason Todd is still the same. He acts like a jerk just to prove he's unfit for company. He's an all-mission-all-the-time bat who doesn't see a problem with shooting people in the back when it suits his agenda,” he tried to explain. This Jason might have Batman fooled somehow, but the Jason that Kyle knew, the one that still seemed to know him, was contrary for the sake of it and did bad just to push people away. He couldn’t imagine the man had really changed all that much in a few years and a few timeline tweaks.

Guy just raised a brow, what Kyle was trying to get across completely going over his head as if he'd translated everything his friend said into, 'he's a streetwise sensitive loner' and couldn't figure out the downside. But at the mention of Red Hood's mission-obsessive tendencies, Hal seemed to hesitate. It was common knowledge the first Earth Lantern had an issue with Batman, mostly regarding the Gotham vigilante’s patronizing seriousness and intensity, which grated on his nerves. When the mission was on, the Red Hood was just as bad and he didn't appreciate perceived incompetence. He'd never seen Jason Todd relaxed. Kyle wasn't certain he was capable of it.

After a moment of consideration, Hal shook his head, his interest seeming to rally. “Let's set aside whether or not Guy and I are wasting our time and get down to the real nitty-gritty details. Like, does Jason Todd like men? Is he single? Which position does he like? How many dates with him does it take to get to fourth base? Will I have to fight Batman in a cage match for his honor, because I think I would be open to that.”

Kyle was fairly sure Hal had no chance in a cage match with Batman. He also had no idea why Hal thought Kyle could answer any of those questions. “Don't know. No idea. As far as I know, he's never really dated,” he answered.

Hal groaned and pulled his hands down his face with exaggerated frustration. “Ugh, dammit Kyle, you were supposed to be our fount of knowledge!”

“Well I don't know anything like that and even if I did it would be outdated information because this is a different universe,” Kyle reminded the man, trying not to get angry.

“So what can you tell us?” Guy asked, with an edge of impatience. “Anything at all. Favorite color, or favorite band, or hobbies or something.”

Kyle had to think because his most memorable experiences with Jason involved wanting to ring his neck the instant he opened his mouth. What he'd actually said had been secondary to how annoyed Kyle was the moment he looked into the man's handsomely brooding face.

“Um...I know he listens to the band Cheap Trick. It's really annoying,” Kyle revealed. “And he reads a lot, and quotes at you like a smartass. Also, you don't want to play poker with him because you will lose. Badly. Even if you think you're winning, you're actually not. By the end of the game, you will be broke”

Hal stared at Kyle in silence until the younger man began to feel self-conscious, eventually he said,  “Right. So now that we've established that Kyle knows absolutely nothing of value, who do you know that we can actually go to for information that would be something approximating useful?”

Kyle almost opened his mouth to protest, but then he remembered he'd never wanted any part in this to begin with and knowing nothing about Jason Todd was his ideal state of being. So instead he just answered, “The Bats, of course. But good luck with that, you know as well as I do that it's pulling teeth to get anything from those guys. He's really close with Arsenal and Starfire, too. They started a hero team in this universe, I also heard they might have been...involved in some way.”

Hal perked up, mouth spreading in a leer. “Like a threesome? Hot!”

“That explains why those two were around yesterday,” Guy remarked with narrowed eyes, drumming his fingers on his arm unhappily.

“I don't know, that's their business,” Kyle said with a shrug. “You could also ask Donna, I guess. She knew him when he was a kid, he was on her Teen Titans team. Apparently they were really close back then. Also the team members he's got now—Artemis of Bana-Migdhall and Bizarro. That's kind of it. He thinks the lone wolf lifestyle is cool or something.” Kyle snorted in derision. Todd was such an edgy idiot.

“Alright, well that's a place to start, I guess.” Raising a solemn hand to his chest, Hal humbly declared, “As much as I hate the guy, I will take one for the team. I will confront grouchy old Batman about why all his kids are such freaking hotties. How did the genes that produced his brooding goth ass produce such perfect specimens as Nightwing and Red Hood? This I will find out.”

Kyle couldn’t tell how serious Hal was being. “They didn't, Hal. All the bat kids are adopted.”

Hal's tut of sympathy, made it clear he thought Kyle was being naïve. “Sure they are. So while I'm focusing on that, Kyle is going to get us an in with his ex-girlfriend Donna. And Guy? You're going to hit up your fellow gingers Arsenal and Starfire.”

“No way, let's switch!” Guy protested, pointing at his face as he said, “Arsenal about gave me a black eye yesterday, he's not gonna talk to me.”

As Kyle was trying to figure out how he'd missed seeing Arsenal try to deck Guy Gardner, Hal batted an uninterested hand at Guy and said, “Figure it out. Unless you want to hunt down Artemis and Bizarro, but I've honestly never heard of either of them, so good luck.”

Guy grumbled but seemed to be resigned to his assigned.

“Wait a minute, why am I involved in this strategy?” Kyle asked as he realized Hal had casually involved him in his outrageous plans. “I'm not the one trying to get in Jason's pants here, leave me out of it.”

“Green Lantern solidarity, Kyle. We're in this together,” Hal said easily. He didn't seem to care that his statement was completely lacking in logic.

“I don't see how getting either of you laid has anything to do with Green Lantern solidarity,” Kyle argued.

Guy reached across the table and squeezed Kyle's shoulder, pinning him with his intense stare. “Friends-and-Family discount,” he reminded Kyle. “Are you a friend? Are you family? Because someone who was either would help a brother out.”

Fuck, Kyle thought vehemently. He might get a few credits off on drinks and appetizers, but apparently he was paying for it with freaking blood. Kyle wasn't sure this nonsense was worth a discount he only got to use on Oa at Guy’s admittedly pretty good bar which was the only establishment on the planet that served Earth cuisine.

But it was probably worth it for their friendship. It might be worth it for the laughs, too. And it would put him in a prime position to beat Jason senseless if he stomped on either of his friends’ hearts.

“Damn it, fine,” Kyle caved, as his fellow Lanterns grinned.

#Everyone Crushing on Jason AU #ECoJ 3 #fan fiction #fanfiction #Jay-Crazy #Chapter 3 #Jason Todd #Red hood #Kyle Rayner #Guy Gardner #Hal Jordan #Green Lantern #JayKyle #JayGuy #JayHal #crack treated seirously #AO3 #read on AO3 #dc comics #batman #fandom

[sickiebangtan]

hoseok 2E? we all know he is a lightweight lol

i loved this prompt. thank you for it :3 honestly, i’ve been wanting to write about lightweight hobi, because facts! lol wrote it in free form so i could try not to be a perfectionist about it, and it just flowed after that. namjoon barged into my imagination and claimed his spot, so it just became good ole rare and friendly namseok real quick

tonight it’s just hoseok and namjoon, catching a late movie with a few beers; one of their favorite ways to bond. drinks at the movie theatre always made things ten times more enjoyable. namjoon would always fight back giggles as he whispered commentary to hoseok and they’d both hit each other, snickering uncontrollably. namjoon would stay pleasantly tipsy for most of the night and hoseok would be tipsy for all of 30 seconds before he was just blissfully drunk, after only a second beer. 

hoseok insists on an hour of norebang after the movie. he’s practically bouncing, with his arm looped over namjoon’s shoulder, buzzed, bright-eyed, and hyper. he’s excited to be out of the house and without security for a change. they have to do these kinds of things past midnight, on unpopular days of the week in order for this to work out. and even then, it involves masks and hats to keep fans unsuspecting. 

norebang means lights and screaming (not singing), and shots, and chicken wings and more beer. karaoke with just hoseok and himself? always fun no matter what they do, but kind of makes namjoon a little self conscious. he doesn’t necessarily think he’s a  very good singer or dancer. and sometimes hoseok’s a bit intimidating in those circumstances, even if this isn’t supposed to be serious. he tries to get out of his head about it. 

as they walk to a busy lit-up complex up the rode in the crisp night air, namjoon reaches in his back pocket for his phone. 

“should i call the guys? see if they wanna come too?”

because of course, that’s what hobi must mean, right? he doesn’t want to just sing in a karaoke room with only namjoon there. but hoseok actually looks momentarily hurt. 

“no, fool! it’s just you and me tonight. what, you don’t think you’ll have a good time with hyung? come on, joonie, lets drink and sing our hearts out, lets go, hajjah!“ 

a shy smile graces namjoon’s face as hoseok pulls him eagerly toward the karaoke bar, singing “joonie joonie” all the while. he feels special tonight. the thought of hoseok having a good time with him feels like a priceless reward. 

____

namjoon should have stopped hoseok after the third shot. it was only makgeolli, but even a casual sweet rice wine beverage like makgeolli could make hoseok stumble around. namjoon is having so much fun that he isn’t able to keep track. they’re on their 5th song, voices hoarse but unbothered, jumping around, screaming toward the ceiling, sharing verses to rap songs and hyping each other up. hoseok twerks like nobody’s business when there’s no one to stop him. it makes namjoon laugh until he’s actually scared he won’t be able to stop enough to take a breath. 

the wings are clean bones piled on a plate on a table strewn of other crunchy snacks and glasses of beer and bottles of makgeolli. namjoon casually throws another one back as he takes a much needed seat, reveling the burn traveling down his throat and sharing a smile with hoseok. the dancer is swaying his shoulders to a slower song, singing a little more serious. he sounds good. of course he does. 

“this song is… sauce!” hoseok attempts in english, shaking a hand sign at namjoon, who laughs and mimicks him. 

“the sauciest, man.“ 

“yeahhhh!!!!! thass riiight!“ 

he grabs namjoon’s hand, pulling him up to join him for another song. namjoon doesn’t know where hoseok gets all this energy from. he’s tired, and he’s about to complain, but with a knowing smirk from hoseok, the drake track that starts playing has namjoon hyped up all over again. 

_____

hoseok is quiet when he’s drunk. unusually quiet. maybe listless is a better word.the deep flush in his skin is always the first blaring giveaway, and then it’s the total absence of that amusingly brassy voice of his during a conversation. he’ll completely check out. he’ll lean back in his seat and go total yoongi-mode on everyone. 

when they’re alone together, namjoon gives hoseok the leader title. but right now, he has to direct hoseok out of the karaoke bar with a hand pressed on the small of his back and with hoseok just silently going with it. although, he doesn’t have much of a choice; hoseok seems to need some sort of support in order to keep their stroll in a straight line.

usually, hoseok is walking in front of him, leading the way, vocalizing every thought and pointing in whichever direction. 

a mile into the uber ride home, namjoon places a hand on his hyung’s thigh after the older audibly gulps. you can always read hoseok’s face. he’s an open book, visually. he doesn’t look very good right now. he’s got that drunken sway about him, but it could also pass for feeling sick. 

“hyung, you good?" 

hoseok meets droopy eyes with him and mirrors namjoon’s thumbs up. 

"m'good.” he replies, in english again. “i’m really very good.” he continues, and his voice cracks adorably. 

“really very good, huh?” namjoon pats hoseok’s palm like a lazy high five. hoseok nods his head sleepily, keeping namjoon’s hand loosely in his. his head lulls, forehead hitting the window. namjoon rubs a thumb into the top of hoseok’s hand as he looks down at his phone to continue texting jin, who is still awake, even though they’ve been at the karaoke bar for 3 hours instead of 1. 

his frequent texts reveal how worried he was getting. namjoon presumes jin won’t go to bed until they arrive home, though jin is playing everything off like he’s just up watching a movie. he might be right though; he says yoongi’s up watching it with him. 

____

the elevator doesn’t bode well for hoseok at all. he’d already almost lost it outside the building, where namjoon held him by the waist and rubbed his back until he stopped convulsively swallowing.

he has a death grip on namjoon’s jacket as the lift of the elevator makes his stomach feel like it’s in his throat. he can barely stand straight and his body’s basically leaned completely into namjoon, who keeps a firm and reassuring hold on him. 

“almost there, hyung.” namjoon comforts with a tender voice, rubbing some warmth into the dancer’s arms. hoseok’s breathing heavy into his shirt, the smell of alcohol wafting up namjoon’s nostrils. ____

they make a lot of noise when they get inside. it’s really hard not to with namjoon’s general clumsiness while he tries to bring a slumpy stumbling hoseok inside. jin seems to have teleported to the front door since namjoon can’t recall the transition of jin getting up from the couch and making it to the door. yoongi just takes in the scene from his comfy corner of the couch before he figures he may be needed in a few seconds. 

jin takes hoseok so namjoon can be relieved of the deadweight as hoseok slumps into him instead. 

“shit, namjoon, what did you two do? he’s wasted!" 

namjoon bites his lip. "not necessarily. he didn’t have that much." 

"for hobi, i’m sure it was." 

"yeah. definitely… sorry, we kinda got carried away.”

jin wants to scold. he wants to curse some more, not expecting hoseok to be in such a state, but hoseok’s stomach makes a loud gurgle and that’s the only warning before he’s suddenly pitching forward and spewing a torrent of makgeolli and beer and sprite onto their polished floors. 

and then jin’s really cursing, rushing hoseok to the kitchen sink, so thankful that for once there are no dishes there. he holds hoseok’s forehead as liquid comes out of him like a water jet, rubbing determinedly on his back as he splutters with each choking heave. 

“aish, hobi–god, that’s a lot. you’re okay, baby.” jin says, unable to wrench his eyes from all that’s coming out of him. “you should feel better once you get all that out, hmm?" 

namjoon frets by the both of them at the sink. "you think he’ll be hungover tomorrow? i would hate for him to. i mean, we ate quite a bit." 

