#but like. attacking a town for over 30 times seems excessive | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iceslushii · 3 years

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So, I'm writing this to document what I can only assume is my sudden descent into insanity. I can't possibly be THAT bad a navigator, and yet as I write this I've been trapped in Ikea for 2 days. I haven't seen another person in the entire time I've been here. I thought it was a prank at first. Turn the place into a maze, get all the people out and see how long it takes me to get lost, then everyone has a good old laugh. Realised that wasn't the case when I tried to backtrack. Everything had changed, so I ended up lost. Instead of the exit, it was just row after row of bookcases.

So, I'm trapped in Ikea. Sounds like the setup for a bad joke. The lights went out at 10pm. Nearly gave me a fucking heart attack, that loud electrical THUNK sound and then pitch blackness. Place is full of beds though and my phone has a torch on it - but no damn signal - so I found a bed and went to sleep. Spent most of the next day trying to find my way out with no luck. Did find a restaurant serving those meatballs though, so at least I won't starve. That's probably the punchline to that joke. Anyway they were still warm and fresh, but I haven't seen anyone around who could have cooked them. Made my way back to the beds before the lights cut out again since it's too dark to search with them off.

It's 9.10am now, the lights came back on a little while ago. I'm sure I've searched the entire area around where I came in now and the exit obviously isn't here, so I'm going to pick a direction and hope for the best.

Day 3 of my magical Ikea mystery adventure. If I wasn't sure that there was something seriously weird about this place before, I am now. Walked for 3 hours in a more or less straight line (insert Ikea joke here) before I came across a ladder next to one of those huge stock shelves they have here. Climbed up to get my bearings, and it looks like this place just stretches on forever. Like that scene from the Lion King, except instead of trees and grass it was all shelves and tables and crap. I did see a person moving not too far away though, so I headed over.

Thought it was a staff member at first - it was wearing the uniform. And hell maybe it was, maybe freakish 7ft tall monsters with long arms, short legs and no faces are just the kinds of thing they want working at Super Ikea. Damn thing completely ignored me though, and with no eyes or ears I can't even be sure it knew I was there. Thought about shoving it or something to get its attention, but its hands were big enough to crush a water melon so I decided against it. It just kept moving along and eventually I lost sight of it so I decided to carry on the way I was going.

Anyway, no comfy bed for me tonight. Looks like I've entered the Improbably Hard and Pointy Table section of the store. Guess I'll have to make do with some bunched up tablecloths. Phone battery died during the day too. Didn't work anyway, but I feel like I've just lost some vital lifeline.

You ever see one of those cartoons where they're going through doors in a hallway and they just pop out of another door in the same hallway? That's how I feel right now. I've seen nothing but the same identical bookshelf for 2 days now. Just row after row after row of them. I mean, come on. I love books as much as the next guy, but this is excessive. I'm obviously still moving forwards though, I can see the signs hanging overhead passing by. Too bad none of them say "Exit".

Not sure who I was addressing that question to. Lets just say it was practice for the autobiography I'm going to write when I get out of here. I'll call it "My perfectly normal trip to a regular old Ikea".

If I ever get out o

Finally found some other people! Yeah, turns out I'm not the only poor bastard trapped in here. Lucky for me, I guess. My 6th night here, 2 of those staff things came at me in the dark. Different from the first one I saw, but still messed up. Heard them coming, they were saying that the store was closed and I had to leave the building, all nice and polite like. I'm not sure which part of that was weirder, that they don't have mouths or that they were apparently trying to kill me while they were saying it. Came at me like rabid dogs.

So, I legged it. Sprinting through ikea in the dark like a fucking madman. I saw it when I cleared another stand of those giant stock shelves, all lit up with torches and floodlights. They've built a whole town in here! Got a massive wall built out of shelves and beds and tables and whatever else. I swear to god it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Anyway I guess they saw me coming (or maybe they heard my girlish manly bellows of fear), because they had a gate open and 2 people were there waving me in. Heard the staff things slam into the gate behind me after it closed, still politely informing us all that the store was now closed. They wandered off eventually though.

They call the town Exchange, because that's whats on the sign hanging from the ceiling directly above it. Exchange and Returns. All lit up against the night using lights they've found and plugged into the power lines. And there are beds and food and people. Over 50 wonderful people with regular sized limbs and a full set of facial features. It's now my 7th night here, and the first one not spent in darkness. A full week living in Ikea. There's probably a TV show in that somewhere.

Now that I'm around other people, I'm starting to feel more normal. Maybe normal isn't the word. But after a week with only the sound of my own footsteps for company, I was becoming increasingly sure that I'd just gone nuts. That I was tied up in some padded room somewhere, banging my head against the wall. But no, I feel quite sane now, thank you very much!

Apparently there are other towns out there. Some with more people, some with less. I found that fairly mind-boggling - how can that many people go missing with no one noticing. Surely someone would have noticed that everyone who goes to ikea seems to fucking vanish. Or maybe it's not everyone. Maybe we're just the lucky ones.

The people here just call those staff monster things the Staff. Apparently they are fine during the day, minding their own business walking the aisles. As soon as those lights go out though, they go fucking bonkers. So during the day people go out to find food, water and whatever else they need. Apparently there are restaurants and shops around that randomly get restocked. No one knows how. Maybe the staff do it. Apparently they aren't very good at their jobs though because the restocking sometimes takes a while, which means the food needs to be rationed. Maybe if they weren't so busy chasing people around in the dark they'd get more done.

Anyway when night comes the staff go nuts and everyone holds up inside the walls. Apparently it's the same everywhere in this place, whatever this place is. The Ur-Ikea, from whence all other Ikeas sprang. Or maybe we're all still just in the regular ikea and this is all some fever dream brought on by mind-numbing boredom. Who knows.

Been here for 10 days now. Most of the people I asked said they stopped keeping track a long time ago and one guy, Chris, said he'd been in here for years.

Years.

[ILLEGIBLE SCRIBBLES]

Apparently there are rumours of people who do manage to get out. And of people who see the exit, only to have it vanish before their very eyes. I get the feeling not everyone believes that, but I do. Explains how we got stuck in here in the first place (sort of). And I mean, come on. Staff monsters, row after endless row of high quality Swedish furniture. I don't know why they would find a disappearing door so hard to believe in.

Anyway, I went out scavenging for food at a nearby shop with Sandra and Jerry today. Once you learn the landmarks of this place it's not so hard to navigate. The overhead signs help a lot, but there are others; not too far in the distance a huge section of those giant stock shelves has collapsed against each other and way off in the east (we all assume it's east anyway - apparently Ikea doesn't sell compasses) is some kind of tower that looks like its made of wood, reaches all the way to the ceiling. Maybe they were trying to break out through the roof. Lights up at night so there must be people there, but its apparently a few days walk (which means it must be miles away) so no one here really knows for sure. Apparently I got incredibly lucky sleeping out in the open for a week without getting ripped to bits by the staff. That's me. Lucky lucky lucky.

We found some food in the shop. Guess the staff restocked it during the night, which was nice of them. There was a telephone on the wall, so I figured I'd try it out. There was a voice on the other end, but they were just talking nonsense. Random words strung together with no real meaning. You ever see a video of someone with aphasia? Kind of sounded like that. Didn't answer me when I spoke to them anyway. Sandra says all the phones in here are the same.

Oops, asking the journal questions again!

I was thinking last night. The ceiling on this place is pretty high and as far as anyone can tell it goes on forever. Shouldn't there be some kind of weather in here? I'm sure I read about some NASA building that was so big it had its own weather patterns, with clouds and stuff. This place is definitely bigger than that, but now that I think about it I'm pretty sure I've never felt so much as a temperature change in here.

I'll add it to the Grand List of Weird Bullshit.

The staff attacked the Exchange last night. Must have been 20 or 30 of them all just asking us to leave the store calm as you like, while trying to smash the walls down with their bare hands. Apparently this happens pretty regularly, so everyone is prepared for it. Knives from the restaurants, lawn mower blades made into hatchets, a fire axe. One guy, Wasim, even made a functional crossbow. Anyway the walls have holes in them, which I hadn't noticed before, specifically so we can stab out at the staff when they attack. Took a couple of them down myself. They don't seem to bleed, which is weird, but they go down as easy as a regular person once you start sticking holes in them.

We had to haul the bodies away in the morning. Apparently the dead ones will attract more during the night, so we had to get them away from Exchange. We have a couple of those trolley things they use to move big boxes around, so we loaded them up and took them over to Pickup. Apparently people just name everything in here after whatever sign is hanging overhead.

Pickup was grisly. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of dead staff all piled up. There was no smell, which was a blessing. Apparently in addition to not bleeding, these things don't rot either. My curiosity got the better of me while we were unloading them, so I took a look at one of the more cut-up ones. They're just skin, or something that looks like skin, all the way through. No muscle, no bone, no organs. Are they even really alive in the first place? They certainly seem like they have bones when they are moving around, pounding on the walls. And I'm sure I felt more resistance than just skin when the knife went in during the night. Maybe something happens to them when they die. Just one more thing on the ever-increasing list of Weird Shit that goes on in here, I guess.

Something occurred to me, after the staff attack the other night. Every time you see a situation like this on TV or in a film, like its the end of the world or everyone is trapped on an island or whatever, once groups like ours start to form people always seem to turn on each other. Fighting for food or dominance or whatever else. That hasn't happened here. Apparently people from other towns come by from time to time, just to check in or occasionally to trade if they are short on something. But everything is always cordial. Friendly, even. Maybe its the threat of the staff, or perhaps the constant restocking of supplies in the shops means there's nothing much to fight over.

Maybe people are just better than they are generally given credit for. That's a nice thought. I think I'll go with that one.

A dozen people showed up at the gates this afternoon from a town called Trolleys. Apparently the staff broke through the walls and tore the town apart during the night. These 12 are the only survivors out of over a hundred. We let them in, obviously. One more point in the human decency column. Later, I asked if anyone knew how many of these towns there were out there. Between us and the new folks, we managed to come up with over 20 names. 20 towns filled with people, and who knows how many beyond that.

The motto for this place should be "How Is That Even Possible". Surely someone, somewhere must be looking for the thousands of people that must be in here.

I've been here for a little over 2 months now. Not that much changes, as it turns out. A couple of new people showed up, same story as the rest of us. Nice little trip to Ikea and suddenly they're trapped in Billy Bookcase's House of Faceless Weirdos. The staff attack the Exchange once or twice a week. We kill them and haul their bodies off, sometimes they hurt some of us first. They killed a guy called Jared a couple of weeks back. It was awful, frankly. Turns out regular humans still bleed in here, even if the staff don't. We tried our best, but none of us are doctors.

Jared was a good guy. He deserved better. We all do.

It occurred to me a couple of days after that, none of us were really looking for a way out of here. I don't even know where we'd start.

One of those quad copter things with a camera attached buzzed passed Exchange today. I thought it meant that someone was finally looking for us, that help was on the way. Apparently it's not the first time this has happened, though. Same thing happened a few months ago, and everyone is still here.

No idea if it saw us, it didn't stop if it did. Just kept flying until we could no longer see it.

Note: Based on recovery time of the journal, this entry appears to line up approximately with our first successful test piloting a drone inside SCP-3008-1. Analysis of footage shows a walled settlement under a sign labelled "Exchange and Returns". Attempts to relocate the settlement failed. Origin of previously sighted drones is unknown.

I started talking to people about the stuff they miss from home during dinner today. Probably not the best idea I've ever had, everyone seemed pretty down after. A bunch of people here have families. Husbands and wives, kids. Dogs. Franklin apparently has a pet llama, though I'm not sure I buy that.

But apparently some of the people here have some seriously odd gaps in their knowledge. 3 of them had never heard of the International Space Station, 2 of them seemed to think █████ ███████ was the Prime Minister, and one of them had apparently never heard of the Statue of Liberty. I believe them, too. They seemed just as confused as the rest of us.

The more I thought about it though, the more it started to explain a few things. What if the reason no one is looking for all us missing people is because we haven't all come from the same place. This is going to sound weird (maybe that should be the motto for this place) but what if all the people here have come from different dimensions? Realities? Whatever you call it. I've seen enough TV shows to know the drill. Sarah comes from a place where there is no Statue of Liberty. They didn't launch a space station where Wasim is from. If everyone here came from different places, even from ones that seem identical, there'd be no huge missing persons panic. No mass search. We'd just be a blip, a single missing person in a world of non-stop news.

Well. That was a fun train of thought.

Just realised that yesterday was the six month anniversary of my arrival here. I wonder if Ikea sells party hats. The routine around here has remained more or less the same. More new folk show up, one every couple of weeks or so. Food supplies go up and down, but we've never actually had a major shortage. Occasionally we get a visitor from one of the nearby towns, usually Checkouts or Aisle 630. We check in with each other from time to time, occasionally trade supplies if someone gets particularly low on something. It's comforting, in a way. A reminder that we aren't alone in here, some small glimmer of civilisation. Sometimes they bring medical supplies. Apparently there's a pharmacy a few towns down from Checkouts that gets restocked every now and then, so they share out what they can. I've never heard of an Ikea with a pharmacy before but at this point I wouldn't be surprised if someone stumbled on an Ikea Organ Harvesting Lab. Would certainly explain the staff.

Speaking of our faceless jailers, their attacks have been getting worse lately. 3 or 4 times a week now, with twice as many staff as there used to be. No idea where they all come from, or why the attacks have increased. We tried following one of them during the day a few weeks ago, me and Sarah. Wanted to see if they lead back to a staff room or something. Didn't seem to go anywhere though, just randomly walked through the aisles. We had to turn back before we found anything.

We've been reinforcing the walls, trying to arm ourselves better. Certainly no lack of materials to use. Wasim has been making more crossbows, but it's pretty slow going.

Too bad Ikea doesn't sell guns.

Note: No new personnel have entered SCP-3008 at Site-██ in the time span indicated in this entry.

The attacks are getting bad now. Almost every night, and with so many staff that the bodies almost pile high enough for others to climb the walls. I think we're in real trouble here.

Exchange is

I think Exchange is done. We got hit pretty bad last night. Not many casualties, but the wall is wrecked. We finally figured out why the attacks had been escalating, too. A box of supplies had a chunk of one of the staff in there. No idea how it happened but apparently a piece of one will draw them as well as a full body. Too late now in any case, there's too many bodies for us to haul away and still have time to fix the wall before night. Candace has called a meeting. I suspect there will be talk of abandoning Exchange, maybe try and get shelter at Checkouts or something.

It's already getting late though. I don't think we'll have time to make it. Maybe some of us will. I was fine for that first week out in the dark, after all. But then, how often can I keep getting lucky.

I'm only writing this for a sense of closure, I guess. For me, or for anyone who finds this. If this is the final entry here, I hope whoever is reading this is doing so from outside of this place.

My biggest fear? If I do die tonight, I'll just wake up here again in the morning.

Note: This is the last entry. It is assumed that while attempting to reach the "Checkouts" settlement he was separated from the rest of his group by a pursuing SCP-3008-2 instance and happened upon the exit.

We're no strangers to love You know the rules and so do I A full commitment's what I'm thinking of You wouldn't get this from any other guy I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it Inside we both know what's been going on We know the game and we're gonna play it And if you ask me how I'm feeling Don't tell me you're too blind to see

Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give, never gonna give (Give you up) We've known each other for so long Your heart's been aching but you're too shy to say it Inside we both know what's been going on We know the game and we're gonna play it I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling Gotta make you understand Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you Never gonna give you up Never gonna let you down Never gonna run around and desert you Never gonna make you cry Never gonna say goodbye

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dr-rufflers-dnd-hombrew · 4 years

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Sinecord (race)

(Sign-cord) [sine - without] [cordum - soul,heart] Animal-like lesser demons that lack emotions of their own but possess the ability to take the emotions of others

The Sinecords are a race created by a demon whose name has been lost to time. They were created to steal the happiness of mortals and fill them with rage, sadness, or fear to stir chaos and violence. After hundreds of years of being commanded by their demonic creator to torment mortals and start wars, the race was severed from his power when he was defeated by a group of heroes. Freed from his control, many Sinecords were taken into druid and fairy settlements and taught to harness their powers in less destructive ways. Others however where left to be taken in by other demons or wander the world on their own.

Lacking emotion of their own, Sinecords tend to make decisions based on what seems to be the most logical to the individual, with their main goal being to collect emotions for their own use. When collecting an emotion a Sinecord stores it in a liquid form in a vessel of choice, the liquid emotion can then be used through consuming, injecting, or making physical contact with the liquid. Emotions can be collected from people, and some objects (people yielding the most emotion per collection).

Sinecords are animal-like in shape with digitigrade legs and deep-set chests. Both males and females have horns that curve around to the back of their heads and a small mane that grows to its full size at age 50-60. They possess a great variety of colors and fur patterns with some individuals fur changing in color when exposed to a single emotion often for a long period of time. [Example: a Sinecord that collects and uses only sadness for over a month will have their fur gradually turn a dark blue.]

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

Ability Score

The logical nature of Sinecords gives you +1 Intelligence and Wisdom

Age

Sinecords live about 700 years and reach maturity at 10 years

Size

Female Sinecords stand at around 4 and a half to 5 feet [137.16 to 152.4 cm] while males rarely grow taller than 4 and a half feet [137.16 cm]

Speed

30 feet [~9.14 m]

Language

Sinecords speak common and often also understand Infernal

Traits -Sinecords have the ability to take emotions from people and certain objects ------------------------------------------------------------------

Collecting Emotions

Sinecords can collect any one emotion from a person at a time, taking an emotion prevents the person from feeling that emotion for a short time but their ability to feel it shall return eventually. The Sinecord must have a holdable storage vessel prepared that can hold liquid such as a jar, mug, bowl, bucket, or vial. If you manage to collect more than the vessel can hold then it will fill to its maximum and any excess will be lost. You must be within 5 ft [~2.5 m] of the target. Each emotion can be distinguished by the color of the liquid collected.

