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dreaminae · 3 years

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We All Need The One Friend

Chapter 15

Sure, distance makes the heart grow fonder, but it also drives the brain aloof. Or so, that was Liv's take on her current situation. Almost four weeks went by since the big family dinner blowout where Billy and Jordan learned of Liv's drinking. Four weeks since her father's overwhelming disappointment swallowed Olivia whole with a growing fear of being sent away for help once more. Four weeks since her fear led to Liv, running away for help from the one person who she hadn't been in contact with for months -- her sponsor. And four weeks since Liv was giving a large wake-up call when she found her former sponsor behind bars for attempting to steal from her very own parents.

That night Olivia saw what could be her possible future if she didn't receive proper treatment while she still had the chance. Despite her fear of being sent away, she returned home after hours of dodging calls and texts from her loved ones. She walked into her home ready to accept the help, no matter the consequences. And perhaps that why fate played into her hands.

Fore when Olivia returned home, she found both her parents welcomed her with open arms, simply content that she was alright. Following the long night, Liv was surprised to find her family already with a suitable compromise. Instead of shipping her away, Billy and Laura decided upon an intensive program that allowed Liv to remain at home while she recovered.

Later into that evening, Spencer dropped by for what they both knew would be their last moment together for a long term. Acknowledging that they both had things to work on, they agreed to delay their romance until they were both in a good place to be together for real. They weren't breaking up or taking back the feelings they once declared. No, they were -- as Liv put it that night -- 'playing the long game'. Sealing their goodbye with a heartfelt kiss, they parted ways.

Focused on her recovery, Olivia found a new sponsor and confidant in Nurse Joy. Admitting her dependency upon Alcohol, and accepting responsibility for falling off the wagon, Olivia began her road to recovery. Meanwhile, Spencer centered his time on football and plotting his plan to bring Crenshaw a state championship.

Ignoring their constant desire to be together they cut off all physical communication, choosing to stick to the everyday messages to check in on one another. It wasn't until the night of Jordan's second concussion they were able to be in each other's arms.

Utilizing each other as helping shoulder through damaging announcement of Jordan's future in football, they found comfort in their buried affections. Having each other's back when Simone dropped the marriage reveal, Spencer and Liv supported each other when confronted by Billy and Laura.

The secret marriage only adding to Liv's troubled life as Laura grounded her into the next century for her deceit. Life toppled their trivial matter with the death of Tamika, shaking Olivia's inner social justice warrior to its full-frontal.

From leaking footage of Tamika's wrongful death to protesting for the indictment of the guilty officers, Liv found something bigger to be a part of. Her best intentions leading to backfire as Laura took the heat of alleged bigoted D.A. Learning to accept her mistakes, Liv tried to make the best of a complicated issue.

She and Kia's devotion to cause, sparking Spencer to follow suit, persuading his team to take a knee during their most important game. Inspiring by the Crenshaw team their opponents took a knee in protest. As a result of more football teams following Crenshaw's players in taking a knee, Crenshaw was granted another shot at the state championship.

Everything seemed to play into Liv and Spencer's hands, except the main thing they both desired since summer. It was all in a matter of timing, and they both couldn't help but anticipate when that moment would finally arrive.

So when they found themselves planning a surprise party in honor of Spencer's mom earning her college degree, the anticipation rose to a new peak.

"So no gouging out my eyes?" Liv playfully joked, allowing herself to make a joke of the foolish comments people were making about her online.

Spencer scoffed as if insulted. "What, those pretty eyes? You crazy." His eyes drifted from the direction of her eyes to her lips.

Olivia smiled softly as he quickly shifted back to their original conversation, unsure if now was the right time for them to share that type of moment. "You gon' help me fix this came or what?" He questioned with a crooked grin.

"Yes," Liv replied with a cheeky grin as she hopped from her seat, wondering how long he'd wait to make a move.

The next hour and a half flew by with them baking the cake while making basic small talk to catch up with one another. They discussed Liv's daily meeting with nurse joy and how her recovery was coming. Liv caught Spencer up on Jordan's everyday hobbies since his time away from football, while Spencer tried his best not to admit to Liv that he was aiding in Jordan's desire to return to football. Their topics switched until they circled back to Spencer's upcoming game against Westlake, and how Olivia punishment lifted just in time for her to come see him play.

"You'll be my personal cheering section." Spencer goofed as he iced the bare cake.

"Of course. I'll be decked in your jersey number and sporting Crenshaw colors all night." Liv giggled, imaging herself ornamented in Spencer James merchandising. "I'll be shouting the loudest. Go, Spencer! Kick some Westlake ass!" She shouted cheerfully, causing Spencer to chuckle.

"And what about I finish kicking Westlake's ass?" He wondered aloud. "Do I get a prize?" He inquired with a lifted brow.

"You'll have won the state championship for Crenshaw and saved your school. What more could I give you?" Liv snickered, sipping her lemonade.

"I can think of a few things." Spencer flirted causing Liv's cheeks to redden as she swallowed her refreshment.

The knocking of the front door interrupted their flustered juncture. "I'm should...um..you know..."

"Don't worry, I will still be here when you get back." He chuckled towards her rattled nature.

He frosted the cake as Liv dealt with a package delivery on behalf of the coach baker. Shortly after leaving the package in the living room, she rrutrned. Her reserved nature now contained after she took a moment to compose herself.

She returned to the kitchen with more pep in her step resolved with knowing that the moment she and Spencer both delayed was finally arriving, and all she had to do was lead it.

Eyeing Spencer with a twinkle in her eye she cheekily leaned over close to his direction, dipping her finger in the canned frosting. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" She inquired sassily, catching his attention as she strutted a few feet around the counter.

"Girl, you know I got skills." He responded cockily, earning a snicker from Liv as she shut the refrigerator to from putting leftover baking ingredients.

"Hey, I was thinking that we should have that graduation won't playing at my mom's party," Spencer suggested, humming his ideal tune aloud.

Olivia listened to the tune with a puzzled expression. "Umm, that's the wedding song."

Spencer eyed her strangely, confused as to how he got the two melodies muddled.

Giving him a sympathetic grin, Liv rubbed his arm, comforting him. "Hmm, you'll get it." She laughed as Spencer twisted his face in slight embarrassment. "It's okay." She added jokingly.

Rolling his eyes, Spencer gestured down to the finished cake. "Well, what do you think?"

Liv analyzed the frosted cake, impressed by how well it came out. "It's good." She complimented with growing suspicion. "Like really good." She added, smirking at Spencer. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

"Maybe like once for my moms birthday..." He dragged out, sensing that his cover was blown as he smiled crookedly. "And maybe all of Dillion's birthdays." He admitted, redhandedly causing Olivia to laugh.

"Alright, you caught me." Spencer chuckled, then grew serious. "N'all but, I just wanted to get your mind off everything." He confessed wholeheartedly, hating the low amounts of times he witnessed a real smile from Liv over the last few weeks.

"You did," Olivia assured him, touched that Spencer went found the energy to help her through the day's mess, even though she was meant to be helping him today. "You made me feel a lot better." She added, wanting him to know that his intentions were highly effective.

Spencer simply nodded, content to help in any way he could.

Liv smiled thinking back to how their last few hours together reminded her of the summer they spent together. No matter if it dumb shows or extended time at the mall shopping, Spencer remained glue to her hip just to make Liv happy. If he noticed she was having a bad day, he'd make a stupid joke to make her laugh. When she felt alone and needed someone to talk to, Spencer spent hours on the phone with her. When she felt like crumbling, he was always the rock that steadily held her up.

"You've done that before too." Olivia slipped out, letting her affection take over. Her eyes darted to his with a knowing twinkle.

Spencer observed her stature, finding Olivia in control and sure of herself. She beamed gently with a slight tilt of her head as if waiting to see what he would do next. She wanted to know if he still wanted her, and this was her way of conveying her yearning for him. With an assured confirmation that she was ready, Spencer took this as his cue.

Without saying another word he walked towards Liv, ready to give in to their passions. His head tilted in the opposing direction of Liv's as they both leaned in to close the small space between them.

However, right when their lips were about to meet Spencer's phone buzzed. Spencer grunted under his breath, annoyed by the bad timing, but reached for his phone nonetheless. Liv sucked in a tight breath, frustrated by another halted moment.

Remaining with barely an inch separating them, Liv took matters into her own hands. Literally.

"Spence," Liv mumbled, topping the hand that held his phone with the palm of her hand to gain his attention. His phone continued to buzz, as Spencer gave Olivia his awareness. "Yeah."

"It'll still be there afterward." Liv sighed with an unsure smile, gently pulling his phone out of hand. Her finger dragged across the screen, rejecting the call. "But I'm right here. Right now." She remarked, locking eyes with him, lust emitting from her own. "And I don't know about you but I'm tired of waiting." She snickered sassily, earning a smirk from Spencer.

Liv eyes danced from Spencer's brown orbs, falling to his lips, then back to his eyes. Cupping his face, she brought his lips to hers for a kiss that was weeks in the making.

#3x07 #all american #olivia and spencer #olivia baker #spelivia #spencer and olivia #spencer james #All America 3.14

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jasminesgardens · 3 years

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Preparation

Set Up

Musical Episode Mechanics

Conclusions and Links

Heavily inspired by the Buffy the Vampire Slayer Musical Episode: Once More, With Feeling, I put together a Musical Episode for my own players that went down beautifully and here’s how you can too!

Preparation:

1. Have your players (whether subtly asked or not, up to you) send you a playlist of songs that relate to their character, their relationships and scenarios they’ve been through in the past. Sort through these songs into “Main Plot” and “Scenarios That Could Happen”.

Prompt Examples from my Musical Episode:

Main Plot: Prologue/Opening Narration, First Song (Morning Sequence), The Whole City is Singing, Figuring Out What is Happening, NPC Karaoke Songs, Player Karaoke Songs, A Call to BBEG, Battle Songs, Reveal of BBEG, Revealing Deepest Darkest Secret, Aftermath, End Credits and After Credits.

Scenarios That Could Happen: Dream Sequences (What Ifs, Foreshadowing or Nightmares), Reflection on their Pasts/Families/Homes, Attraction/First Kiss/Getting Together/Examining the Relationship/WooHoo Moments, How the Party is Seen, Arguments/Make Ups, Praying to their Gods, Positivity/Negativity, Stress/Learning to Relax, Fight Training, Opening Up/Confessing Feelings (Romantic, Friendly, Truthful), Cheering Up, Anger/Protests, Celebration/Drunken Songs, Death Saving Throws and Continuing the Fight.

The playlist is public so just search up DND: The Musical Episode by Princess Jasmine Flies Away.

2. Ask your players, if you haven’t already, for their deepest, darkest secret. The secret they would take to their grave. A secret about their lives or a fear they have could be the prompt. (This is what will be revealed later to the whole Party!)

As I was heavily inspired by the Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s Musical Episode, I used the episode to dive board my idea of what my “Main Plot” would be and explore the themes of secrets, speaking your truth and aftermaths. So even after my Musical Episode, my players and their characters were still thinking of what was revealed and what to do going forward with their relationships and themselves. That’s what will make your Musical Episode fun but also thought-provoking and memorable.

Examples from my Musical Episode:

“I’m going to die in six months.”

“I fear I’m on the path to becoming my step-father.”

“I fear my mission from my Goddess is to simply be the sidekick.”

Set Up:

1. Curse your Party.

Example (taken from DNDSpeak and tweaked, warning a little gruesome): I sent my party on a mission to rid the City’s Sewers of the Oozes and Slimes that lived down there as the previous adventurers sent had not returned. While giving hint, and a child NPC who asked them to look, that recently a lot of pets had gone missing in the area around the Sewers.

With every Ooze and Slime encounter, a voice would call out asking the adventurers to leave, getting more and more angry, desperate and threatening as they approached their hiding place.

In this evil Bard’s hidden lair, they discovered the Bard had been stealing pets and using them to make into instruments. Not allowing the Party to leave, they fought and the Bard lost but just before he did, the Bard cursed my party.