"i see that,” jin comments with an upturned nose, turning on the faucet so the water can drain the undigested contents. “he should be okay if we can get a few glasses of water in him before he goes to bed." 

hoseok keeps his hands squeezing the edges of the counter, feeling dizzy and awful, panting shakily and sniffling as if he might start crying. yoongi stands beside him, reaching over to massage the back of his neck. 

"you’re alright, lightweight,” yoongi says, but somehow manages to make the tease sound loving. “you’ll laugh about this in the morning, i promise.” but hoseok hiccups sadly, letting out a quiet sob. 

“oh baby,” jin croons, bringing his hand under hoseok’s shirt to get a better pattern going on his skin. “we’re sorry–you must feel awful. this kind of drunk is never a good feeling, i know." 

"mm–mm, no,” hoseok answers tearfully, a burp rolling up hollow and empty, finally done. jin keeps him ducked over the sink so he can run some warm water over his hair. whenever hoseok was sick, an impromptu hair wash relaxed him. “but we had so much fun. so much… joonie and me,” he babbles, slurring. 

namjoon tells jin and yoongi about their night while they all watch hoseok be lulled by the running water over his head, occasionally giving him a comforting rub or pat. they hate for hoseok to be sick like this, but it’s hard not to be equally amused.

namjoon might not have wanted the night to end like this, but he’ll hold the memory close to his heart.  

#bts sickfics #bts drabbles #drunk jhope #bts #bangtan boys #sickfics for bangtan #tw:vomit #bts namjoon #bts seokjin #bts yoongi #1.6k words #namseok #hopemon #lub you <3

[closetspngirl]

Love Heals the Soul (Part 22) - She Speaks

Summary: Reader moves in, things are finally discussed...sort of. And tennis cake?

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Word Count: 2198

Warnings: Sad reader, maybe it counts as angsty? nothing, unless I missed something.

A/N:  Feedback is always welcome! Italicized are lyrics, POV thoughts or text conversations; you can tell by the context

You and Jensen decided to move all of your stuff into his apartment the following week over the winter break in filming that they had. The assistant that you had hired when you took a month off work was still around, you having told both of them your long-term plan for the café. Having the two of them gave you more time to be with Jensen, and take care of yourself.

You had been putting off any type of therapy or surgery for your wrists, not ready to deal with it yet. Very much in the mindset that you were fine and everything would be ok; when deep down you knew that was a lie and all you were doing was hurting yourself. You’d been wearing the brace, Jensen was nice enough and didn’t make you talk about it, but it was still progressing, which is why you hired the assistant’s assistant in the first place.

On one of the trips between apartments, the two of you got out and unloaded the boxes from the truck and put them in the house. “We can just leave them in the living room, and find a place for everything later today or tomorrow. There’s no rush,” Jensen said, walking into the kitchen and rummaging in a cabinet, finding what he was searching for. “What are you doing over there?” You asked laughing, hands on your hips.

“What? I needed a little snack, gummy bear?” He asked you, holding out a handful for you. “Sure! They’re one of my favorite candies actually,” laughing as you reached your hand up to his, going still for a considerable amount of time, what had to have been five or ten seconds. There is a serious brain to hand misfire happening right now. Hand! Work! You looked at your hand, confused and then managed to pull it back to you, holding it in your other hand. “Actually, I’m ok…” you decided. Before you could fully turn away from him, Jensen put the bag down and grabbed your arm, bringing you back to him.

“No, you’re not ok. Your hand, the almost…petrified look that’s on your face right now; those are not indicators of being ‘ok’. Please talk to me. This is going to be the only time I beg. Whatever just happened, that wasn’t ok, Y/N. Something is wrong. Please tell me.” Oh god, the hurt in his eyes. But it’s nothing. Ugh, man up and talk, Y/N! He’s not going to kick you out or leave you, what are you so afraid of. It’s not like you’re the only one in the world dealing with this. Suck. It. Up.

“Y/N,” he said, still holding onto you, unaware that you had lost yourself in your thoughts. You looked at him, tears wanting to fall, but doing your best to hold them back. “Jared brought this up to me when we were in Austin a couple of months ago. He noticed some things with you, and after he said it, I started noticing, too. Is that was this is about? The broken glass, not holding the kids…Jason playing guitar last week at the café?” He asked gently.

You took a deep breath and held it for a second then slowly exhaled, nodding your head slowly, moving your gaze to the ground.

“The nutshell version? I had tendon issues as a kid, it was never a big deal, they fixed it and I was fine. It was made worse when I…” you stopped, memories suddenly flooding your mind, fingers running over old scars. Jensen’s eyes still locked on yours, one hand coming up to your cheek and rubbing his thumb across it, “When you what, baby, what happened?” His voice was calm now; he wasn’t completely relaxed, but at least better since you had started talking to him.

The tears, thankfully not many, finally fell. “When I was in Ecuador. They…things…happened. I came home, had another surgery. The doctors didn’t know how long it’d be before I started having problems again; they weren’t optimistic when I told them what I did for a living. And here we are,” you finished flatly.

“What happened…in Ecuador?” he asked, as if he was taking a chance on how you’d react to the question. He was met with wide E/C eyes staring back at him, full of tears, you shaking your head no, suddenly scared, small whimpers starting to escape you. “Y/N, sweetheart, no. You don’t have to tell me. It’s ok. You’re fine,” Jensen said, wrapping you up in a hug trying to calm you. He pulled you towards the couch so the two of you could sit, and you could be more comfortable.

The two of you sat there for ten or fifteen minutes until you started relaxing. Your head was lying on his chest, the beat of his heart and his steady inhale and exhale of his breathing were what calmed you enough to drift off. Jensen’s arm wrapped behind your back, pulling you into his side, rubbing tiny circles on your hand he was holding. After you relaxed, he changed both of your positions, making it so you were cradled in his lap. He let you lay like that for an hour or so, waking you up for dinner, running his finger up and down the bridge of your nose.

When you started to stir he whispered, “Hey baby, you hungry? It’s almost dinner time.” You tried answering yes, but really it just came out like a whimper, making Jensen chuckle.

“What are you in the mood for? Pizza? Take out? Cereal?” He listed off, brushing the stray hairs out of your face, trying to get you to come out of the after-sleep fog.  You sat back in his lap thinking about what he said. “Do you have peanut butter and jelly?” you asked.

A smile crossed his face and he kissed your forehead, “Of course. I’ll go make you a sandwich, then after dinner we’ll go to bed and watch TV, how does that sound? Finish the rest of the moving tomorrow.” You nodded as you moved so he could get up, following him to the kitchen as he made you both a sandwich. “Crunchy or creamy peanut butter?” he asked you. “Creamy please. Wait, you actually have both kinds?” you asked, laughing. He laughed and shrugged, “Yeah, I like crunchy peanut butter and Jared likes creamy, and since he’s always over here eating my food, I have a jar of each.” You mock groaned, “So you mean I have to share peanut butter with Jar? Great,” making the two of you laugh. “You can quote me on that too, the next time you see him, tell him no double dipping the spoon.”

After dinner the two of you headed up to bed, changed and got under the covers. You curled into Jensen’s side as he picked something on Netflix, opting for something you had both seen before, in the event you fell asleep. You were surprised when he had picked Great British Baking Show. “Do you really want to watch this? We can watch something else, I do like other things than just baking,” you said with a laugh.

“Nah, this is good. Just don’t tell Jared, he’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

Chuckling at the thought of Jared finding out about it, you told him his secret was safe with you. Over the course of the episode, he was asking questions about different things, seeming to have a genuine interest in the show. “You know, I could actually show you some of this sometime, if you’re that curious about it,” you told him, finding the whole thing endearing.

“Éclairs? Macarons? Really?” he asked, like a kid just being told they could go to Disneyland. You looked up at him then, “Dude, you’ve been to the café, you’ve seen what I can do. Yes. We can make éclairs and macarons,” you retorted with an eye roll at him acting like a dork.

Jensen was rubbing his fingers along your back, the movement trying to pull you to sleep. Your hand was on his chest, held by his other hand. You looked up at him, waiting until he looked at you, or until you figured out what you wanted to say, you really weren’t sure which it was.

Jensen looked down after a second, “Penny for your thoughts?” You smiled, “Just thinking about how nice this is. Coming home at the end of the day, together.”

“Yeah it is,” he whispered, kissing your head and smiling. “I’m sorry it took so long to figure it out,” you said shyly, almost embarrassed that you didn’t say yes when he asked you almost two months ago. Smiling, he responded, “It’s ok baby. You’re here now and I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

You were quiet for a few minutes, as one episode ended and the next one started. You weren’t watching the TV, but you were listening to the cheeky banter of Sue and Mel in their posh British accents.

Sue: “Four bakers are fighting for their lives…is that too dramatic? Mel: “It’s never too dramatic. It’s cakes, biscuits and desserts we’re talking about!

Jensen must have felt your body tense and relax, only to do that same thing a couple more times. “Y/N/N, you ok?” he asked, looking down at you. “Yeah, I…” you started, not really knowing how to tell him that you wanted to talk and felt lame for not being able to.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on in that pretty little head?” he asked, moving a hair off your forehead.

You’re attention now on tracing some of the freckles on his chest in a nonsensical pattern, suddenly finding it to be the most interesting thing in the room, you tried again.

“I…are you…are you upset that I haven’t been able to tell you what happened? In Ecuador I mean.” You said, barely above a whisper.

“God no, I would never be upset. I know that you’ll talk when you’re ready. I am perfectly ok with that.”

“It’s just that, earlier tonight, I saw the look in your eyes. I don’t know what it was, but you looked at me different, I don’t want you to be mad at me like I’m hiding something. I mean I am…” you paused, realizing you were just digging a nice little hole for yourself.

Exhaling a breath you apparently had been holding, you continued. “I’m not hiding anything, per se. I just don’t like talking about it, so I keep it discreet. Yes. I’ve been having problems with my wrists, but I don’t want to admit it, because then it’s really happening. I’m terrified to talk about what happened in Ecuador, like if I do it’ll find someway to come back for me. That’s stupid. That all sounds so stupid, I’m sorry,” you sighed, turning over, your back now facing him.

Without missing a beat, Jensen rolled over behind you, putting his arm around your waist and pulling you close, your head tucked under his. “Y/N. You beautiful, lovable idiot, I will never, never, be upset with you. You are healing and grieving and everyone does that differently. I don’t know everything that happened, but I know that you will get to that point where you will be ok to talk about whatever you need to, to help you heal. This entire thing is a process, and I, nor anyone else, can tell you one way or another on how to get through it. You will know when you need help, and when you’re ready to open up about it. Until then, I will be by your side every day, and every day after. I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me Y/N/N.”

You stayed there for a minute, moving one hand down to meet his on your waist, before turning around. “Thank you, Jen. I get stuck in my head and start doubting everything, feeling like I should be over it all by now.”

“I will always be here to help you back out, you don’t have to be alone in this anymore, ok?” he said, brushing his thumb across your cheek, leaning down to kiss you. “But, I do need you to do something for me,” he said, making you freeze.

“Ok…?”

“If your wrists are becoming a problem, you need to go to the doctor. Putting it off will just make them worse. Please?”

You nodded, knowing exactly what the doctor had to say. You nodded, knowing that it was time for this long-term plan of yours with the café to finally start. “I will.”

“Good. Now. What on earth is this Tennis Cake that they’re supposed to be making?” He said, rolling you back over so you were once again laying into his side; your head on his chest. You laughed, remembering the first time you watched this episode, “It’s a fruit cake, with a tennis court on top made out of marzipan, fondant and royal icing. And yes. It’s weird, but apparently a thing.”

It wasn’t too long after that, that the lull of Jensen’s steady breathing pulled you into sleep.

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#love heals the soul #jensen x reader #spn

[elfnerdherder]

Where the Wicked Walk: Ch. 32

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Chapter 32: The Masque of the Red Death

           He was allowed to see Abigail after he gave an official statement detailing the events within the house. He was allowed to see Wally, too, but when he asked about Beverly and Molly, even Jack turned him down.

           “As of right now, everyone is being detained here in respective cells or rooms until further notice,” he’d explained. “Your statement correlates with what Abigail Hobbs said, as well as what we were able to get out of Wally, but even I have to draw the line somewhere, Will.”

           “I’m going to work more with Wally and see what I can do, but I’m going to urge you, Jack, to remember that he is a traumatized child. We don’t know what he went through in that house,” Alana said. The look she gave Jack said quite clearly how many times she’s repeated that same sentiment in one way or another.

           Jack looked as though he had a profound thought to that, but Will clearing his throat took the wind from his sails.

           “They’re victims,” Will had said, staring out of the room he was to be contained within. So long as he behaved and his deadened connection didn’t cause anything ‘untoward’ to happen, the door would remain unlocked for him to come and go as he chose. “I had to get them out.”

           “You’re a victim, too, Will,” Alana had reminded him, standing beside Jack.

           “No I’m not,” Will retorted, and he’d turned to look at them sharply. “I overcame.”

           That was how, much later that afternoon, he found himself seated within the garden that the FBI had dedicated for those battling the all-consuming agony of what soulmate-severance truly was, alongside Abigail Hobbs while Wally tracked a few arachnids trundling through the winter flora and fauna.

           “It’s December,” Abigail said when he sat down. “I thought you’d want to know.”