You can collect and store the following emotions: Joy, Sadness, Fear, Anger, Confidence, Disgust, Love, and Calmness What emotion you collect can either be determined by the GM or by rolling on the chart below

1 - you fail to collect any emotion 2 - Joy [yellow] 3 - Disgust [green] 4 - Fear [orange] 5 - Anger [red] 6 - Sadness [dark blue] 7 - Confidence [purple] 8 - Love [pink] 9 - Calmness [light blue] 10 - Player's choice

When collecting from a person, you collect 1d20 ounces of liquid [1oz = ~20 mililiters] and the person is prevented from feeling the emotion for 2d6 hours

Some objects can hold emotions depending on the "owner" of the object, for example, a child has a teddy bear that they carry with them everywhere, after an accident the parents keep the bear to remember the child by, the toy can hold both Joy from the child and Sadness from the parents in this situation. Another example, a statue in the center of a town was built by a cruel king and serves as a symbol of his tyranny, Anger or Fear could be collected from a statue like this.

To be able to collect emotion from an object it must fit within a 15-foot [~4.5 m] cube, and the GM must agree that the object holds any emotion. If the object is the right size and has emotion you can collect 2d6 ounces [1oz = ~20 mililiters] of liquid from it

At every third level [3,6,9,12, etc] you gain 1 die when rolling for the amount of liquid emotion you collect [example, at a level 3 you would roll 2d20 when collecting from people and 3d6 when collecting from objects] ------------------------------------------------------------------

Personality Blend

While Sinecords lack emotions of their own, they can still feel the effects of the liquid emotions that they collect. An individual's end goal in collecting emotion will usually be to either create a personality blend or weaponize negative emotions in battle, often both. This blend is made of equal parts of each emotion, using 6 ounces [1 cup][~177.4 ml] of each emotion will give you enough of the blend to last 24 hours. After consuming the personality blend a Sinecord can feel the full range of emotions like any other race. Many will then create new life goals for themselves during this period, they will work towards these goals even after the blend's effects end under the assumption that working towards these goals will improve the experience next time they consume the blend. ------------------------------------------------------------------

Weaponized Emotions

In battle, a jar or vial of liquid emotion can be thrown at a person or creature to inflict that emotion on to them

To be weaponized in this way, you must have at least 1 cup [~236 mililiters] in a sealed container that would reasonably break upon hitting someone, if unsealed then the liquid can be splashed on a person or creature with a range of 5 ft [~1.5 m]

The person or creature must make a Wisdom saving throw with a DC of 13 or be inflicted with the following effect based on the emotion used on them for 1d6 turns

Attacks Joy - Manic Laughter [unable to act] Sadness - Uncontrollable Crying [becomes blinded] Fear - Panic [attempts to flee battle] Anger - Blind Rage [attacks closest person be it friend or foe] Disgust - Stay Away [rolls with disadvantage] Love - Charmed [is charmed]

Buffs Confidence - Morale Boost [rolls with advantage] Calmness - Batlle Focus [+2 to attack rolls] ------------------------------------------------------------------

Clans

Not all Sinecords follow the same moral or logical code and tend to group together to determine what is the best way to interact with other races and collect emotions. Some are ok with stealing emotions, others believe you must have the person's consent, and then some believe you shouldn't take emotions from people at all and so choose to only collect emotions from objects. ------------------------------------------------------------------

Fae Natorum

A large group created by a Sinecord named Awe that was taken in by a group of fairies with her siblings. Current members of the Fae Natorum clan follow a strict set of rules when collecting emotions, they are required to get the consent of the person and must be straight forward with their intentions. They are required to answer any questions truthfully and to the best of their ability and must register their collections with the court. The court consists of a council with the five smartest Sinecords in the clan, at least 1 representative of every kingdom that allows the clan within their borders, and a monarch descended from Awe and her husband. The crown prince/princess is chosen by the council from the current monarch's children and is given the surname Regem.

Names Members have names made up of 3 parts, a given, middle, and surname the middle name is the mother's maiden name with the surname being the same as the father's

Given names tend to be based on emotions, animals, and/or plants

When married the wife takes the husband's surname, in the event of same-sex marriages the couple swaps surnames ------------------------------------------------------------------

Umbrae

The second-largest clan, about 2/3 the size of the Fae Natorum, the Umbrae are Sinecords that remained servants of more powerful demons. They are a loose collection of other groups each following their own demonic master, because of this the Umbrae clan doesn't have much in common say for continuing to steal emotions from other races and causing chaos in the name of their master.

Names Umbrae Sinecords tend to take Infernal names similar to those of Tieflings or demons ------------------------------------------------------------------

The Unaligned

Those that don't find the strict rules of the Fae Natorum appealing but also don't wish to be ruled over by a demonic master will strick out on their own as wandering hermits. Unaligned Sinecords are looked down on by both clans and can be seen as untrustworthy by other races leading to very few of them settling down and living in a permanent location.

Names These Sincords usually give themselves names based on the locations and other races they tend to hang around. A common name for these Sinecords is a surname taken from the location they were born in and a given name depending on the race(s) in that location. [Example: a Sinecord born in an Orc mountain village called Everfall would likely have a name such as Shel Everfall or Orbul Hills] [Balance suggestions welcome]

#dnd #homebrew #dnd homebrew #dnd homebrew race #dnd race #Dungeons and Dragons #Tabletop Games #roleplay games

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black-dragon1998 · 5 years

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Catch me when I fall

Chapter 3 of Supersoldier meets Riverdale

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Cheryl and (Y/N) bond further.

The next week progressed rather uneventful. Well if you overlooked the fact that you broke into the sheriff’s office and copied all the information, they had about Jason Blossoms dead. You also installed a virus that would send over every piece of data that was even linked to the case. You had made the virus yourself so there was no way they would find it, you had learned from the best after all. Then the thing with chuck went also down and he and his goons were thrown off the team. And maybe the best thing you learned was about the south side serpents. One thing that you did crave after going to school for a week was a strong drink, but that would have to wait for the weekend because school caused you to have a lot of spend up energy.

When you came home you immediately go to the gym and change. Wanting to work off the excess energy. You were covered in sweat and were in nothing but a tank top when the doorbell went. Thinking it was your takeout, that took you ages to find. You had to go out of town to find something that wasn’t Pop’s. Not thinking twice opening the door you were pretty surprised when you saw Cheryl at your door.

“Cheryl! What are you doing here?” you were not thinking she would be at your door, even though she did live next door. It seems she was also surprised to see you at the door.

She did take a couple of seconds to process this information. She knew they had gotten a new neighbour but wouldn’t have thought it was you. Cheryl couldn’t help but stare at your muscles. At school, she had only seen you in bulky sweaters that hid you build. She, sure as hell wasn’t expecting for you to be so ripped. This made her blush

“Hey Red. Are you okay?” At hearing the nickname, you had given her she snapped out of her thoughts.

“I told you to not call me that.” She said in her stone-cold voice she had adapted to talk with to you. But in reality, she actually liked it. It meant somebody took the time to acknowledge her. Whenever you look at her, she felled as you could see past her façade, she saw it in your eyes. Even know you had a kind smile on your face, you were the only one who kept smiling after her being a bitch to you.

“I know you pretend to be some stone-cold bitch at school, but you shouldn’t have to pretend all the time. It is not healthy. Besides I like to know the real Cheryl Blossom.” You say while offering her a kind smile.

“So, what brought you here?” leaning against the door frame, this almost send her thoughts spinning again.

“it seems I have run into a little car trouble and your house was the closest,” Cheryl said, looking over her shoulder where a red Cabrio was parked.

“well seems you’re in luck, I happen to know something about cars.” You say with a toothy smile. You saw a sparkle cross her eyes but before you could comment it was gone.

“and what makes you think I would let somebody like ‘you’ look at my car?” her words contained just enough venom to make you look at her curiously, any other person would probably have been offended. You just smiled. If she thought she could make you feel bad with words alone she had to step up her game.

“don’t have to be snarky Red. If you want too, I could just call a mechanic.” You still have the same kind smile. This again put Cheryl off. Nobody stay’s calm after she snapped at them twice in a row.

“you don’t have to feel obligated to look at it.” Cheryl reformulated her words.

“it’s no problem Red. Let me put on a shirt and I will take a look.”You are looking inside the hood of the car and immediately spot the problem.

“well, I got good news and bad news.” You turn to her. She looked a little anxious.

“good news first, please.”

“I can fix it.” She smiles at you before it disappeared.

“and the bad news?” she was holding her breath for this.

“it’s going to take time.”

“no, this can’t be happening, I have cheer practice in two hours. I’m captain, I can’t afford to be late.” You saw Cheryl working herself into a full-blown panic attack. Knowing all too well how those feel you react instantly. You grab her shoulders and make her look at you.

“Cheryl, focus on me okay.” You hold her eye contact until she gives you a shaky nod.

“Is there someone I can call for you? Your parents may be, to come and pick you up?” you see a slitter of fear appear on her face. The fake smile that’s follows hurt you.

“no, mommy and daddy have too many important things on their mind.” The way she formulates it set you off.

“Nobody else?” you try. “no.” it was kind of sad to think that the most popular girl in school didn’t have anybody to help her when she was in need.

“Okay, how about I take you?” you put the question up there, not wanting to put her in a tight spot.

“why would you want to do that for me?” she seemed surprised again. nobody had offered to help her; she was a Blossom and the only one who stood up for her was her brother and he was dead.

“Because my momma always told me to help people in need. Also, I don’t think that the stone-cold bitch face you are putting up for everyone else is the real you.” A blush spread over her face; nobody had seen through her façade so quickly.

“I would really like to get to know the real Cheryl Blossom,” again this made her go speechless, nobody wanted to know her. Everybody had an opinion over her. So, it was kind of refreshing to see someone not judging her. Without saying anything she nodded. Cheryl really didn’t know how she got in your car, but suddenly she was Infront of the school and you had parked the car in front of the entrance.

“so how long do those practices normally take?” you question pierced the silence in the car that it made Cheryl jump. She had her composure under control in seconds.

“we normally practice for around two hours. It could take longer depending on how big a mess the gym is.”

“Okay, then I will pick you up after I go take a shower at home.” You say with a smile. Cheryl feels like she looks at you for the first time, this is the most natural smile she has ever seen on you and she thinks it is the most beautiful thing ever. It made her feel like she had butterflies in her stomach. With a small nod she stepped out of the car and went into the gym.

After getting back home you rushed toward the bathroom for a quick shower. This caused you to be back at school mush earlier. So instead of waiting 30 something minutes in your car for Cheryl to find you, you went to watch the remainder of the practice. When you walked into the gym the girls were in the middle of a routine. Cheryl being hurled into the air and being caught by the other girls again. They did it another time but this time one of the girls stumbled over her own feet. This caused the whole formation to be broken and nobody left to catch Cheryl. You were running toward her before you even knew it. Doing the math, Cheryl was coming down too fast for you to catch her without injuring her. So you braced yourself and jumped toward Cheryl and pluck her out of the air to soften the impact. All this happened in a matter of seconds, so no one knew what was going on until you were laying Cheryl to the ground, gently and hovering over her.

“Cheryl are you okay?” you shake her shoulders gently so that she would open her eyes. When she did open them, you saw unshed tears. slightly stroking her cheek and giving her a small smile to calm her down. Only imagining how scared she probably was. Suddenly you were pulled back in the present and when all the river vixens started swarming the two of you. Thinking that the last thing she wanted right now was being overwhelmed by a bunch of emotional girls. Lifting Cheryl up and carried her toward the changing rooms for some peace and quiet. While crossing the gym you meet Veronica’s eyes and she gives you a small not. You were sure she would be able to keep the vixens at bay. Placing Cheryl on the bench and crouched in front of her.

“Cheryl? Can you say something to make sure you are okay?” it takes her a whole minute for her to even look at you.

“I was falling.” Her voice was small when she spoke, and she was difficult trying not to cry.

“I thought I was going to die. I was preparing for the impact.” She was rambling, you let her this was probably her way of dealing with this. Then she did something you didn’t think she would do, she hugged you.

“thank you.” While she had her face buried in your shoulder, she finally let her self-cry.

“it’s okay Red. You are safe. Nothing is going to happen to you.” You say while holding and calming her down. After what happened Betty’s curiosity about you was peaked again. After you had disappeared with Cheryl and the vixens had settled down, Betty pulled Veronica to the side.

“tell me you saw that.” Betty whisper yelled. Veronica looked a little troubled.

“I don’t know what I saw.”

“no normal person could have been so fast and jumped that high.” Veronica had to admit it was strange, the way you lifted Cheryl up like she weighed nothing.

“again, I don’t know what to say to that.” Veronica was being honest, she didn’t know what to make from it.

“I want to dig a little deeper in to (Y/N)’s past,” Betty says in a hushed voice. Veronica gave Betty a look that wasn’t convinced.

“come on, don’t say you’re not interested?” “Thank you.” Cheryl’s shaky voice breaks the silence that had formed around you two. You guessed it had to be over 45 minutes since you had entered the locker room and only now you noticed that you were in the guy’s locker room. Hence why nobody had come looking for you two.

“hey, that’s okay.” You say reassuring her, still stroking her back.“how about when you are ready, we go to Pop’s for something to eat and then I drive you home?” she replied with a small nod.

“okay. I’ll wait in the car while you change.” You say while getting up and walking away.

“Don’t.” she grips onto your arm with a vice grip. You go with her to the other locker room and respectively turn around when she takes a shower and puts normal clothes on. Cheryl was surprised when she saw you with your back turned to her. It made her faintly blush. The girls from the cheer-leading squat were used to seeing her change. The males from the football team would fight to take a peek at the cheerleaders. The other people would just not be that polite. She was sure chuck and his goons would love to see her naked. this made her see you in a different light, maybe you weren’t that bad.

The drive to Pop’s was made in silence, but not uncomfortable. Even over dinner there wasn’t much said. You didn’t bombard her with questions, you just let her be herself and even if she did make a snarky comment you would just smile and fire one right back at her. It felled like she could be herself again, for the first time since Jason died. she also started to see you in a whole new light. At school, you could come over as distant, maybe even cold to some, but when you were smiling it did things to her she wasn’t ready to admit.

After Pop’s you just dropped her off at her door, with a promise to pick her up Monday if her car wasn’t fixed.

“sweet dreams Red.” You say with a teasing voice before she got out of the car.

“goodnight (Y/N).” When she was sitting on her bed that night, why did she feel this, like she has been on a date? Why did she have all these squishy feelings inside?

part 4

#riverdale #Avengers #avengers crosover #riverdale x reader #avengers x reader #cheryl blossom #cheryl blossom x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #veronica lodge #betty cooper #fxf #Female reader #fem reader

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kevintor · 4 years

Text

I Watch a Movie I Should Have Seen: Hocus Pocus

I miss doing these entries. Mostly I miss adding movies to my watched list. Obviously, I’ve never seen Hocus Pocus. That’s why we’re here.

What did I know about Hocus Pocus? I knew there were witches and I knew Bette Midler had fun teeth. And she certainly did!

My thoughts:

We open on Salem in the 1600s following the shadow of a flying witch. The music was straight out of the Danny Elfman playbook but I guess they couldn’t get him so they found an equivalent Ray Parker, Jr. to Elfman’s Huey Lewis. (If you don’t know)

Pink smoke comes out of the chimney of the witch house which means someone’s gender reveal party resulted in a girl! Unfortunately they had to sacrifice a different little girl to find out.

The old-timey boy we meet is wearing a shirt that can only be described as billowy. He should take off like a kite when he runs. Yet somehow when he violently tumbles down a forest hill, none of that very excessive fabric gets caught on anything. Is the fabric even there or are we imagining it?

The witches (Sanderson Sisters) use a book made of human skin and a functioning eyeball. I shall call this book “Columbo.”

It’s very nice of them to put a mill wheel next to the witch house for the boy to climb.

Okay, so Bette Midler has lightning fingers like Emperor Palpatine.

I honestly thought the witches were going to be misunderstood and everyone would win at the end but killing a little girl for her youth and turning the boy into an immortal cat really puts a big wrench in the redemption arc chances.

The townspeople stage a hanging. The witches curse the town that they will return much like Pennywise only scarier.

We fast forward to find out that the opening is a story that is told in a Salem high school class where the kids apparently range in age from 14-28.

A new-to-town California boy (Max) doesn’t buy into all the witch lore. No mention on why his first day of school is Halloween. Parents did not plan that move well.

Max is into Allison, the pretty girl in school that leads with her teeth in every conversation. Did Rami Malek pull some his Freddy Mercury from her?

Max rides his bike home from school at super speed. He is either an exceptional mountain biking improviser or he practiced it the day before to be really ready for school. Probably the latter.

On his shortcut through the cemetery, he runs into two kids, Jay and Ice. Jay seems to be all the bad parts of Bill and Ted combined and Ice seems to be 40.

Jay and Ice take Max’s sneakers because that’s what bullies in the early 90s did. It makes pedaling home slower which may be for the best. He rode his bike too quickly.

Max does not like being here in Salem anymore. We learn this as he angrily takes off his hat, backpack, and jacket.

Max comforts himself by awkwardly hugging and cooing to his pillow pretending it’s Allison. His little sister, Dani, catches the awkwardness, gets on the bed, and simulates being Allison which is normal.

The house appears to have an unlimited number of stairs to climb up to get away in frustration.

Max reluctantly takes his sister trick-or-treating. He has the appropriate level of older brother standoffishness.

Jay and Ice stop the sister asking for her candy. Max gives the candy to the bullies and she tells him he should have been a man and fought them. Again one of them is like 40.

Max makes up with her using a pouty face. Like! A! Man!

They find a rich house that they assume will make them bob for apples. This is a bad idea even in non-pandemic times. Never bob for apples at a stranger’s house. No matter how rich they are. That’s how rich people fatten you up to make you easier to hunt.

Max and Dani let themselves inside and start robbing the place of their Raisinets and O Henry bars. Rich people give out terrible candy.

Turns out the rich house belongs to Allison. They are having a party and everyone there is authentically dressed like royals. They did not get any of these costumes at Spirit Halloween.

Dani tells Allison that she can’t wear Allison’s royal dress because she doesn’t have yabbos and proceeds to tell her that Max loves her yabbos. This girl is outrageous. Or rude. It was a fine line in 1993.

Max asks Allison to take them to the Sanderson Sisters’ house. She tells him she’s going to quickly change out of a dress that must have taken her 45 minutes to get into.

The house is no different than it used to be. The spell book is still there. How have Jay and Ice not stolen anything from it?

Immortal Cat attacks Max when he wants to light the “virgin candle” that will bring back the Sanderson sisters. It’s a great sequence where he says the name of the movie (always important), then pulls a Zippo out of his pocket (which all kids who don’t smoke have), and lights the candle.