The players killed the Bard with fire so all the set up and hints in his lair burnt with him but if they hadn’t, they would have gotten hints of his worship to a certain demon and how he was planning to give his instruments as a gift to them.

I let my party spend the rest of the day doing whatever they liked and waited until the next day for the curse to take affect (which I recommend).

2. Setting Up Music

As I DM on Skype, I used JQBX for everyone to be able to hear the songs at the same time live but you might find other platforms or just be able to bluetooth to the speakers and use Spotify as you play in person (lucky sod).

Then completely shock your friends by awakening them to a performance. Start with a dream sequence or a morning montage or a title sequence! Have fun!

Musical Episode Mechanics:

1. When to Sing:

After the initial shock of the Opening of the Musical Episode, the party will believe the Musical Episode is a curse inflicted on just them (If you’re like me, it isn’t. It’s the whole city because that’s hilarious.) but unaware of when they will start to sing again.

I recommend it every time a party member gets emotional, reaches a perfect opportunity for a scenario song or simply plot development. These songs hint towards characters’ feelings for themselves, other characters, certain scenarios and maybe even their deepest, darkest secret so every time it happens, play the song that incredibly reads them to filth and ask them to roll a constitution saving roll, needing to beat 13. If they fail, write a tally mark for which player and wait for your finale to reveal what for.

I rewarded my players with 10XP each song as it gave them confidence to perform, improv and just get silly!

2. BBEG:

Through researching into what this curse could possibly be, introduce the demon Kacophony the Musical. They’re dramatic, crave entertainment and force people to sing for them with fiery magic, which can lead some of their victims to become Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru in Star Wars: A New Hope. The party will know Kacophony is responsible as you’ll sprinkle in the hints of burnt victims after each Musical Number, the same amount of bodies as the tally marks you’ve been collecting.

Now in my Musical Episode, I put Kacophony the Musical in the place they were cursed. My players went earlier than I would have liked so don’t be afraid to say “not the right time” for Act 3 and help them circle back to there later, after a full day of singing and dancing.

Example: I had a singing woman lead the party back to the Sewers ominously after quite a hearty song.

When discovered, Kacophony is waiting there with their goons for the “cast of today’s musical”, revealing that the person who cursed them gave a huge sacrifice to troll the city with this ridiculous curse, give Kacophony a few souls and to embarrass the party.

Example: My Evil Bard offered all his gruesome instruments and his own life to Kacophony.

Kacophony the Musical will reveal two things.

First, what all the constitution saving rolls have been for. Every failure (a roll under 13) has led to someone’s end aka the burnt victims they have seen throughout the day. Tell your players how many people they have each ended with their rolls and if your party is as morally good as mine, you will have people ready to fight. If not, embarrassing them through song is enough for one.

Which brings me to the second reveal, Kacophony the Musical is a Musical Demon (obviously). Musicals reveal what characters are really thinking to their audience; their hopes, their dreams, their deepest, darkest secret.

Have your party fight this demon only to be unable to not say their deepest, darkest secret to one another (it’s up to you if its based on roll or unescapable), causing a ton of big reveals, suspense and tension, which Kacophony can use as a getaway.

It’s up to you if you want the party to defeat Kacophony the Musical. I didn’t as I preferred the idea of Kacophony being a showman who hides behind their spells and goons, reads the party to filth and then just leaves when it gets boring, leaving them on the mind of the party long afterwards but if you do want your party to defeat them, then make it so.

Kacophony the Musical’s Character Sheet: Inspiration from Rahadin from Curse of Strahd and Cantus by u/Jacknerik

3. The Curse and Aftermath:

Finally, the curse lasts for 24 hours, so when your players awaken the next morning, the curse will be gone but no one will forget how yesterday changed their lives and how flipping awesome your session was.

In the aftermath, my players had a lot of role-play heavy conversations which led them to build up their relationships and their own storylines and a city of people who either were trying to remember the awesome lyrics they sang yesterday or are now afraid of music (possible Footloose inspired sequel adventure).

Conclusion:

Either way it was a lot of fun and certainly went down as one of my best sessions as a DM.

Thank you so much for reading, my name is PrincessJasmineFliesAway on everything else and my credentials in DMing can be described as Wizarding World 2.0, Shifting into the Star Wars Sequels and Barbie Mermaida the Campaign. Goodbye.

#dnd5e #dnd #dnd 5e homebrew #dnd 5e campaign #dnd storytime #dndstories #dnd ideas #dnd musical episode #jasmines gardens dnd ideas

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cursewoodrecap · 3 years

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Session 23: Medical Ethics

Y’all ever been to college?

Our new friend Vigdor has just pulled a pale, twitching human leg out of a poster tube, sheepishly admitting to Valeria that it’s his own.

Valeria blinks at it. “Well, it doesn’t appear to be bleeding demons, so that’s good?”

Shoshana sticks her head in the door, and has to pause to take in the sight. “Uh, bruh? Bruh? I have questions. Is that yours? I mean, like, yes, you HAVE it, but was it attached to-“

“That’s a bit tricky? It was amputated twice.”

“Twice?!”

“Once from me, and then, well, um. Once from an amalgam of sewn together body parts?”

(Gral and Shoshana pile into the room, because Oh, Lore?)

“When I was in the swamp, we were fighting a bunch of zombies led by this particularly nasty undead guy. We called it the Wailing Wight. At first it was just the usual undead hordes, but then a local leatherworker was found, torn apart and harpooned every which way, half his limbs torn off and stolen. After that, we started getting attacked by stitched together abominations cobbled together from human and animal pieces. I was there just trying to help the villagers, being a doctor and all. But that’s when I lost my actual limbs.”

“They got stolen, like the leatherworker’s?”

“I had to chop them off. Which, for the record, is not a fun time? The Wight’s harpoon has a kind of poison that rots everything it touches. So I had to amputate or, like, die. So I cut them off and his zombies, uh, stole them. And I managed to get one back? Kind of a long story. I don’t know how I recognized it, but – I guess I know my own leg like the back of my hand? Now I’m taking it back to Sturmhearst. There’s a weird fluid inside it; I want to study what’s going on with that so we can take care of the nastyboy in the swamp.”

“Well, I am generally against nastyboys,” says Shoshana, poking his foot in the ticklish bit. It squirms at her.

We’re headed to Sturmhearst anyway, so traveling together seems reasonable. We think about taking Fun Key Shortcuts, but that could backfire spectacularly, so we’ll play it safe and go the normal, boring way.

In the morning, we head downstairs. The inn is trashed. The stalwart barkeep Rene is not there; instead there’s a young elf sweeping out what debris he can. As we grab breakfast and the young fellow thanks us over and over for saving his friend’s life, Vigdor awkwardly wanders around casting Mending on chairs and tables that got a little too close to the tentacles and chainsaws. Shoshana doesn’t really do non-destructive magic, but she slips the barkeep some gold for repairs.

Vigdor’s too lopsided for a horse, so he’s gonna hop on in our cart. He’s very taken with the Eyegis, poking at it with fascination. “You can see the blood vessels in the eyes, despite no source for a blood supply! Do they have tear ducts? Have you ever seen the shield produce tears? Can you make it cry?”

Valeria gets very uncomfortable with this line of questioning and turns the eyes back into painted ones, put off by a Weird Stranger gettin’ all up in her business. Gral distracts him by asking about his fancy metal limbs.

Vigdor goes full technobabble on how the runes and machinery work. “Well, there’s three different kind of magical actuators on each joint, and they act as conduits for the dilithium crystals-” He knows the details secondhand from Bjork and none of us speak robotics, so if he ever needs serious repairs he’ll have to bring them back to Sturmhearst for the engineers to take a look at.

Valeria knows a bit about Jotunn runesmithing, but she’s never heard of it working to this degree of precision; before, she’d only heard of stuff like boats that row themselves, or a peg leg that has a little extra articulation. These are fully actuated limbs!

Val checks if the limbs are the same metal as our space wrench, but nope, they look like completely normal everyday metals. She’s not gonna inspect further, because she has RESPECT, unlike SOME people.

(“Hey, I didn’t try to pry the eyes open or anything!” Vigdor protests.)

She does notice one thing, though: Valeria recognizes runes from most magic systems even though she doesn’t know them well enough to use; her sister studied magic for a long time, so she knows what they look like. There’s one elaborate rune that appears on both Vigdor’s forearm and leg that is of no origin she’s ever seen.

“How long’d it take Bjork to build this thing?” Shoshana asks, squinting at Vigdor’s kneecap.

“Well, I was unconscious for a good bit of it so…between a week and 2 months? He was already working on it when I, uh, had to amputate.”

“…did you KNOW you were gonna wake up with those things on?”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah. It took a while ‘cause the original blueprints they found were for somebody, like…really short for a human or really tall for a halfling? Something in between. Bjork had to resize the whole model to fit a human.”

“He, uh, FOUND blueprints?

“I can’t imagine he’d have made blueprints for a person who didn’t exist? It was all proportioned very strangely. I don’t know too much about it, you’d have to ask Professor Bjork.”

(One of the players asks if the strange rune, perhaps, says ISTC in a language the characters don’t know. It DOES, and we’re all very pleased with ourselves for previous-campaign references.)

The long road stretches on before us, and we have plenty of time to talk as we spend a week or two heading north toward the coast. We fill Vigdor in on the four flavors of Curse and the concept of the Prisoners, and that we suspect there’s major Key nonsense going on up at the university. (Heh heh, “major key.”)

Vigdor and Shoshana bond over being locals. Why are foreigners so weird about trolls?

Vigdor really, really wants to look at Twombly’s glasses. We explain to him that the Key could take his desire for knowledge and turn him into a cackling, dimension-hopping madman with a few extra eyeballs. He still wants to play with the glasses. Valeria protectively hides the Key map, just in case, flashing her Hunt fangs at anyone who asks about it.

After like a week of pestering everybody, Vigdor gets to look at the glasses. Disappointingly, when not looking at the Key map, the colorful lenses just make everything look slightly more those colors. Maybe Gral’s lutestrings look weird, but that could be the placebo effect. He tries flipping around the many lenses in different combinations, and finds that all of them make him look absolutely ridiculous.

Eventually after many days of travel, we can smell the ocean and the distinctive stench of a large number of humans living in one place. Vigdor takes in the familiar sight of his college hometown. Shoshana is dumbfounded that this many people can live on top of each other, while Valeria thinks it’s a quaint little town.

Up to the west, Sturm Castle squats on a cliff above the city, like a big hippo of knowledge. It looks like it was once a reasonable castle shape, but it’s had new wings and towers built onto it haphazardly until it’s a weird sprawling network of jammed-together architecture. By the edge of the cliff, in one of the more sensibly-built sections, a majestic lighthouse beams out over the bay. In the city below, the largest building appears to be a grand temple, with its roof carved in the shape of an open book. The perimeter of the city is outlined by strange wooden and metal towers, two or three stories tall with conical brass roofs.

Eh. It’s only got one castle, so it can’t be that good of a city compared to Aurentium.

Our cart is briefly stopped for a quick examination at the gate by a friendly city guardsman. He’s flanked by two of the same enormous owl-masked guards we saw accompanying Quercus and Ulmus. “Hi, welcome to Sturmhearst, folks! What brings you here?”

We all awkwardly try not to look at Vigdor’s leg bag.

“I’m, uh, here to visit Dr. Emily Thorpe?” he tries.

“Oh, visiting the university. Don’t need yer life story. Where you stayin’? I can recommend some inns. Oh, and check out the Scholar’s Temple while yer here!” He hands us a brochure from the Sturmhearst Tourism Board and steps back. “ALL RIGHT BIG GUYS, LET EM THROUGH!”

The owl guards don’t move.

“Oh, uh, I mean –“ He fishes in his pocket and pulls out a whistle. “Lemme see if I can remember how the doc told me to do this.” He blows a few sharp notes on the whistle, and the owl guards promptly step off the road to let us through.