           Will watched Wally poke at a particularly terrified spider. “I wonder how regulated this garden is. Spiders shouldn’t be out and about like that if it’s December.”

           She looked at him for a long time, then followed his gaze and watched Wally, too. “I heard heaters kick on. You can see the openings up top to even cover this whole place, need be.”

           “That’s a lot of money for an FBI headquarters to use.”

           “Soulmate severance is no joke,” Abigail replied, then immediately caught herself. Will noted her quick movements out of the corner of his eye, how she fumbled for something else to say.

           He still felt hollow, carved out like spaghetti squash. Something was missing, and along his skin there was the burn like the aftermath of shading done on a particularly large and vicious tattoo. A cat scratch that kept getting fussed over, only it was all over his skin and even his eyes hurt sometimes. Blinking hurt. He wondered if it was the fire that finally took Hannibal, or if Dolarhyde had gone back to finish the job after all.

           “What happened at that house?” Will asked raggedly, when words finally came.

           “Agent Crawford asked me not to tell you.”

           “I told him that I killed Garrett Jacob Hobbs because he attacked you.”

           “I said the same thing.”

           Silence again. Wally lost the spider within the cracks of the walls, and he began his next search intently.

           “I only know what happened because I was informed about certain things that were to occur once Jack Crawford managed to find the house,” Abigail said at last. Her voice shook, and Will nudged around the particular use of the word ‘once’ Jack found the house, not ‘if’. “Most of the house…they thought that Dr. Lecter was going to free them. Through embracing death, they conquered it.”

           “I read The Masque of the Red Death,” said Will, and his plucking hands found some grass below their bench. Fingers twitched and fussed over the crunchy and dry texture. “Death is disguised and finds his way to Prince Prospero in the end. He takes him from the palace where he’d locked himself away because in the end, the red death reaches all.”

           “Yes.”

           “Jack Crawford is still alive, though.”

           He looked at Abigail, and her hands fussed with the buttons on her mittens, her eyes trained fixedly on Wally. He tasted the smoke from that night, and he coughed to lessen the pressure in his chest.

           “Unless Jack Crawford was representative of death, not Prince Prospero,” he realized after a moment.

           “Dr. Lecter’s words were poetry,” she whispered, “and he promised all of those fools safety within that castle, knowing full well that one day death would come to tear it down. That was the plan.”

           “What’d he do, Abigail?” Will asked, and even though he could feel the emptiness that told him yes, yes, Hannibal Lecter was dead, he felt his presence then, looming over them with his wicked and careful planning.

           “If the perimeter alarms were to sound, then everyone was to reach into their pocket and withdraw a small capsule with a pill,” she said slowly. “That pill gave them approximately ten to twenty minutes to destroy any evidence within the house that hadn’t already been burned in the fire, then if they were captured they’d already be dead. Secrets couldn’t be pried from them. He wanted Jack Crawford to have to live with that.”

           Will let those words sit in the air between them, heavy with its realities. That didn’t entirely sound like Hannibal, although it did sound like a contingency plan concocted by Dolarhyde. Hannibal wanted a show, and Dolarhyde didn’t want witnesses.

           “Did they find Agent Dolarhyde?” he rasped.

           Abigail didn’t answer, and that was enough of an answer for him.

           “They didn’t find Hannibal’s body, or they wouldn’t have needed my confirmation,” he added slowly.

           “They’re waiting for the place to be stable enough post-fire so that they can round up any bodies missed. I think Jack said agents had the place under control to keep reporters out. The entire house had been installed with an additional pipeline holding gasoline, so when it went—”

           “It went quick,” Will agreed. “I was there.”

           The center of his chest was hollow and ached when his arm brushed it to adjust the hat on his head. He wondered if someone cracked his ribs open, if they’d find dust and cobwebs inside, or if he’d spill out the secrets of the house onto the garden walk for them to collect.

           “I never thanked you for killing my dad,” Abigail said as Wally triumphantly held a bug aloft, the sunlight glinting off of its exoskeleton.

           “He would have died anyway the moment Jack arrived,” said Will bitterly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have notched my belt.”

           A lie, in truth. Garrett Jacob Hobbs would have never let Abigail leave that house alive.

           There was a hesitance to her silence that made him look over at her, her face in profile sharper and far more the manipulative predator that he knew she could be, the same as he knew himself to be. His ribs ached when he breathed. He needed to go see Hannibal.

           Only there was no Hannibal to see.

           “Tell me, Abigail,” he prompted when she didn’t speak.

           “A small selection of us,” she said after a prolonged hesitation, “were to exit through the basement to a rendezvous point in the woods. There was transport waiting, as well as papers that would have gotten us anywhere around the world that Hannibal wanted us to go.”

           “Who?”

           “Dr. Lecter, Francis, Chiyoh, Beverly, Saul, me, and you.”

           Will thought of Beverly and Saul, and suddenly he didn’t feel like talking anymore. Spit turned to rust in his mouth.

           “Then I heard what Beverly did to Saul after she helped us escape, and I wasn’t sure what the plan was anymore,” she continued.

           Will stood, and his hands shook. He stuffed them into the pockets of the standard-edition FBI coat that he’d been loaned, and the breaths that huffed from his mouth curled about his head like the smoke of a great, red dragon.

           “I killed your dad because I wanted to kill your dad,” he said, staring at Wally releasing one bug to go and stalk another. “I think, given the chance, I’d do it all over again.”

           He left her with that, and he headed back to his room with a hand pressed to his chest as though he could find the place where bone and sinew ended and that wretched emptiness began.

-

           Jack was working on paperwork.

           Cases like these were like that, this he knew. The paperwork is what finally let it all sink beneath his suitcoat. He blinked, and he saw firelight. He blinked again, and he saw that he’d scribbled out the words suspect first began in a scrawling, messy script. He’d have to redo it. Maybe not. Maybe he just needed a damn nap.

           Hannibal Lecter was dead.

           Jack wasn’t sure how to express the feelings in regards to that thought, coupled with the hair-raising noise of Will screaming. When he first saw Will emerge from the dark, grasping claws of the forest trees, his heart had stopped. Surely these men were holding him hostage, waiting to pull the trigger in the final moment to show Jack once and for all who was in charge?

           But then Will shouted his name, and everything else wasn’t important anymore.

           He wasn’t sure which noise pervaded his mind more: the gasping sounds he’d made as he tried to staunch the blood flow from Jack’s stab wound, or the sound of his screaming as he dropped to the ground and began to writhe. That scream made his blood cold, made him want to turn tail and run and run and run until he could see that Bella was safe because he knew that noise better than anything else in the entire god damn world.

           Soulmate severance.

           “God dammit,” he murmured, and he grabbed the next file to update. Suspects were being questioned. Suspects were being identified. Bodies were being confirmed.

           Most of the fucking suspects had committed suicide on the lawn of their burning horror house.

           One had survived, though. At the sight of his accomplices dropping, one boy had turned whiter than a sheet and started backing away until he’d backed right into an agent that frisked him and dumped him into the first car that they could have en route to HQ. Don’t fucking lose that one, Jack had said to the agent. You hear me? He dies, your job is mine.

           And Will Graham had become a soulmate to Hannibal-fucking-Lecter.

           A noise just outside of his door made his stomach lurch. The lack of a body was an itch he couldn’t reach, but he just had to be patient. When the place was a little more stable, they’d run DNA scans on anything they could get their god damn hands on. Will’s pain, his screaming, was the best of indications, but at hearing that Will had been the one to kill him?

           There was no wonder to the trauma he’d subject himself to just to save people.

           There was no body yet, though. No body meant no rest for Jack Crawford, no respite from ragged moments of sleep where he woke to Hannibal gutting him again and again and again.

           Will Graham had gutted him too, though. It felt good knowing that Lecter would know just what that felt like.

           He wanted you to lose, Will had said, staring out of the window in his room. That was the trap, Jack. He wanted you to find him, and he wanted to ensure that all of the many ways in which you could find closure would be destroyed, too. Dead witnesses, dead house, dead end. Only now, he’s dead, too.

           Another noise, this time a creak of a shoe on a faulty floor. Jack was standing and striding across his office sooner than he’d have liked to admit, hand tapping at his holster where his gun was. Hannibal Lecter was dead. Will Graham’s agony confirmed it.

           They hadn’t found Dolarhyde, though.

           They hadn’t yet found Molly Foster, either.

           He wasn’t sure what Will would do when he found out that information, but he was tabling it for the time being. Will Graham’s opinion be damned, he was a victim in the circumstances they were dealing with –whether of ‘sound mind’ or not meant nothing in regards to dumping information on him that could potentially impede investigation. He’d been in that house for a couple of months, not a day.

           Who knew what all had happened? What all he’d endured but couldn’t say?

           Enough that his eyes had changed. Enough that Jack hadn’t made it in time.

           The details of the investigation were, therefore, not Will Graham’s concern at this time.

           The hallway was empty, though, bright lights burning on weary eyes. Jack stared at the walls in a muted taupe color, something just off enough from white that it didn’t feel as oppressive –according to studies. Jack didn’t much give a damn about white walls or taupe walls, but maybe this was an indication he should get some sleep, put his head down long enough to quiet the wicked thoughts of –

           “Getting paranoid, Jack?”

           Jack turned around and stared into the eyes of Lloyd Bowman.

           He’d have immediately supposed it was a dream, if Lloyd didn’t look like utter shit. His skin was sallow, and there were lines along his neck that suggested he’d had to sleep at an odd angle for some time. Days, in fact. Weeks. A couple of months.

           With a wound like his, Jack could figure he’d had to sleep at just the sort of angle to keep pressure off of his abdominal walls, away from the muscle and tissue that’d been torn apart by one of Lecter’s followers.

           Lloyd’s smile was wan, and he leaned heavily on a cane. “You didn’t send my wife flowers.”

           “I did,” Jack replied.

           “No, Price did. I asked, and he said he put your name on them, too, but he was the one to pick them out. A nice assortment of lilies ranging from Callas to Stargazers.” After a thought, “Those are her favorite.”

           “She mad at you?”

           “Mostly crying,” Lloyd assured him. “Then relief. A nice, home cooked meal.”

           Silence in the hall. Jack considered Lloyd, and he tried to reassure himself that his heart pounding was because he was angry that this meant that Lloyd had faked his death, disappeared rather than died.

           After everything else, though, Jack wasn’t quite so sure that he could fake anger. Not now. Maybe he was something like his wife, where the anger could set in after he had time to feel relief.

           “You look like shit,” Jack said at last. The words weren’t right; they turned sour in his mouth and made his tongue curl. They weren’t what he wanted to say, but they were all he could say.

           Maybe he could bring himself to be angry, after all.

           Lloyd, bless him, laughed. “You too, if you don’t mind me saying.”

           “I don’t mind.”

           “It was a safe house,” he said when Jack didn’t press for anything. Jack figured he needed to take his time rather than bulldoze into a barrage of questions. It was tempting to, especially since Zeller’s health was touch and go. He couldn’t bully Zeller into living, but he could damn sure talk Lloyd in circles around himself as he all but interrogated him. The lack of a body made him aggressive, fidgety. They needed to get into that house soon.

           “I’m not sorry,” Lloyd continued. “I heard about Zeller, and my only regret is –”

           Jack knew not to hug him, seeing how he leaned on the cane. Instead, he reached over and grasped him by his shoulders tightly, squeezing. He wasn’t sure if he could convey the relief that doused him with a quick bucket of water overhead, but he was trying. Things had become far too emotional, far too muddled for Jack, a person who knew how to categorize and make boxes for people rather than let their lives and his bleed together.

           Something had changed, though, that moment that Will Graham had saved his life. Then later, when –rather than Jack save him –Will had had to save himself the only way that he knew how.

           Lloyd’s secretive smile warmed, and he grabbed Jack by the shoulder and squeezed just as tightly.

           “You’re so sly, but so am I,” he said, and despite everything, Jack had it in himself to laugh, rasping and ugly.

           “Get your ass in here,” he replied, and it wasn’t quite a demand.

           It wasn’t quite a request, either.

           Lloyd followed him into his office, and maybe things were going to turn out alright after all.

-

           Nick Bowman sat across one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

           Alright, potentially not.

           It was pretty damn close, though.

           “You play on Roll 20, too?”

           “Yeah, logged maybe a couple thousand hours. It’s one of my passions,” Emma gushed, and she stirred sugar into her tea. They were at a quiet coffee shop near the edge of town, everything draped in taupe and coffee bean décor. They showed migrant workers on canvas paintings sorting beans and carrying large, wicker-baskets of blatant consumerism, but the music overhead was nice and their dark roast really was exceptional.

           It was a good first date, in reality.

           “Awesome,” said Nick sincerely. “That’s just…wow. We’ll have to play together some time.”

           “That’d be fun. I warn you, though: I play rogues, and my sneak attacks are almost always on a nat. 20.”

           “That’s why your character is on my side, not fighting me,” he laughed.

           “Fair enough.”

           Her smile was just on the edge of coy, and her pixie cut framed apple cheeks and a button nose. He wasn’t one to think about details like that, but if this was going to actually be his soulmate, Nick figured that he owed it to her to try and see her as maybe the love of her life would see her. Slight yet sturdy. Capable yet quiet. She seemed, to Nick, a mix of paradox and that American-girl aesthetic that companies looked for in their models for advertising.