It starts things. Hair blows a lot. This is why they had Max be a surfer boy from California. For this hair effect.

This movie cares a lot about someone being a virgin. Even Dani knows what a virgin is. Are they covering this in her second grade class? Do the parents know? What does the PTA think?

The candle makes the Sisters return and they try to keep Dani. Bette Midler uses more of her Star Wars lightning fingers but Allison saves the day.

The cat can talk and the chances of me liking this movie just took a huge hit.

Max steals Columbo, the spell book.

The writers of the movie do the right thing by having the Sisters be scared of everything modern like roads and fire trucks. Nice touch.

The Sisters only have tonight, which adds the right amount of stakes, to get the spell book back. I don’t think I could make it if they had a week or so.

The Sisters raise the dead causing a very reluctant zombie (RZ) to chase after the kids. Most zombies love what they do so this is a fun choice.

Immortal Cat gets run over by a bus but lives because he’s immortal. We needed proof because the 300 years of being a cat was not enough.

Garry Marshall plays a guy dressed as the devil which they play for fun as the Sisters worship him but we can’t gloss over that fact that Fake Devil’s wife is played by his real-life sister, Penny Marshall. It’s not disturbing. They’re acting!

Children steal the Sisters’ brooms which probably won’t matter later.

They find a Halloween party that Max’s parents went to. When Max’s dad meets Allison, he kisses her hand. I am going to do the same to whoever my kid brings home one day. “It’s from Hocus Pocus. That movie’s fun. It’s not weird.”

Bette Midler gets to sing a song. That should satisfy the requirements from her contract. The song puts a spell on the partygoers forcing them to dance until they die. Somehow the kids are immune to it. Can they shut off their ears? Are they also magical?

The kids lure the Sisters into the school incinerator and burn them alive. It’s a strong play. The kids celebrate as if there is not 30 minutes left in the movie.

Immortal Cat, in a time of reflection, brings up his sister and Max says “You really miss her, huh?” He has been trapped as a cat after failing to save his sister’s life 300 years earlier. He misses her. Why not “Hey, do you ever wonder what might have happened if you saved her life?”

Without any explanation, the Sisters are fine. They run into Jay and Ice who insult them. The Sisters cage Jay and Ice and make them hang from the witch house ceiling. The bullies are crying. Maybe they aren’t so tough after all. <High Fives No One>

Allison decides to find a spell to uncat Immortal Cat. She opens Columbo causing it to glow. The glow lures Bette Midler and the Sisters to her. Allison fails to notice the glow but learns that salt can keep them safe.

The Sisters steal the book and Dani when Allison only uses the salt to protect herself. She really took care of number one here.

Now Sarah Jessica Parker gets to sing a real creepy song that summons all the children from the town. It really shows you the power of song. Again, Max and Allison must have turned off their hearing for this.

Max and Allison trick the Sisters into thinking sun is coming early by using a car headlight. It works but I don’t understand why. They had the sun 300 years ago. They know what it looks like. “Is that a person in a brown sweat suit and green hat or a tree?”

While the Sisters are scared of the car headlight, Max steals back his sneakers but doesn’t save the bullies. How does he know he won’t need the bullies to be on his side in the future? Has he not seen every other high school movie?

They drive away and Bette Midler brooms after them. We know how fast Max likes to go so it is impressive Bette Midler can keep up.

Reluctant Zombie shows up and Max pulls a knife on him. So Max has a knife and a zippo. He might be a problem.

They take the final showdown to a cemetery which is an odd choice. Why not a miniature golf course or a TCBY. Were they still around in 1993?

Max brings a bat to a magic fight. Allison still has her salt. “Bats and salt: Working together to inconvenience witches since 1881!”

Max sacrifices himself to save Dani. The sun comes up as Bette Midler is sucking the life out of Max. Just when you think it might be a better sun-impersonating headlight, Bette Midler turns into a statue and explodes. Definitely the sun.

Immortal Cat dies so he can be with his sister. Billowy shirt ghost appears to say thanks with a kiss on Dani’s cheek (so normal) before he runs off with his ghost sister for eternity.

They did it! They saved Salem! Quite a first day for Max..

The movie was fine. I hate talking animals unless they are cartoons so that didn’t help. And why did they care so much about virgins? A friend told me that “virgin” meant “pure of heart.” Well then they should have said “pure of heart.” And if I can suggest, between Max’s predilection for weapons and Allison’s selfishness with the salt, I don’t think they should stop being “pure of heart” with each other. They aren’t a good couple. Going through a traumatic thing like killing summoned witches from the Pilgrim days causes feelings that can’t last.

#i watch a movie i should have seen #hocus pocus #bette midler #scary #halloween #movies #90s movies #sarah jessica parker #kathy najimy #sanderson sisters #funny #comedy #Movie Reviews

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allisondraste · 4 years

Text

Temperance 30/42

Pairing: Nathaniel Howe/ Female, Non-HoF Cousland

Story Summary: Nathaniel and Elissa were childhood friends, but time and distance tore them apart. In the aftermath of the Fifth Blight, and Ferelden’s Civil War, both Elissa and Nathaniel must attempt reconstruct their tattered lives. As a series of events lead them to be reunited, both are reminded of so many years ago when things were much simpler.

Chapter Summary: The Grand Tourney defies Nathaniel’s expectations

Note: That’s right, y’all! We have a final chapter number (and the big 3 - 0)! I have a few notes that I wanted to make about this chapter as well. Due to the amount of suggestion, innuendo, and things referenced in this chapter, I thought it warranted a note that there are some more mature and sexual themes explored in this chapter that I did not feel necessitated a rating change. However, I just wanted to give everyone a heads up! ^^ Also, shout out to the WoT V.2 for providing me with the excellent backdrop of this story (if you haven’t read Nate’s entry, I highly recommend) as well as to @daydreamingdragonage for coming up with the awesome tavern name featured here. Finally, I just want to thank everyone for being so patient with me in updating! November has been a hellish month with internship apps due, a draft of my dissertation due, a conference, and some personal/mental health woes that all just knocked me on my butt, but I’m back and so happy to be writing again. I’m so grateful to all of my lovely, wonderful readers and friends. Thanks from the bottom of my heart.

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

[AO3 LINK]

Tantervale, 9:26 Dragon

For all that Starkhaven made Ferelden seem like a small, dirty hovel filled with unrefined brutes and barbarians, Tantervale made it seem like a land of impious sinners. Not only was the large marcher city-state pristine and orderly, but it’s people were quiet and mild mannered. On its own, it was not a particularly beautiful place. Plain, uniform buildings stood side by side for as far as the eye could see. The Chantry was the only exception. Decorated with stained glass and golden filigree, the building was nothing like Nathaniel had ever seen, vibrant and large as the palace in Starkhaven and as imposing as Fort Drakon’s shadow.

Down every street and every corner, Andrastian icons and images could be found, accompanied by a fully armored Templar or two, who served as city guards and watched through the slits of their helmets with vigilant eyes. Still, the city and it’s people seemed to revel in the presence of the Grand Tourney, decorating their plain buildings with pennants of blue and gold. Citizens and guests alike danced and sang in the street as wine flowed freely. Nathaniel wondered how the Chantry felt about the influx of pleasure-seeking outsiders pouring into Tantervale, bringing their sin with them. Then again, it was likely a profitable venture. How else would they afford to feed their chancellors to excess or erect a fiftieth marble statue of the Holy Bride of the Maker?

The sheer opulence disgusted him, and yet he was in no position to complain. He’d only ever read about the Grand Tourney in books, or heard about them from Liss who always enthusiastically rambled about her favorite contests and competitors. Even her emphatic descriptions did not do it justice. He wished she could be there to see it. He imagined her face lighting up with excitement as she took everything in, and laughed as he thought about how she might slap him on the arm repeatedly as she pointed at something she did not want him to miss. He had not seen her in four years, and yet there was a big hole at his side where she belonged. At this point, he had no hope that it’d ever be filled.

He shook his head, attempting to refocus on the present, where he stood in the center of the festivities in Tantervale, with a new pouch of coin resting heavily in his hand. Ser Rodolphe had given it to him after watching him compete in the Grand Melee. Nathaniel had stubbornly entered the contest with a bow as his weapon, determined to prove to his mentor how archery could be useful in close-quarters combat. He was faster than his opponents, and managed to duck under, dodge, and evade the many clumsy attacks against him. That is, until the end.

Nathaniel typically enjoyed irony, but the Orlesian bastard that finally managed to disarm him and force him to yield bore an uncanny resemblance to his own father. He had piercing blue eyes and a cruel smirk, and seemed to take great pleasure in disarming Nathaniel, knocking him to the ground, and holding a sword just above his throat. Nathaniel did not enjoy that one bit.

To his surprise, Ser Rodolphe seemed pleased with his performance -- or at least as pleased as he’d ever seen him be. He claimed it was “entertaining” to watch him outmaneuver his opponents, and even admitted that he might have underestimated Nathaniel’s abilities. The knight handed him a purse of coin, gave him a good-natured clap on the shoulder, and went on his way. Nathaniel remained where he stood, dumbfounded, staring at the purse in his hand with a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

It was Ben who finally drew him from his pleasant stupor, running up and throwing his arms around Nathaniel, patting him on the back with some force. His fellow squire had grown considerably over the past two years, and he did not yet know his own strength. It reminded Nathaniel of every young mabari he’d ever met. Fully grown, with all the excitement of a pup. It was as uplifting as it was annoying.

“Nate,” Ben shouted right near Nathaniel’s ear, before releasing him from the smothering embrace, “You were fantastic! I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. What did Rodolphe say?”

Nate grinned and held up the coin purse by its strings, letting it swing back and forth in front of Ben’s eyes. “He said to use it wisely.”

“That means ale, yes?” Ben fidgeted eagerly. “And food? One of the locals was telling me about this tavern--”

“Let’s go,” Nate said, laughing and putting an arm around Ben’s shoulder. The younger man smiled in response, and they headed back toward the center of town.

It was early in the afternoon and many merchants from around Thedas stood at kiosks that lined the streets and squares, bringing color and life to the city. At one of the stands, Ben found a replica of Hessarian’s Sword of Mercy that caused his eyes to glitter with youthful excitement, and Nathaniel had no choice but to purchase it for him. He swore he saw his friend’s eyes brim with tears as he thanked him profusely.

They continued on, but Nathaniel stalled at the site of a stand owned by a Dwarven merchant with a thick, braided beard and a doublet of bright red and gold. On the table beside him was a series of small, mechanical music boxes that the man claimed were hand-crafted. One, in particular, caught Nathaniel’s eye. It was a tiny, bronze bronto that sparkled in the sunlight. Twisting its tail produced a tinkling, plucky sound, and a song that Nathaniel had never heard before. Liss would have loved it, he thought, remembering all the times she’d talked to him about Dwarven culture and brontos. He wondered if she’d gotten to “meet” one yet.

Without giving it much of a thought, he bought it, and the merchant thanked him repeatedly for his business. Apparently the people of Tantervale and the visiting Tourney attendees were tough customers when it came to mechanical, dwarven-made music boxes. Nathaniel was happy to oblige.

“Finally,” Ben said, and pointed in the direction of a tavern straight ahead of them. The sign that hung above the doorway featured a humble templar kneeling in front of a curvy figure wearing the robes of a Revered Mother, whose face bore an unusual, shocked expression.

“The Kneeling Knight?” Nathaniel snorted and raised his eyebrows as he followed after his friend.

“Thought you’d like that,” Ben said, turning back and winking at him. “Apparently the locals aren’t as buttoned up as they pretend to be.”

“No one is as buttoned up as they pretend to be.”

“Including you?” Ben offered his typical mischievous smile as he opened the door, motioning for Nathaniel to go in first.

“Especially me,” Nathaniel answered with a shrug, and then entered the crowded tavern.

The Kneeling Knight was a spacious tavern, with a main floor filled with many wooden tables, as well as the bar area where several barmaids an a man who appeared to be the owner worked rapidly to fill mugs and flagons and carry them to guests. A second floor housed a few more tables as well as a balcony where a minstrel stood, performing her songs and poems.

They pushed their way past the dense crowd of people gathered chatting and celebrating to occupy one of the few vacant tables that sat against the back wall. Several of the other patrons pointed and stared, whispering so loudly that it could hardly be called whispering. They’d watched the melee, or so it seemed, and Nathaniel was recognized as “that Fereldan dog who nearly won.” Nearly. He huffed, and attempted to ignore the dozens of eyes that bore into him.

“What’ll you boys be havin’ today,” chirped one of the barmaids as she bumped her hip against Nathaniel’s shoulder. He flinched, but did his best to not look as annoyed as he felt. Ben laughed into his hand.

Offering his most charming smile, he turned his head up to face the barmaid, whose lips were painted red as blood, and offered her his entire purse. “Whatever this buys us.”

The woman grinned mischievously, taking the pouch and tucking it down safely into the top of her dress. “Say no more, sweet thing,” she said and bumped him with her hip again. This time he rolled his eyes.

It was not long after she left that the propositions began. Handfuls of people, person after person, most of them at least twice Nathaniel’s age approached the table, batting their eyes at him, touching his arms, making completely inappropriate remarks involving his bow and their quivers. If his face was not red, it was missing its chance. He declined each and every one of them politely, and when the barmaid returned with the first round of ale, Nathaniel could not have downed the first tankard any faster.

“I can’t believe you sent that last one away,” Ben said after they’d finished a few rounds, “He was right handsome. That woman too! The one with the--” he made a lewd gesture with his hands.

“Ben.”

“What?” He offered Nathaniel a bewildered expression, foam from his last sip hanging just over his upper lip.

“They’re people, not… play things.” He grimaced and Ben seemed to notice the froth on his lip, wiping it off with the back of his arm.

“Right. Sure,” Ben answered wiggling his eyebrows. “If I were you I’d really be playing up my second place finish.”

“Second place is just another way of saying that I lost the slowest,” Nathaniel mumbled as he stared at the music box he’d sat on the table as they came in. He didn’t know why he thought the ale would make him forget about her. It never did anything except make him numb.

“You’re impossible,” Ben prodded good-naturedly, “You’re a young, decently good-looking man who just got himself some attention. Enjoy it, man! Live a little. Unless, of course, you’d rather pine over that Fereldan lass for the rest of your life.”

“If I wanted to talk about Liss, I would have brought her up.” He leaned back in his seat and sighed, forcing a smile he didn’t feel. “If you want me to enjoy myself, you’re doing a terrible job of helping me.”

Ben snorted. “ You’re the one sitting in a tavern, with beautiful men and women throwing themselves at you, while you stare longingly at a toy bronto like it broke your heart.”

“Oh, piss off,” Nathaniel snapped, wishing he had something to throw at him.

“Fine, Fine,” he said, throwing up his hands. He surrendered, but not before throwing Nathaniel a smug expression. “Here I thought that thing with the prince knocked you out of it.

“What ‘thing?’ There was no ‘thing.’” He was lying, of course. He and Sebastian had, in fact, had a thing. He thought he’d been discreet enough that Ben did not know. Clearly, he was mistaken.

Ben smirked, and shook his head. “RIght. ‘Course not.”

Nathaniel sighed and glared at the red-head, muttering. “Once. It was one time.”

“Only because his parents forced him into the Chantry.” His typically rosy cheeks were even rosier, as he teased.

“Ben.”

“A shame, that,” he continued, completely oblivious, “You seemed to really get on with him.”

“Ben,” Nathaniel hissed again, clenching his fists at his side.

“You could have tamed that wild boy prince for them. No need to bother the Maker with it, really.”

Instead of speaking again, he stood and reached across the table to flick his friend forcefully right between his eyes. Ben flinched and reached up to touch the now reddened patch of skin on his forehead. “Ow. Maker! Fine. I’ll stop.”

“Thank you,” Nathaniel muttered dryly, small smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. Suddenly, he felt much better.

Eventually, Ben got some attention of his own, a young woman with dark eyes and porcelain skin approaching, and whispering in his ear. He blushed, and offered her a seat next to him. He widened his eyes at Nathaniel as she looked away briefly. They exchanged a few flirtations, and wasted no time making their lips acquainted with one another, hands moving where hands shouldn’t go in public. He had to remind himself that Ben was barely more than a boy. Still, Nathaniel was not inclined to remain at the table and watch their publicly-displayed affection. He moved to stand quietly, but staggered a bit, vision swimming. He’d nearly forgotten how much he had to drink. Once he steadied, he made his way to the door, and out of the tavern.

He was not certain how he wound up in the middle of the archery range, only that he did, and that a skillful arrow had brushed past him, nicking his cheek slightly. He reached up, wiping a trickle of warm blood from his face, disoriented and searching for the direction from which the arrow came. One more step, and he’d have been dead, he thought. Or perhaps, someone else said it. It was difficult to tell. There was shouting, a woman’s voice, and a string of profanity, and he looked down to see an elven woman, as angry as she was petite standing in front of him and glowering as if she, in fact, were his size.

“Are you mad,” she shouted, Antivan accent thick on her tongue. “You could have been killed!”

Nathaniel did not answer her immediately, completely disarmed. She was lovely, with her deep green eyes beneath furrowed brows. Her auburn hair was braided loosely over one shoulder, rustling slightly with the wind and her own agitated movement. The fact that she looked at him so sternly did nothing to make her any less attractive.

“Hello,” she drawled, waving a hand emphatically in front of his face.

He shook his head and straightened his posture, hoping to regain what little dignity he could muster in his current state. “You call yourself an archer?”

The elf flinched, clearly offended. “What does it look like, human?”

Nathaniel looked around dramatically and shrugged before returning his gaze to meet hers. “No offense my lady, but you seem to be a terrible shot.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, first, you missed your target by quite a bit. And second” he slurred, holding up two fingers for emphasis, “You nearly killed a man.”

“Because that man stumbled out onto the field like some sort of confused druffalo,” she spat, shaking her head in complete disbelief. Nathaniel should not have enjoyed it as much as he did.

“Excuses,” he teased.

“You think that you could do better?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I know I could,” he replied with a smirk.

The elven woman seemed to relax at his words, and offered him a smirk of her own. Reaching behind her head, she took an arrow from its quiver, raised her bow, nocked, and fired in one smooth motion. The arrow flew past his head and straight on into the bullseye of the target. Nathaniel observed the arrow for a moment before meeting her lovely eyes again.