Huh.

Vigdor makes an investigation check on those guards, who definitely weren’t around back when he was in school. They’re pretty bulky for humans – no, honestly, they’d be bulky even for goliaths. He’d heard a story from Professor Bjork that the school was hiring goliath mercs and dressing them in owl masks, but the professor had sounded like he hadn’t believed it much. Supposedly they’re silent because they don’t speak the language, but Vigdor’s pretty sure Bjork speaks Jotunn, so that excuse doesn’t quite hold up.

Once we’re out of the guards’ earshot, Gral pulls a huddle. “Vigdor, the Key’s a more recent influence, so let us know about anything new or significantly more abundant – that’s where we’ll need to search.”

Vigdor hmms. “The big brass towers weren’t here before. And the owl guys didn’t used to be a thing.”

Gral cuts another glance back to the owl guards, considering. “…How much of a faux pas is it to remove a Sturmhearst person’s mask?”

“I mean, if you’re dealing with the plague, it’s kind of a dick move? And dangerous? But most people – it’s like, the same rudeness of grabbing someone’s hat or jacket. For some people it’s badge of honor or superiority, y’know, how amazing they were to get through the gauntlet of Sturmhearst. But mostly it’s a practical tool of the job. We’re not, like, afraid to show our faces.”

Gral nods. “So you wouldn’t have to duel them, then.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, with bards it’s like ‘you are not deserving of your title’ and you have to duel about it. You know, like, how dare you slander my name, I’ll have to fight you for my honor?”

“Oh, uh, no, nothing like that. The mask is proof of office, that’s all.”

Before we get investigating, though, it’s late and we should rest. Vigdor wasn’t a palling-around-town type, but he rolls a nat 20 and knows the best inn in the city – not one of those touristy places on the square; the best-kept-secret on a side street that only the locals and regulars know about.

We have a lovely night around the docks of Sturmhearst. Shoshana spends like fifteen minutes just staring out to sea, because they MAKE boats that big???? This much water even EXISTS????? There’s a dragonborn ship from Aurentium, a goliath ship from Jotunhein, a couple of Galwan freighters, and even a ship crewed by colorful macaw aarakocra. (History check: while the Aquilians mostly died out, some of the ground-based aarakocra cultures survived. Valeria’s met macaw traders before in Aurentium; they tell lots of stories and do GREAT impressions.)

Valeria, meanwhile, holies some ocean water. They say Galwan clerics swear by holy seawater; salt repels demons, right? It’s gross harbor water but, whatever, it’s holy now. She also beats a sea captain at Man-go, presumably dock style. The inn’s equipped for foreign travelers, so it’s got a whole bar of draconic and goblin spices!

Gral, meanwhile, discovers the inn is near a bath house and enjoys finding out what a sauna is.

Morning comes, and Sturmhearst U awaits. Vigdor knows the main campus has the colleges of Engineering, Science, and Medicine, while the satellite campus across the bay houses the college of Ethics, which includes humanities like economics and history.

Valeria rolls for Order of the Rose knowledge. The Order actually has an arrangement with Sturmhearst when they’re working in Valdia – whenever the Order is sent on disaster relief, some Sturmhearst ethicists are sent to help coordinate. Valeria’s never worked with them personally, but the impression she’s gotten from her fellow knights is Not Great. From what she’s heard, they’re supposed to do triage and help direct the knights, but it seems like they spend the whole time sitting around debating absolutely horrible things. “Hey, if we brewed up some necromancy, could we use the skeletons of plague victims to transport supplies without spreading the infection?” Apparently they just sit around in corners debating whether that kind of shit is kosher or not, without ever actually DOING anything.

Also ethicists wear white instead of black like most Sturmhearst scholars, which is just pretentious. We then poke fun at an Order of the Rose knight calling anyone else pretentious.

Vigdor studied at the College of Medicine; he’s a doctor. But that’s not where he’s taking the leg.

“Why not Medicine? I mean, it’s a human body part, innit?” Shoshana asks.

“It’s…I have some concerns…regarding the, um. So, along with this leg, my arm was stolen, right? Not long after the arm was stolen, the sewn-together amalgams got a lot, uh, cleaner.”

We stare at him.

“…as if whatever stitched them together had my medical training.”

…oh.

“I’m a little hesitant taking that info to the College of Medicine,” he admits.

“Why?”

“There’s a lot of ‘for the greater good’ stuff with the College of Medicine sometimes. The College of Ethics keeps them in check. Anyway, there’s actually this thaumochemist I want to take a look at it.”

(We’d know the discipline as alchemy, but she hates that. She’ll go on a whole tirade about it. Somebody yells “Full Metal Thaumochemist” and we accidentally take a commercial break. We’ll never get tired of that joke.)

More of those owl guards are at the door, supervised by a businesslike white-coated member of the College of Ethics. His mask is a bit more abstract than the ones we’re used to; not modeled after a bird face like the regular scholars’. He lets Vigdor in with no problem, though he’s a bit suspicious of the rest of us. We’re with a doctor, though, so he’ll let it slide. “Welcome to Sturmhearst, may your visit be enlightening.” He does the same whistle we heard before and the guards step aside. Gral’s a string guy, he can figure out the notes easily enough but he doesn’t whistle.

“Nothing goes on here without Ethics knowing about it, huh,” Gral observes.

More owl guards are stomping around, some carrying heavy objects. Vigdor knows where he’s going, but asks an owl guard for directions, as an experiment. The owl guard doesn’t even notice him. He steps in front of the guard, who just steps around him very politely.

The castle is a nightmare to navigate, like Hoeska, but we have an expert tour guide. “The old keep, the part that used to be a castle – that’s where all the 101 classes are and the whole working hospital. All the additions are laid out super weird, and then there’s the tunnels underneath. The Chem students had WILD parties down there, they brewed up all SORTS of stuff. The lighthouse is a real lighthouse, but it’s also where admin is, and the dean’s and headmaster’s offices. Oh! DO NOT cross the librarians. Each college has its own library? Like, theoretically they share the whole collection, but which college keeps which books is kind of a blood sport…”

Shoshana and Gral hang back, feeling out of place. “Bards don’t really have a college, exactly?” Gral explains. “It’s more of a pilgrimage. I met the elders of each village and they imparted wisdom upon me?”

Shosh feels like an uneducated hick even by that standard.

We take a hairpin turn in one of the Science buildings and run into Professor Quercus! Or at least someone with a bird mask and a similar voice, chatting with some other masked scholar. “Ah! Yes! We made a lot of excellent discoveries before we started to run into problems – you see, there hadn’t been an event in some time, but if we could get in there to the source, we could really – well, my goodness! These are the people I was telling you about, who gave me such wonderful notes!” Quercus turns to us, sounding rather delighted. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you here. Welcome to the world of knowledge! What brings you here? I thought you were having adventures and derring-do!”

“Well, it turns out our adventures led here!” Gral tells him.

Quercus nods enthusiastically. “I’d show you around, but I rather need to speak to the bursar! If you need anything, I’m sure you can find my offices without too much problem. And please, if you’ve encountered any interesting monsters, I’d love to hear details! Especially if you have samples!” Despite his keen excitement, Professor Quercus rolls a four and fails to notice our Shusva accessories.

“If you ever need a cup of tea and a biscuit, you’re welcome to stop by my office! I’d be more than happy to speak with you! And if you could do me a favor – well, I wouldn’t mind having you with me when I speak to the bursar! See, our expedition to Holzog has hit a bit of a snag. The events with that mist stopped happening, you see. Luckily, we managed to identify which house you were going to, and we were all set to investigate, but then the Baroness put a squadron of those damnable Condotierri to prevent us getting in – “

Gral shrugs, deliberately casual. “I don’t know why you’d go back; there’s not much to see besides what’s already in the notes.”

(Vigdor immediately rolls insight to see if Gral is lying. Unfortunately for him, bards are excellent liars.)

“Anyway. The bursar’s giving me an earful about continuing to fund the expedition. I’m considering withdrawing from Holzog and asking him to redirect the funds into a different project! For example, lots of interesting monsters have been seen around Barroch lately!”

Yes, definitely, we want him to go somewhere that’s not a Tempting Key Portal. Valeria and Gral tag-team Persuasion checks to sell him on interesting cases of monsters we’ve heard of around Barroch. If we’re fuzzy on the details – well, all the more reason to have someone get out there and take a closer look!

Quercus is rather taken by the idea. “If you would, Mr. Duu –“

“Um, actually, Duu is the tribe, my family’s name is-“

“-yes, if you could write me some letters, I might find it useful making the acquaintance of the locals while setting up camp. Sturmhearst hasn’t established an official relationship to your people yet’”

Gral agrees to write up a formal letter explaining the mission of Sturmhearst and the expedition to make introductions a bit smoother; the word of a bard will go a long way in gaining the cooperation of the orcs of Barroch. He’ll do a personal letter of introduction for Quercus, and a general letter to Shieldeater’s administration to explain who the heck these weird bird people are.

“Wonderful! Bring it by my office!” He gives us directions that make NO sense to anyone but Vigdor. We’re pretty sure several of those compass directions aren’t real words?

“Oh, and if you see an angry tall woman stomping around, tell her I’m not here! She’s mad at me for some reason I can’t discern. Good day!”

He scuttles off, presumably to hide.

We definitely want the gossip on that – Ulmus was mad at him about funding, and she definitely dissed his field of study. Is this what academia is like?

Vigdor confirms that the professors have all kind of weird beefs, interdepartmental politics, and personal feuds. “One of my professors gave me a B- in amputation – shows what he knows – purely because I was taking some classes outside the College of Medicine and he got all offended. It’s a lot of politics and bullshit, they’re all more concerned about their careers and publishing than actually important stuff.”

We find a door with a brass plaque: Dr Emily Thorpe, Thaumochemist. There’s a paper list tacked to her door with a list of courses: “Intro to Potion Brewing,” “Principles of Alchemy Thaumochemistry”

Vigdor knocks. “Yes, who’s there? Come in!” a voice calls.

“It’s Vigdor! Vigdor Gavril!”

“Ah, Vigdor!” A halfling woman in the requisite bird mask waves from behind a counter where she’s handling a set of proper Movie Science bubbling beakers and flasks. “Yes, you sent me that letter! You had something ‘interesting’ for me!”

“Yes, and you will see why I couldn’t be more detailed!”

She notices his metal arm as he starts pulling open his heavy waterproofed case. “Oh! I heard that Professor Bjork was giving you his prototype! How’s it working?”

“They’re loud and heavy and uncomfortable sometimes, but I have limbs! Can’t complain! But then I, uh, found one of my limbs again.”

He goes over to an open table and pulls out his entire-ass leg with a flourish, plus vials of hair and blood and strange unidentified liquids. Her eyes widen.

“Ah, this is yours!” She watches his toes wiggle. “Well, you don’t see that every day.”

“Yeah, I found it stitched to some kind of unholy undead abomination.”

“And that explains the Knight of the Rose. Hello, Kyr.”

“Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service!”

“Dr. Emily Thorpe, at your service as well, I guess? Pardon the mess in my lab, it’s not much but it’s home. Hand me that vial?” She pulls out a syringe and takes a sample of not blood, but oily black liquid, from the leg. “It will take some time, but I can write up a thaumaturgical profile without much difficulty. Do you mind if I keep it?”

“You can hang on to it. But I would appreciate discretion.”

“Yes, this will stay between me, your friends, and – oh, this is Hugo, he’s my teaching assistant. He’s been helping since the school was mobilized.” She turns to Vigdor’s clearly uneducated hick friends (not you, Valeria, you’re very fancy) and explains:

“In times of crisis, the University turns from education to innovation. Were this a disease, we’d be researching cures! If demonic, we’d be researching weapons or dimensional banishment. We haven’t really received direct orders this time, so everybody is doing their own thing, which I can’t say I mind. Mostly I’ve been helping other researchers with the practical application of their theorems.”