           “So, why did you sign up for that site?” she asked curiously. She tilted her head just-so, in order to better analyze his words, and Nick couldn’t help but admit that the scrutiny was kind of alluring. Maybe there was something to Uncle Lloyd’s words, that he didn’t get out of the house enough. Now that there was someone interesting staring across the table at him, he’d have to reconsider the advantages of socializing with people that didn’t live in their own decrepit apartments while they shouted intermittently in their mics about whether or not they were using homebrew, 3.5 rules, or 5e.

           Rules lawyers, the lot of them.

           “I was curious at first, since they claimed they’d find a soulmate for me in a week,” he confessed. “I like to poke holes in things like that. Dunno why.”

           “Sounds like you like to be right about most things.”

           “Maybe.” She laughed, and it bolstered him to continue, “I don’t regret being wrong right now, though.”

           “You think they got your number?”

           “Dunno about them, but I’d like to give you mine, if you’re alright with that. It’s faster than e-mail.”

           “We’re not soulmates yet.”

           Yet. He considered the use of its word and her confidence in saying it. He wondered if Lloyd had gone back to the FBI yet, or if he was still laying low. According to the reports on the news and the interwebs, there was no body accounted for, but it looked like that poor abductee had made a soulmate connection while a prisoner there.

           Then Nick’s own digging revealed that it was Hannibal Lecter of all people he’d connected to.

           It made soulmates sound sticky in his ears, but he understood her feelings on the matter. She’d signed up for a dating site, after all.

           He wrote his number on a napkin for her, since he was feeling rather cliché and that’s what some people did in coffee shops on dates. She accepted it with a smile, and they walked out of the small coffee shop boasting half off specials for soulmates on Sundays. Maybe, just maybe if this worked out, they’d come back on Sundays and bask in the slowly-laid foundation of memories.

           Maybe she’d game with him, and his group would finally have that assassin they were looking for.

           She walked him to his car, oddly enough. It was a piece of shit Camry from the 90’s that, on a good day, turned over the first time. After getting booted from training in Quantico, Nick hadn’t had the best of luck, but at least that car had stuck through his ups and downs, his work and lack thereof. It was a thankless job being someone like Nick, but as he turned around and looked into Emma’s eyes, one hand poised on the roof of the car and the other on the door, he wondered if maybe he wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.

           She leaned up and pressed a kiss to the spot just at the edge of his lips, gentle.

           Then drove a knife into his gut and twisted, hard.

           “Francis Dolarhyde wanted me to inform you that, while your skills are exemplary, he is not currently in the market for a hacker that couldn’t exhibit enough self-control to make it out of FBI training and into the real world,” she whispered into his ear. “But for what it’s worth, I thought you were doing rather well up until this moment.”

           Nick opened his mouth to expel the rush of sound that filled his head with screaming, but nothing came. He felt suddenly cold, then hot, then numb; something wet was gathering along his stomach, his legs, his shoes, but he couldn’t quite reconcile his shock with what that meant.

           Dying, you fucking idiot. You’re dying.

           She pulled the knife from him and wiped it on a clean rag before depositing it into a large envelope. He saw her put the envelope into her purse, but the rest was dizzying to track, his blinks slow and lethargic. A voice, rough and panicked in the back of his mind warned him that by pulling the knife out, she was dooming him to die, but that wasn’t quite grasped onto either. Everything was sliding, sliding, sliding away, and he was eased into the driver’s seat of his car gently, he feet tucked up by the pedals.

           He blinked again, and his vision swam. It was difficult to describe it as pain, seeing as how everything was muted and distorted to the touch, too far away to really grasp onto. His head lolled and bobbed, and somehow he found it pressed against the window, staring at the back of Emma’s head as she strode across the parking lot and climbed into a waiting car.

           As it peeled away, Nick closed his eyes and fell into deep, fading sleep. He kept time with his death based off of the wheezing from his weakening breath.

-

           Zeller’s first words upon waking at the hospital were, “Where’s Jack,” followed closely by, “Where’s Hannibal?”

           Within twenty minutes –twenty only because of traffic –Jack was there, closely accompanied by a harried Price and a Bowman that the nurse insisted on helping into a wheelchair.

           Jack wasn’t sure how to take looking at him, bruised and battered and missing fingers. The head surgeon had informed them that the fresh surgery wound had been to remove his kidney, but it had been done with utmost skill and precision. He was alive, but only just. He was awake, but only just. When Jack saw his blue eyes flickering lazily along the lights and tiles of the ceiling, he crossed the room in two strides and took care to miss the tubes and wires as he put a hand on his shoulder.

           “Hey, Jack,” Zeller managed hoarsely. “Sorry I missed work.”

           “Son-of-a-bitch,” Price muttered, and he circled to the other side. “You’re chipper.”

           “Takes…more to kill me than that,” Zeller managed, and he coughed roughly. It sounded like sand on glass, that noise, but Jack bore it well. He stared at Zeller, committing to memory every nick and scratch that’d occurred at the hands of Lecter and Dolarhyde.

           God, how sometimes he wished Lecter had lived so that he could have killed him himself.

           “How are you feeling?” Bowman asked. “Do you need medication?”

           Zeller shook his head, and he looked back to Jack. “I didn’t…I didn’t tell them, Jack. Bella’s okay, right? I didn’t –I didn’t –tell them where she was.”

           “Hell, I know,” Jack assured him, and god dammit his eyes were stinging and hot. “I know you didn’t, Zeller. Know how I know?”

           “How?”

           “Since we didn’t move her, and nothing happened. She stayed right where you knew she was, and nothing happened.”

           Zeller’s eyes fluttered closed, and his exhale took the weight of his fears with it. “Where’s…Lecter?”

           “Dead,” Price replied savagely. “Graham took him out.”

           “Graham?” Bowman asked, surprised.

           “Heard them talkin’…downstairs. Graham didn’t take shit, there.” Zeller fell into a coughing fit, eyes crushed tight with the pain of it. “Killed the Shrike, killed the guy pretending to be a sheriff…killed Randall Tier. Made others think he was gonna kill them, too.”

           “He’d have done it, given the chance,” Jack agreed.

           “Did you see him?” Price asked.

           “They kept three locked doors between me and the rest of the house. I only saw Dolarhyde and…and Lecter.”

           Thinking of Lecter seemed to take the wind out of his sails. Zeller’s ashen face paled, and he sunk into the pillows as a tremor worked its way over his skin.

           “That sick son-of-a-bitch,” he murmured, and his heartrate spiked. “That s-sick, sadistic, son-of-a –”

           “We got him in the end,” Jack cut in, and he pulled up a chair to get comfortable. “You hear me, Zeller? We got him in the end, dental records pulled from the ashes of what appeared to be an office. That sick son-of-a-bitch is gone.”

           His heartrate calmed, but only just. As lungs battered and bruised from breathing smoke and fire struggled to give oxygen, Bowman wheeled up close to his leg and Price took his other side. The investigation could wait a damn second, Jack figured.

           “I didn’t tell him anything,” Zeller managed, and he closed his eyes tightly. “I didn’t say a word.”

           “I know,” Jack replied, and he clasped what little was left of Zeller’s right hand. “I know.”

-

           Beverly Katz found Will in the same garden that he’d sat in with Abigail Hobbs. It wasn’t necessarily that Will liked the garden, nor was it something particular in the way the evergreen shrubs were trimmed with utmost care; he supposed it was because it was outside, enough of an outside that it wasn’t that room that he was both locked in and yet not locked in.

           He stared at her as she made her way along the narrow gravel path. She looked like he felt.

           “You have something to tell me,” he said.

           Winston lay at his feet, nose snuffing lazily towards Beverly. He’d recognize her scent, although Will didn’t feel as though he should. Too much had changed, and surely her actions had changed her scent, left her a new person altogether that was unrecognizable?

           “Do you want me to say it, or do you already know?”

           She was dressed in a sensible pantsuit with a one-inch heel and a low bun at the nape of her neck. He studied the delicate crease where someone had ironed the perfect, crisp line for her slacks, and he shrugged.

           “You’re not FBI.”

           “CIA.”

           “They sanctioned the shit you did?” he asked, and despite everything he could almost claim the tone incredulous.

           “Some of it.” At his nod, she sat down beside him, a polite distance away. “I’m on a leave of absence while paperwork gets sorted out. May have to be suspended, too.”

           “You’re on national television.”

           “You, too.”

           They stared off at the distance, seeing but not quite seeing.

           “How pissed was Jack when he realized that the woman he’d been dragging through the mud was actually an undercover agent working to take down a slew of serial killers in one fell swoop?” Will asked wryly.

           “Probably about as pissed as my boss was when I debriefed him on removing Wally and Abigail from the premises without also acquiring you,” she replied.

           “I wouldn’t let you.”

           “Our friendship wouldn’t let me,” she corrected. “I could have easily subdued you, but I let you go back. That wasn’t the order.”

           “Orders,” Will scoffed. “Just how many people have been giving you orders, Beverly? Hannibal, Francis, your boss at the CIA –must have gotten confusing to keep it all together.”

           Silence broken only by a crackling loudspeaker just within the door of HQ. Then, “My name is actually Laura.”

           Beverly’s name was Laura. Will chewed a few curse words around in his mouth, but there was a struggle in bringing weight to them. He’d woken empty again, a vessel that sat unfilled.

           “Do you wake up with his name in your mouth?” he asked weakly. “Or do you just wake up hating yourself for what you’ve done?”

           “Will, I set him up,” she said, and she trembled as though a great gust of wind had chilled her. “I put belladonna in his tea so that he’d fall asleep at the perimeter so that we had a clean getaway. That’s how I knew that it was safe to leave in the direction that I took you. That’s why he was so confused when he was accused.”

           He wasn’t sure what to think of that revelation, if it endeared her to him or condemned her. He thought of their friendship, how she knew his quirks and habits without judging him for it, how she was torn between doing right by him and doing right by her country. Maybe the two of them were more alike than Will had supposed; that they were both willing to take the life of their soulmate in order to protect others was a raw sort of commonality, but there they were.

           There they fucking were.

           “Is it true that Freddie Lounds was the one to find the house?” Will asked. At her pointedly confused stare, he added, “Abigail told me, but Jack won’t talk about it. They’re keeping me in the dark.”

           “The rendezvous was at Freddie Lounds’ car, yes,” she agreed.

           “Lounds,” Will swore, and suddenly Earl asking about a Ms. Lounds at the house made so much more sense.

           “She was a pain in the ass, but I wasn’t going to let her go to waste. Not if it got you guys out of there alright.”

           Silence once more. Will tracked clouds listing across the sky and huddled deeper into his coat. Beside him, Beverly –Laura –swung a leg and made idle designs in the frozen dirt.

           “What now?” he asked. He coughed to release the pressure in his throat. “Are you released, or are you detained while under leave until the pissing contest between the FBI and the CIA cools down?”

           “It’s a paid leave due to Saul,” she said off-handedly. “Despite my finding him while undercover, he was still my soulmate. Not even the FBI can get in the way of soulmate grievance laws.”

           Her voice cracked on the word ‘soulmate’. Will’s spit tasted like rust.

           “I don’t know if they told you, but I murdered Hannibal,” Will said.

           What have you done, Will? What have you done?

           “They told me, yeah.”

           “I feel hollowed inside, Beverly,” Will revealed, and his voice cracked. “Like someone scooped out my organs and there’s nothing left.”

           “We did what we had to do,” Beverly replied, and the fierceness in her voice was iron and steel and all manner of repetition until maybe she could believe it herself. “I won’t apologize for it. Neither should you.”

           Will wouldn’t apologize for it, but as he laid down to sleep that night, he wondered at the feeling of his skin along concrete and pull of his ribs against his skin, as though there were something inside of him strung up and tugging him along from a great distance.

-

           There was a break-in that night in a non-descript hotel where Wally Foster and two agents were staying. The agents couldn’t account for how the woman had gotten into the room, but by the time the chaos ended, Wally was gone and hotel video surveillance showed Molly in a grubby baseball cap, jeans, and a ratty hoodie tucking her son into the passenger seat of a beat-up Bronco and driving away into the night with stolen license plates.

           Footage later recovered from the drive of one of Dolarhyde’s surveillance cameras also showed Molly Foster deliberately tripping one of the perimeter wires as she escaped, setting off the chaos that later ensued and led to the willful death of nineteen of Hannibal Lecter’s followers.

           And Darkness and Decay, and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.

#Where the Wicked Walk #LiaS scribbles #hannigram #slowburn hannigram #hannibal au #hannibal fanfic #hannibal soulmate au #someone help will graham #winston #winston also needs some help #poor dog can't catch a break #jack crawford

[pippki-writes]

An Ill-Fitting Name: Snippet 7

NOTES:

Snippet 1; Snippets 2 & 3; Snippet 4; Snippet 5; Snippet 6

Going off into another POV now, but since it’s part of Isaiah’s story I’ll throw it under the same tag. Eventually Isaiah learns to make a friend. I am mostly posting these in the order my deranged mind wrote them, so if you were expecting coherence? An overarching narrative structure? I’m so sorry, you should recalibrate those expectations.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

I have been in exile before. Some more beautiful than others. The first thing I learned is not to hope. Others may find it sustaining, but for me, hope served as a reminder of the things I couldn’t have in exile, and the contrast of it would always threaten to break my heart. It’s bad enough to see a human heart broken, but ten times worse for one of my kind.

So. I do not hope.

The second rule of exile is knowing, invariably, that this is the worst one yet. Even if this is not objectively true, the exile one must presently endure is always worse than one that’s been completed. It does me no good to think of exiles past, whether they were much easier or far more torturous. They are not the existence I must suffer now.