“Prove it,” she said, thrusting her bow at him and handing him an arrow.

“Very well,” he answered, bowing playfully before turning around and shooting the borrowed bow, matching her shot exactly. He was impressed with himself, considering how his head still swam. Though he was no longer certain how much of it was from the ale, and how much of it was the prospect of a beautiful woman testing his archery mettle. He almost wanted her to beat him.

They spent the better part of an hour taking turns making increasingly more difficult shots, each time matching one another perfectly. A small crowd amassed watching them and cheering, and occasionally they looked at one another exchanging smiles. It was the most fun he could recall having in years. Eventually, they tired, and decided to call it a draw. When they shook hands, Nathaniel found himself not wanting to let her go. Ridiculous, he knew, the workings of a disinhibited mind. He did not even know her name.

“I am Erina,” she announced, as if reading his mind, “And that was… impressive.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “It is nice to officially meet your acquaintance, Lady Erina. I am Nathaniel.”

“You flatter me,” she answered with an embarrassed laugh.

“Is it working?” He did not know what possessed him, nor did he care.

“Perhaps.” Erina grinned playfully, then scowled at him again. “I still think you are a fool who is lucky I did not shoot him.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” he began, “A fool, that is. I do, however, feel rather lucky. It has been my pleasure not getting shot by such a lovely, competent woman.”

She laughed gently, darting her eyes away from his quickly and looking toward the ground where she kicked the toe of her boot into the soft, grassy dirt. After several moments passed, she looked back up at him, embarrassment gone from her features. “What are you doing this evening?”

“Nothing,” he answered quickly, though he could not shake the feeling that he was forgetting something. “Do you have something in mind?”

Erina grinned, eyes sparkling as she took his hand and led him away from the range, and toward the outskirts of the city. They climbed the steps that led to the top of the battlements on the walls surrounding Tantervale, green grassland extending off into the horizon. The sun had not yet begun to set, but it hung low in the sky, and the breeze had become cool with a hint of the approaching evening.

“So, Nathaniel,” she said as she crawled up to perch on the parapet, legs dangling over the edge. “Tell me about yourself.”

Moving forward to rest his elbows beside her on the parapet, not trusting his current balancing abilities to keep him from falling to his death, he asked, “What would you like to know?”

“Everything,” she answered.

Nathaniel obliged. They spent the next several hours talking, sharing stories of their troubled pasts. He told her of his childhood and his strained relationship with Father, of the Couslands and their hospitality. He explained how he’d been forced into a squireship in Starkhaven, but had not hated it as much as he expected. He even complained affectionately about Ben and Ser Rodolphe. In turn, Erina told him her own story, about how she’d grown up in an Alienage in Antiva City, and trained to become a Crow, one of the infamous assassins known for their skill and ruthlessness. She’d been disappointed when they turned her down, and so she left, hoping to find mercenary work to help her family get by.

“Why did the Crows reject you,” Nathaniel asked, “I can’t imagine that it was lack of skill.”

“They said that I was too headstrong and compassionate.” Erina chuckled. “Not exactly what one looks for in an assassin.”

“Perhaps not,” he said with a laugh of his own. Thankfully, the effects of the ale had begun to dissipate, and his thoughts came more clearly. “But they are desirable qualities for...other things.”

Erina turned abruptly to face him, smirking. “Yes? Like what, exactly?”

Nathaniel could not bring himself to answer, instead holding her gaze for what could have been an eternity. It was an odd sensation, he thought, to be so ridiculously attracted to someone he’d just met, so drawn to her that only a few hours left him hoping he could see her again. Catching himself staring at her for entirely too long, noticing the knowing smile that continued to twitch on her lips, he shook his head and looked out over the city.

“It is starting to get dark,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Is the big brave archer afraid of the dark?” She elbowed him.

“Not exactly, but I am just unfamiliar enough with the area, and just drunk enough that I do not trust myself to find my way back to the inn in one piece.”

“Then, I shall escort you,” Erina remarked cheerfully.

“You don’t have to--”

“I do.” Her words were serious as they left her lips, and he found himself unwilling to argue.

By the time they made it to the inn where he had been staying, the sun had set completely, stars twinkling brightly against the dark sky above. Erina entered with him, and he was glad to see that the inn was much more subdued than the tavern had been. He was grateful that Rodolphe and Ben still seemed to be absent as they would both no doubt tease him relentlessly for his drunken escapades. He was not certain if he intended to tell them.

“This is me,” Nathaniel stated softly, somberly as he pointed to his room.

“Oh,” Erina replied, tone resonating similarly to his. “Good.”

“I have had a lovely time,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head, “Much lovelier than I’ve been allowing myself to hope for.”

She smiled brightly. “Me too.”

Silence stretched on for eternity between them, as Nathaniel searched for the proper words to say. Finally, he found them. “Listen, I apologize for being so forward earlier. I was --”

He was not able to finish his apology, as Erina’s lips found their way to his, soft yet powerful, just as everything else about her seemed to be. He stumbled, back bumping into the door so that he was flush against it. With as much force as she had given him, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into him more closely, bending down to deepen the kiss, breathing in sharply as their tongues met, as if it were his first breath in years. Perhaps it was. Reaching behind him, Nathaniel turned the door knob and pushed open the door with his back, pulling Erina into the dark room with him. He caught a glimpse of her glittering smile in the light from the hallway just as she kicked the door closed behind her.

Nathaniel awoke to a pounding at the door, sunlight flickering directly through the closed curtains and into his eyes. Ben’s voice was muffled through the wooden door, calling his name repeatedly, Nathaniel’s head throbbing with each word, and again with each knock. He’d definitely had too much to drink, without question. Never again, he promised, massaging his temples as he turned to get out of bed. It was only then that he realized he was naked. His pulse quickened as he could hear Ben fiddling with the door knob.

“Shit. Erina,” He muttered and then turned over to where he expected her to be in the bed, but she was nowhere to be found. Had he imagined the entire night before? Had it been some ridiculous drunken dream? His heart sank at the thought, but he did not have time to be sad, and rushed back into bed, pulling the coverlet and sheets up over his head just as been burst through the door.

“Nate,” he shouted and tugged the covers down from off his head, “There you are. Rodolphe’s been looking all over the place for you. Said he wants to know what you thought of his joust.”

“What,” Nathaniel asked hoarsely, squinting his eyes in the still unwelcome light.

“You did go to his joust, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” he lied in his most annoyed tone.

“I didn’t,” Ben said, laughing mischievously, “Unlike you, I actually had a good time last night.”

Just as Ben finished his sentence, a petite figure emerged from the bath area of the room, auburn hair a disheveled mess, and clad in Nathaniel’s shirt. “Hey, Nathaniel I --”

She froze as she saw Ben, eyes darting nervously between the red-headed stranger and Nathaniel. A wide grin slowly stretched its way across the young man’s face, eyebrows raising so high up on his forehead they might as well have flown away.

“Ben,” Nathaniel snapped, pointing to the hallway, “Out.”

“Nate, you dog ,” Ben exclaimed excitedly, unmoving from his spot in the middle of the room.

Nathaniel glanced over at Erina, who smiled, and brought her hand up to cover her mouth. Thank the Maker she did not seem embarrassed. “Ben. Out,” he repeated, “Now.”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” he answered, flustered, clambering to leave the room and close the door behind him.

Once he was gone, Nathaniel sat up on the edge of the bed, so that his feet touched the cool stone floor, and brought his hands to his face. He sighed as he attempted to scrub away the remnants of sleep and hide any evidence of his shame. The bed moved beneath him and there was a warmth at his side, a weight on his shoulder, and he dropped his hands and looked to see Erina, leaning against him.

“So that’s Ben,” she remarked cheerfully, turning her face up to look at him, smiling.

“That’s Ben,” he sighed again.

She shrugged. “He seems… enthusiastic.”

“You have no idea.” Nathaniel laughed, trying his damndest to not stare at the woman. She was even more beautiful than she’d seemed the night before. He was relieved he had not simply dreamed her up.

“I hope I get to know him better,” Erina stated, returning her head to its spot on his shoulder.

“Me too,” he said as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her more closely to him, his eyes fixated on the dresser at the far end of the room, where a small, bronze music box sat alone. “Me, too.”

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age awakening #nathaniel howe #nathaniel howe x cousland #cousland #my writing #update #temperance

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akatsukitobi · 4 years

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New updated and LONGER sneak peek at the other story I'm writing. It's a Kakayama of course, but it doesn't start out very pleasant and I'm sorry for making the boys suffer like I do. It can't be helped.

This one's called Dehumanized, from the disturbed song of the same name. It's gonna be rated E, and will have more than one content warning on it probably. I'm about 20k into it, and may post the first couple chapters today.

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It was 10:30 in the morning, and Kakashi had been summoned to hokage tower… an hour ago. He was late, of course. No doubt Tenzo was already there, waiting diligently while cursing his captain in his head. Did Kakashi get some sort of sick amusement out of making his kohai wait for him? Probably.

The younger boy was only 16, but he was the best subordinate that Kakashi had ever had. Even if Kakashi was being an ass, Tenzo still followed orders. (Though not without giving his captain a well deserved lecture first.) Kakashi may have been older, but that didn't mean he was more mature.

The third Hokage, Hiruzen Sarutobi, was waiting patiently in his office when the 19 year old finally arrived. Tenzo, however, had his arms crossed in a huff. "You're late."

Kakashi started in with one of his excuses. "Maa, Tenzo, there was an old lady who needed an escort-"

"Save it." Tenzo said simply. The teenager was trying to glare a hole through Kakashi's face, though the silver haired ninja knew he had already been forgiven.

"Kakashi, Tenzo, I have a mission for you." The older man suddenly cut in. "This is an A rank, but has the potential to be more difficult."

Kakashi and Tenzo listened carefully as their newest mission was laid out for them.

"There is a long road between the towns of Chikara and Hinawa in northern fire country. It seems there is a kidnapping ring working along its path, taking children and teenagers alike. So far, the 30 confirmed victims have been between the ages of 8 and 17. We don't know what they have been doing, but so far our preliminary reports lead us to believe that this is a civilian organization that is behind it. I need you to go undercover, walk the road until you gather their attention. What I'm asking may be a bit difficult." The hokage explained slowly. He sighed deeply before continuing. "You must let them capture you. We need them to take you to their hideout, and find out what their game is."

"But sir… aren't I a bit old for this mission?" Kakashi asked curiously.

"You are, but I happen to know that without that mask, you don't look 19. Also, in order for this to work, we will need to seal away your sharingan."

Kakashi opened his mouth to protest, but Hiruzen held up a hand to stop him. "It won't be a complicated seal, you will only need to send chakra to your eye for it to be removed."

Kakashi relaxed. He could work with that, though he wasn't too thrilled that he was going to have to do this mission maskless.

"Once you are in, you need to gather information and bust out. You can detain enemies if you feel you are capable of doing so, but we can always raid the hideout once you return or send coordinates." Hiruzen continued. "Understood?"

Both boys nodded.

That had been a week ago. Now, Kakashi Was walking along the most boring road in all of existence, wearing awful civilian clothes that he'd bought two days beforehand. Fortunately, Tenzo was good company. They got along fairly well, and conversation flowed easily between them. Every so often, between real topics, Kakashi would throw out something made up, prompting a random conversation that neither knew anything about.

"So, are you going to take Jessica out on that date?" Kakashi asked with a grin. He had never known anyone by that name in his entire life, and he was pretty sure Tenzo hadn't either. It was interesting to hear all the improvising that Tenzo could do.

"I don't know… she's kind of mean to me, don't you think?" Tenzo offered.

"So she hit you with a cake pan… that doesn't make her mean. You probably deserved it." Kakashi said with a shrug.

"She dunked my head in the toilet!" Tenzo squawked defensively. "Three times!"

"Yes, but didn't you take the last slice of pizza?" Kakashi said with a smile.

"Exactly. She probably hates me. Jessica is more likely to stab me than to go on a date with me. I'll save myself the trouble of a very painful rejection and just not ask." Tenzo answered.

"Maa, if you insist." Kakashi answered, laughing lightly. He felt the presence suddenly behind them. At least three people that hadn't been there before. Looks like this is it.

"Are you ready for the journey?" Kakashi asked vaguely, knowing Tenzo had probably felt the presence too.

"It will probably suck, but yes. Sounds kind of like a long trip, though." Tenzo answered. This mission had been slotted for two weeks. At least a week of that being held captive by civilians. It didn't exactly sound fun.

"Yeah, I feel the same way." Kakashi answered dryly, making extra effort not to flinch when the heavy object came at the back of his head.

The older ninja was hit with what felt like a frying pan. At the same time, he felt a pressure on the back of his knees, forcing his legs to buckle and crash down to the dirt. He yelped a little at the pain, the sound only half fake because damn that hurt. He turned both of his eyes towards Tenzo (both of them matching gray with the sealing jutsu), seeing that he was hit a little harder and was bleeding behind his head a bit.

Hands were on him, forcing him to the ground with a bit more strength than he was expecting. He resisted, trying to put up the facade of someone trying to escape capture as he yelled out at his attackers. Kakashi found that even if he had resisted at full strength, he might not have escaped. He didn't actually start to worry until a needle was jabbed into his neck. How sure was the third hokage that this was a kidnapping ring and not a group just murdering people?

He felt his chakra sapped away, and Kakashi started to really panic. He felt weak, like he had been sick with the flu for a week. The ninja turned his head towards his young kohai, watching as they snapped a metal ring around his neck. The thing was about an inch thick, and was black with silver markings on it. A seal? He didn't have much time to react as one was fastened around his neck as well.

"You think we didn't know you were ninjas?" A man behind him growled out. "With this, your chakra won't return to you, and ironically, the seal can only be broken with chakra."

Kakashi was ripped to his feet, and the damn things were barely able to hold his weight with how exhausted his body was. He locked eyes with Tenzo, and found the large brown orbs completely overtaken by panic and fear. Kakashi was trying to remain calm, but this mission had just escalated to an S rank, and he wasn't sure how they would escape without chakra.

A man just a few years older than him moved into his vision. The man was dirty, wearing old clothes and missing a few teeth. "Oh! This one is so pretty! And he has a nice scar on his eye. You know, if we give him a red contact, we could probably pretend he's that ninja from the leaf village!"

A woman came around and slapped him upside the head. "No one will fall for that, you buffoon!" She turned to look at Kakashi's panicked face. "He is awfully pretty though. I bet we get good money for him."

Kakashi was definitely nervous now. This was a human trafficking ring? Were they going to sell him into slavery… or worse? Their focus on his face made him excessively uncomfortable for what was to come, and he didn't feel any better as the black bag was placed over his head and his hands were tied behind his back.

#kakayama #kakashi #yamato tenzo #anbu tenzo

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maandags · 5 years

Text

Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon! reader) {part iii}

something resembling peace n quiet (ish) b4 the real shitstorm yeet

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Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.

Word count: 6.3K

Genre: Angst

Notes: ft witch!Coran bc he doesnt get enough love -- masterlist -- {previous} -- {next} --

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small-town boy in a big arcade

i got addicted to a losing game

~ Arcade, Duncan Laurence

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His fever isn't going down.

It's been five days and his fever just won't go down.

He's passed out on your couch, waking up occasionally so you can feed him and give him water to drink. Sometimes you have to shake him for minutes at a time just so he wakes up. You tried everything you knew, but the medicine you give him has no effect and the medicine you probably need is nowhere at your disposal.

It's safe to say you have no clue how to proceed and also are frustrated: you're risking everything here. You're risking being found by everything you have been outrunning for years and years. The combined auras of an angel and a demon are the closest thing to a signal flare you know.

And he just might die, and it will all have been for nothing, and you might still be located by Management and you would have to move. Quite bittersweet, you think wryly.

So Keith dying isn't an option. That much is clear. But as you sit in your armchair and glare at him, arms wrapped around the knees you pulled up to your chest, you have no idea as to how you're going to stop it from happening.

You clumsily wrapped him in a blanket when he collapsed on your couch. He's kicked it off since, and it lies in a bundle at his feet. His skin is ashy and pale and sweaty and his hair sticks to his forehead.

And his fucking fever isn't going down.

Usually you'd go straight to a doctor if any of your human friends were to contract a fever this stubborn–but you suspected bringing a dying angel to the average doctor won't do much good except frighten the poor sod to death. He looks like Death, you remark. What with his black wings and overall dark aesthetic, which is quite rare for an angel to have. You think, at least. It's not like you've met lots of them.

You sigh, filling a glass of water and holding it to his lips. He reacts almost subconsciously–he's not quite all there, but he's gulping the water down with gusto and you can only pray to the Dark Below that he'll hold it down, though that did seem to get better the last day or so.

The first two days were a nightmare. Keith tossed and turned and held nothing down, his stomach too upset. You had him spend his second night in your bathtub because he puked all over your couch. When he was asleep (which was most of the time) he had nightmares and whimpered constantly, and when he was awake he had hallucinations, his eyes clouded over. He even tried to attack you at one point ('tried' being the keyword here–he took a most pathetic swing at your face and cried when you dodged it easily).

If you had any common sense, you would have kicked him out long ago–hell, if you had any common sense, you never even would have considered taking him in.

Yet he is here. And you are here. And you don't exactly know how to feel about that.

Half the time you wish he'd just die already so you could be done at least with all of this. The next moment you feel horribly guilty and internally yell at yourself for thinking that way–because you made this choice. You decided to help him, and you should go through with it, even if it meant to be woken up at three in the morning because Keith was wailing again.

You brush your fingers across his forehead, hoping against better knowledge his fever had gone down, but he's still burning up. He's not tossing and turning anymore, he's not throwing up everywhere anymore. The last time he had a nightmare you actually noticed was more than a day ago. His breaths are shallow and irregular, and while you're no doctor, you know that's never a good sign.

You'd almost gotten used to having him in your apartment, and now you barely even notice he's here.

You've been on some extensive phone calls with Allura since Keith flopped into your life (which mostly consist of you yelling and Allura listening, occasionally muttering "go off, sis" into the horn) and you were itching for one now. You pull out your phone. Allura picks up on the third ring.

"Y/N, love, I have time for like, maybe a ten minute rant, because I'm at work and even though it's my break time my co-workers are giving me huge side-eyes and I still have four hours to go–"

"That's okay," you say quickly. "I'm fine, actually. No rants."

Allura pauses. "Sure about that?"