She scribbles out a hasty list. “Hugo, if you can go to the library and put these books on order? The Vigmar and the Auspelius especially would be useful, but don’t let the librarians kill anyone over them. And the Principles of Advanced Anatomy – tell them I won’t ask. But I do need it.” The grad student nods and hustles out of the room.

(Shoshana insights, out of paranoia. Hugo’s a good egg, though he might refer to thaumochemistry as alchemy.)

“Now, Dr. Gavril, do you want this leg back? How intact-“

“Want it back? Like, in the abstract, or on my body?”

She pulls out a vial of bubbling acid. “I’d like to put some of this on it and I’d like to see what happens.”

He blanches slightly. “Uh. Um. I have some proprietary-“

“Aw, no acid then,” she grumbles, stowing the acid with an audible sigh.

“Only do something you would do to living person’s leg. That they would survive!”

“How would I know? I’m a chemist, this is only, like, my second dead person!” She pauses. “…well, fifth.”

Shoshana starts looking around at all the alchemy equipment curiously. Everything here is clearly labeled with numbers, and letters that feel like numbers, and complex formulae, which hedgewitch potionery doesn’t really account for.

There’s a knock at the door. “Ah, that must be Hugo. Come in!”

Valeria instinctively body-blocks the leg from view.

It is not Hugo. In walk 3 white-clad ethicists. The gentleman at the front is in fancier robes – we suspect he’s the kind of fellow who has tenure – and he wears a powdered judge’s wig atop his mask. We immediately don’t like it. His two companions peer around the lab – one has a jeweler’s loupe built into the lens of his mask, and the other is carrying a big chime with runes carved into it, clearly a magic item of some sort.

“Dr Thorpe,” the leader intones.

“Sorbus,” she replies disdainfully.

“I see you have guests, is now a bad time?”

“Is it ever a good time?” Emily makes a point of tending to her samples and beakers busily.

“I suppose not. We have come to ask a few follow-up questions. Have you been visited at all by Professor Matthias Macker? Has he followed up on the project you were working on together?”

“I told you, no! I had no potions strong or precise enough for what he needed, and he’s never spoken to me since. That was months ago!”

“And no one has seen him since then. You understand why we need to know what you discussed.”

“Yeah, not since you quarantined the whole surgical wing!”

“That is not what I’m asking about. Has Macker’s assistant Greta Ruble visited you?”

“No. She’s a good kid, though, don’t hassle her.”

“We are simply making sure she is not a danger.”

Emily sputters angrily. “A danger to who?!”

“I cannot tell you that.” He turns to Valeria. “Kyr, it is always a pleasure to see a member of the Order here. I suppose if you’re here we can be assured nothing… unethical is happening,” he says, unpleasantly oily. “I am Professor Rigmor Sorbus of the College of Ethics; I lecture on legal and judicial ethics. These are my assistants, Charles and Pippin.”

Valeria bows with the precise degree of politeness required. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. In these times of mobilization, it falls to us as ethicists to supervise our colleagues’ noble efforts. Please, I implore you: if you see anything untoward or suspiciously unusual, I request you report it to the nearest representative of the College of Ethics.”

Emily butts in. “What happened to Eric Pelbort, his other assistant?”

“Mr. Pelbort has transferred to the College of Ethics and is assisting us with some research. We will let you know if that changes.” He tells her dismissively. “Kyr Argent, the College of Ethics has always been proud of our long association with the Order, and I would like to extend our deepest condolences for the tragedy of the Crusade. Should you have need of any assistance whatsoever, do not hesitate to ask. Our offices are on the satellite campus across the bay. If you were to visit, I’m sure many would love to speak to a paladin of the Order of the Rose.”

“We have business here, but I might be able to make time to stop by,” she equivocates.

“Very well. I will let you all get back to whatever it is you’re doing with that leg,” Sorbus says, turning neatly on his heel and taking his leave, his toadies hurrying in his wake.

(Yes, you guessed it: That was Professor Rowan, with his Tort Wig and his assistants Pip Loupe and Chime Charles.)

“Those guys give me the creeps,” Emily grumbles. “They used to be fine, but lately they’ve been doing this whole inquisitor act.”

Vigdor’s always known these guys as douchey blowhards. But now they’re douchey blowhards with AUTHORITY.

There’s always been a divide between Ethics and the other three colleges roughly the size of the harbor! The sciences don’t believe in debate, they believe in experimentation! Anyone who can spend an entire week talking without action is wasting time and breath. The College of Medicine thinks even less of them – they just get in the way of progress!

(IRL we all respect medical ethics, but Sturmhearst WAS founded on a fine tradition of graverobbing and leeches.)

Vigdor is primarily a surgeon, or he was, when he had two fully functional hands. (Two players at once: “HE GOT DR STRANGED!”) He had quite a few classes with Macker, the chair of the surgery department. Most people didn’t like the guy, except his surgical grad students who would defend him to the death. A bit of a hardass about proper procedure, but that’s probably not a bad quality for a surgeon. He was a local institution, so it’s pretty alarming he’s somehow gone rogue.

“His whole lab was quarantined?”

“The whole teaching wing, actually,” Emily tells us.

“Are there people in there? Some kind of sickness?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Ethics just put guards outside the labs and blocked everyone from going in. They’ve done it to a couple places around the school recently. The excuse is that someone was doing ‘unsafe experimentation’ that’s ‘poisoned the area’ or something?”

Wack. “How long have these quarantines lasted?”

“They don’t really end? A couple stopped after a few months, but some have been there for a year! Nobody goes in or out. Sometimes the white coats go in, but it’s pretty rare and they don’t stay long.”

“Is that what all the guards are for? Where’d they all come from?” Vigdor asks.

“Medicine used to be the ones, uh, hiring them.” (A quick insight roll notes that she hesitates on the phrase “hiring.”) “Lots of them still answer to whoever they were originally assigned to. But recently Dean Chidor from the College of Ethics took over that whole program, so a lot of the newer ones answer primarily to the ethicists. I mean, they all dress the same, so it’s kinda hard to tell? I haven’t asked a lot of questions, I’ve been trying to keep my head down since the whole thing with Macker.”

“What actually happened with him?”

“He’d been acting weird for a while,” she confides as she starts sticking pins in the leg and wiring them to a voltage generator. “He’d been working on something, some kind of extreme surgery – I think he was looking into a method of surgically removing Curse corruption. He was hitting roadblocks, though; he called in me and Alma Ulmus, who’s a College of Medicine bigwig.”

“Yeah, we met her in Bad Herzfeld!”

“I heard she’s here again, stalking around the halls complaining about funding. She knows more about his project than I do. Anyway, Macker sent me requirements for a healing potion he was gonna administer as part of some surgical procedure. I couldn’t get anything as powerful or precise as he needed. I’m a thaumochemist; I don’t know medicine that well. So it was beyond me to do that amount of gross tissue damage repair as controllably as they wanted it. I mean, I made some pretty nice innovations as far as the theory of potioncrafting, I’m hoping to get published as soon as it goes to peer review.

“But I couldn’t do what he needed, and eventually I got shut out of the project. Then one day he vanished. Alma set off for Bad Herzfeld and Macker stopped coming out of his lab. His assistants were still going in and out, but not long after that, the ethicists quarantined the place.”

“Has anyone else been quarantined?” Valeria asks.

“People from all three colleges got hit. I dunno about other ethicists, I haven’t heard about them quarantining anything of their own. But everyone else has. A group of engineering students were building a defense system to be deployed out to the Scar, and all of them got quarantined. Here in my department, Dr. Vilman – remember him? Stupid goatee, did a lot of stuff with crystals? – got shut down. Sometimes they quarantine the whole lab; sometimes they just shut down a project and everyone working on it gets a ‘guest lecture position’ over in Ethics. Sorbus said they got one of Macker’s assistants, Eric Pelbort. He had another one, Greta Ruble, but I guess she’s given them the slip.”

Emily’s got experiments to do on that leg, so we’ll let her get to it. As we head out, Gral asks one last question. “What’s up with those guards, by the way? Why do they only respond to those whistles?

“Uhhhh,” she says, as we fail our persuasion check. “They, er, don’t speak very good Valdian. Mostly foreigners, goliaths, the like. The whistles get their attention.”

Gral sighs and doesn’t push it. Vigdor’s already making plans to pickpocket a whistle. Valeria, since she has a direct invite to talk to the ethicists, considers the unheard-of paladin approach of Just Asking Them Directly.

First, though, Vigdor wants to check out the quarantine of Macker’s lab; he knew that professor well, and we’re all curious what’s been going down.

We walk on over to the surgical wing to case the joint. There’s a single owl guard blocking the hallway, presiding over a small barricade. A pleasant sandwich board sign states “Area quarantined by College of Ethics, apologies for the inconvenience.”

We try to walk in and the enormous guard holds out a hand to stop us. Shoshana tries to wiggle around him, like a cat trying to get at your dinner, but he impassively blocks her every move.

Gral tries a smoother approach. He begins with small talk; the guard doesn’t even twitch. He starts asking prying questions about the surgical ward. No response. Fine, then: he switches to Orcish, a sinister undertone weaving through his voice as he uses Words of Terror.

An insight roll reveals completely unchanged body language.

“Either they’re immune to fear or not a humanoid,” Gral reports back. “Not a single emotion. Definitely not goliath mercenaries.”

“Tryin’ to talk your way into the surgical wing?” says another chatty passerby. “Good luck. They got all the medical cadavers locked up in there and they won’t let us in.”

(Cadavers? Oh shit, we bet that’s the guard factory, theorize the players.)

“Oh, are you a med student?”

“Yeah. I work with Professor Herberts, or I used to, anyway. We needed a couple cadavers to do this comparison study about spleens; we got some weird ones from out in the wood, we compare spleens to see if place with thing don’t worry about it; need control spleen. And then these BIG DUMB IDIOTS wouldn’t let us in, and Herbert got transferred to the College of Ethics all of a sudden. He’s been gone a couple months.”

“How long do professors usually transfer for?” asks Gral.

“I mean, they usually pop over to give a lecture or two and come back by the end of the day.”

(Vigdor happens to remember that the College of Ethics also runs an asylum. They live in a big spooky castle and do dissections with guts and stuff, it can do a number on your head! Some of the ethicists have branched into the field of psychology. No reason to mention this when people are having extended stays on the ethics campus, of course…)

The student shrugs. “I gotta get to lecture. If you manage to get in there, any chance you can bring me back a couple spleens?”

We wave goodbye noncommittally, though Vigdor insists he can pop a spleen out of a corpse like a yolk from an egg. He’s a good surgeon!

Anyway, Vigdor went to school here, and the dice are on his side; he knows a side path through an old abandoned classroom into the surgical suite. He pops the lock on the door easily; all the undergrads used to go this way when slipping into lecture late, to get past the TA keeping track of tardies.

The guard is in earshot but facing the other direction, and he’s not even blinking, much less scanning around. Gral casts Silence on us and our very clanky party slips by easily.

Shosh sticks her head into the TA’s office. Nothing really stands out, but she swipes some interesting-looking notes from the desk drawers to look at later.

Meanwhile, Gral and Vigdor go into Macker’s office. The desk is an absolute mess, which is very unlike the guy Vigdor used to know. There are wheeled chalkboards crammed into the office, covered in scribbles and anatomical diagrams. Paging through the notes and glancing over the chalkboard, Vigdor makes a decent medicine check and can at least figure out what problem Macker was working on.

Based on what Dr. Emily told us, Macker’s trying to develop a surgical procedure. The issue is that whatever he’s doing would cause so much physical trauma that it’d kill the patient, and he’s looking for some way to prevent that. There are lists of healing options: formulas, spells, potions, nonmagical stabilization methods to keep the patient alive while various tissues are extracted from the body.

Gral’s unimpressed. Healing methods? That’s pretty tame for forbidden knowledge.