A tolerable exile is full of knowns. What I can and can’t do. Where I can and can’t go. Much less preferred is the exile I’m in now, and not simply because it is the one I must live through. It’s an exile without a definite end. It will end eventually—they all, eventually, end, when you live as long as I do—but the conditions that would set me free? The infuriating sort: you’ll know when you know. When you see it. When you feel it. I’d rather be sentenced to a thousand years cast away from every life before, at least knowing I can count the days, can know where I stand, than this.

This is a most unusual exile. I can spread night-black wings and take to the skies, wherever I want to go, but I am trapped. Heard, but not understood. Seen, but never known. I cannot speak—only sound the call that comes of a sharp beak.

Hell, I can’t even understand the other crows.

At least, not in the meaningful ways they understand each other. And not in the ways I understand people. Nor do the crows understand me—I confuse them, I think. It’s not just that I can’t communicate properly. Nor is it because I’m quite obviously bigger than they are. I wonder if they can tell, somehow, that I am more than this shape, that I’ve been twisted and reformed, and bound down from a mischievous too-big existence into the body of a crow.

He wouldn’t tell me why a crow. Angry gods don’t need reasons. That’s the sort of thing that angry gods say, when they do things for no reason at all.

It’s easy to forget sometimes, when you’re lost in the thrill of pushing someone else’s buttons, that the someone in question is an angry sort of god. That the power you wield is NOT the same. That a mood can turn faster than a breeze and cut you down very quickly.

He’s not the only reason I’ve ever been exiled, but his are always the worst. And as I seem to have trouble learning, doubt it’ll be the last time he does this to me. Doesn’t matter now. I pissed him off good, and lost a lot for my trouble.

It’s been—let me count, hm, the numbers of the years don’t exactly line up nicely for easy math—seventy four years now. Seventy four years of carrion and French fries snatched from parking lots. Seventy four years of learning what polite puzzlement looks like from a corvid. Seventy four years and counting, accepting the facts that define my current fate.

Sometimes, he’s told me the terms of an exile. “You will stay among these islands until the last fogs leave for the season.” Or, “you will stay with this doomed cause until it drives you mad.” Sometimes he would even say why. “You don’t appreciate beauty,” or “your indecision damns you,” things like that. What had he said this time? “You’re so insufferably selfish. You think you’re clever, but all you do is think of yourself. You don’t care about others, and if they knew better they wouldn’t care about you.” Yes, it had been about like that. As good as I had gotten for a why.

Crows are social creatures, which is why seeing just one is a bad omen. But most people these days have forgotten what signs portend ill and well. Or maybe the signs have shifted. Whatever the reason, the young man (all men are young, when you’ve lived as long as I have) didn’t seem concerned by the presence of a crow all on its own perched on the back of a truck in the parking lot. He pulled out his phone, not daring to approach, his fingers spreading the picture on the screen, trying to get closer with a camera that no doubt couldn’t. He is strange, though I am stranger, and I watch him concentrate, his one good eye flitting from the screen to look at me, and back to the screen again. One good eye, the dark brown of rich soil, and the other eye missing, a ruined starburst of scar tissue radiating out from an unseeing sliver of white. An old wound, by the look of it. He straightens up, tapping on the screen, and takes one last look at me before going into his motel room.

Later, scattered carefully in the mulch near the door he went in, I find a few handfuls of crunchy cat food. I have had many forms, have eaten many unusual things suited to those forms. Crunchy cat food is pleasing to the body of a crow. I wouldn’t have eaten this sort of thing in times before, but now I gladly do.

The next day, I am on the roof, and the young man is focused on me, waving and pointing at something in his hand. A peanut. More of them, scattered in the mulch, and he deliberately tosses the one in his hand among the others. I top my head to the side, and wait for him to leave before collecting the offering. The peanuts are unsalted. I think I prefer the cat food.

Somehow, it seems I’ve gotten my preference across to him over the course of several days. I glide down from the rooftop to the little pile of kibble at my spot next to the shrub, and I do so before the young man has returned to his room. I tolerate his presence, not too close but not as far as before. As I grab a piece of my little snack, I see over to the side, he’s holding up his phone, slowly and carefully, camera open, to frame us both in the picture. He aims his other hand so that it points to me in the image, and even from this distance I can see mirrored on the screen of the phone, he is smiling. A genuine smile. Hesitant at first, like maybe his face had forgotten how to express excitement. I’m sure that’s how my face will look again one day, when I get it back, the memory of emotions having slipped away to the rhythms of weathering decades of avian existence.

Most immortals have tried to kill themselves at some point, and I’m no exception. Usually at least once per exile. I thought maybe this time I’d succeed. Surely, as a bird—

But no. There I was, broken wings, blood spilling, neck wrong-angled, thinking this time I’d won, like an idiot let down my guard and closed my eyes, waiting for death to come—

And there he was instead. Snapping my wings back into shape. Putting my neck back in alignment with uncaring, clinical precision. Gathering my blood from all its spilled places and returning my vitality. I was angry, and tried to tell him, and hoped he could understand every four-letter word when all it sounded like was a shrieking string of “CaaW”s.

He tsk-tsked and wagged a finger at me lightly, no indication on his terrible face that he could understand what I’d tried to convey. “Not allowed,” was all he said before he disappeared again.

The young man is even closer. Not close enough to touch, but he puts the cat food in the usual place and then sits on the curb in front of his room. I glide down from the rooftop and flutter to my feet. He has a nervous energy about him—I usually see him pacing the parking lot, opening and closing a pocket knife in his hands, or whittling sticks down to nothing, but for now his hands are empty and he simply taps the tip of his shoe up and down on the asphalt. I get the feeling he’s resisting playing with the knife because I am so near.

“I’m calling you Cat,” he says softly, “since that’s the food you seem to like the most.”

I turn towards him and top my head to the side. I have had many names in my time. Some better than others. This one feels appropriate.

“You can call me—“ he stops himself and chuckles quietly. “Whatever birds call people, huh?” He lapses into a thoughtful silence for a bit, watching me, before resuming. “Will you be my friend, Cat? I don’t...exactly have a good track record, with making friends...but I’m trying. Trying to be different this time.” He’s talking to his shoes now, staring at them intently, a crease formed in his forehead. “I’m not a good person—I wasn’t, I’m still not, I’m not going to be...but I am different. Not good, but...better.” He gives a little sigh. “And I think I’d like to make friends. Starting somewhere. Whaddaya say?”

I do what I can. A soft call in response—low-high-low, with a little hop and flutter of my wings. His expression brightens.

“All right! I’m gonna find you the best cat food I can.”

I do not name the bastard god I’m beholden to, because it would give him satisfaction if I so much as even think his name, but I admit with great hatred in my heart and coursing through my hollow bones that he was right, the bastard, that I would know. It is no certainty, but I can feel the possibility that the young man who calls me Cat and who would be my friend could bring this exile to an end.

But I’ll be damned if I know how that’s supposed to happen.

So I take to the air and decide to go find a shiny button to give my new friend instead. This could just be one of the bastard’s tricks, that I’ll know who can help, but never be able to figure out how to free myself from this exile. And then I realize my latest mistake—deep down, rather than just take each day as it is, this realization has given me cause to hope. To hope for something different. That bastard really does know how to cut me, I think, with an angry flap of wings. This is undoubtedly my worst exile yet.

- NEXT SNIPPET -

#an ill-fitting name #My writing #original story #original work #original writing #original fiction #magic fiction #Fictional gods #Snippets

[sussex-nature-lover]

Thursday 5th November 2020

Remember, Remember...

♦ if you click on a bold link it will navigate away from this blog to an outside site. Outside sites are not affiliated to this blog

In my book the most important things to remember on (and around) the 5th November are wildlife, domestic pets and safety first.

Our hedgehog population is in severe decline and they’re well known for crawling into what they think is going to be a safe space for a long nap. Hedgehogs who are the right weight have also probably gone into hibernation with the recent very cold snap.  It’s possible something might be hibernating within your bonfire pile if you’ve been stacking for a while ahead of lighting it.

Please, please do check thoroughly.

Fireworks are a very stressful event for animals, bear this in mind always and act responsibly. Advice from last year here.

My mobile phone vintage snap at dusk - the Stand Off

OK, lecture over.

Last night we drove by Ms NW the Elder’s, only the fourth time we’ve seen her this year: we had one nice lunch together back in January and two no touching socially distanced chats. This one was about 20 minutes stood in the street at a safe distance from her doorstep. In the short time we were there we saw a bat fly around several times and the local fox trot across the close. For anyone who doesn’t know, she’s in South East London but in a quiet road where she’s becoming more and more interested in the local bird and wildlife population. On the way we knew we were getting close when we heard Parakeets chattering away. We saw two large skeins of Geese flying as well and actually heard more on the way home. Funnily enough they heard Geese in the dark on Autumnwatch last night too.

On the drive back we got snarled in the ridiculous traffic that got mentions in the national press, so it took around two and a half hours to come less than 50 miles. According to some reports that was getting off lightly.

Culinary Note: we ended up having beans on toast for supper as it was something quick and we were both ravenous. Added a couple of drops of Tabasco to the beans which made them just the right amount of spicy and used pumpkin seed bread. Not quite haute cuisine but very tasty and welcome.

 At least there were some pretty fireworks to watch along the route - not huge amounts but some of them were quite spectacular lighting up the skies. As an aside, despite the huge moon, it did seem particularly dark last night. It was crisp and clear too, very cold. I saw Mars shining very clearly when we got home.

When I was little we had a tiny box of  Standard fireworks to light at home. A few candle type, some Catherine Wheels, a packet of sparklers (my personal highlight) and a rocket or two. It was usually something of a damp squib to be honest and there were often failures to light - very dangerous. I preferred the baked potato, sausages and beans on a chilly night.

By the time we had our own children things had moved on tremendously and we wouldn’t dream of getting fireworks for home, it was always the community bonfire and big organised display. I used to love those nights. We’d get all dressed up with our woolly hats, gloves and scarves and everyone from school seemed to go. All the neighbours set off for the local field around the same time, so you’d meet up walking along and once arrived there’d be candy floss and toffee apples and so on. There were hot dogs and burgers too I think, but we’d have our traditional supper beforehand, it’d help insulate us against the November night air. The bonfire was huge and stringent safety precautions were in place before the fireworks were let off. At the end there was a gentle procession home again amongst the excited children scuffling through the fallen leaves and sleepy tots in buggies. I’ve just read this out to my OH and he agrees how good it was. It was very well run and always pleasant company. What lovely memories.

“Remember, remember the Fifth of November” or “Please to Remember” are variations of a rhyme that commemorates the day in 1605 when a group of Roman Catholics including Guy Fawkes, were caught in the act of trying to blow up the Houses of Parliament.

When news of the plot got out, Londoners were so relieved that the conspirators had been caught that they lit bonfires throughout the city as a celebration. Over the centuries the celebrations have become more elaborate and now fabulous firework displays are a feature throughout England on the night of November 5th. A week or so prior to that, children make effigies of Guy Fawkes which they take door to door asking for ‘A penny for the Guy’.’ On Bonfire Night these Guys are traditionally burnt on top of a bonfire.

Funnily I’ve never known more than the first two lines of the old nursery rhyme

Remember, remember the Fifth of November, The Gunpowder Treason and Plot, I know of no reason Why the Gunpowder Treason Should ever be forgot. Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t’was his intent To blow up the King and Parli’ment. Three-score barrels of powder below To prove old England’s overthrow; By God’s providence he was catch’d With a dark lantern and burning match. Holla boys, Holla boys, let the bells ring. Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King! And what should we do with him? Burn him!

Two things link up here for me. Firstly by sheer chance the National Trust property Chastleton, which I’ve only mentioned this week, was purchased from Robert Catesby, the leading figure behind the Gunpowder Plot.

That’s a fascinating read in the link, from a local newspaper. I can’t get my head around the intrigue, the danger and the money involved. It’s also a little bit spooky that the plot was originally intended for action the previous year, but was delayed because The Plague caused Parliament to be closed. 

Plague was one of the hazards of life in Britain from its dramatic appearance in 1348 with the Black Death. The Bills of Mortality began to be published regularly in 1603, in which year 33,347 deaths were recorded from plague. Between then and 1665, only four years had no recorded cases.

Secondly, is the matter of organised bonfire celebrations and Bonfire Societies. We’d never come across one until we moved to Sussex, where they are ‘a thing’ around the South East. I don’t know if they’re a thing further afield? Perhaps someone can enlighten me Boom Boom!!! <Pun Claxon> if they are.* see below for details

Back to Bonfire Societies, we’re not all that far from Battle, it’s where our ‘local’ police station is, although you wouldn’t want to walk it! and yes, it is that ‘Battel’ of 1066 and Hastings fame. In fact the local tourist organisation calls the area 1066 Country.

Fun Fact for your Zoom quizzes or how ever you’re going to be amusing yourselves: The Battle of Hastings wasn’t fought at Hastings. It was fought at ... BATTLE. Maybe they thought no one would take it all that seriously if they’d named it the Battle of Battle(Battel) 

The Battle of Hastings is curiously named, because it actually took place several miles away from Hastings, in the place now called Battle. An early chronicle simply states that it was a battle fought "at the hoary apple tree", a name which thankfully didn't catch on.