"Positive. I just had a question." You decide to throw in your favourite excuse whenever you have a weird question. As a nurse and your friend, Allura is often your first choice if you need to fact-check anything health-related."I'm writing this story..."

"Ah," Allura says. "Of course. Shoot."

You feel kind of bad for lying to her. But then again, telling the truth isn't really an option here, is it? "What does one do to break a fever that's been going strong for, say, five days, and literally no kind of aspirin is working and you can't take them to a doctor?"

"Huh. Well. All you can really do without, like, medical intervention, is wait, really. Yes, Jane, I'll be done in a minute. Have them sweat it out. Keep hydrated, remove excess layers of clothing, all that jazz. How high of a fever are we talking?"

"Um..." You glance at the thermometer on the coffee table. You'd taken his temperature just before calling Allura, to see if there was any change. Spoiler alert, there wasn't. "41.2 degrees Celcius."

Allura whistles. "For an adult? 'Cause if this is a kid, they have a problem."

"No, no, it's an adult."

"Okay. Well. You know, fevers aren't inherently bad for you. It's actually a way for the body to, like, kill heat-sensitive bacteria and viruses. So it's actually a good thing. Honestly I'm gonna just advise your character to stay in bed and drink water and sit in front of a fan. They should be fine."

You pucker your lips, poking Keith's arm with your toe. He doesn't move. "All right."

"You sound kind of unsure," says Allura, a tinge of concern to her voice. A pause. "Certain this is a fictional character?"

You bite back a curse. "Well. You know. I was–I was just curious."

Allura sighs. You imagine her rubbing the back of her neck as she shakes out her legs. "You know... as a medical professional–" the sarcasm drips from her voice– "I'm not really supposed to, like, recommend these types of methods to people because generally everyone thinks they're bullshit, but..." She hesitates. "My uncle Coran has this shop. He sells lots of weird, like, plants and crystals and crap like that. God, I can't believe I'm saying this. He might be able to help. Here's the address."

You lurch over to your desk and snatch a pencil and a post-it block, scribbling down the address she dictates. "Thanks, Allura."

"You are very welcome, dearest, but I really need to get back to work now. Bye."

"Bye."

You stare at the note for a while after Allura hung up. You don't exactly know the place, but a quick Google search helps you pinpoint it. It's not even that far, maybe a 20 minute walk. But something makes you feel uncomfortable about it.

He sells lots of weird, like, plants and crystals and crap like that.

It definitely sounds like something you should be a bit suspicious of. Plants and crystals. Hm.

But then again, you think as you cast another look at Keith who hasn't moved in over an hour, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, it's not like you have many other options.

Allura said to wait it out. But maybe fevers aren't as harmless on angels as they are on humans. Maybe waiting it out will kill him, and you will have to live with it knowing that you did nothing to stop it.

Grumbling through gritted teeth, you yank your jacket from its hanger, write out a quick note for Keith in case he wakes up (he probably won't, but just in case) and dash out the door.

It takes you surprisingly long to find the place.

What was a 20 minute walk turned to a 30 minute walk, then to an hour long walk. You zoom in on your phone's map, narrowing your eyes and combing through every little alley you passed, gnashing your teeth. No matter how hard you look, the shop simply doesn't seem to exist anywhere but on the map. Is this Allura's idea of a prank?

But that's not like her, you remind yourself. And somehow, the fact that you can't seem to reach the place only makes you want to find it more. So you grit your teeth and clench the note with the address (that you just can't seem to memorize, no matter how hard you try) in your fist and march on.

You round a corner and slam into a tall and lanky body.

You yelp, arms flying out to regain your balance. The person in front of you gives a surprised hum–they don't seem to be fazed at all. You look up, prepared to give them a scolding about how they've got to watch where they're fucking going and blink, all words dying in your throat.

"You okay, kiddo?" says the most eccentric-looking man you've ever seen.

"Uh..." you give your head a shake, trying not to stare at the man's bright orange hair and moustache, or the fact that he's dressed like one of those fortune tellers out of fantasy stories, complete with the huge ornate earrings and everything. "Yeah. Fine. Thanks."

The man's light eyes narrow ever so slightly, and you make a mental note to not let his appearance deceive you: you have the feeling he's much smarter than he looks. "Were you looking for something?"

You clamp your mouth shut, running a hand through your hair. "Hm. Actually. Yes." You frown, wondering if this is a good idea, but if anyone would know where Coran's shop is–the shop selling weird crystals and plants and crap like that–this dude would be it. You hold up the crumpled note. "Do you know where this place is?"

The man takes one look at the writing and smiles, a wide and slightly unhinged grin that has you almost instantly regretting your choice. "Well, I sure would hope I know where my own shop is!"

You try and resist the urge to flinch. "Oh, really?" you squeak, shrinking back. It's not a very demon-like thing to do, you think at the very back of your mind, but this guy looks like he could give even the scariest entities of the Below a run for their money. "Neat."

The man–who you assume is Coran–grins even wider and whips an arm around your shoulders. "Well, then! Let's not beat around the bush any longer!" He has an accent you can't place. It fits him, strangely. Everything about the guy is strange.

He whirls around, dragging you with him, and walks exactly three steps before slamming open the door to the shop on the corner. You frown, ducking out from under his arm and giving him a suspicious glare. "What is this? I've passed this shop at least five times." You glance up at the sign and do a double take. Where had previously hung a sad wooden board announcing a tailor's shop hangs now a weirdly pretty sign that seems to be made out of plants. Vines twisting to and fro and entwining and overlapping, fluorescent yellow-and-blue flowers you have never seen before dropping from it in clumps. It sways slightly in the air. There is no wind.

All the hairs stand up at the back of your neck and your fists clench at your sides.

"Maybe you weren't looking hard enough," comes Coran's amused voice from behind you. You spin on your heels, narrowing your eyes at him. You're not unfamiliar with these kinds of experiences–the supernatural, the unsettling, the technically-impossible–yet Coran manages to throw you off in a way nothing really has before.

The atmosphere around you has dimmed, the sole source of light the doorway and the glowing flowers dangling from the sign. You're not in the alley you were in not one minute ago anymore. Coran raises an eyebrow and cocks his head, and you notice how different he looks in this new environment. He fits here perfectly. The slight curl of his lips says, Well? What are you waiting for?

You think of Keith. How he would react if he were in this situation. If the roles were reversed and you were the one dying on his sofa. You push the door open and march into the shop.

You almost slam directly into a tree.

"Careful, careful," says Coran quickly as he grabs your elbow. He slips past you and leads you into his shop that looks like no other shop you've ever seen.

Shelves are stacked with pots and vials and little baggies, all propped one on top of the other. It looks extremely unstable. You resist the urge to pluck out one jar from the bottom and see if everything tumbles down.

Every price tag is hand-written, and when you take a closer look a chill runs down your spine. One never-before shared secret. Three childhood memories. none of the prices ask for actual money, which now seems pretty useless and weighs down the wallet in your pocket. One particular tag says Your deepest fear. How dramatic.

Every plant seems to glow, for some reason. You notice more of those fluorescent yellow-and-blue flowers like the ones hanging from the sign outside, and flowers that look similar but in different colours. There are plants that remind you of grapevines, snaking around trees and shelves and tangling themselves around every support they can find. Clusters of small transparent bells float from the branches, even smaller flicks of light trapped inside them. You squint at one of them, grabbing it out of the air and studying it closely. Something is fluttering inside of the little sphere. A firefly, maybe. Maybe. When you release it, it zips back to its original spot among the other glowing bubbles.

Coran plucks a few dead leaves from a tree stump partially hidden from view by a huge black-and-white striped candle. He grinds the leaves to dust in the palm of his hand and drops them in the candle's flame. It glows bright green for a moment, then a comforting scent begins to spread through the air. You inhale deeply out of reflex. It smells like nothing you've ever smelled before, vaguely familiar scents all mushed into one; your favourite hot chocolate (with a hint of caramel), Allura's fruity conditioner, the animal shampoo you use on the dogs at the shelter. The air when it's just stopped raining. Towels, fresh out of the dryer.

You blink yourself back to reality with a sharp jerk of your head. Coran is already moving on to the very back of the shop and you hurry to catch up with him, ducking to avoid the arms of a rather sad-looking ragdoll as they reach for you. "Hey, hey–who are you?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Coran."

"Yes, I know that, but like–" you gesture vaguely to the general space around you– "who are you?"

Coran thinks about that for a moment, one finger pressed to the side of his nose. "A hobbyist," he decides.

"Right." You take a step back, eyeing the dark and slimy substance shlorping across the floor towards your feet suspiciously. It shrinks back beneath your glare. "What are those hobbies, exactly?"

"You know," says Coran, waving his arms around, "plants. Medicine. The occasional cursed artifact. Just regular stuff like that."

"Regular stuff like that," you echo. Caws sound from above you. When you look up, you spot a bird slightly hidden in the shadows of the tree in which it is perked (was that tree this big before?), glowing red eyes fixated on yours. You raise an eyebrow at it, cocking your head. It mirrors you, feathers ruffling and swooping from one side of its head to the other. It screams again, then spreads its wings and climbs up the tree with a speed you didn't expect. Literally climbs: there are claws on the joints of its wings that it uses to hack into the tree's bark. You brush a bit of dust off your shoulder and continue walking.

Stepping over the puddle of dark slime, you follow Coran even further into the shop. "You said you do medicine," you shout after him. "I need medicine to save my–" The words hitch in your throat. What is Keith to you? An acquaintance? An enemy? A guest? "My friend," you settle on.

Coran throws you a look over his shoulder, throwing off his ornate blue coat and suspending it in the air where it floats obediently beside him. He plants a hand on a bony hip. "Your friend," he repeats, a glint in his eyes you don't trust at all.

"Yeah." He's not getting more out of you, you assure yourself. That's it.

Coran watches you for a moment. "Hm." He turns around and starts rummaging through the shelves packed with jars and boxes and bottles, pulling out a number that all look the same to you, but evidently Coran knows exactly what he's doing. Occasionally he asks you questions.

"Reasonably high fever, is that right?"

"Yes."

He fumbles for a mortar and dumps a clump of brown-reddish leaves in it.

"Hallucinations? Nightmares? Inexplicable bouts of extreme hunger?"

"Yes, yes, and... no? Not that I know of?"

Humming, he adds a few drops of a clear liquid and a pinch of powder from a leather pouch. The mixture starts to sizzle and you eye it cautiously. Its colour shifts from a muddy purple to a darker blue. Coran whistles through his teeth, narrowing his eyes at the many pots around him as he searches for the next ingredient. His eyes focus on something behind you and he gestures with his pestle. "Grab that round orange pot for me, will you."

You turn. The pot in question is small and kind of hard to spot, and you have to twist your arm in strange shapes to reach it from where it's blocked by other plants and rocks. It's dusty and surprisingly heavy, and when you turn it over there's a crudely painted picture of a skull on the lid. Your head snaps up and your fingers tighten around the pot.

Coran rolls his eyes. "I didn't have any other pot to put it in. I'm not gonna murder your friend."

You hand the pot over to him reluctantly, keeping a close eye on whatever it is he's doing. Inside is a reddish-brown paste, and Coran scoops two heavy spoonfuls out and mixes it into the blue mixture. It becomes a pleasant shade of violet. He grabs a round marble-like thing from a vase filled with similar spheres and chucks it into a fire pit at your feet. Flames burst to life, searing hot and sending you stumbling back from the wave of pure heat that comes rolling over you. Coran puts a lid on the mortar and drops it into the fire.

"So, that's gotta bake for a minute," he says cheerily, spinning around and clapping his hands. He snaps his fingers, and immediately vines begin writhing and entwining until a stool has formed. He plops down, facing you. "You have questions. Ask them. Go on."

"Will you answer them?"

he flashes that wicked grin of his. "Maybe."

You grit your teeth, staring into the flames roaring in their pit. The longer you look at them, the wilder they grow. Agitated.

"Oh, dear, don't look at them. They don't like being watched."

Your gaze snaps back to him. "How did you know what's wrong with my friend?"

"I didn't. I guessed," he adds with an eyeroll when you narrow your eyes at him. "It's easier to guess than you might think. When customers are especially preoccupied with something I can usually read it right off of them. You were no different."

"Right." You pause, not sure which of the hundred and forty questions swirling through your mind to ask next. "What if the medicine doesn't work? Can I come back?"

"It'll work."

"But if it doesn't–"

"Are you doubting my abilities?"

"What? No, but–"

"It'll work."

His tone makes it clear there's no room for discussion. At the sight of his dangerously glinting eyes (or maybe they're just reflecting the flickering flames) you decide to veer onto a safer topic. "Can everyone get into your shop? Why couldn't I find it until you showed me?"

Coran slouches a bit in his throne of vines (it's got a back and armrests now, too, and it's growing those little glowing grapes) and considers the question. "Everyone can technically get into the shop," he says slowly, as if carefully choosing his words, "but not everyone will. It's not hidden, exactly–not to the people who aren't looking."

That confuses you. "So you're saying one won't be able to find the shop if they're actively looking for it?"

"Sort of."

"Does that mean that the people who do find it aren't looking for it in the first place?"

"I guess so? Man, kid, you're asking difficult questions."

"I'm curious." You fold your arms, tucking your chin down to your chest. "And that makes no sense anyway because I found it and I was looking for it. So."

"Yeah, but you didn't find it until you actually ran into me and I showed you." Coran leaps up and stretches out his lanky limbs. "So, we still have a bit of time left before that's ready. Do you want to arrange payment now?"

Caution crept into your veins as you remember the strange price tags you saw upon entering the store. But you're not getting this medicine for free, you remind yourself. Keith won't get better by himself. The price was the price and you're willing to pay it. So you nod.

Coran grabs a box. He opens it, and inside are the last things you expected: stacks of paper, each one scribbled upon with minute precision, every sheet adorned with different handwriting. He hands you a blank sheet: it's about the size of a business card, yellowish-white and kind of grainy to the touch. It reminds you of parchment.

He also hands you a pen. It looks like a regular ballpoint pen, and when you shoot him a questioning look–you had expected at least, like, a quill with purple ink or something–he shrugs. "They're cheap. And easy to charm."

Right. You roll your eyes. "So what's the price?"

His eyes are just a little bit too shiny. "What do you want most?"

You sigh, long and drawn out. Your grip on the pen tightens ever so slightly. "Really? The way too overused one?"

Coran shrugs again, gesturing to the blank card in front of you. "It's overused for a reason, kid. It just happens to work really well."

You clench your jaw, tapping the pen against the wooden surface of the table, forcing yourself to think about the question in a serious manner.

What do you want most?

You rack your brain for an answer, puckering your lips. There are a lot of things you want. You want Allura to be safe and happy. She's got a demon for a friend, for fuck's sake. You want to not have to worry every day about Management finally tracking you down and locking you up in the Below. To feel safe.

You bring the point of the pen down to the paper and start writing, frowning when the ink doesn't appear. You go over the lines a few times, even scribble a bunch of lines in a corner to get the pen to work, but to no avail. The ink stubbornly refuses to stain your piece of parchment.

"Your pen doesn't work," you say, irritated.

Coran casts you a knowing smile. "It works just fine. Try again."

You try again. No results. You throw down the pen, letting your head drop and taking a deep breath as you lean against the desk, because you know exactly where this is going. You have experience with these kinds of enchanted objects. You chew on the inside of your cheek, glaring at the pen as if it personally murdered your firstborn.

It wants the truth.

And you refuse. You refuse to give it what it wants because it's ridiculous. Absolutely and utterly ridiculous.

But this is the price. This is the price you told yourself you would pay no matter what.

A deep breath. One more.

You snatch up the pen, gripping it so tightly your knuckles go white, and press it down onto the paper. Immediately the ink flows out, letting you write your re-evaluated answer. It almost seems to sneer at you and when you throw the pen down, handing the card to a way too smug-looking Coran, you refuse to look him in the eye.

The medicine is ready.

Coran pulls it out of the fire using tongs (because it might be magical fire, but it's still fire, and it's generally not a good idea to stick your hand in fire) and drops it in a tub of water you're sure wasn't there before. A moment later he pulls it out and removes the lid.

The paste has transformed itself into a rock-hard ball about the size of a large pill, perfectly round and kind of rough and sandy at the surface, and when Coran hands it to you it's almost freezing to the touch. It startles you so much that you almost drop it.

"Smash it to bits and put the shards in this here baggie–" he hands you what looks like a tea filter– "and let it hang in a glass of cold water for a while. When the thingie's drained of its colour and goes clear and the water has turned bright blue you make sure he drinks the whole thing before it goes warm, yeah? That's very important. He's gotta drink it right away, and he's gotta drink the whole thing. It might not work as well if he doesn't drink the whole thing."

The fact that Coran refers to the pill as "the thingie" makes you more than a bit uncomfortable, but you decide to take his word for it, because what other choice do you have?

"Right." You turn to leave, when one more thing pops into your mind. "Actually," you face him again, "I have one more question."

Coran sighs. "You have a lot of questions."

You ignore him. "How do you know Allura? Or, rather, how does Allura know you? She's the one that gave me your address in the first place," you explain. "She's my friend."

To your surprise, Coran smiles–a genuine smile this time, where his eyes crinkle in the corners, not the manic grin he's shown up till now. "I knew her father very well. I've watched her grow up. She knows she can always knock on my door."

It doesn't make much sense–what business would Allura's dad, world-famous scientist, have with this man? You decided to give it the benefit of the doubt. "How much does she know? About all this?"

"I think she knows, deep down. I don't know how much she believes. What she tells herself is real, and what isn't."

You hesitate. "Does she know about me? What I am, I mean?"

Coran heaves an exasperated sigh. "Yeesh, kid. How am I supposed to know that? I didn't even know who you were up till now!" But you get the feeling he's lying. "Now get going. Go on." He starts shooing you towards the door, gently pushing you through the shop.

You blink in surprise, too stunned to do anything but follow suit. "Wait," you stammer. "Wait, I have more questions! Will I be able to come back?"

But Coran waves you off, giving you nothing but a smile and a "Bye-bye!"

You stumble over the threshold, the pill and its baggie in your clenched fist. Cold renders your fingers almost numb, and you open them, exposing the pill to the night air. White smoke curls up from it, and you turn it over to your other hand, wincing as you rub your fingers to get a bit of warmth in them again. It's like you're holding a hailstone.