To Vigdor’s experienced eyes, this stuff looks mega-advanced and highly experimental, but Gral’s right – it’s not anything you’d scramble to censor.

Weirdly enough, the place doesn’t look ransacked, only disheveled and a little dusty. Macker’s notes haven’t been moved since he was here. Maybe this isn’t what the ethicists were after?

We head to cadaver storage while Valeria keeps watch. Cadaver storage is creepy as hell, but only because it’s, y’know, a room full of cadavers. A lot of the bodies, kept stable with Gentle Repose, appear to be Cursed, but that’s hardly weird. What’s so crazy they’d keep it hidden from everyone?

Vigdor opens the door to the dissection labs, Gral’s Silence deadening any ominous warning he might have had from the room beyond. Yes, the table here’s been recently used, and the bizarre symbols scrawled on the chalkboards have spilled onto the surrounding floor and walls, but Vigdor’s eyes are drawn to where the chalkboard peels away like skin to reveal a strange, multicolored, impossible space. The floor begins to take the shape of a stone hand that projects out into the shimmering void, joining a daisy-chain of enormous hands that form a walkway out to a marble platform floating in space.

Gral takes his Silence spell with him and runs to get Valeria.

Eyes starry, watching entire worlds and impossible shapes spinning through iridescent mists, Vigdor takes his first heady hit of Key taint.

As we cut session, Valeria considers that the ethicists may actually have a point.

#the cursewood #Session recap #sturmhearst university #gral omokk'duu #valeria argent #vigdor gavril #shoshana bat chaya #The key

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 4 years

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Arcade

aquesion Summary: You can do one where Eddie has a teenage son and Richie thinks he doesn't like him?

A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy!

An ibuprofen looked very appealing to Richie right about now. The tension building up in hos forehead and the back of his head led him to believe this was a stressed induced headache, and Richie has no issue pinpointing exactly who orchestrated it.

In all fairness, Luke, Eddie’s son, had every right to think going to an arcade was lame, but Richie was stuck with an eighties mindset and imagined the arcade being more like those times, instead of a sad, worn down building with a handful of arcade games and only five people present, two of them as old as the building they found themselves in. The man behind the counter to change money into coins creeped on every person occupying the machines, peering over his low hanging glasses and staring unabashedly.

Luke flipped the pocket money Richie dumped in his hands out on the counter, the stoic look not allowing one shift that would grant Richie the possibility of reading his emotions. He’s Eddie son, and so Richie mistakenly assumed that winning over his favor was a matter of hours, but the way their progress was crawling by, his favor might never be granted.

The money traits with a pitiful six coins, meaning a total of two games each, way less then Richie calculated in his head, and then creeper has the audacity to laugh at them, showing his grungy yellow teeth.

‘Four? I payed for way more than that.’ Richie holds his ground, recounting the aquesion again and concluding again that the coins he received are not enough.

‘More money more games’, is the only thing the man says for himself, the sentence probably memorized and routine.

Richie bristles, he’s been on edge for the better part of the day, more than ready to take on some guy in a sleazy arcade who acts like he can effort to be indifferent towards his very unattainable customers, but Luke gathers them in his palm and waves of Richie’s protests.

‘It’s fine. Faster we’ll be out of here anyway.’ It’s the most he has spoken since their arrival and it’s to express his wish to get this over with. Good job Tozier.

‘Aren’t you a comedian anyway? I’m sure you earn a ton of money.’

Though it’s true, it’s still a rip-off, and when Luke turns his back Richie adamantly flips the creeper the bird, before scooting after his ‘stepson’. Supposedly, if all goes well at least, which it hasn’t up to this point.

The comedian part is the first thing Richie messed up, by resting on his laurels and assuming that he was up to date with what the kids categorized as cool nowadays. His whole target audience consisted of teenagers, aged Luke, and so he thought he had a few trendy points saved up to appease the son of the love of his life, but apparently not.

It wasn’t even like they spewed out the fact they were dating to him straight away either. Eddie took him on day trips every weekend since the divorce, to gingerly introduce the new parts of his father Eddie had hid away, from himself too, like him being gay.

When Eddie did come forward and came clean, he excitedly informed Richie that Luke was okay with his father being himself, but that he hadn’t mentioned Richie yet.

That was normal and Richie understood, he never pushed Eddie for a meeting despite gaining excitement the more information he gathered about him. In fact, Myra told him about the relationship out of spite and jealousy, to turn her son against his dad, but that backfired horribly.

Luke’s curious peeked about Richie too. About the man Eddie renewed his whole life for, but he must not have liked what he found in Richie, because the boy hanging out with Richie now is cold.

And Eddie warned him too, but Richie was too stubborn to listen. Gently bringing up the fact that Richie needed to tame down the over sexual jabs, especially in regards of Eddie’s mother. Richie brushed that advice off, mind set on the idea that Eddie loves his joke, even when he pretends he doesn’t, so Luke must find some humor in them too. Mission failed.

Luke’s hobbies consisted of painting and video games, and Richie didn’t understand the slightest about painting, but he did know a lot about videogames. Visiting an arcade seemed fun, a way to show Luke that Richie mastered the skill of triumphing in any computer based game, but the place he decided on was a dumpster, and the machines were likely not updated since the eighties.

None of it looked appealing, the dust thicker than Bill’s smallest book, so much so that even Richie shuddered at the prospect of touching it. Luke ambled between machines with his hands deep in his pockets.

‘See anything you like?’ Richie strikes up a conversation, nibbling on the pad of his thumb to stop himself from making another joke. Luke didn’t find his last one so funny.

‘No’, Luke says, continuing his path without even bothering to look at Richie. Richie wants to asks him if he’d like to go home, knowing for sure the answers is yes, but he doesn’t want to blow the only opportunity he may have to get to know Luke, so he toughens it out.

‘Oh look at this.’ Absentmindedly, he walks over to the one game he spend his entire summer playing, street fighter, and pins down the start button, the intro song emerging from the speakers.

‘This is what I impressed your dad with back in middle school.’

‘Somehow I don’t see how that would’ve worked out.’

‘I won all the time and your dad hated that he lost to me, so he fought me again and again, losing every single time and returning next day for another beatdown. It was a good way to hang around him without seeming suspicious.’

‘Maybe you were good at it then, but you’ve regressed old man.’

‘How about I show you how good I am at this game?’

‘Bring it on.’

They compete in silence, emerged in their own players actions and desperate to win from the other. Luke’s good, really good, with his little experience of this particular game he whips the floor with Richie.

Richie obviously can’t let that happen, so he opts to distract the boy the same way he did to others in Derry, in the hopes of coming out on top.

‘Really? And you say you’re a video-game expert, my grandpa can do better then you’, Richie eggs him on, delivering a punch to Luke’s character with a hard knock on the controls.

‘I sure am. And are you sure it’s not yourself you’re talking about? You know, because of how old you are?’

Richie gasps dramatically, releasing the consoles and clasping his hands on his chest while he gasp in faux-upset. Luke laughs once, then delivers the final blow to end the game with Richie losing.

Richie gapes open mouthed, beat at his own game, the end credits blinking by.

‘Guess I’m better than you expected huh.’ Luke’s laughing now, his frown relaxed in a gentle smile that resembles Eddie a whole lot.

‘Maybe we can go again and see who wins?’

‘You’d want that? I mean of course, let me go get some more coins.’

Luke blinks, his face back to neutral but at least he’s no longer frowning. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

#my writing #reddie #richie x son #richie as a dad #eddie as a dad #but just mentioned in this story #it chapter two imagine

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non-binary-bi-fanperson · 4 years

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Save Fall Out Boy

Summary: Gender neutral reader’s POV, you are a cop at the police station in which Fall Out Boy is taken in YBC after Joe is killed and you get involved.

Warnings: Character death, violance

Wordcount: 3265

A/N: This is my first fanfiction I’ve ever written, so please be gentle with the criticism. Also, English is not my first language, so sorry for any grammatical errors. Enjoy! 🖤🖤 (GIF’s not mine)

‘James and Frank are at the scene with the murderer and two witnesses, all three of them have several injuries, ambulance will take care of it, please, make everything ready for the interrogation,’ my boss told me hurriedly not long after we got a phone call from a desperate man from an abandoned hospital near the police station where I work.

Not long after that, James and Frank arrived with the three guys and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I know them. Well, as much as anybody else who likes their music. It was Patrick, Pete, and Andy from Fall Out Boy. They’re missing a band member. Is it possible that…?

While Pete and Andy were carried away I had to stay with Patrick and my colleague, Frank and we tried to force that hook down which was attached to his left arm, right where his hand should had been. We can’t let him in to the cell with a potential weapon in - or in this case instead of - his hand now, can we? It hurt him; I could tell that, he was screaming in pain and hell, was it really attached to him, like it was burnt there or something. Damn, what have these guys been through?

Patrick was in his cell; literally the most innocent member of the band was accused with murder. What the hell is going on? My boss sent me to help James interrogating the other musicians and right when I was about to open the door, James burst out of the room, looking furious.

‘They’re a bunch of psychos, what they say makes no sense at all,’ he said to me, trying to control his anger, failing miserably.

‘I suppose you were the bad cop with all your usual shouting, so trust me, maybe they just need some nice words and a good cop,’ I smiled at him, patting his back and going into the room.

Andy and Pete looked at me and then back at the table right in front of them. I took a seat on the chair which now was too far from the table; probably James tossed it away during one of his not-so-uncommon outbursts.

‘Gentlemen,’ I started trying to stay professional since this whole thing was way too serious. I mean, a person just died, I can’t allow my fan-self to take over. ‘Please, tell me everything you saw, don’t let the fact that the accused is a friend of yours cloud your judgment.’

They just sat there in complete silence. I was patient, maybe they just needed time to think about a proper sentence. I waited one minute, then five, then ten more and they still haven’t said a word.

‘Gentlemen, please, we need as many details as possib-‘ I started calmly but I was cut off by a really angry Andy.

‘We just told every fucking detail to the other cop and he straight up called us crazy, what do you expect?’ In the heat of the moment the drummer even stood up and slammed his hands on the table which made me and Pete flinch.

‘Andy, please sit back down,�� Pete said. Somehow he remained calm. ‘He’s right though,’ he continued now looking at me. ‘We did tell everything and your colleague didn’t believe us, why would we make a fool out of ourselves again? Why would you believe us?’

‘Try me, I’m very open-minded,’ I told him with a small smile on my face which made him relax a little.

And they told me everything. How they had been kidnapped by a bunch of girls, how they drugged them, how they managed to escape and what happened in that hospital, everything. Honestly, when they got to the part where Patrick had yellow eyes and acted like he was possessed, I kind of doubted them, but looking in their eyes, I could tell they weren’t lying. I could feel it.

‘Okay, let’s make one thing clear,’ I said. ‘So when Patr- I mean Mr. Stump heard the music, he became this yellow-eyed demon thing, right?

‘Yes,’ Pete and Andy both nodded.

‘But… How could he just become a demon? Don’t you need to be possessed by one? And when it happens, doesn’t it take over your entire body all the time?’ I asked a bunch of questions in my confusion, I got to admit, I probably wasn’t acting so professional but I needed answers. ‘Or was Supernatural just a lie?’

Pete chuckled at my last question but Andy just stared at me which reminded me of the fact that I should be doing my job here.

‘Alright, thank you for the cooperation, one of my colleagues will be here in a few minutes to inform you of further procedures,’ I said now more skillfully then I did before.

I was about to leave the room when Andy asked me something. ‘Wait, you believe us?’

As I looked back at him I could see the surprise in his eyes. Once again, with a small smile on my lips which I tried to hide but didn’t really succeed I answered him. ‘Well, as I said, I’m very open-minded.’ And with that, I exited the room.

Did I believe them everything? I don’t know. They were drugged, could have hallucinated half of it, and not to mention the whole emotional trauma this case could cause to them. But how they described it, it sounded too real, not like something a drugged person would hallucinate and they didn’t disagree on any of the details. If what they saw wasn’t reality at least on a tiny part of the story they would have corrected each other. But it didn’t happen, they were perfectly in sync.