Anyway, if you do want to know the history of the oldest Bonfire Society and the making of effigies and so on, chose these links

Battel Bonfire Boyes

More info about the Guy

I don’t usually get political on social media, certain topics I much prefer to steer clear of, so take this as topical. Very topical. Quite often now public figures (of all kinds, not just political ones) are chosen as the year’s featured ‘Guy’ Boris Johnson has been a famous Guy too.

Just look at the scale of the build

So there we have it, a bit about nature, a wealth of trivia and some reminiscing and all because from today England is in official lockdown again,  A month long starter for ten - award yourself some cinder toffee or sticky parkin as a Bonfire Night prize if you know that one. If you do make some cinder toffee try dipping it in melted chocolate for your own homemade version of a Crunchie. Tomorrow, Thank Crunchie it’s Friday. Does anyone else recall that advert on the TV?

As we can’t be sure when we’ll all be free to celebrate again, enjoy this, the London Fireworks welcoming 2020. A new year is always full of hope. We just didn’t have a clue what a memorable year this was going to be did we. If we had, we might have decided to blow it up from the start!

Got to admit I thought twice about the Boom Boom joke just on the off-chance those words trigger monitoring by security services! Too paranoid? Well, you can’t be too careful, but no, for the record, I’m definitely not plotting to blow up anything. It’s just another childhood memory.

Plenty of linked reading today then to while away some time in lockdown or wherever you are. Stay safe chaps and fingers crossed for better days.

Poppy for Remembrance (not my photo)

#nature bonfire night bonfire societies recipes love where you live

[swimintothesound]

The First Annual Diamond Platters: Swim Into The Sound’s Ancillary End of the Year Awards

Whether you like it or not, it’s awards season. The time of the year when every music publication sits down to rank, order, and pass judgment on the last 365 days of art. As every outlet races to beat each other to those illustrious “end of the year list clicks,” I am only one man, and I just can’t compete. While Swim Into The Sound does still have an official “Best Albums of 2017” list in the works, this countdown is going to be a little different.

For the first time ever, I’d like to welcome you to Swim Into The Sound’s Diamond Platter Awards: an extravagant, ornate, and handsome way to recognize the past year of music. Grandiose, gaudy, and opulent, The Diamond Platters are the most exorbitant awards on the entirety of the internet, and the absolute highest honor of online music blogging awards.

Aside from poking fun at the seriousness of list season, these awards do have a purpose: to talk about music that may not be discussed otherwise. It’s always fun to see how everyone ranks albums each year (even if they start rolling in around November) but more often than not, most website’s “best of the year” list ends up coming off as rote rambling. A half-hearted and inconsistent ranking that merely regurgitates a months-old review with a few outlandish placements to get people talking. It’s the music blog equivalent of roll call, and it’s getting stale.

So with that said, The Diamond Platters don’t go to the “best” music of the year, but things that are worth celebrating for some other reason. Albums that triumphed in their category, artists that surprised their audience, or moments that were worth remembering. Hopefully funnier, punchier, and a little more out of the box than your average end of the year listicle, here’s my off-the-cuff (but official) ranking of several hyper-specific categories of my own creation. Enjoy.

Best Acoustic Reimagining

Winner: The Wonder Years - Burst & Decay

After a two year absence and an album that I wasn’t too hot on, the pop-punk gods return with an acoustic EP that reworks some of their best songs into a tender acoustic offering. Taking cues from lead singer Daniel Campbell’s solo outing, Burst & Decay marks the beginning of a new day for the band. The artistic fulfillment of the direction that they’ve been heading in for years now, all packaged up in a lush EP that allows the songwriting to shine as the crown jewel that it always has been. It’s a fantastic “fall album,” and the perfect soundtrack to warm lattes, wool scarves, and crunchy leaves. The album’s final track will leave you ruminating, thoughtful, and pensive, but that’s precisely what the band was going for and always has been.

Runner-up: Jeff Tweedy - Together At Last

The Wilco frontman treats long-time fans to a career-spanning album that culls the best songs from 30-years of music and reworks them beautifully.

Biggest Surprise of the Year

Winner: The Dirty Projectors - The Dirty Projectors

As is a recurring theme with this blog, The Dirty Projectors were a group that I’d never heard of until very recently. When the band’s futuristic self-titled LP dropped at the beginning of the year, I had no context. No knowledge of the band’s dissolution, bad blood, or previous relationships. I went into the record blind, only having the internet’s reaction to go on. Hailing the album as “3017 shit” I hit play on the album not knowing what to expect and emerged blown away. It indeed sounded like future music with crazy autotune, glitchy instrumentals, and bizarre vocal deliveries as far as the eye could see. As I learned more about the group and the backstory I grew to dislike the man behind the music, but that didn’t keep me from loving the unconventional left-field arrangements on this record any less. The Dirty Projectors is unlike anything else I’ve heard in this year or any other.

Runner-up: Ugly God - The Booty Tape

When XXL unveiled their class of 2017 freshmen, I was underwhelmed to say the least. Aside from elevating genuinely deplorable human beings, I hadn’t heard of most of the artists that made the list. Of the ten up-and-coming rappers that the magazine showcased, I came out liking Ugly God the most. His late-summer debut The Booty Tape is a 23-minute banger-filled escapade that combines a conceptual sense of humor with modern trap stylings. It’s what Das Racist would have made if they were around to witness the rise of Lil Yachty. Nothing on the tape overstays its welcome, the production in on-point, and Ugly God is surprisingly proficient throughout. It’s a joy to listen to, and that’s not something I thought I’d ever say about a dude who “only wants to sing about dumb stuff.”

Most Stank Face-Worthy Beat

Winner: Flume “Enough (feat. Pusha T)”

After last year’s immaculately-produced Skin LP, the Australian musician continued his flower imagery in 2017 with two companion EPs alongside various singles and numerous remixes. The high point of this era came at the very beginning of Skin’s second companion EP on the Pusha T-assisted “Enough.” Featuring abrasive blown-out instrumentation, “Enough” is a jaw-clenching and muscle-inflating track that will flood your speakers and blow out your eardrums. Perhaps the ultimate gym song, “Enough” is one of the nastiest beats I’ve ever heard in my life, and Pusha T is used masterfully. This track is a force to be reckoned with.

Runner-up: Kendrick Lamar “DNA.”

After two minutes of scene setting on the album-opening “BLOOD.,” an ignorant Fox News clip gives way to an aggressive Kendrick who begins “DNA.” by shouting “I got, I got, I got, I got / Loyalty, got royalty inside my DNA.” The song sees Lamar coming out of the gates swinging, but midway through the song, just as you think it’s winding down, the beat cuts out and switches. With only one minute of the track left, a countdown begins, and Kendrick starts spazzing out over an allegedly-improvised beat, created after the fact to cater to his flow. Placed over a sample of 1982 Rick James, the beat becomes swells to monstrous proportions, spiraling and booming, taking control of every muscle in your body and eclipsing every pure thought you’ve ever had. It’s one of the best moments in music this year and an absolute marvel to behold.

Best Album From Last Year That Took Until 2017 To Discover

Winner: Pinegrove - Cardinal

Listening to everything in one year is impossible. Sometimes albums and bands slip through the cracks, and in 2016 Pinegrove was one of those for me. The Run For Cover signees have seen an astronomical rise in 2017, becoming indie darlings within the space of a single calendar year. It took me many listens to discover what’s so unique about Pinegrove, but after I realized they weren’t just another Emo band, I began to fall in love with them in early 2017. With fantastically-composed songs like “Aphasia” and “New Friends” the group’s sophomore album is a fantastic jumping off point for a band that’s poised to continue to grow exponentially.

Runner-up: Camp Cope - Camp Cope

Much like Pinegrove, this Melbourne-based female trio also released one of the best emo records of last year. While it took a while to sink its hooks into me, this fall I hit a point where I couldn’t go one day without listening to Camp Cope’s self-titled record. If their second album’s single is anything to go off of, the group may already have one of 2018’s best albums on their hands.

Most Satiating B-Sides Collection

Winner: Angel Olsen - Phases

B-side releases are an interesting beast. Often created primarily to satiate the die-hard fans, it’s rare that an artist’s best work would be on a collection of things cut from a record, but here we are. While Angel Olsen’s My Woman was an easy choice for my Best Of list last year, 2017’s Phases represents a thoughtful punctuation to the end of this chapter. Featuring unreleased cuts from each of her albums, Phases is a perfect sample platter of Olsen’s broad and diverse sounds proving, once again, that she’s one of the most powerful women in indie.

Runner-up: Sufjan Stevens - The Greatest Gift

While Phases gets points for being comprised entirely of unheard material, Sufjan’s Greatest Gift should be commended for striking a near-perfect balance of B-sides, demos, and remixes. The “mixtape” collects outtakes from 2015’s landmark Carrie & Lowell, all of which bear the same brand of soul-destroying, death-ridden meditations and grievances. While Sufjan’s other 2017 album Carrie & Lowell Live represents a maximalist reimagining of the album, Greatest Gift represents the exact inverse: stark, subtle, and haunting renditions of the same tracks. Occasionally even more hard-hitting and impactful than the full album, The Greatest Gift is an incredible contrast to his 2015 record and the perfectly-placed bow atop this career-defining work.

Most Essential “Portland Anthem”

Winner: Drake “Portland”

As a native Oregonian, this year’s music has been a noticeable boon to our city. From local boys done good to songs specifically about our town, the Rose City has been blessed throughout 2017. God knows as Seattle’s Napoleon-complexed younger brother, we’ll take all the confidence we can get. 2017 may have been the year of flutes, but Drake’s “Portland” takes that woodwind-based phenomenon one step further into absurdity by heavily-utilizing the recorder. Assisted by Travis Scott and Quavo, “Portland” is an outlandish and bouncy anthem to life in PDX. While the album cut is fun, seeing the two perform the song live in May was a meta and goosebump-inducing highlight of my year in live music.

Runner-up: Sufjan Stevens “The Hidden River of My Life”

While almost all of Carrie & Lowell’s tracks depict life in Oregon, “The Hidden River of My Life” is a heartfelt (and surprisingly-catchy) song of in-jokes, references, and observations that can only come from having lived life our rainy state.

Reddit Commenter Who Should Be Reviewing Music

Winner: wonderbitch26 on Melodrama

When Lorde’s Melodrama dropped in June popheads across the world rejoiced. As often happens, that joy frequently translates into gay men acting so unbelievably extra that it begins to feel like an infinitely-renewable source of energy that we should be harnessing. In Melodrama’s album release thread on the /r/popheads subreddit, user wonderbitch26 posted an in-depth comment depicting an explicit and erotic tale of sexual dancing and BDSM-esque spanking that also managed to accurately portray what listening to the album is like. It’s a journey worth taking.

Runner-up: plzaskmeaboutloom on More Life

Drake isn’t exactly the internet’s favorite artist. While 2015’s If You’re Reading This represented a career-defining high note, his subsequent releases have been middling at best. In fact, in May I wrote 8,000 words over a series of four posts in which I simply tried to reconcile my love for Drake despite his recent downward trajectory. While I perceived 2017’s More Life as a slight bounce back, not everyone agreed with me, least of all /r/indieheads user plzaskmeaboutloom whose Simon Cowell-esque takedown of the album is meaner (and funnier) than anything I could have ever come up with.

Most Gallery-Ready Cover Art

Winner: Spoon - Hot Thoughts

It’s not often that a band’s ninth record is their best. While Spoon’s Hot Thoughts finds the group reaching a refreshing creative peak, one of the most memorable aspects of the album is actually its gorgeous cover. Created by Portland’s own Christine Messersmith, Hot Thoughts’ album art is a striking depiction of a human skull. Painted in vivid watercolor, you can spot the pattern of the canvas running subtly throughout the background providing the perfect texture and consistency to the entire piece.

Runner-up: Turnover - Good Nature

To be quite honest, I was disappointed with Turnover’s Peripheral Vision follow-up this year. While their 2015 album represented a jaw-dropping emo reinvention, 2017’s Good Nature seems to be content with simply extending those ideas into another release. While I’m not yet sold on the album’s musical contents, one thing is for sure: Good Nature’s cover is absolutely stunning. Featuring a child-like array of jungle animals underneath a bright pink sky, it’s a memorable and eye-catching display that also manages to be an excellent encapsulation of the music that lies behind it.

You Are America

Winner: Cardi B

Out of all the glo ups of 2017, none have been more astronomical than Cardi B. While her monumental hit “Bodak Yellow” tells her story quite well, she has gone from stripper to dethroning Taylor Swift and marrying a Migo all within the space of a year. When she’s not breaking records, her time goes towards being one of the most magnanimous and personable Instagram purveyors on the planet. From iconic raps to inspirational social media videos, Cardi B is a force of nature. In one year she gave us a chart-shattering anthem of empowerment, togetherness, and upward mobility. She’s the embodiment of the American Dream. An endearing story of success. The bitch everyone wants to be. Her story is what this country was founded on.

Runner-up: Perfume Genius

This year has been hard for most of us, but for Mike Hadreas things have been near impossible. His 2017 record No Shape is the tale of seeking out happiness and holding onto it for dear life. About finding joy and warmth in the face of homophobia, discrimination, hatred, and a world that seems stacked against you. As a society, America should consider ourselves lucky to have humans like Hadreas amongst us. If even a fraction of our future population is comprised of people like him, then we’ll be living in a utopia one day.