When you look up, you're disoriented by the bright lights from street lamps around you, and the fact that you're not in the same alley you were in before you entered Coran's shop. It's not even the same block. You make a full turn, dazed, before you recognise the little grocery store on the corner of the street: it's the store where you do most of your shopping. It's right across from your apartment building. Coran deposited you as close as he could to your home.

You push open the door to your apartment with your shoulder, icy pill in one hand and two bottles of chocolate milk and scotch whisky in the other, letting exhaustion creeping into your muscles as soon as you enter the familiar environment. One look to your sofa confirms Keith has barely moved over the hours you were gone. The note and the glass of water you left for him sit untouched on the coffee table.

You make your way to the kitchen and set down the bottles, grabbing a small tray on which you drop the pill. Smash it to bits, said Coran. The back end of a kitchen knife does the job just fine. To your surprise, the pill shatters immediately, shards flying everywhere. You curse, sweeping them all up and dropping them into the tea filter and filling a glass with cold water. As soon as you hang the bag in the glass, blue drips out of it in wisps, slowly tinting the water a cool blue colour. You drop onto a kitchen chair and watch with your chin in your hands, the droplets of blue seeping from the bag mesmerising.

When the water doesn't seem to get any bluer, you peek into the bag. The shards are completely colourless, now resembling bits of clear glass more than anything else. You carefully pick up the glass, hissing through your teeth at the coldness of it.

Keith is still fast asleep, shivering. He's thin, you notice. You can see his ribs through his shirt. Setting the glass down on the coffee table, you try gently nudging him awake. He doesn't respond.

"Come on," you grumble, grabbing his face and tapping his cheek. "Wake up!" Your stomach twists at the thought that he might not wake up in time. The medicine will have warmed up. You should have woken him before preparing it! "Please," you whisper, swallowing back the lump in your throat. "Don't let this have been for nothing. Come on. Wake up, dammit!"

He groans under your touch. You breathe out a shaky sigh of relief as you coerce him into sitting up. "Don't you fucking dare fall asleep again." He looks at you groggily.

You raise the glass to his chapped lips. "Drink up."

He takes a sip and flinches, bursting into coughs. "Cold," he manages. You almost wince at how weak his voice sounds–barely a whisper. He'll get better, you remind yourself. He just has to drink this and he'll get better.

"I know," you mutter, nudging the glass to his lips again. "Drink it. It'll make you feel better."

He eyes you suspiciously but obliges, squeezing his eyes shut as he gulps down the contents of the glass. He shivers, smacking his lips when it's empty and you put it on the floor. "Ah. Gross." But as he shifts, you can already see the colour return to his cheeks.

"Rest," you say, brushing strands of hair away from his forehead. "You'll feel better in the morning." Your voice is shaky and your hands tremble as you bring the glass back to the kitchen and thoroughly wash it, using about a quarter of the bottle of dish soap, running it under the hot water until the stubborn cold is completely gone.

You're tired. You don't even have the energy to shower, so you brush your teeth and crumple into bed, only taking off your boots and trousers. You keep your socks on and pull the comforter tighter around you. You're cold.

As you turn to face the wall, you think back to Coran's stupid enchanted pen. Wondering if you've made a mistake. The words you ended up writing down looping through your mind, over and over again, lighting up in front of you whenever you close your eyes. What do you want most?

I want to be safe from Management, was your first answer. The answer the pen hadn't let you write down. And it was what you wanted most–or at least what you wanted most until Keith had shown up on your doorstep just over a week ago.

What do you want most?

You drift off to sleep, the question nagging at the back of your mind.

You jolt awake at the crash, bolting up from your bed and racing for the kitchen, where the sound had come from. In your hand is the knife you keep in your nightstand. Your knuckles are white around the hilt. You slam a hand on the light switch, and the person bent over and hidden behind your fridge hits their head and yells in pain, and you brandish your knife and scream at them to Stay back!

"It's just me! Y/N!" Keith says, holding up his hands above his head.

You huff out a breath, letting the knife drop to your side. "Keith?"

He nods, blinking and squinting against the bright light. You're only barely over the shock of seeing him up and about, yet you can't help but notice how thin he looks and how weary and sunken his eyes are. His eyes keep flicking back to the knife still in your hand, and you quickly snap it shut, slipping it in the pocket of your sweatpants.

"So I take it you're feeling better?"

He nods again. "I'm hungry," he says. His voice isn't quite back to normal–it's still quite hoarse from not having used it in over five days–but you suspect it won't take very long. "Sorry for startling you. I'll go back to sleep."

You grab his arm before he can walk past you. "Nonsense. You've slept for five days straight. I'm hungry too, anyway. I can order takeout?"

He gives you a tentative smile. "That'd be great."

And that's how you end up sitting in your brightly lit kitchen at four in the morning, eating out of cardboard Chinese takeout boxes, with an angel whose life you saved. His wings are completely concealed now and don't bother him when he sits in a chair or lies down. While neither of you talks much, you both sneak glances when you think the other isn't looking.

What do you want most?

He looks nervous, and even though he insists he's not tired you can tell he's fighting against the weight of his eyelids, his movements droopy and slow, as if he's moving through layers of syrup. When he almost drops his fork (at four A.M. you're allowed to eat Chinese with a fork) out of exhaustion, you nudge his leg with your foot under the table.

"Go back to sleep."

"I'm fine. I'm still hungry."

"You can eat tomorrow. You're barely able to hold yourself upright, idiot."

He sighs but pushes his chair back and stands up. His knees immediately buckle beneath him, and you shoot out of your chair and only just manage to catch him before he drops to the ground. "All right, okay. There we go. I got you."

"Not feeling as good as I thought," Keith mutters into your shoulder as you practically drag him to the sofa.

"Evidently."

You tuck him in (it seems like such a childish gesture–but curled up like that, looking thin and fragile, Keith reminds you of a small kid and it just feels like the right thing to do) and resist the weird urge to plant a kiss on his forehead. You settle for a somewhat awkward pat on the shoulder.

You stick the leftover food in the fridge and make your way back to your own room. You're still kind of cold, so you keep the sweatpants and sweatshirt on, bringing the knife out of your pocket and setting it back on your nightstand before climbing into bed.

The buzzing of the city outside of your window keeps you up for hours as you toss and turn. Feelings you don't know what to make of churn through you. Relief at the fact that the medicine seems to be working. Fear, because you don't really know how to proceed now. A demon saving an angel's life–that one's pretty much unheard of, you think bitterly.

Oh, if Management were to find out... not only would your fate be settled, you would have signed Keith's death warrant along with it. The comforter bunches in your clenched fists and you twist around, shutting your eyes resolutely.

What do you want most?

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obscurehistoricalinterests · 5 years

Text

P.J. Ransone on finding himself through Generation Kill

Twenty-seven is a strange age in the most Joseph Campbell sense of the number, especially for the male persuasion. It is the time when you realize you’re not 20 anymore, that whatever clever antics you may have done at a younger age now make you cringe. You’re also coming up hard on 30 and I think you start to evaluate the path that you’re on. Twenty-seven is the age when rock stars die and become legends, but to me it marked the death of my youth, when my past caught up with me and punched me in the head.

I weighed 115 pounds, was about 30 grand in debt and had developed a pretty healthy heroin habit. I had a few accomplishments under my belt as far as my career was concerned: I had been in some successful movies and television shows, and a few almost-successful rock bands. I was “cool” (in my mind at least) to a handful of downtown Manhattan degenerates. Things got so out of control in my head, that at one point I remember being offended when my agency would send me scripts for roles as “the junkie.” Looking back, I was far from the person I wanted to be. I was quickly on my way to being a 30-year-old adolescent. Twenty-seven changed that.

I was involved in a five-year relationship with a wonderful woman who I loved very much. It had run its course. Or to put it more succinctly: she got fed up with my bullshit and finally decided to leave. Let’s face it — junkies don’t tend to make the best boyfriends.

This set off a chain of events that led me to sober up and step up to the table as far as being a man was concerned. There were a lot of things going on inside me that I hadn’t faced, or at the very least, refused to acknowledge for a long time. There were a lot of hard corners in me that needed to be softened. I had no idea what the results were going to be as far as taking some responsibility for my past, but the outcome has been pretty remarkable.

It’s funny what happens to you when you decide — or are forced to decide — to make positive changes for yourself, because in my experience it starts a nuclear chain reaction. Change is painful no matter what form it takes. I’ve learned that the only constant in this weird life is, in fact, change. If I’m not going through it, something is wrong.

I feel like I evolved into the human being I had hoped to become while living in Africa working on a miniseries for HBO called Generation Kill, based on the book by the same name written by Evan Wright about his time embedded with a battalion of reconnaissance Marines during the initial six weeks of the invasion of Iraq. The book is basically an apolitical, true-life account of what it’s like to be on the ground as an enlisted serviceman in modern warfare. Ostensibly, it’s a road-trip story. Writers David Simon and Ed Burns adapted the screenplays with Wright, and I had worked with the pair previously on HBO’s The Wire. When I arrived in Namibia — where I was to live for seven months while filming the show — I had no idea what to expect. I had landed the part of Cpl. Ray Person, the sped-up Marine who drove the point Humvee in Iraq in March of 2003. The role itself was much bigger than I had anticipated. The amount of work cut out for me had yet to sink in.

The day I turned 28, I was participating in a simulated night mission that marked the end of a boot camp that all the actors were required to participate in before we began filming. It was kind of unreal how much had changed in a year. Part of the catalyst for growth was the job itself, but much of the credit can go to the people with whom I got to share the experience. During this time, I became acquainted with two guys who changed my life.

Eric Kocher and Jeff Carizales are two Marines who fought together in OIF1 (Operation Iraqi Freedom). They had been brought to Africa to be military accuracy advisers during production, and their input was instrumental to the credibility of the show. Not only are they Marines, but they are two of the actual guys about whom Evan Wright wrote in his book. So here are these two dudes, reliving the drama of their lives, watching actors interpret their stories so that they are portrayed as accurately as possible. I think the word “trippy” comes to mind. I had no idea that I was going to end up loving these guys as much as I do.

Eric Kocher is imposing in the most terrifying sense. Imagine a shorter version of the Incredible Hulk with Tom Selleck’s face and a brain filled with an encyclopedic knowledge of military history and modern warfare tactics. By age 28, he had served in the Marine Corps for close to 10 years and done more than five combat tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan. While on a combat mission in Iraq, his Humvee was hit by a rocket- propelled grenade that nearly blew his arm off. Another member of his team, who was in the back of the truck, lost both of his hands in this same attack. Later, he would tell me that he himself pulled out the pins that had been surgically implanted in his hands so that he could get back to combat sooner. When people ask about the insane scar on his right arm he usually tells them it’s from an old “skateboardin’ accident.” He is one of the funniest people I know. For as intense as his appearance is, he’s one of the most loyal and kind-hearted human beings I have ever met.

The other Marine I befriended was Jeff Carizales. He drove the same Humvee that Eric was in during the invasion in of Iraq. He is 100 percent Texan, through and through. He is the type of person who will insult you within seconds of making your acquaintance, only to test your resolve. It’s hard to sum up Jeff in anything short of an epic poem. When I first met him in a bar in Africa, I wanted to punch him in the face within about three minutes. He insulted my clothes, the city I lived in and my general way of life. We only started to bond after we opened up about the demise of both our long-term relationships and our mutual disdain for most actors. Certain anecdotes can paint a better picture. For example, while traveling in Europe recently, he would meet other international backpackers and tell these elaborate stories about what he does for a living. He liked to regale these people by telling them that he was a small-arms dealer training guerilla forces in northern Africa so they could overthrow their governments. The truth is, he is an engineering student at Texas A&M. When he flew home from Europe, he thought it would be funny to dress up in Chechnyan mujahedeen garb, thereby convincing airport security that he was a terrorist. Yes, this is the man I spent seven months with.

These guys introduced me to a side of life with which I had been unfamiliar. In some way, they reconnected me to myself. As a shit-bag junkie who lived in New York, I rarely came across servicemen unless they were sailors visiting the city during Fleet Week, in which case they were usually just in the way on my way to the bar. My father is a Vietnam vet, and my natural inclination towards people who would volunteer for that life could politely be described as “resistant.” I just never understood why someone would knowingly sign up for something that seemed so conformist, in my opinion. I was way off base in this assumption.

Let’s start first by saying that I don’t support this war or the reasons why we are over there. I am of the school of thought that we should clean up our own yard before we start to clean up someone else’s. Having said that, the people I have met who are in the armed forces are doing a uniquely un- American thing. It’s unique in the sense that we grew up in a country of excess, to the extent that in this post-industrial, post-sexual-revolution age in America, my generation gets to live off the fat of the land without developing a work ethic that generations before ours seemed to have had. In the age of short attention spans and reality television, Marines are a group of people that actually strive to go against that excess. As Wright points out in his book, “they have chosen asceticism and assimilation over the idea of being an individual” who can dream big and be the next American Idol winner. Out of this, it seems, comes maturity.

There is a school of thought that seems to imply that as Westerners, we have lost a certain amount of our identity because the rites of passage into adulthood are viewed as archaic. There is no tradition for sending boys out into the wild, not to return home until they came back men. To a large extent, the Marines seem to have experienced these rites, and for a short amount of time, I did as well. While living in Africa, Eric and Jeff forced me to grow up,to look at things differently.

We forged this bond by taking long road trips while filming the series. The production itself was grueling. We had six-day work weeks, but anytime that we would have more than 24 hours off, we would plan these insane adventures and take off on a whim with little more than half a tank of gas and a change of underwear. Most weekends we would drive 10 hours to Cape Town to blow off steam. On longer breaks we would look on a giant map of the continent, pick a spot and point our car towards it. We would have made Hemingway proud.

I can’t tell you how many times Eric and Jeff got me nearly killed, whether it was while we were breaking into Botswana, nearly drowning in the Zambezi river, or avoiding getting trampled by elephants. Our road trips got to be so infamous that the producers would send out memos specifically targeted at our little tribe, letting us know that we were an insurance risk. It’s generally considered a bad thing if one of your actors dies during production — from a business perspective, anyway. In fact, Eric and Jeff always wanted to know the location of the closest U.S. Embassy in case I did die so they could fly back to the states and not get sued by HBO.

During these trips, I really felt alive. My brother (who was with us on some of these adventures) pointed out that it was because these guys have truly lived. They have been around more death and destruction than I could possibly imagine or cope with, yet their vitality is undeniable. I don’t remember a time that my stomach didn’t hurt from laughing. I dealt with more insults and put-downs from them than anyone could imagine, but after a while I came to realize that they were forcing me to examine my shortcomings and actually do something about them. They have a fraternal bond that I envy. For a little while, I got to experience it. They treated me as a brother and tenderized me like a piece of steak, because, at the end of the day, they wanted me at my strongest.

Living in Africa with Eric and Jeff was the best experience of my life so far. The art that imitated life was imitated by life again on our road trips. The irony was that after a breakup forced me to re-examine myself, some of the most romantic moments I have had in my life were with these psycho jarheads — but not in a “gay” way.

It’s been a year since we started production on Generation Kill. I recently turned 29, and by the time this article comes out, the show will be airing. I talk to Jeff and Eric regularly. I miss them and that time in my life. Regardless of whether the show is popular or not, I am a stronger human being because of the experiences I had with them and what they taught me. I will have that for the rest of my life. This August, I plan on taking a motorcycle trip in Mexico with them. There is part of me that hopes not to return, knowing that it wouldn’t be any fun if those two weren’t trying to get me killed somehow every day we’re on the road. I think I can honestly say that while I do not support this war, I do support our troops.

- Source

#generation kill #genkill #pj ransone #hbowar #essay #article #eric kocher #jeff carisalez

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sunlitlion · 5 years

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candleverse chronicles | pt 0

so. astral projection. we all do it.

okay, not all of us, but some of us do. and ya girl is no stranger to it.

if you know of the slenderverse, specifically the everymanhybrid verse, you know of the candleverse. habit’s playground, the pocket between timelines and dimensions.

i’m gonna astral project there. and im gonna keep all my notes here. in case anyone is stupid enough to follow my footsteps.

so, for anyone into emh but not witchcraft/astral work... here are some sources. (x), (x), (x) < that last one is a masterpost of resources for research purposes and those looking to astral travel.

a warning: if you want to astral travel, do NOT do what i’m doing. i’m not smart. this isn’t kosher. this isn’t a good idea. even with all of my precautionary measures im still putting my astral body at risk. if you really truly want to, you can PM me about it, and ill share my personal notes but i am NOT a professional. go forward at your own damn risk.

alright, so warnings aside, let’s get into the prologue.

i am lucky enough to have contact with an evan, a habit, and a noah/firebrand. if you believe in kin shit, call it that. if you believe in past lives, call it that. i personally call it a mix of past lives and a system. i am a spiritual person. don’t pm me, send an ask, or @. me about it because i’m not gonna respond.

i asked firebrand and evan about the candleverse and got their specific general advice for what it’s like, precautionary measures, and an escape plan. here’s what i was told, in transcript form:

firebrand || candleverse notes

general

- Mind tricks. Constantly changing. Do not trust your senses, rely only on your intuition, it’ll guide you.

- It looks like Princeton, New Jersey. Evan’s house is the exact centre, and the clearest part. Everything beyond it gets darker and harder to traverse through due to illusions and mindfuckery.

- There is a purple haze that surrounds the Candleverse. It’s safer, but harder to work out. Hide here, but don’t stay in one place for too long.

- The bridge is an OK spot. But don’t fall in the river. You’ll die in the astral.

protective measures

- Do NOT try to play offensively. It won’t work. You’re in Habit’s house.

- Use wards for hiding, and confusing anything that enters the vicinity.

- Use glamours to alter your astral body and make you into a spirit as unassuming as possible. Humans are what he wants.

- Keep your vibrations basic. Too low means you’ll be drained. Too high means you stick out.

- Get a glamour for any guides or thoughtforms you bring. (In my case, Figaro the thoughtform).

escape plan

- bring a power bank or totem that will give you just enough energy to make a door and leave if you need to in a moment’s notice.

evan || candleverse notes

general

- Do NOT interact with the Candle versions of Evan, Vinnie, and ESPECIALLY Jeff/Steph. Just don’t do it. They’re like big fucking beacons.