I let out a sigh while I was walking down a corridor which led me to the cell in which Patrick was. On my way there I grabbed a few paper towels; he probably needed it since he was still bleeding from a few cuts. When I was getting closer I heard him humming an unfamiliar tune, probably something from their upcoming album – if they’ll come up with another album after this.

When I got to him, he just looked at me and then back at his hand in his lap. I couldn’t even imagine how much pain he had gone through. I mean he lost one of his hands, one of his bandmates, he’s accused of murder…

‘Hey,’ I said in a soft tone and he looked back up at me. I was handing him the paper towels. ‘I figured you need them, you’re not in your best shape.’

‘Thanks:’ His voice only sounded like a little whisper and he gave me a weak smile when he took the towels and started wiping the blood off of his skin.

‘Do you need anything?’ I offered. ‘Water, maybe some food? I think I can get you a sandwich or something.’

‘Why are you so nice? You’re playing the good cop now?’ he asked, his words just shouted sarcasm and irony at me.

I let out a small laugh. ‘You met James then, I suppose. No, I’m not playing the good cop as you said, I am the good cop in general. At least I’m trying to treat even the accused ones how they deserve to be treated. I don’t have to be nice to you though, I can stop whenever I want,’ I replied with a stern look, getting a little too harsh at the end.

He was just looking at me, didn’t say a word, a flash of regret could be seen in his eyes. I pitied him honestly. He seemed such a nice guy throughout the media and I couldn’t imagine who and why would have done such horrible and unbelievable things to him and the band.

‘Look,’ I started, less sharply this time, ‘I’ve heard the whole story, and-‘

I was cut off by him saying ‘And now you think we’re crazy, amazing. Listen,’ he stood up and walked to the bars, now being closer to the spot where I was standing, ‘everything they told you is true. Everything. You got to believe us, I’m not a murderer, it wasn’t truly me, believe me. Please.’

He was so desperate, his bluish eyes were full of fear, despair, and pain. I could understand him, though. I couldn’t feel it but I definitely could understand.

‘I believe you,’ I said looking into his eyes.

‘What?’ he asked in confusion and disbelief. ‘Alright, I know I just asked you to believe me, but how can you believe me? Even I think I’m crazy’

I had to force back a smile. ‘I just do, okay? And calm down, we’re going to figure something out, we just have to-‘ I stopped in the middle of my sentence because I heard footsteps. Several footsteps, to be exact, probably three pairs, two made by… High heels? What the…?

My boss arrived with two women on his side. Wait a minute. The girls looked just like Andy and Pete described their kidnappers. Their long hair was in tight ponytails, all black clothing, leather jackets… My boss opened the door for Patrick’s cell and grabbed him, dragging him out of there, even though he protested and tried to stay with all his strength, screamed, shouted from the top of his lungs, begged me to help him. I tried, but one of the girls pinned me against the wall, holding a knife to my throat.

‘We don’t want to hurt you,’ she hissed. ‘We only need him.’ With her head she nodded towards Patrick, who was still dragged by my boss. Looking at them, I noticed two 100$ notes in my boss’s pocket. Son of a bitch.

When they turned at the end of the corridor, the girl let me go and ran after them. As soon as I could, I followed them and arrived just on time to see the women force Patrick into a car. Lucky me, I have good eyes and quick mind so I could see the plate of the car and memorized it.

I ran to the room where I left Pete and Andy only to find them gone with only a piece of paper on the table which had an address on it. I didn’t know if I should go to that address or run the plate of the car in which Patrick was taken. The address could have been a trap for the bass player and drummer, but it also could have been a safe place.

I decided to take chances and find out where the car must have gone. After a few minutes, thanks to the traffic cameras, I could find it. I got into my own car and took a deep breath before I started it. I hope I won’t find anyone murdered…

When I got to that older building which had the previously seen car parked in front of it, I hesitated. I know, it’s not so professional but I wasn’t doing the job for so long and it was way out of my league. I mean come on, brainwashing and demonic stuff? That’s not what a regular cop goes after. But I knew that somebody had to save those guys and since I couldn’t see anyone else who even considered helping, I felt like it was my duty.

I managed to get into the building which wasn’t so hard considering that no one was guarding it. The tough part was not getting caught inside. I went by a room in which at least a dozen of girls were destroying instruments rhythmically slamming their hammers at them. Fortunately no one saw me. They all wore similar clothes as the women at the station and they had the same hairstyle.

At the end of the corridor there was a locked door and I could have sworn that I heard a scream along with other noises from inside. So with a hairpin I picked the lock and slowly opened the door, careful not to make any noise in case some of the girls are in there. But no, it was only Patrick, tied to a chair, sitting calmly and staring at a brick wall with weird videos and pictures projected on it.

I ran up to him and immediately tried to free his hand from the grip of the rope only to hear him growl at me. I looked up at his face and looked into his eyes and I couldn’t believe what I saw. They were yellow. So everything was true. Every crazy detail I was told, all of it were true. Not that I didn’t believe them but knowing about it and seeing it are two completely different things.

After I recovered from the mini-shock I just had, I realized that if I let Patrick out in this state, he would kill me. So I tried the only rational thing which came in my mind. I shut down the projector and looked deeply in the singer’s eyes. ‘Patrick,’ I started softly but desperately knowing that any of the girls could come in any moment, ‘please, you need to listen to me. It’s not you, Patrick. You have to fight this, alright?’ He just stared at me, I wasn’t even sure that he understood anything. I continued anyway, this time little more hurriedly, probably because of the fear which started to take over me. ‘Come on Patrick, you’re not like this. You’re a little ball of sunshine, you polite everyone to death, even your haters. You need to turn back, your bandmates need you, your fans need you, everyone needs you, the real you.’

At the end of my mini-speech his eyes turned back to that unique shade of blue he had and it looked like he was himself again. ‘Good cop?’ he asked weakly, looking at me, blinking a few times like he wanted to make sure what he saw was real and I chuckled hearing my ‘name’. I could see that he was confused though, he probably didn’t even know where he was.

‘Yes, it’s me, I’m gonna get you out of here,’ I said reassuringly with my lips forming a huge grin and started to free his hands again. Right when his right hand escaped my smile fell because the door swung open and a bunch of women ran into the room. Three of them dragged me away from Patrick while both of us were shouting and screaming, desperately trying to escape. I tried to free myself but their grip was too strong and tight and by kicking one of them, I only made them angry and they held down my legs as well.

They restarted the projector and Patrick’s eyes turned yellow once again. For my surprise they didn’t held him captive anymore, they let him go but he didn’t move until one of them told him to follow her and he obeyed without any questions.

Damn it. I tried to escape once again and only earned a pretty strong punch in the face leaving my mouth bleeding. They tossed me to the ground, turned me so I lay on my back and I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. They kicked me once more which made me groan and then they exited the room.

I brought my hand down to my stomach only to feel the sharp pain again when I touched it. And there was another thing that concerned me. A warm, sticky liquid. Blood. I needed a few moments to realize that I’ve been stabbed. Well, that’s not how I imagined my day.

I was thinking about practically everything. How I couldn’t save my favorite band, how probably Andy and Pete were dead by that time, how nobody was ever going to find me, how I would probably end up in a trashcan or in the backyard of someone’s house, so yeah, pretty optimistic thoughts. I couldn’t even call anyone given that those women took and smashed my phone.

I was accepting my death, feeling that I was losing more and more blood as time went by when the door unexpectedly opened again. I didn’t even bother to look there just after I heard a small ‘oh God’ which was followed by rapid footsteps. It was Andy.

‘Pete, they’re still alive’ he shouted to the bassist and kneeled down next to me, my blood on the floor instantly soaking the fabric of his jeans. He tried to cover my wound, putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding which made me moan in pain. It hurt like hell, but they were trying to make it easier for me by telling me stuff like ‘everything is going to be okay’ and ‘we’re here to help’ and so on, but to tell you the truth, I didn’t believe it, I knew I was going to die, there was no way they could get me out in time.

‘Bullshit,’ I said and regretted it right at that moment because it sent a wave of pain through my entire body and made me cough up blood. Now that wasn’t a good sign.

‘Hey, easy on there,’ Pete said worriedly. It kind of surprised me that he was worried about me since we didn’t even know each other but still, it made me smile weakly.

‘Guys, there’s no way I’m gonna make it so listen,’ I started seriously but had to stop because I had to cough again. ‘They took Patrick, I guess to their leader who I think is upstairs so go, leave me, you can’t save me, save him and yourselves.’

They just looked at me, not moving a single muscle and I felt my eyelids getting heavier and I knew what was coming. I managed to whisper a last weak ‘Please’ right before the pain stopped and I wasn’t suffering anymore. I closed my eyes one last time. I was still conscious when I heard one of them – I couldn’t identify the voices anymore – ask ‘What was their name?’ and the other one just answered with a weak ‘I don’t know’. This is the last thing I remember from before I let the numb darkness take over me, and I didn’t regret anything I did that day.

‘So yeah, that’s my story I guess,’ I told to the man sitting in front of me with his big curly hair, wearing all white clothing. As a matter of fact, everything around us was white, even I wore white which I wouldn’t do normally. Who thought I was going to go to Heaven and meet Joe there. That’s right, the man in front of me was the lead guitarist of Fall Out Boy.

‘That’s awesome,’ Joe grinned. ‘I mean, not the fact that you died, that sucks, but I always wondered what it’s like to be a cop,’ he explained quickly which made me laugh.

‘Yeah, well, I think not as great as you thought,’ I said kind of getting sad because that’s not how I imagined everything. I know it’s cliché, but I was young and had my whole life ahead of me. I suppose not anymore.

‘At least you came to Heaven. Don’t get me wrong, Hell is cool as well, but-‘ he was cut off by me shouting ‘Wait, what???’ in complete disbelief which just made him chuckle.

‘I guess it’s my turn to tell my story, isn’t it?’ he asked with once again a huge grin and it just put a smile on my lips as well.

A/N: That’s it, I hope you all enjoyed, have a nice day and take care!🖤🖤

#YBC #young blood chronicles #fall out boy #patrick stump #andy hurley #pete wentz #joe trohman #fanfic #fanfiction

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elleberquist6 · 6 years

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Play Upon Me Like This Piano - chapter twenty-five

Summary: In many ways, Phil’s life is perfect: he loves his life in London, he has a wonderful brother and parents, and he has a great job as a radio DJ for BBC Radio One. There’s only one thing missing in his life… A rumor reaches an executive at the BBC about a talented local piano player named Daniel. The executive decides that Daniel would be the perfect guest on Phil’s radio show, so she sends Phil to speak with the evasive and mysterious piano player.

When they finally meet, Phil starts to think that he has found the person who will make his life complete. Unfortunately, Dan has a secret that will make getting close to him difficult.

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2224

Warnings: Smut

—

Siren fact: From The Little Mermaid by Hans Christian Andersen (1836): “Do you not love me the best of them all?” the eyes of the little mermaid seemed to say, when he took her in his arms, and kissed her fair forehead.

“Yes, you are dear to me,” said the prince; “for you have the best heart, and you are the most devoted to me; you are like a young maiden whom I once saw, but whom I shall never meet again. I was in a ship that was wrecked, and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple, where several young maidens performed the service. The youngest of them found me on the shore, and saved my life.”

‘Ah, he knows not that it was I who saved his life,’ thought the little mermaid… and the mermaid sighed deeply, but she could not shed tears. ‘He says the maiden belongs to the holy temple, therefore she will never return to the world. They will meet no more: while I am by his side, and see him every day. I will take care of him, and love him, and give up my life for his sake.’ [http://hca.gilead.org.il/li_merma.html]

The second he was submerged in water, the current dragged him down. He locked his lips, holding desperately onto the air in his lungs since he wasn’t sure when he would be able to reach the surface, and he started kicking. They were jerky sporadic kicks which wouldn’t have moved him far, but his toes were spread and the webbed skin was made for this. As he added his hands to the effort, his head soon broke the surface and he sucked in a breath. He swiped the saltwater from his eyes, feeling how the skin between his fingers had become webbed as well from the water.