Most Impeccable Samples

Winner: Lil Aaron - Soundcloud Singles

While I gushed about Lil Aaron’s music in a post earlier this year, his combination of trap lyrics over 2000’s-era emo samples remains one of the most intoxicating things I’ve heard all year. From “My Own Worst Enemy” to “I Write Sins Not Tragedies,” Aaron’s Soundcloud is a treasure trove of millennial nostalgia. Each song follows a familiar pattern, first luring the listener in with a sense of familiarity, then flipping expectations end over end as he hits you with clever wordplay, catchy melodies, and gut-busting bars. It’s a combination that I never would have thought of in a million years, much less imagined working as well as it does here, but that just goes to show the brilliance of Lil Aaron’s mind.

Runner-up: Jay Z - 4:44

Helmed entirely by No I.D., Jay-Z’s 4:44 represents a return to his earlier sound, once again embracing booming, chopped up soul samples. It’s a match made in heaven, and the samples pair with his voice so well that you begin to wonder why he ever got away from them in the first place. Thanks to this sense of familiarity, the entire album feels both comfortably familiar and brand new at the same time. 4:44 manages to capitalize on Jay’s past success while also standing on its own merits, and that’s all thanks to the record’s strong sample-based foundation.

Worryingly Prolific Output

Winner: Brockhampton

When I say “prolific output,” the distinction here is output that also maintains a high quality. So sorry King Gizz fans, 5 albums in one year is in an achievement, but we both know they’re not all winners. Texas-born, Cali-based BROCKHAMPTON is a group of 20-something 20-somethings who label themselves as a boyband. This year alone they’ve released three albums, one documentary, a TV Show, and embarked on a nationwide tour. They are young creatives incarnate, and I hope they never stop.

Runner-up: Sufjan Stevens

While not everything he released is from 2017, Sufjan Stevens has given fans more than enough new music this year to tide us over until his next record. From live reimaginings, b-sides, soundtracks, and space-themed originals, Sufjan has given us 3.5 albums of new material this year alone, and all of it’s great. And in the time that it took me to write and edit this he tossed out a Tonya Harding-themed loosie. The hits keep coming, and Sufjan is a true blessing.

Most Iconic Social Feed

Winner: Lorde’s Instagram

One of the few people I have notifications turned on for, Lorde’s Instagram has proven to be a never-ending waterfall of iconic tour pics, beautiful faces, and incredible fashion. In fact, my “saved” section might as well be renamed “Just Lorde” at this point because that’s 95% of all I ever save. She can do no wrong.

Runner-up: There is no runner-up

Best Incongruous Use of Hard Rock

Winner: Feist “A Man Is Not His Song”

I can’t believe I’d so severely misjudged Feist as a pop act. Like most of the world, I was first introduced to her in 2007 with the unparalleled (and unexpected) success of “1234,” and until this year I’d assumed that one breakout single was indicative of the Canadian songstress’ discography, but in reality, I could not have been more wrong. Feist’s Pleasure is an album that rides waves of aggression. Often focusing only on a guitar and Leslie Feist’s voice, it’s one of the rawest and most personal albums I’ve heard all year. A shock comes at the end of “A Man is Not His Song” where the chorus bleeds into a quick 22-second hit of Mastodon’s “High Road.” It sticks out like a sore thumb, yet somehow fits into the song and album so perfectly. This was only one of many revelations that I had while listening to the album, and a moment that truly needs to be heard to be believed.

Runner-up: Brand New “No Control”

While the whole of Brand New’s Science Fiction is pretty hard-rockin', the Emo trailblazers tend to shift between two styles on the record: sad, slow tracks and aggressive kickass rock. Late-album cut “No Control” lies somewhat between the two, featuring a whiny crooning chorus alongside distorted guitars. Around two and a half minutes in, the song fades out and slowly sputters out into quietness. There’s a brief pause of silence, and then a booming bass, fuzzed-out guitar, and aggressive set of drums are slowly turned up in the mix. Gradually gaining volume as they play, the instruments become louder and louder until the track ends in earnest. While it only hangs on for a minute before fading into the next song, the riff still remains a standout groovy moment on the band’s career-defining final record.

Most Charming Human Being

Winner: Claire Cottrill of Clairo

Claire Cottrill has been making lo-fi bedroom pop songs for years now under the name Clairo, but it wasn’t until this fall that her song “Pretty Girl” blew up. Having accumulated nearly 5 million views at the time of writing, the music video is simple, delightful, and impactful. Created on a day when “her hair was greasy, her skin was bad, and she didn't want to leave the bed” the video sees Clairo alone in her room singing and dancing along to the simplistic pop track. It’s utterly pleasant and completely disarming, a refreshing breath of air from the world around you. Still a student in college, I can’t wait to see what kind of art Clairo is able to unleash once she’s able to entirely devote herself to creative pursuits.

Runner-up: Alex Luciano of Diet Cig

The high-kicking, dog-loving, outspoken frontwoman to New York-based Diet Cig is a pom-pom-clad ball of energy and fury. With one of the most charismatic social feeds on the internet, Luciano is a treasure of a human being. Someone who’s joy and passion bleeds over onto anyone and everyone that she comes in contact with. A badass of the pop-punk scene.

Best Music Video

Winner: Charli XCX “Boys”

When Charli XCX dropped her video for “Boys” over the summer, the pop culture world collectively went mad. From trying to spot all the celebrity cameos to drooling over everyone displayed in the song, it became an internet-wide obsession. The song itself is a catchy earworm of a pop track, but the video is a sugary pink and instantly-recognizable classic that managed to get the internet talking, which is a feat in and of itself.

Runner-up: Jay-Z - “The Story of OJ”

On the polar opposite end of “Boys,” we have “The Story of OJ” which is a dark black and white video about race relations in America. While all of Jay-Z’s 4:44 is packed with urgent addresses like the one found here, “The Story of OJ” remains the best encapsulation of the album’s wide-ranging topics accompanied by pitch-perfect emulation of Fleischer Studios’ animation.

Best Collaboration

Winner: Courtney Barnett & Kurt Vile - Lotta Sea Lice

Maybe 2017 is bringing us together after all. From Atlanta trap stars to long-lost fables, and indie darlings, this year has been host to countless fantastic collaborations. Among dozens of great crossover albums, Lotta Sea Lice from Courtney Barnett and Kurt Vile remains the one that sticks in my mind most prominently. Featuring breezy Sunday morning songs, this meeting of indie minds a genuinely pleasant listen that will take your mind off even the harshest realities of the day’s news. Sea Lice offers an escape into a world untouched by misery where continental breakfasts are always available, and it’s easier than ever to let everything go.

Runner-up: 21 Savage, Offset, & Metro Boomin - Without Warning

Filed under “things I didn’t expect to be this great,” Without Warning is a joint effort between three of the biggest names in hip-hop this year. Hot off a string of successful albums, this collaborative release finds the two rappers trading verses over some of Metro Boomin’s darkest beats of the year. Sprinkled with a handful of solo tracks and a couple of guest features, there’s just enough variation here to make for an incredibly compelling listen.

Most Fabulous Christmas Bop

Winner: Sia “Santa’s Coming For Us”

The chandelier-swinging popstress returned in 2017 bearing gifts in the form of Everyday Is Christmas, a collection of 10 original holiday songs. Kicking things off, the album’s lead single “Santa’s Coming For Us” is a jubilant and dancy track with just enough of a dark undercurrent to be enjoyed by all. If this song isn’t a Christmas classic next year, I will be severely disappointed in us as a civilization.

Runner-up: Phoebe Bridgers “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”

Introduced on social media with the caption “this emo cover brought to you by the atheist who loves Christmas,” this post-album loosie sees Bridgers reworking one of the best holiday songs in her trademarked remorseful delivery. Accompanied by a lone guitar and bare instrumentation, this is the one Christmas song that’s guaranteed to make you cry at least one or two tears into your hot chocolate.

Best Use of an Englishman Doing Spoken Word Narration

Winner: King Krule “Bermondsey Bosom (Right)”

Framed as the later-album counterpart to “Bermondsey Bosom (Left),” “Bermondsey Bosom (Right)” is a jazzy and fluid track that uses Archy Ivan Marshall’s father to weave a brief but illustrative tale of darkness. Only one minute long, the song is a fantastic and moody diversion in an album that’s brimming over the top with unique ideas.

Runner-up: Feist - “Century”

As much as I like Feist’s Pleasure and her use of Pulps’ Jarvis Cocker on “Century,” this entry gets dinged solely for its mathematical inaccuracies. Next time you get this specific about the length of your dark night of the soul, make sure you fact check beforehand.

Most Anticipated Release of 2018

Finally, let’s end by looking forward at two records that I can’t wait to hear in 2018.

Winner: Snail Mail - Unknown Debut

From Tiny Desk performances to Matador co-signs, it’s been a banner year for Lindsey Jordan. Lovingly documented in my guide to female-fronted music in 2017, I first discovered Snail Mail back in May as they opened for Girlpool in concert. For the last song of their set, the group’s drummer and bassist left the stage, leaving frontwoman Lindsey Jordan alone in the spotlight facing a rapt audience. With just a guitar and a mic she played “Anytime, ” and I was left with my jaw on the floor. It was an awe-inspiring performance, one of my favorites of the year, and a moment that I’ll always remember. To see the traction they’ve gained over the past several months has been nothing short of incredible. Watching Jordan grow has already been rewarding, and her success is incredibly well-deserved. Snail Mail’s 2018 debut LP should be something else.

Runner-up: Shortly - Unknown Debut

Fronted by Alexandria Maniak, Shortly is a reverb-dripping emo act that I’d never heard of until I saw her open for Aaron West live. While Shortly only has two songs currently released, she’s already signed to Triple Crown records with a debut record scheduled for next spring. To say I was blown away by her live performance would be an understatement. Perhaps one of my favorite sets of the entire year, she took the whole room by surprise and had everyone listening with a hush by the time her first song was over. Based on what I saw, she’s currently on track to be the world’s next Julien Baker with sadder music, slower tunes, and more colorful hair. I absolutely cannot wait to see what the future holds for this promising artist.

#2017 #music #the wonder years #jeff tweedy #dirty projectors #ugly god #flume #kendrick lamar #pinegrove #camp cope #angel olsen #sufjan stevens #drake #lorde #spoon #turnover #cardi b #perfume genius #lil aaron #jayz #brockhampton #feist #brand new #clairo #diet cig #charli xcx #courtney barnett #kurt vile #21 savage #migos

[scaplivingtogether]

Seven Crimes and Punishments- Living Together: Widows in the Basement

Chapter 10

Widows in the Basement

Back in the box, it has been an hour since the sinners returned to the box, Allen has chosen to return to Sickle with Behemo to explain his reasons for going to Yingmu without the sun god's consent. It was a quarter till noon. Nemesis was in the kitchen opening two large loafs of bread and starting spreading mayonnaise on them with a butter knife, then taking out the mustard, cheese, turkey, lettuce, tomato, and onion from the fridge, she seems to be making hero sandwiches for the sinners, just then Margarita returns from her gardening  duties from the backyard, covered in dirt and bringing with her is a basket full of spring onions.

"Hey! This ain't a barn, woman!" Nemesis snapped at the Marchioness.

"Sorry, I just got done tending to my leeks."

"Well no need tracking dirt everywhere, I'm making you guys lunch here."

"Oh good!" She sat down by the table and began looking at the ring she was given by Jun, completely unaware that it's an engagement ring. "It's a very pretty ring."

"And expensive, considering how my Dad was groveling over it." Nemesis sneered as she cracked open a can of Pepsi and took a gulp from it.

"I thought you swore off that beverage after seeing Gallerian's rump."

"Meh, I've seen more disturbing things compared to Dad's disgusting fat ass." She applies mustard on the bread loafs.

"I HEARD THAT, HUSSY!" Gallerian yelled in the other room.

"NO ONE'S EVEN TALKING TO YOU!...Where was I? Oh yeah, you want any potato salad?"

"No thank you, a sandwich and vegetable juice would do."

"Ok." She continued making the sandwich.

In the Living room

Kayo was napping with a pair of scissors close to her while covered in fabrics she brought home from Yingmu, Gallerian was showering himself in the kingdom's gold, Sateriasis was fresh from his second shower after having to make love to three crossdressers, and Riliane was playing chess with the said Duke, so far it's a tie, so and so that they have to get one of their kings in order to win the game.

"Move your King over here." Riliane said.

"I know what your doing, Brat, and your despicable for trying." Sateriasis said coldly.

"Said the guy who defiled thousands of women 24/7." Gallerian snidded.

"Your no better than me considering you defiled Nemesis's mother." The Duke joked before getting hit in the head by a hand sized ruby. "OW," he exclaimed knocking over the chess pieces.

"DON'T EVER SPEAK OF THAT INCIDENT AGAIN!" He spat at Sateriasis, which prompted Kayo to wake up. "Sorry Kayo."

"It's fine Judge, *yawn* I didn't mean to fall asleep." She stretched.

"No need to hit me though." Sateriasis began picking up the chess pieces, putting them back into their places.

"Hey! My Knight was a B6!" Riliane exclaimed.

"No it was a E2."

"B6!"

"E2!"

"B6!" The two went back and forth while pulling on the knight until Sateriasis snapped and flipped the game board over, startling the other sinners.

"THERE! YOU SEE THAT!? YOU SEE THAT, RILIANE!? NOW YOUR KNIGHT IS A BOOKCASE 5!"

"Now look who's calling who a brat." Riliane snidded at the Duke.

"Yeah well look who still comes out a winner? Me." He stood on top of the coffee table and  started swaying his hips left and right with his arms up. "Sateriasis wins again! Woop! Woop!"