- Any kind of foliage is good. Trees, bushes. If a rabbit can hide in it, you’re good. A good rule of thumb is “Think like a rabbit.” So, the town is a good place to hide, but it’s also gonna be real confusing. Anywhere out in the open, you’re fucked.

- If your vibrations are high so you can keep up magic, places with moderate lighting are gonna be your best bet, so you’ll blend in. If you’re keeping your vibrations low to hide, keep to the edges and forest-y areas. Whatever makes you feel safest. Either way, you’re playing on the losing side in a game rigged in Habit’s favor.

- If you aren’t panicking, you’re giving off less energy, so you’re safer. Fear will stink you up, and it’ll catch Habit’s attention. Keep calm, you’ll stay safe.

- Cover the tracks of your spirit/thoughtform if they can’t do it themselves, or if they naturally produce magic. For example, my thoughtform Figaro is built to feed off of naturally occuring excess negative energy and build harm-shielding wards for himself and I from it. In the Candleverse, this process needs to be hidden.

- Piggybacking off of that point, a mosquito could fart and Habit would know. Any tiny move you make, any change to the verse, Habit will pick up on it. He might ignore it if it’s insignificant, but he might not. If you do something risky, your best bet is to get away from the mess, hide, and try not to leave a trail.

protective measures

- Only stay in for 15 minutes at first, up to 30 minutes. No longer than an hour. Time is slower in the Candleverse, but you’re gonna get exhausted, and it’s gonna get easier to find you.

- Do not let Habit know you’re a human. You’re toast.

- Get better at improv. Learn how to play your part. If Habit approaches you, do NOT panic. Know what you’re supposed to be and act like it.

- Use DEFENSIVE wards and magic, not OFFENSIVE. Wards that protect you from harm make it seem like you’re EXPECTING Habit to attack you, and he might just. He’d definitely seek you out for it. Don’t make it seem like you’re ready for a fight.

escape plan

- Make that power bank as inconspicuous as possible. Remember-- play the part.

- If you’re in a bind, or about to be caught, just make a break for the edge, find a place to hide, and calm down before leaving.

other

if you’re like me, and tend to crack under pressure or panic in the face of danger and make the wrong decision, then you’re gonna wanna practice beforehand.

there are all kinds of candleverses that take place in different areas of the timeline of EMH. start with a dead candleverse, in which there are no more traces of habit. you will know the difference because the energy they give off is pure white rather than dark purple.

live <-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------> dead

this is the scale firebrand gave me in reference to this. the closer to white they get, the more dead the candleverse (meaning the less traces of habit, the safer!).

another look at the scale

white verse - no traces of habit, little to no traps or illusions, dawn/sunrise

grey purple verse - just a hint of habit, slightly more traps and illusions, midday

pale purple verse - a little of habit, a moderate amount of traps and illusions, afternoon

blue purple verse - half habit, slightly more traps and illusions, sunset/evening

true purple verse - mostly habit, many traps and illusions, dusk

dark purple verse - habit is live and present and on the prowl, a fuckton of traps and illusions, dead of night

i was also lucky enough for firebrand to be willing to get in contact with other firebrands, as all noah’s stick together, and they might be able to give me a little extra help. pending.

map

firebrand and evan helped me to draw out this rough sketch of the map, but it will be updated as I explore.

as i said, it’s very rough, but here’s a key.