Dan’s body was made for this, and that fact sent a thrill of panic through him. He had avoided water for so many years out of fear that his body would betray him as a siren, but that hadn’t been the only reason. He was also desperately afraid of how at home he felt in the water. It felt like he should have been in the water the whole time, and that feeling terrified him, like maybe he would never be able to get out.

Pushing those thoughts away, he focused on the task at hand. Cornelia would likely be reaching the end of the pier and searching for him, so he took another deep breath before diving below the water to hide from her searching gaze. Then he kicked his legs, pulled forward in the water with his hands, and started swimming like he’d been shot out of a cannon. As he swam like an Olympic athlete, he had to accept once more that his body had been built for this. For once, Dan was grateful for this fact as he was buffeted by the current of the sea, which was churned by the storm. If he were a normal man, he wouldn’t have been able to fight his way forward. There wouldn’t be the slightest chance he could save Phil.

Phil… he was all that was important right now. Dan focused all of his will on pushing himself forward in the water, faster and faster. He remembered that thought he had had about them living in the same city together for so long, passing each other on the street. As they unknowingly passed nearer and nearer to each other, they moved like ships in the sea being pulled by the current until they finally came to this common destination. It was like fate.

Now that Dan literally was in the sea, he hoped the current was taking him closer to Phil and that fate was once more helping him. Perhaps his body could help a bit more though… he could hear well underwater, and he focused on searching for a sound: the motor of a boat, water slapping against the side of a ship, and maybe Phil’s voice. Phil would be talking because he wasn’t dead. He was out here somewhere. And Dan would find him.

Dan had more stamina than the average man in water, but it wasn’t boundless, especially in this turbulent sea. It was hard to judge since it was night, but he was sure that hours had passed by the time a boat finally appeared in the distance. He cried out in relief at the sight – his muscles had been cramping and it had been getting harder to keep his head above water, so he had started to think that he would drown before he found the boat. He would sink beneath the bottom of the ocean, down beneath the waves, and he would never know what had happened to Phil…

Except now he could see the boat in the distance, and he really was crying. He convinced his tired muscles to drag him there as he fought his way through the waves, all the while trying to catch glimpses of the boat as he got nearer. Was Phil anywhere to be seen? Was the boat damaged? Did it look abandoned? He couldn’t tell, as it was taking all of his effort just to keep his head above water and the boat in his sights.

Finally, it was looming before him, and he shouted, “Phil!”

The wind was so strong that his shout barely reached his own ears, and as he opened his mouth to shout again a wave smacked him in the face and water forced its way into his mouth. Dan went under for a moment, feeling himself being dragged down. He kicked furiously to reach to the surface, and when he did he coughed and saw black spots floating across his vision – if he didn’t get out of here soon he would drown.

Remembering a detail about this boat from when he saw it earlier, Dan swam in a circle until he found it: a ladder. He grabbed the rungs and started to pull himself up, but his exhausted muscles shook in protest and refused to work. He had to loop his arm through one of the higher rungs of the ladder until he could lift himself high enough to add his feet to the effort. Then he was able to drag himself up the ladder and onto the deck.

Dan collapsed facedown on the deck of the boat as it rocked with the storm. The deck below his face was damp and he watched as his exhalations shifted a small puddle. The rain continued to fall. Now that he was out of the sea, the raindrops felt freezing and they hit his skin hard enough to sting. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to move right now, as all his muscles were burning. He focused on catching his breath and calming his racing heart.

Calming his heart wasn’t possible though, as he panicked with the realization that he was finally here on Phil and Martyn’s boat, yet he didn’t see either of them. Pressing his palms into the deck, he forced himself up onto his knees, and the exertion forced a pained whimper from his lips. He was so tired…

Dan looked around, but the deck was abandoned. Had Phil and Martyn fallen overboard? For a mad moment, Dan thought about leaping back into the water to search the bottom of the ocean for them. Then he forced himself to be rational and looked closer at the boat. The sail was tied, a sign that someone had been sensible enough to know that there was no use for a sail when the winds were this strong. The people on this boat had prepared when they saw the storm coming.

Then Dan saw the door that led below deck, and his heart jumped into his throat – that was the only place they could be if they were safely hiding from the storm. He swallowed heavily and started dragging himself over on his hands and knees, like a small child who hadn’t yet learned how to walk yet. He felt like child right now, so scared and helpless in the face of impending loss. He hadn’t felt like this in years, not since his mother left the man who raised him, and he’d realized that the man he thought of as his dad didn’t care about him – he’d lost half his family that day. As Dan felt the same thing right now, he knew that he had started to think about Phil in the same way, as family. Had he already lost Phil, too?

Dan gripped the door to the cabin, using the knob as support so that he could raise himself shakily to a stand. The knob started to turn under his hand – he didn’t believe it for a moment until he saw it shift under his webbed fingers – and he let go with a startled gasp. He stepped aside as the door swung open.

Phil stood in the doorway. His mouth hung slightly open and his eyes were wide, but that was all the detail that Dan could see in this dim lighting. It was all he needed to see anyway as he cried out in relief at the sight of Phil and launched himself at him. They tumbled backwards, and belatedly Dan realized that Phil had been standing at the top of a small staircase. There was a terrifying moment of freefalling, and through the disorientation of it he felt Phil’s arms wrap tight around him. Then they impacted. Dan’s teeth clicked shut almost painfully with the force and he heard the breath rush out of Phil’s chest, which his head was pillowed against.

It seemed to take Phil’s chest a moment to rise again, long enough that Dan got worried, and he sat up enough so that he could see Phil’s face. He had a clear view of him now that they were below deck, as there were lanterns hung from the ceiling above, casting a yellow glow on the space as they rocked merrily with the waves. Dan asked, “Are you alright?”

Phil only nodded. It seemed like the breath had been knocked painfully from his chest when Dan had landed on top of him, and he was still focusing on remembering how to breathe properly.

“Dan? How did you get here?” someone asked.

Dan looked to the side, seeing Martyn standing nearby as he stared at the door that was flapping in the breeze at the top of the staircase. Seeing him, Dan just smiled broadly, glad that Phil’s brother was also alright.

Martyn returned the smile as he asked, “Did you come with a rescue boat? Is someone here to save us?”

Dan didn’t know what to say to that, so he just stared at Martyn. No one was here to save them, no one but Dan, and there wasn’t anything he could really do now that he was here. Not waiting for an answer, Martyn stepped over their legs, which were tangled at the bottom of the staircase, and he jogged up the stairs and onto the deck to look for a rescue boat that wasn’t out there.

Returning his attention to the man lying underneath him, Dan saw Phil staring at him with a curious expression on his face. Phil asked, “What are you doing here?”

Back at the Lifeboat Station when there had been nothing to do but look at a clock and wait for Phil to be found, Dan had had a lot of time to think. He thought about the last words he had said to Phil, and how unjust it would have been if those really had been The Last Words. Phil deserved so much more, and Dan had prepared a whole speech to say when they were finally reunited.

As he opened his mouth to begin reciting it, he changed his mind at the last second. Instead what tumbled from his lips was the simple truth, “I love you.”

Phil blinked in surprise. “You do?”

Dan nodded. As he continued staring at Phil, he saw a drop of moisture land on his cheek and he thought that his wet hair might be dripping on Phil’s face. And then Dan realized that no, he was crying because he was so happy right now.

The door closed at the top of the stairs and Martyn’s feet shuffled on the steps as he started back down to the cabin where they were. Martyn said slowly like he didn’t believe it, “There’s no boat. No one is out there. There’s just… nothing. No one but Dan.”

Phil was still looking at Dan’s face, his eyes warm and wide like he wanted to drink in every feature of his face. He opened his mouth, though Dan wasn’t sure if he was going to say something in answer to what he had told him, or what Martyn then said.

Dan knew it was silly since he was lying on top of Phil, soaking him with his clothes that were wet from swimming, but he hated the way that his tears had dampened Phil’s cheek. So, he reached up with fingertip to swipe away the tears.

Phil’s eyes focused on the webbed skin between Dan’s fingers. “Oh my God…”

#phandom #phanfiction #phanfic #dan and phil #dan x phil #siren #merman #mermaid

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themurphyzone · 6 years

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Aspects Ch 5

Ch 5: Performer

Perry gestured for Norm to restrain the Father until he calmed down. Norm eagerly obeyed, wrapping his dad in an enormous hug that lifted him off the ground.

“Get out here right now so we can talk about this like mensch!” the Father howled, thrashing in Norm’s grip. “And if I find you treating my daughter like a science experiment, I’ll-well, I don’t know what I’ll do yet, but once I think up something it’s gonna be painful!”

“Seriously, Dad. I’m fine. No weird cybernetics or wires on me,” Vanessa complained as she emerged from the lab. “He’s working on a few things in the lab, so don’t bother him.”

Norm lowered the Father so that he was standing again, though he still scowled in the direction of the lab.

“Hey, you two wanna watch a movie with me?” Vanessa suggested. “We can lipsync along to a non-subtitled foreign film and make up our own plot. I’ve done it with Norm before. He’s a master at plot twists.”

“ROBERT WAS NOT A LIZARD PERSON AS DR. PIERCE ORIGINALLY SUSPECTED. HE WAS ACTUALLY A SNAKE PERSON.”

Perry was glad that Vanessa knew exactly how to keep everyone occupied so they didn’t murder each other before the problem was fixed. The Father settled on the edge of the couch so he could be next to Norm.

Vanessa sorted through a stack of DVDs until she found the movie, then turned on the TV. A reporter’s face popped up onscreen, an angry frown crossing her face at the overly cheery soundtrack behind her.

“It’s National Kiss a Baby on the Forehead Day at City Hall, and lots of families are in line to see Mayor Roger Doofenshmirtz select one lucky infant from the crowd-ACK!” the reporter ducked when a guitar handle nearly clocked her in the shoulder. “I need security over here!”

“Hey, you guys are cameramen, right?” a familiar voice asked. Suddenly another Heinz Doofenshmirtz appeared onscreen, and the camera jiggled as it was forcibly turned towards him. He was wearing that showboater hat again. Must’ve been in a musical number mood.

“Hey man, this is expensive equipment!” someone protested.

“C’mon, the speech isn’t starting for another twenty minutes. That’s plenty of time for a song!” Heinz exclaimed. “Oh, actually I got the number from the Chorus Girl Union here, lemme make a call! Then you can broadcast my message to the Tri-State Area! You hear that? You’ll be under my rule, and nobody can stop me!” He frowned. “I think I kinda overdo that last part with the whole ‘nobody can stop me now’ bit. Could I get a do-over?”

“HI, CONVENIENTLY TIMED DAD!” Norm said, waving at the screen as though the Heinz on TV could hear him.

“I guess you’d better get him before he does anything too crazy,” Vanessa sighed. “I thought the whole take over the Tri-State Area thing was in the aspect you just brought back.”

“He’s not exactly a good role model,” the Father said. “You two aren’t hogging the spotlight like that if the cameras ever get turned on you.”

“Norm can have my share of airtime. I don’t really care for cameras,” Vanessa said as she popped the movie into the DVD player.

Perry jumped off the couch and headed for the balcony. He opted for his glider this time, since he wanted to conserve the fuel in his jetpack.

As he flew towards City Hall, he wondered if Vanessa and Norm would accept him calling this particular Heinz the ‘obnoxious aspect’.

Perry decided to wait out the musical number in a nearby bush, one where he would be hidden from view but still have a front row seat to the musical number Heinz had put on. Thankfully, the reporters had moved onto interviewing the volunteers in charge of the event and were completely ignoring Heinz. OWCA would definitely get on Perry’s case if he allowed a fight to be broadcasted live to the general public.