"I'm gonna give you to the count of ten to stop doing that before I bust your ankle on this table." Riliane threatened with a dark tone in her voice.

"Hey hey there's no need to talk to him that way." Banica said as she came down the stairs with damp hair, finally clean from the grease and wood, she's wearing a red t-shirt and grey jean shorts.

"What's with the modern attire? Or is that body paint?" Riliane asked.

"My dress is currently in the wash because of the grease, so Nemesis's clothes is all I can wear until it's clean, and it fits me just right." Banica said as she ruffles her brown hair with a towel.

"Is Nemesis ok with that?" Kayo asked while rubbing her eyes.

"Yeah. I asked." She then threw the towel at Sateriasis. "So what's going on with you guys?"

"This pervert is acting like a big baby while the judicial play boy is throwing gems at him."

"Shut up Riliane." Gallerian said as he curled up into a ball, puffing his cheeks.

"LUNCH IS SERVED! COME AND GET IT!" Nemesis yelled at them from the kitchen while ringing a small bell that could be used for a servant.

"We're comiiiiing!" Riliane called, the sinners walked into the kitchen and soon enough they're at the table, Kayo seemed to be rubbing her eyes a little.

"Did you take a nap, Kayo?"

"Only a little bit, I got exhausted after tailoring with Yingmu's fabrics, you guys are gonna love the fruit of my labor." Kayo said sluggishly.

"Cool. Here's your sandwich, Ass-hat." Nemesis shoves the sub to her father, which he takes from her and proceeds eating it, only for him to gag a little.

"Was that tomato? You know that I hate tomatoes." He took out the half bitten tomato and gives it to Banica, who gladly ate it. Nemesis just rolled her eyes at him.

"So these are sandwiches?" Sateriasis asked, pointing at the sandwich.

"Yeah, you stuff your favorite cheeses, vegetables, and meats into two pieces or sides of bread." Banica said to the Duke. "And you eat like this." She picked up the sandwich and took a bite of it. "Nom nom nom."

"I see." Sateriasis eats it.

"A man stuck in the past, pitiful." Gallerian said.

"Put a sock in it, Dad." Nemesis said as she flicked his head.

"Hey hey hey." Riliane said, cutting them off. "Before you two turn our lunch into another domestic dispute, I just remembered something; I found a door under a flight of stairs."

"So?" Banica asked after finishing her first sandwich, she was about to grab her second one.

"First off:" Riliane smacked Banica's hand. "Save that sandwich for Allen, and secondly: I want to do things to that basement like make a torture chamber out of it for example."

"Heh, I can go for a torture chamber." Nemesis smirked, already getting ideas revolving around her father.

"Go to hell, demon." Gallerian sneered at her, getting a good idea what his daughter's thinking of.

"Don't be sadistic you guys." Margarita said. "I think it could be a nice place for chemistry."

"But they confiscated your set." Sateriasis said.

"Oh."

"I would go for a small tailor shop, but at this moment I don't, in fact I suggest you people leave the basement alone if you know what's good for you until Allen returns."

"Why?" Riliane asked.

"Nothing...I said too much." Kayo stood up and walked out.

"Tch, she's so weird."

"It's probably just a couple of bugs and rodents in there, we can get them out faster then I can say "Bon Appetit"." Banica said, licking her own lips.

"Meh, I guess your right."

After Lunch

Nemesis and Riliane are standing in front of the basement door. Brooms, flash lights, and Bug spray in hand.

"Ready, Nems?" Riliane asked.

"Ready." Nemesis responded.

"Here we go!" Riliane opened it, but it was locked. "Well that killed the moment."

"I got it." Nemesis began to pick the lock with her hair pin, a click can be heard. "And opens." She said as the door opens, she then used a flash light inside the room and found there was a flight of stairs covered in carpet and a wall that seems to turn the corner to a small flight of stairs, down below was a chain used to turn on the lights. They slowly walked down to the switch and turned it on, the walls was a nice pale yellow with brown lining near the floor. They then turn the corner to find a very dark room, the only thing that can be seen is a screen window that's opened, Nemesis sees a light switch near the opening of the room. "Alright, here's go nothing." Nemesis said as she flicked the switch, much to their surprise and horror, there was lots and lots of cobwebs across the empty room, dead corpses of flies and different kinds of bugs on the ground, and a large colony of Black Widows scattering across the walls, floor, and ceilings, and judging by the size of them it means they're ready to lay eggs. The two girls screamed in horror when they saw the nest before them and ran up the stairs, slamming the door to the basement shut.

"So, what's in there?" Sateriasis asked.

"BLACK WIDOWS! THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!" Riliane exclaimed in terror.

"I don't want to alarm you, but there's something moving in your hair, Riliane." Gallerian said pointing at the spider.

"OH MY GOSH IT'S BIG!" Margarita gasped in horror.

"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH! GET IT OUT! GET IT OUT!"

"Hold still honey, I wanna try it!" Banica said trying to calm the tyrant down, she grabbed the black widow by it's bottom and tossed it in her mouth, making a crunch sound. "Crunchy, chewy, juicy, and tangy, it would make a pleasant topping for pasta." Banica said, causing the men behind her to groan in disgust.

"Don't worry, Riliane. It's gone now." Margarita said patting Riliane's back as the tailor panted, still shook up and frightened by the experience.

"This ain't good, those little buggers look like they're gonna lay eggs any day now, this whole box would be infested and we'll be bitten." Nemesis said, recovering from the scare.

"But don't they bite when they're under attack?" Margarita asked.

"They do but for once I have to agree with Nemesis." Gallerian said. "We're not taking chances with getting bitten."

"And we only have so much bug spray." Nemesis said.

"Then we'll have to take care of them one by one by ourselves." Venomania said.

Plan A: Peacekeeping

"Margarita, I don't think it's gonna work." Gallerian said.

"Don't worry, Judge, I've come prepared." Margarita was geared in a long-sleeved sweater, a pair of trousers, boots, and gloves, just so she won't be bitten, she was also holding a plastic megaphone. She gone down to the basement and turned on the megaphone, yelling: "ATTENTION SPIDERS! YOU NEED TO TAKE YOUR YOUNGLINGS AND LEAVE THIS BASEMENT AT ONCE!" She said with a stern tone with her voice. "I MEAN IT! I'M NOT GONNA SAY THIS AGAIN!" Without even knowing, some of them began climbing on her pigtails up to her neck and face. "Ummm, please?" They start biting her on her face and neck. "OW! OW! OW! THEY'RE BITING ME!" She ran out of the room, "OW! OW! IT HURTS!" Up stairs, Banica began taking the spiders off of her and putting them in a jar while Nemesis began rubbing Antivenin on her wounds to avoid infection.

"I thought asking them to leave was a good idea." Margarita said, wincing in pain.

"They're arachnids woman, animals, they won't listen to reason." Nemesis said.

"Ow, I blame Mikulia's love for fairy tales."

"Watch it, Marchioness, she was fun to be around with in my harem." Sateriasis poked her face.

"Ow."

"Sorry, but please."

Plan B: Stomping

Sateriasis went inside the basement and stood at it's center, he began killing each widow under his boots. One by one they fall victim to the licentious duke's feet. "Seriously Duke, your gonna kill them like that?" Gallerian scoffed at the noble while standing by the entrance.

"Well the people in my time don't exactly have these things called "bug spray", Judge." He scoffed, "Stomping is known to be a last resort." As he kept stomping on the widows, they began climbing into his coat and onto his face and hands. "No! NO! AHHH! OOOW!" They began to bite him as well. "AHHHH! MY BEAUTIFUL FACE!" And Gallerian just sat back, holding in his laugh at the site before him, very cruel one might say, just then Gallerian felt something crawling onto the back of his neck and bit him there.

"OW!" He slapped his neck and found a now dead black widow on his hand, karma just reared it's ugly head on the judicial miser as they start climbing on and biting him. "OW! OWW! AHH!"

The two men eventually ran out of the basement, Gallerian hitting the wall by his nose thus causing the spiders to fall off and his nose to bleed while Sateriasis removed his coat and shirt to find my bites on his body. "OH MY GOD! THOSE LITTLE MONSTERS MADE ME HIDEOUS!" He screamed in complete agony from the spiders as Banica started taking more spiders off of him and put them in the jar while Nemesis starts applying antivenin onto him.

"Th-there's on me! g-get it!" Gallerian said as he held his nose.

"No, I rather like you covered in bites and rabies." Nemesis sassed.

"You're a bitch."

"Come on! Now's not the time to act like jerks to one another!" Riliane said, now finally recovering from the shock herself. "I think it's best to leave the basement alone until we can find a decent way to take care of them, Allen would know what to do."

"Well he isn't here now is h-Ow! Ok seriously get these bite checked out, Nemesis!"

"Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine." Nemesis went and fixed up father's wounds.

"Hm, I think I got an idea of what to do with the situation, but it's gonna take gift to do it." Sateriasis said.

"Eh?"

"I'm not sure about that idea, Duke." Banica said as she closed the jar.

"THOSE MONSTERS DID THIS TO ME! THEY'RE GONNA PAY FOR IT!"

"Ok! Ok! Got it."

"Say, stop me if I'm wrong but, how are you not infected by the bites?" Margarita asked as she pointed at the spider bites on Banica's finger tips.

"I'm immune to all poisons, I even ate the shaved dust of Grim the End, makes a excellent spice."

"You're crazy."

Plan C: Basement go boom boom

Nemesis and Margarita were wearing masks as Nemesis began dumping gun powder into a medium sized pot full of bug spray and some of the few ingredients use to make GIFT, no blood included. Margarita was stirring the mixture carefully as it started to turn into a pretty shade of dark aqua green despite it's use. "Is it ready yet?" Banica asked, Margarita held the spoon to Banica since she's immune to other illnesses and deadly smells. "The smell is strong, it might be enough to either kill or drive the widows out of their nests."

"I hope so too, Banica. Oh Judge, is the container ready?"

"Yes." He said wearing a mask and molding a mound of plaster and flammable clay into a round shape, a nozzle to attach it's self to a lid, and made a long string attached to a lid to lit it up with.

"Good." Margarita then went and poured the mixture into the round container, Nemesis also poured a little more gun powder for good measure.

"It's ready, our "Bug-b-gone gift bomb"." Nemesis said as she took the bomb into the basement, she lit up a match with a match to the boot and lit it on the rope on the bomb, she threw it, ran out, and slammed the door shut to avoid the explosion. "HIT THE DECK!" Everyone prepared for what might happen, just then...

BOOOOOOOOOM

The bomb went off, teal green smoke began to come out from the bottom of the door. Tempting to know what happened down there; Banica opened the door and out of the teal smoke was a army of Black Widows running out with their young on their backs, climbing on the sinners and started viciously biting them, in addition to that; the smoke reached the sprinklers in the basement's ceilings and began setting off the rest of the sprinklers, drenching everything and everyone in water. Just then Kayo appeared from the attic, covered in the fabrics from Yingmu. "What's going on down there?" She climbed down from the attic, walked down the stairs, and saw the mayhem taking place. "OH MY GOD!"

"OPEN THE FRONT DOOR, KAYO! HURRY!" Riliane screamed while trying to get the spiders off of her. Kayo ran to the front door, she started getting bitten by her ankles.

"OW! OW! OW!" She chatted in pain as she ran.

Outside the house, two minutes earlier

A white light appeared in the Keyhole shaped sun and floated down to the front porch, the forms appear to be that of Allen and Behemo with Behemo now refreshed and wearing his trademark maid's dress. "Ahhhh, I was afraid that Sickle was gonna blow his top up into space." Allen sighed as he rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger.

"Well at least he was able to calm down and settled things with Jun, now the sinners can have access to Yingmu when you ask them to." Behemo said as he straighten his hair.

"Only when they deserved it, as an award for good behavior and not driving me insa-WHOA!" He was startled when he saw water coming from the bottom of the door, wondering what could have caused it. "What is going on in there?" Just when he's about to unlock the door, Kayo busted the door open, soaked in water and covered in black widows. Her current appearance caused Behemo and Allen to scream in utter terror while Kayo screamed because of the pain and the two blonds screaming at her. The black widows ran off through the open door and into the wild of the dark gray forest, never to be seen again. After Kayo fell onto her knees, Behemo and Allen looked over her and saw sprinklers going off, the remaining black widows on the ground dead from either drowning, stomping, or succumbing to the effects of the bug spray-gift bomb hybrid, and the sinners drenched and covered in spider bites. "...I...refused...to ask..." Allen slowly backs away from the devastation.

"...You guys found the basement, did you?" Behemo asked sheepishly.

"I told them not to." Was Kayo's only reply.

"Don't worry, we'll do something about it, love." He patted her head. "In the meantime, we better get your guy's wounds checked up and make sure you don't succumbed to their venom." He motioned his hands to get the sinners to come with him, they did as he said.

"You just have to use the bomb, Nemesis." Gallerian sneered, before sneezing.

"Not now with that bullcrap, Father." She barked at him, Behemo looked at Allen and asked:

"You think they're gonna suffer arachnophobia because of this?"

"I don't know, but how am I gonna explain THIS to Sickle?" Allen said as he pointed at the mess inside.

"Ehhh you're right, you're screwed kid, looks like YOU'LL be going into the Hellish Yard with the sinners."

END CHAPTER

#evillious chronicles #fanfiction #Seven Crimes and Punishments #book 1 #chapter 10