☆ - safe for hiding purposes

* - unsafe

X - immediate death

``` - light source (the more light, the more unsafe)

🌀 - entrance point

EH - Evan’s House, the center of the Candleverse. UNSAFE.

Town - Just as the name implies. Good for hiding but, very dark and confusing. Take it slow.

B - Buildings. Decrepit, good for hiding.

N.E.H. - Never ending house. If you recall, in Bridge to Nowhere, Noah went up and down this stairwell repeatedly. Unsafe.

Bridge - Bridge to Nowhere. Moderately safe. Don’t stay on for too long.

P.G. - Playground. Moderately unsafe.

Open Space - Not good. No hiding spots.

Forest - Very dark, but good for hiding. Lots of foliage.

River - Runs through the forest and under bridge. Instant death upon touching.

Habit tends to stay around the more lighted areas. Do not by any means go near or enter Evan’s house. Just don’t do it.

protective measures

so, we all decided that lots and lots of defensive magic is your best bet. cover up the fact that you’re human first and foremost. if, like me, your energy is bright and beaming, make an energy mask to cover that. put up wards with multiple layers. put up illusion glamours with multiple layers. run, hide, camouflage. you’re a rabbit here.

here’s what im doing specifically. lemme go over it.

defensive-offensive ward - protects from anything you deem to be harm. it won’t do much for you at that point. if all of your other wards/glamours have failed at this point, you’re fucked anyway. its basically one last line of defense if all else fails.

illusion/energy mask - this is to change your energy. its to cover up your human parts. make it strong. make it powerful. make it work. if habit gets a single SNIFF of your human pussy, your ass if grass and he’s gonna mow it.

appearance glamour - this is to change your appearance and all. make you look not human. idc what you look like, im choosing a hazy kinda shadowy unassuming spirit type thing. look lost, not like a tourist.

camouflage ward - this is gonna make you blend in to the foliage and shit much better. keep you under the radar. you are a cat in the night. a simple breath in the breeze, you feel. you ARE the dancing queen.

hidden/hiding illusion - same deal, but this makes it harder to track you if you hide. hide well, don’t fuck this up. its literally your astral body on the line, maybe even your astral life. but don’t worry, as long as you hide your cord and keep it in tact, you can come back. just give it a few moon cycles.

and thats basically all ive got in preperation for this trip. ill keep cc updates coming as they happen. my first trip is tomorrow (Tuesday, March 19, 2019), around 5:00 PM CT.

#mine #candleverse chronicles #astral projection #astral projection stories #candleverse #emh #everymanhybrid #habit #evan jennings #tribe twelve #firebrand #noah maxwell #etc etc #experiences #notes #grimoire

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thepureomum-blog · 6 years

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Postnatal OCD

My pregnancy was unexpected, I was so excited when I seen that second line. - however I also felt a massive sense of fear over what life would be like with two children, and how I would be able to continue working. It wasn’t as good as my first pregnancy either, I had horrible morning sickness, to the point where I couldn’t leave the house without a sick bag on me. I had a haemorrhage at 10 weeks with some bleeding which terrified me, and unknowingly to me my OCD was beginning to become a lot worse. At work I couldn’t touch any chemicals, not even dishwashing liquid. I had to wear gloves for everything, it was very hard to just do my normal work tasks without an overwhelming sense of dread or fear. Around 10 weeks I had a bit of a breakdown. I think I was just scared, and worried about letting down the people I worked with. I love the community that surrounded me at the pub, everyone was basically family - and it felt like I was about to tell my family that I’d managed to get knocked up for the second time. I don’t even think I was scared about losing my job, I was more worried about disappointing them. After the haemorrhage I stopped working and started staying at home. I isolated myself and my actual pregnancy is quite a blur. I remember being terrified of everything, and hardly eating because I was worried about what chemicals they might have in them.

Once Claira was born I didn’t get any relief though. The anxiety became worse. All of a sudden I was overwhelmed with what might happen to Claira if I left her, even for a second. I remember my Mum helping me in the early days, she would tell me to leave her asleep, or go do something while she’s sitting in her swing. But I just couldn’t leave her. I would constantly put my hand on her chest to feel her breathing. If I walked away I had to come back once every few minutes to check on her. My Dad visited a month after she was born, while we where out for dinner I bit my lip while chewing. Instead of knowing that I had just bit my lip, I instead noticed the tingling the bite had left behind, and for some reason I convinced myself I had a cold sore. Coldsores where all over facebook with how they are horrible and can kill a baby. I was constantly inundated with posts of how the virus is so easily spreed. And even though I have never had a single cold sore in my life, I somehow convinced myself I had one.From that moment onwards I scrubbed my hands clean every time I touched anything. I was constantly using hand sanitiser, and wiping everything down with anti-bacterial wipes. I felt like the fear of it was controlling me, but at the same time I let it go because if I had a cold sore I had to protect Claira the best I could. After a few days went by my bite mark started to heal and it became increasingly apparent that I didn’t have a cold sore. I began to have a faint memory of biting my lip - I realised that for the last 3 days I had such an over-heighten fear of coldsores that I barely remembered anything. It’s like having a drunken bender without the fun - and you still get the worse hangover. I was out of it for at least a day after It stopped. My fear that I might actually have the coldsore virus never actually went away though - I washed my hands until they where red and cracked from all the soap and alcoholic sanitiser. Soon after we moved down the south coast to Eden. My family had just brought a fish and chip shop and I was going to help out around there. I felt off as soon as I moved down there. We rented a house that use to be the old medical centre. Being in the kitchen or bathroom instantly brought back traumatic memories of my own hospital trips. I began to feel trapped. I loved being closer to my mum, and experiencing the amazing fishing and locals on the south coast… but I just felt trapped, like the house I was in wasn’t good for me. I started feeling worse and worse. My intrusive thoughts began to come back, and I was so tired of listing to them. They started with me thinking about harming myself. Then they turned to my daughters. What if I accidentally fell down the stairs with Claira? What if I crash the car on one of those dirt roads and hurt her? The thought’s weren’t just audible either. They came with the most distressing and horrible visuals. It’s hard for me to even write about it. As the thoughts of accidentally hurting Claira started to come more and more, I felt less and less stable. I was in a new place, Ryan was leaving to start an apprenticeship in Cowra, and even though I lived closer to my mum, I was in town and mum was still 30 minutes away. I began to lose sense of reality, and I dissociated from myself . Even though reality had slowed down, my mind didn’t. It was like it was running a race, constantly putting horrible and distressing thoughts into my mind. It didn’t take long for me to begin to wonder if I was fit enough to be a Mother. What I didn’t realise then was that I had a disorder called OCD. It’s commonly stigmatised as a disorder where people excessively clean things, or like things in order. You most commonly see it as a 'cool test' you can take on Buzzfeed to see how organised you are. The funniest bit is that while I was growing up I actually wished I had OCD. Little did I know that I did have it, just not the way society made it out to be. My OCD made it impossible to do simple tasks. Assignments, writing or even getting out of bed was difficult. Every time I would talk to a psychologist, they would always ask me why I couldn’t get out of bed, or why I felt like self harming - and honestly I had no idea. The reason I didn't know is because OCD does this thing where it essentially makes you believe that the thoughts it puts into your mind are always 100% what you feel and think, and come from you. That you should feel guilty for these thoughts because you are responsible for them coming into your mind. Even though we all have these thoughts, people with OCD seem to read too much into them. It’s like every single bit of information that comes into your mind is important and means something. OCD is a very confusing and under-diagnosed disorder. It takes on average 28 years for an OCD sufferer to get professional help. I’ve had OCD since I was 5 years old. If I didn’t have my postnatal breakdown I could have gone another 9 years or more before being diagnosed. OCD was known as the doubting disease in early medicine records, it’s because OCD can make a suffer doubt everything in their life. From whether or not they’re a good person, to wondering whether they even exist. There was many times during my worst OCD and Disassociation attacks that I question if reality was real. Everything felt like a movie, and I constantly wondered if life was real or it was just a figment of my imagination. Although this might be a common thought amongst most people, when you’re at your lowest you start to become disconnected from everything, you emotions and thoughts become heightened. It’s harder to feel physical pain, but emotional and mental pain is at it’s worst. There where moments when I was on the bathroom floor just trying to breath. My heart felt like it was beating out of my chest and my entire skull felt like it was on fire. The only way to put the pain I felt into physical terms, is by saying I would rather go through childbirth again then go through that. The pain and fear controlled me, and after treatment and medication I feel like I have to share my story, because if I don’t there might be someone else who is exactly where I was. I would do anything to help someone out of that torture. My panic attacks made me realise that mental illness isn’t just in our heads. It is a serious illness that if left untreated can completely depilate us and diminish our quality of life. It forces us into problems we never would have even imagined if we were well. It makes you constantly question every single movement or word someone says to you. I can understand why priests and doctors back in the olden days believed in demons. Because when you are going through an episode it really does feel like you have no control over your own thoughts or actions - and after someone is left untreated it can become out of control. Which is why it’s so important to normalise mental illness like we would any other physical injury, disease or disorder.Mental illness can’t just go away because you change your diet, or lifestyle. Mental illness can take away our self control, and make things like getting out of bed, or cleaning the house physically feel like we were running a marathon. The biggest thing that changed when I finally felt the effects of my medicine was how hard everything was. It was like basic life things where some sort of university level task - as soon as the medication helped level my hormones level out, I began to feel like life was becoming easier. All of a sudden it felt like I was flying through kindergarten again. I could clean my house without a massive sense of fatigue. I could write again without worrying that I put the same word in one sentence, or constantly re-reading and checking my writing every 3 minutes. I feel the closest to normal that I have ever been in my life, and I strongly believe that finally finding out what my disorder was, and being able to research into it and learn specific coping methods that work for OCD has finally given me the tools I needed to live a normal life. It’s still going to be hard, OCD is something I have to live with for the rest of my life. But I’m better equipped now to navigate through those rough times - the hardest step I ever took was opening up to a psychologist… But it is also the best step I had ever taken. Please if you feel off talk to someone, they won’t judge you. They’ll help you. Even if you just call a national help line. Those first steps are the hardest, but they’re also the most important - and I know this sounds stupidly cliché - but once you take them you’ve started your journey towards getting better. No one who hasn’t suffered through this would understand how hard it is for us, even though I had OCD my entire life, I didn’t realise how hard it was to me until I had my breakdown.

We have to support each other, and stay strong. If we help each other through our journeys we’re more likely to succeed.

#actually ocd #pure o ocd #ocd #awareness #mental health #mental disorder #positive mental attitude #postnatal mental health #support

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brownstonearmy · 3 years

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12-12-2020: Cleansed in the Water (Pt 3)

August 17th (Monday Morning)

On a still morning several days after the destructive flooding of Brownstone, the inscrutable outhouse has burrowed into the mud east of town while our assembled party of adventurers is awaiting their work orders for the day. The stillness, however, is soon interrupted by the sounds of a struggle approaching the town square. Four vigilante militiamen have tied up an elderly woman and an undead skeleton and are dragging the pair to the center of town to face justice.

Q, who goes by Sparkle today, approaches the leader of the vigilantes to see what's going on. The vigilante has captured Granny Agatha and her skeletal manservant, Tandy, as he believes she used her witchcraft to flood the town and avoid her trial that was scheduled for today. The vigilantes have no need for the involvement of Sparkle and their cohorts, believing them to be hoarding money to keep the town from recovering. Sparkle is soon joined by Lucky and Spleenifer, all of whom poke considerable holes in the the vigilante leader's witchcraft conspiracy theories.

As far as Lucky is concerned, the only thing Granny Agatha flooded the town with was good cookies. But these negotiations go south, and Lucky eventually deploys a casting of Suggestion to force the group of vigilantes to release Granny Agatha and Tandy to go make some of those delicious cookies. This is a phenomenally good idea in the vigilantes' minds, and Granny Agatha and Tandy are released to do some emergency baking!

Granny Agatha cautiously backs away from her captors and beckons to the party for a quick word. She thanks the party for her rescue, but warns them of a particularly troublesome vision she has recently had:

There are two dragons that will visit Brownstone and bring death and decay to the city. One dragon is angry and impulsive, while the other dragon is corrupted and pestilent. Whether the dragons are metaphors or literal omens of things to come is unknown, but our party of adventurers is prophesied to be involved somehow. Fate has not yet decided their role. She gives them a scroll of Greater Restoration that she believes will prove useful at some point in the prophecy, before apologizing for the vague nature of prophecy and hobbling off to complete her cookie baking.

Spleenifer's hand begins to exude a viscous brownish-black liquid that seems to whisper as it drips down and slithers into the stagnant mud of the ground. She tries to decipher the language of the whispers, but it's not one she's familiar with. It doesn't seem to be any language that is spoken in this realm, though. Just as soon as it began, the trickle of liquid stops and leaves behind no trace.

Mayor Dunwall happens to amble by, taking Spleenifer aside to talk about rebuilding the city after the flood. He suggests looking into the wondrous world of renewable dung-based construction, as Mayor Dunwall has already renovated his manor with a large volume of poop.

Although Spleenifer sees no problem with such a clearly pragmatic solution, Sparkle disagrees about the level of enthusiasm the populace will have regarding new architectural guidelines. Perhaps people should be given the option of rebuilding with conventional means before barreling toward booty-based building blocks.

Loud clanking sounds from a few streets over attract the attention of the party. It sounds like the heavily-armored footfalls of some sort of giant creature drawing near. Moments later, a big porcelain construct piloted by Cornelius, the Gnomish mad scientist, rounds the corner.

Cornelius's invention looks vaguely humanoid, though its head consists of a basin the party has seen before: it's the very basin that Cornelius tried to buy at auction some weeks back before the party repatriated the basin back to its home at the Order of the Immaculate Shadow. Water spews forth from the basin as Cornelius attempts to power wash the poop off the streets and houses.

Mayor Dunwall is enraged at Cornelius's destruction of such an abundant building material and gets into a shouting match with Cornelius and his construct. Things get more heated by the second, and Spleenifer tries to interject some reason into the situation before things turn violent. Mayor Dunwall storms off in a huff, ending the debate... for now.

Lucky suggests that Spleenifer ask Cornelius about the weird liquid seeping from her hand earlier, and Cornelius is quick to ask if Spleenifer has been in contact with any cults lately. Lucky mentions that the Order of the Immaculate Shadow has a lot of cult-like qualities, and that the party has had some dealings with them in the past. Cornelius gets cagey until he's sure that the party won't snitch on him, eventually telling them that the basin topping his latest creation was originally an OIS artifact that had gotten displaced by the flood. And since he paid good money for it at auction, it's his.

Cornelius is using the basin to purify and wash the town to prevent pestilence from overtaking the city, and he calls his newest creation MAXIMUM BIDET. Yes, the name is written in all caps. It's a branding thing.

Anyway, as soon as Cornelius mentions a pestilence, Sparkle remarks that this must be the sick dragon part of Granny Agatha's vision. The party weigh their options and try to convince Cornelius to part with the basin in exchange for a better one from the Order of the Immaculate Shadow's compound.

Cornelius readily agrees to fund an "expedition" to the OIS compound and acquire a new and improved basin before things get bad. Time is of the essence for Cornelius, so he throws some serious coin around to make it happen. He tosses the party a back of 900 platinum pieces, which another 900 platinum upon completion of the mission.

The party convinces the Cornelius to disconnect MAXIMUM BIDET's basin, but Cornelius accidentally pulls the wrong cable and says the one word no one wants a gnome to say: "Oops."

MAXIMUM BIDET into a murderous rage as its cables get uncomfortably prodded. Sparkle tries to put the construct to sleep, but the creature is too powerful. Lucky casts her new spell, Xear's Chaotic Command, and chooses Gear from her list of options. She summons a five foot cube of paper towels to appear in the basin and clogs MAXIMUM BIDET's deadly water spray. Spleenifer attacks with an array of smacks and smites, but MAXIMUM BIDET retaliates with a mean slam of its own.

Cornelius gets flung into the business end of a wall, croaking out "Save the basin!" before falling unconscious. Sparkle reckons that a particular hose on the neck is probably the best way to disconnect the basin, and relays their observation to the rest of the party before lunging to detach the hose.

MAXIMUM BIDET's arms contract and crush Sparkle. Lucky casts Thunderstep and yanks Sparkle out of MAXIMUM BIDET's grasp. Spleenifer strikes again, and while she and MAXIMUM BIDET are locked in combat, Sparkle makes a stunning acrobatic check to disconnect the hose. They take a flying leap and yank things loose with a primal scream.

Our battered and bruised party eventually meets up with the Acting Keeper of the Cradle of the Order of the Immaculate Shadow, which is a really long title but the title had to get a little longer after the previous Keeper of the Cradle got eaten by the inscrutable outhouse. The party trades the basin previously used by MAXIMUM BIDET to the Acting Keeper in exchange for a an exquisitely crafted (but non-magical) basin to give to Cornelius. Lucky plans to soak the new basin in some of the excess cursed magic item sludge that Miss Mavis keeps at the shop in hopes of giving the basin the appearance of robust enchantment. If someone's paying 1800 platinum for the basin, you may as well make it look the part, right?

After the Order's magic basin is once again secured, the Acting Keeper starts doling out troubling information like there's a liquidation sale on prophecies. In not quite as many words, here are the highlights of that conversation:

The Ring of Norozogaan has been used to signal a powerful acolyte exists who wishes to serve the demon lord.

A 30-foot tall wall of infernal ice from Cania in the Nine Hells surrounds Stout Manor, indicating devil involvement in addition to the demons.

Norozogaan requires its acolytes to complete a deadly task to prove their loyalty, and the process starts an irreversible change in the prospective acolyte.

Brynnan is the most likely candidate to become an acolyte, and both he and any traces of Norozogaan's essence must be destroyed.

If Lennipur's Basin (the basin previously stolen and used by MAXIMUM BIDET) is destroyed, Norozogaan will gain enough power to prevail in the fight against Lennipur and bring an eternal age of decay into the world.

The adventure concludes for the evening as the party comes to grip with the truth bombs from the Acting Keeper. Destroy the supreme source of evil or else the entire world will fall into ruin. No pressure, right?

Stay tuned next time for more!

#adventure log #shits and giggles #Dungeons and Dragons #fishdavidson #maximum bidet #prophecy #cornelius

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thechasefiles · 6 years

Text

The Chase Files Daily Newscap 4/15/2018

Good Morning #realdreamchasers! Here is The Chase Files Daily News Cap for Sunday 15th April 2018. Remember that you can read full articles via subscribing to Nation News Online, purchasing a Sunday Sun Nation Newspaper (SS) or via Barbados Today (BT).

STAB OF DEATH - The usual hustle and bustle of a Saturday afternoon in Bridgetown came to a standstill yesterday following the brutal murder of a 36-year-old nail technician and mother of two. According to police reports, the woman, whose name was not released, but who our investigations indicated is Onica King of Four Roads, St Philip, or Lead Vale, Christ Church, was working in her shop at No. 41 Mandela Plaza on Swan Street when she was attacked around 2:45 by a man who is well known to her. He reportedly fled the scene on foot. This latest killing sent the number of murders in Barbados for this year to ten. When a Sunday Sun team arrived on Swan Street, the mood was sombre, with people speculating on what had taken place. Shops in the immediate vicinity of the plaza were also forced to close because the area was inaccessible. As news of the stabbing incident spread, hundreds of curious onlookers gathered on both sides of the cobbled street, which had already been cordoned off by police, so they could only watch from a distance. Many who abandoned their shopping or delayed trips home took up any available vantage point as they tried to catch a glimpse of the body, which was still in the building. Many passers-by, including fellow nail technicians, vented their frustrations about the incident and most called for the Government and the law to do something to punish the perpetrators. Since the stabbing, a video of the dying woman has gone viral, showing the victim’s two children (a boy and a girl) crying and screaming for their mother before being taken inside a room by an unidentified male. At least one woman collapsed on the street sobbing uncontrollably. When the news team left the scene at 5:45 p.m. a large crowd was still gathered, waiting on the body to be removed. This incident comes on the heels of the stabbing death of police officer Shayne Welch on March 26 during a reported love triangle at his home in Kingsland Drive, Christ Church. Applon Parris has since been charged for his death. (SS)

NEW BUT PRESIDENT ELECTED – Sean Spencer is the new president of the Barbados Union of Teachers. He secured more votes than former president Pedro Shepherd and Everton Briggs when elections were held on Friday. Below is the full list of those elected to serve on the executive for the period 2018 - 2019. President - Sean Spencer; Vice president - Richmark Cave, General Secretary - Herbert Gittens, Deputy General secretary - Rudy Lovell, Treasurer - Candacy Griffith, Public relations officer - Julian Pierre; Executive members: Andre Holder, Asha Yearwood, Tanya Mayers, Jacqueline Prescod, Andrea Puckering, Dwayne Greenidge. (SS)

MARA: IT WAS STRESSFUL, STRENUOUS – The former Member of Parliament (MP) for St John Mara Thompson is confident she made the right decision to step down from electoral politics. She spoke about the decision on Friday night after a meeting at the Democratic Labour Party (DLP) constituency office in Carters, Gall Hill. There she said her final goodbyes to party members and those who made up the constituency council. In a brief interview after the proceedings, she said while she enjoyed representing the people of St John as one of the few female MPs in Barbados, as a mother, she felt relieved. “I am so filled with relief that I am not sure if I have mixed feelings of such,” she said. “I am sure I made the right decision and I am happy to go and take care of Mara now.” Thompson, who was elected in 2011 after the death of her husband former Prime Minister and MP for St John David Thompson, in 2010, said public life was a bit more than she could chew. “Yes I found it was stressful and strenuous. I felt that I wasn’t paying sufficient attention to what’s happening at home and how the girls were doing. I still have a 16-year-old. “One of my daughters said to me when I first started out that I have taken on all the hats that David wore and as I thought about it leading up to my coming out, it was true. I pretty much took on everything he did, constituency and all, but David had a wife, a cooperative, supportive wife and I don’t have what he did.” When asked what was the straw that broke that camel’s back for her, she said it was too personal and could not comment. However, as it relates to her achievements, she said she was pleased with what she did, pointing to her success in completing the David Thompson Health And Social Services Complex at Glebe Land, opening a new post office in Four Roads and fixing roads in Haynesville and other areas. Thompson added that she thought people in that constituency were annoyed with her for her decision to back down but to her surprise they were not. “They seemed thankful and grateful to me for running . . . . It was a phenomenal experience and I learnt a lot despite it was taxing.” The candidate for the parish in the upcoming General Election is George Pilgrim, the general secretary of the DLP and three-time defeated St Thomas candidate. (SS)

ALARM OVER WEIGHT OF GIRLS, WOMEN – Barbados is eighth in the world in relation to the number of females – 15 years and over – who are overweight or obese. According to a report produced by the World Health Organisation in 2011, Barbados comes in at 63 per cent in the rankings. Trinidad and Tobago runs a close second with 61 per cent, while Dominica and Jamaica bring up the rear with 60 and 53 per cent, respectively. Professor Alafia Samuels, director, Chronic Disease Research Centre, at the University of West Indies Cave Hill Campus, said the situation was alarming. She was giving the inaugural lecture entitled Confront The Epidemic Of Obesity – Is Sugar The New Tobacco? in the Roy Marshall Lecture Theatre. Data analysed in 2010 showed that 33 per cent of nine- to ten-year-olds were overweight or obese, representative of more than one per cent increase yearly. “The other issue with childhood obesity is that it causes raised blood pressure in children. Most children have no reason to have high blood pressure; it is a disease of adulthood, but obesity will bring on raised blood pressure in children,” she said. While she added that obesity was the most important underlying cause of death in Barbados, she said in order to reduce the amount of sugar consumed on a daily, people needed to eat foods with a low glycaemic index. “We break everything down into glucose, but the large starch molecules or complex carbohydrates give you a slow and extensive breakdown and therefore a slow rise in blood sugar,” she explained. She said sugar-sweetened beverages was the leading cause of obesity, diabetes and heart disease in both adults and children. (SS)

SOCIETY LOSING FIGHT AGAINST NOISE – The Society for a Quieter Barbados (SQB) has not been muzzled. But a lot of its members who agitated over the years for a noiseless Barbados have either passed away or are no longer active in the organization. President Carl Moore told the Sunday Sun that he was still inundated with noise complaints from Barbadians and visitors, but he said with only he and a public relations officer now running the show, there was little they could do to campaign against noise pollution. Recalling when the organization was first launched in 2002, Moore said he never expected it to be around for a long time because he believed Barbadians would easily comprehend the seriousness of such an irritant. “All we had to offer was quiet, and we thought that people would welcome a little quiet, but it was not to be,” he confessed during an interview at his home. At the height of its popularity the organisation attracted a membership of 250 people. “But overtime people died. . . . We lost people like Dr Leonard Shorey, Peter Morgan, Leonard St Hill, Sir Frederick Smith and Oliver Jackman and things started to slow down from about 2006. We were pretty active in keeping a website, we ran short notices in newspapers and we participated in town hall meetings.” One of their major successes was having the issue of noise pollution addressed in the National Commission on Law and Order 2000. However, Moore said even with this significant mention the legislation which they so badly needed to bring effect to the issue, eluded them.“We were involved in all these things but still not able to nudge the decision-makers to the point where they would put on the statute books strong legislation to deal with noise pollution,” he lamented, pointing out that even though noise pollution was addressed in four pieces of legislation, they were relatively weak. “We were calling for something with real teeth. The Road Traffic Act, Highways Act and the Public Order Act, they all touched on noise and the nuisance that could be addressed. As far back as 1979, discussions were held but to date there has been no real progress and police have to rely on persuasion and veiled threats of prosecution. Moore, 78, said the SQB started to fall off around 2008, struggling for three consecutive years to raise a quorum. “So Barbadians have learned to live with noise, to tolerate it; but the thing about noise, you may adjust to noise by ignoring it but the ear never closes . . . .” Some of the noise pollutants include loud music, kites, revving of vehicles and motorcycles, political and church meetings, barking dogs; even the ringing of cell phones. Moore hopes that Barbadians would become more considerate and tuned into the health hazards that excessive loud noise can create, but he still remains optimistic that young people will step forward to continue to fight for a quiet society. (SS)

POLICE APPEAL FOR INFO ON JEMMOTTS LANE FIRE – Police are currently investigating the cause of the building fire which occurred about 5:30 a.m. today at a section of the Ministry of Health at Jemmotts Lane, St Michael. They have cordoned off the area and are appealing for anyone with information to contact them. Public relations officer Acting Inspector Rodney Inniss revealed that both the upstairs and ground floor sections housing the Vector Control Unit were destroyed by the blaze. The upper floor of the Barbados Family Planning Association was destroyed while the ground floor suffered water damage only. One section of the two-storey wood and wall structure was used to store files, furniture and chemicals belonging to the Vector Control Unit. The ground floor of another section contained computers belonging to the Barbados Family Planning Association and, the upper floor was used as an exercise area. Three fire tenders and one water tanker along with 12 personnel responded to the fire and at 12:30 p.m. they were still on the scene. Anyone who may have any information on the fire is asked to call Central Police Station at 430-7676, Police Operations Control Room at 430-7100 or any other police station. All information will be held in strict confidence. (BT)

FIRE CAUSES CLOSURE OF TWO AGENCIES – At least two agencies will remain closed tomorrow after yesterday’s early morning four-hour blaze at the old Ministry of Health buildings on Jemmotts Lane, St Michael. The fire sent residents of nearby communities scampering, affected the Vector Environmental Section and brought operations at the Barbados Family Planning Association (BFPA) to a halt. It appeared to have started at one of the unoccupied buildings and was reported to the Barbados Fire Service at 5:30 a.m. The upper floor of the BFPA was destroyed and that agency will remain closed while the ministry’s Rodent Bait Distribution Centre will also be closed, with officials advising members of the public to collect the bait from any polyclinic except the Edgar Cochrane, Wildey and the Glebe, St George. A few residents who did not want to be named said they were awoken by the sounds of sirens and they quickly picked up the scent of burning wood. Smithy of Smith’s Corner Bar, which is located south of the compound, was on the beach when he noticed the smoke. He immediately rushed home to see if his property was affected. Though it wasn’t affected, the asthmatic said he and the eight other tenants of the two-storeyed building left due to the thick smoke. The intense flames burned for hours and engulfed a number of buildings, including the section used to store files, furniture and chemicals of the Vector Environmental Section, while the upper section of the BFPA used as an exercise area was destroyed and the ground floor used to store computers suffered water damage only. Those who showed up at the clinic yesterday had to be turned away. Minister of Health John Boyce who was briefed on the incident later said the necessary chemicals were taken away from the area. The BFPA acting executive director Anderson Langdon and chief financial officer Sonya Alleyne were both at the scene assessing the damages. Alleyne estimated that about 35 people from their Youth Advocacy Movement (YAM) which handles the Adolescent Young Mother’s Programme would be affected along with the Community Sexuality Education and other youth outreach activities. Langdon said the BFPA had been the home of the institution since 1966, and even though it was an old building, they had now being set back, as he made an appeal for help. Divisional officer Mervin Mayers said the residents who lived on Jemmotts Lane including residents of London Bourne Towers and Nelson Street were asked to move due to the asbestos roofing. Four fire tenders and one tanker, and 14 officers from Worthing Fire Station and Bridgetown responded and their investigations are ongoing. (SS)

RODENT BAIT DISTRIBUTION CENTRE CLOSED – The Rodent Bait Distribution Centre located on the old Ministry of Health compound, Jemmotts Lane, St Michael has been closed after today's fire which destroyed a block of buildings. The public is advised that rat bait may be collected from any polyclinic except the Edgar Cochrane, Wildey and the Glebe, St George. (SS)

EUNICE GIBSON POLYCLINIC TO CLOSE EARLY MONDAY – The public is advised that the Eunice Gibson Polyclinic, at Warrens, St Michael, will close at 1 p.m. on Monday, April 16, to allow staff to attend the funeral service for a former colleague. The Ministry of Health apologises for any inconvenience this closure may cause. (SS)

SIR JOHN A MAN OF PRINCIPLE – He was their cheerleader, their life coach and their teacher. And he was not afraid to take a stand if he believed in a principle. These were the memories of the children of Sir John Connell, Lachmi and Dr Kwame Connell who were speaking at his service of thanksgiving at the Cathedral Church of St Michael and All Angels yesterday. The 81-year-old retired Justice of Appeal passed away on March 28, and his service yesterday drew legal luminaries and politicians from across the divide to the 229-year-old church. During a service attended by Prime Minister Freundel Stuart; leader of the Barbados Labour Party, Mia Mottley; Retired Chief Justice Sir David Simmons; Chief Justice Sir Marston Gibson; members of the judiciary, the magistracy and the legal fraternity, Lachmi remembered her father as a man who stood on principle “regardless of the repercussions”. “An example [was] his voting with the Government while being an Opposition senator on the issue of increasing the number of constituencies, having discussed with the leadership at George Street that they would not rescind the law if they win the next General Election, only to be fired from the platform by then party leader Errol Barrow,” she said, adding his philosophy was that he should be able to face the man in the mirror every day. She said he was branded a radical but explained that his humble beginnings in a chattel house in the “Back Ivy”, born to a carpenter father and a seamstress mother, underpinned his philosophy of educating Barbadians. She added his one unfulfilled desire was that he wanted to do more for Haiti. Her brother Kwame said his father taught by example and was a teacher “who was never tired of learning”. “He wanted to educate his people even though it wasn’t always well received,” his son recalled. He held his father as their teacher, their cheerleader, their moral compass and their life coach. “He taught by example and he set a very high standard,” he told the congregation yesterday, adding his father had “genuine trouble” with the “concept of boredom” when “there were so many books to read”. The sermon was delivered by Dean of the Cathedral, Dr Jeffrey Gibson. (SS)

THOUSANDS ATTEND WINNIE MANDELA’S FUNERAL – Thousands of mourners crowded into a stadium in Soweto, near Johannesburg, where the campaigner was given a high-level send-off. Her casket was draped in the national flag, and South African President Cyril Ramaphosa delivered the eulogy. Mrs Madikizela-Mandela, former wife of Nelson Mandela, died earlier this month at the age of 81. (BT)

KADOOMENT BAND LAUNCHES PICKING UP STEAM – The Crop Over Festival fever is quickly heating up. So far, a number of bands including Zulu, Khepri Kulture and Erup The Band have unveiled their costumes which they will take on the road come Grand Kadooment on August 6. The latest was Erup which released their Hidden Treasures: Gems of the Caribbean theme on Friday night at George Washington House. Their five sections include Ametrine, Black Opals, Mystic Topaz, Mojave and White Diamond. Zulu International Inc., the self-proclaimed Fun Band were the first out the gates on March 18 with their theme Hidden in the Stars. Sections include Milky Way, Unidentified Wukking Object (UWO), Stargazer, Apollo, Nebula, Supernova, The Auroras, Comet and SagiA: The Black Hole. New band Khepri launched soon after with sections designed by varying section leaders. Options include Denyque, Silent Morning, Flavaa Nation, Spektrum and Mojito. Krave the Band is set to launch tonite at Ignite Bim, followed by Xhosa tomorrow night. Kontact, Eunioa, Colorz, Baje, Aura, Betty West and LUX Carnival also have quickly approaching dates. Crop Over will be officially launched on June 2. (SS)

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