With any luck, the Flynn-Fletchers were pursuing their own activities and not paying attention to the local news.

Perry could tell it wasn’t one of Heinz’s best performances. Heinz kept glancing over his shoulder towards the cameras, barely avoiding a high kick to the head from a backup dancer. Instead of focusing on the music, he was trying to be aware of his surroundings.

Almost as if he expected someone to show up.

Perry double-checked to make sure the cameras were far away. Then he crawled out of the bush, making sure Heinz spotted him. For the duration of the song, Perry sat attentively and listened to Heinz pour out all his frustrations about his brother being a natural people-pleaser.

Heinz’s performance improved in just a few seconds now that he had an audience. The song reached a final crescendo and ended with Heinz and the backup singers striking a dramatic pose.

Perry clapped politely, throwing in a whistle for good measure.

The backup singers broke form and were about to leave when Heinz stopped them. “Hey, so if one of you is interested in a date-” Heinz began, but they rolled their eyes at him and left at a much quicker pace than before. “Okay, I get it. My number’s on the list of clients if you need to mull it over a bit first!”

Perry raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?” Heinz protested. “A normal dinner date would probably be two hours. That’s plenty of time to get through the introductory phase! But I’m digressing. Anyway, you see this crowd, Perry the Platypus?”

It was hard to miss, Perry thought. But he played along anyway, figuring this aspect was the one who valued their usual routine the most. He nodded.

“They’re all lined up to give my brother Roger their full, undivided attention and their babies,” Heinz complained, gesturing to the gaggle of parents and children. “Why would you just hand your kid over to a total stranger? This whole National Kiss a Baby Day doesn’t make sense! And what’s worse is that one so-called lucky infant will get all this fame simply because Roger is holding him! And what did the kid do to earn it? Nothing! When the voters see how much of a baby magnet he is, they’ll keep him in office cause apparently holding a baby makes you trustworthy!”

Perry glanced around, but didn’t see any inventions anywhere. Heinz didn’t seem to have a portable inator on his person either. There probably wasn’t one since the Scientist had Heinz’s inventiveness.

At the same time, it didn’t seem right to cut to the actual fighting.

“Perry the Platypus,” Heinz said. “Did...did you like that song? I just had to let it out, you know? Nobody else wanted to stop and listen. They don’t appreciate hard work, I think.”

Perry gave him a thumbs-up and an encouraging nod, which seemed to boost Heinz’s spirit.

“Maybe we should find an adoring crowd elsewhere,” Heinz suggested. “You can be my musical buddy. Unless you know anyone who’d be willing to listen?”

Nodding, Perry took Heinz by the hand and led the way back to the penthouse.

Vanessa knew that most siblings fought over the bathroom, but seeing it occur with two copies of her dad was just downright awkward and embarrassing.

“AT LEAST NONE OF YOUR FRIENDS WILL BE WITNESS TO THIS DISPLAY, UNLIKE THE TIME HE PICKED YOU UP FROM SCHOOL IN A BABY BONNET AND DIAPER,” Norm declared.

“I’ve blocked 95% of that incident from my mind, Norm,” Vanessa muttered. “Please don’t mention it again.”

She turned up the volume to drown out the ruckus the Father and Scientist were causing. The Shell slumped against the couch cushion on the opposite end, and Vanessa had no idea if he was actually paying attention to the movie.

“Didn’t Vanessa put you to work or something?” the Father demanded as he pounded on the bathroom door. “And just how is Norm supposed to learn any work ethic if you’re goofing off in there?”

“Geez, calm down!” the Scientist yelled back. “Can’t a guy take a bathroom break?”

“You got thirty seconds and I’m counting down. Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight....”

“Norm, if I step out for a few minutes can you promise me that you’ll prevent any explosions or murders?” Vanessa sighed, deciding that she really needed to clear her head for a bit. She stood up and stretched, grabbing her phone off the nearby table.

“OKAY!” Norm exclaimed. “PLEASE TAKE THE CARDBOARD CUTOUT OF A COFFEE SHOP I CREATED AND PUT IT IN FRONT OF THE ENTRANCE OF THE BUILDING SO WE CAN DELAY PERRY THE PLATYPUS SO I CAN CONTINUE HAVING FUN WITH DAD.”

Vanessa shook her head. “That’s not going to work on Perry and you know it.”

The Scientist had stepped out of the bathroom to continue his argument with the Father, and Vanessa ignored them both as she exited the room. Grateful for the peace and quiet of the hallway, she decided to just wait outside for a few minutes.

She checked her phone, finding that Perry had sent a text while she was watching the movie to let her know that he’d found another aspect. They were locating them at a decent pace, so hopefully this entire mess would be put behind them soon.

Get rid of unsavory aspects of personality from target.

There were plenty of things about her dad she could name that embarrassed her. Sometimes he could be overprotective to the point of dressing up as a hippie and thinking that would fool a bunch of teenagers.

Then again, he did save them all from a swarm of bees. And he did know a few tricks about roasting marshmallows over a campfire to make them taste even better.

He could be obsessive about his schemes, and often spouted platypus and ocelot fun facts at completely inappropriate times. Her friend Candace fangirled over Ducky Momo and her boyfriend’s band a ton, so she found it pretty alarming that he acted more like a teenage girl than an adult.

But since his brand of evil wasn’t all that malicious, sometimes good things came out, even if they were unexpected. She grew to enjoy being a big sister to a robot after all. Perry was a great confidant, no matter how trivial a problem seemed. And her Mary McGuffin doll was a reminder that he loved her to the point of spending nearly a decade rummaging through any garage sales in the hopes of finding a silly discontinued toy.

In the end, she wouldn’t trade her dad for anything in the world.

“Perry’s probably back by now,” Vanessa said to nobody in particular. Hopefully the aspects had given up their fight. Besides, she needed to check on the progress of the rebuilt Aspect-inator.

“He’s probably just gonna run off again when you give him the opportunity. He never sticks around for the aftermath,” a voice sneered. “No surprise that Perry the Platypus overlooked me just like everyone else. And I never even left Doofenshmirtz Evil Incorporated.”

Vanessa turned around, her eyes widening in surprise. An aspect of Heinz Doofenshmirtz had been in the building the entire time and they hadn’t even noticed.

#phineas and ferb #aspects #heinz doofenshmirtz #perry the platypus #vanessa doofenshmirtz #norm the robot

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dovechim · 7 years

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it’s okay, that’s love 05

➾ water polo player!jimin x psychiatrist!reader ft ot7 ➾ warnings: smut/ mentions of sex, toxic relationships, blood and self harm, mental illnesses ➾ word count: 8.2k ➾ previous parts 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 ➾ disclaimer: this is purely a work of fiction and i do not claim to be a qualified mental health professional. this work is not intended to provide any medical advice of any sort, please consult a licensed physician instead.

please read the previous parts first!!

Taehyung never regrets things that he does. What’s the point when it only makes him feel worse about something he never should have done in the first place? Plus, he did read something online about how optimists live 5 years longer, so there’s also that.

And Sunmi’s hair is pretty long and silky. Just the right length for him to pull as he sinks into her balls deep, although her moans are getting on his nerves. Apart from the whole commitment thing, he realises this is why he never called her back after their first time; she’s noisy as fuck even though all he’s done before this is rub his cock against her slit.

“Shhhh baby, can you keep quiet for me?” Taehyung has long ago become an expert at making anything sexy, so even telling girls to shut up has become too easy for him.

But Sunmi only arches her back further into him, trying to get him to go deeper. “Bu-but Tae, I need more, oh- you’re so big. I missed your cock so badly.

To satisfy her, Taehyung bottoms out, effectively shutting her up because of his size. Still, he takes care not to go too hard on her, keeping her pleasure in mind as he reaches around to fondle her clit absentmindedly till he feels her walls start to flutter around him. It’s at this point that he allows himself to pound her a little harder to chase after his own high, releasing his load inside the condom before pulling out.

Sunmi is pouting as she turns around to lie on her back, and Taehyung pauses as he ties off the condom. “Why, did you not cum?”

“I did… but it would have felt so much better without a condom,” Sunmi runs her fingers through the wetness that lingers on her pussy regretfully, as if imagining his cum coating her lips and entrance.

Taehyung spares a glance towards her well used slit before pushing himself off the bed to dispose of the condom. “Sorry babe, not that into risking it.”

Sunmi is watching him as he gathers his clothes off the floor, tugging on his jeans and shirt in a record time. It’s his specialty after all.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Taehyung pauses on his way to the door, freezing with his hand halfway to the doorknob, slowly turning to face her. “What? What do you mean? Of course it fucking matters, you could get pregnant, and that’s the last thing a commitment phobe like me needs.”

Sunmi shrugs nonchalantly, closing her legs modestly as she sits up on the bed. “You didn’t use a condom last time.”

He should just leave, this is just another attempt to stall him and keep him for longer than necessary. “That was one time, and I pulled out.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she smiles softly at him with a hand on her lower belly even as Taehyung can feel his heart turn to stone inside his chest. “It only takes one time.”

The night air breeze penetrates through the flimsy flaps of the street-side stall tent. The streets are unusually cold at this time of the night, although to be fair, Seokjin’s never been out this late before. And he’s also never been as drunk as he is now, but he is considering doing it more often, since it blurs everything into a pleasant mirage of haziness, saving him the trouble of feeling everything so acutely.

He’s tired of being sober and just being alive in general.

Raising his hand, he calls out drunkenly for one more bottle of soju, to which the pleasant if slightly overbearing stall owner obliges. She places the bottle, opened and all, on his table, looking as though she’s about to tell him that he’s already had too much to drink, but then another customer distracts her.

Seokjin gratefully reaches to pour himself another shot, but before he can do so, someone else snatches the bottle from his hands, and he reacts belatedly with an angry shout.

“Hey, that’s mine you idiot, get your own fucking soju,” Seokjin means it to be intimidating, and he does consider himself a pretty intimidating guy, with his 60cm wide shoulders and all, but it apparently comes out in a drunken slur instead. The perpetrator only grins, a boxy, mischievous smirk, and gestures for a shot glass of his own before pouring for the both of them.

“You shouldn’t pour your own drink; didn’t you know that?” Taehyung knocks back his shot as soon as he sets the bottle down.

“That’s only if you’re drinking with someone else, brat, and I was drinking alone.” Seokjin snarks back as he reaches for his own glass.

“Ah, but hyung, the key word being was, past tense.” The cheeky brat has the audacity to help himself to another shot, but at this point, Seokjin is far too gone to stop him. All he’s thankful for is Taehyung’s steady hand has he continues to supply him with alcohol.

“Why’re you out drinking on a Friday night anyway? And alone too?” Taehyung picks at the leftover food on the table, sad remnants of sausages and an omelette that Seokjin can’t bring himself to finish.

“What’s wrong with drinking alone? On a Friday night?”

“Oh, y’know, nothing much… I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but all the other people here are either couples or big groups.”

Seokjin pauses after knocking back another shot, feeling the burn travel down his chest in a satisfying trail. “Could ask you the same thing. Why are you here, intruding on my solo drinking session?”

“Fucked up.” Taehyung’s answer is so straightforward and to the point that it catches Seokjin off guard. His honesty elicits laughter that suddenly bubbles up from his chest and pours out from his mouth in high-pitched squeaks that draw the attention of the tables around him. Taehyung only frowns and opens his mouth to protest, but Seokjin beats him to it.

“Join the club, buddy.” He reaches for another shot, but the bottle comes up empty. Taehyung is quick to react like the good dongsaeng that he is, calling for yet another bottle. “Two of my star players injured, lost a really fucking important match that would have led to semi-professional careers for some of them, got kicked out of my apartment. Fucking swell, everything is.”

He doesn’t want to turn this into a sob story competition, so Taehyung keeps quiet and busies himself with pouring the two of them another shot each. “Can’t help you there, my friend. But-”

Seokjin reaches to hit him on the head. “You punk, I’m not your friend, who said you could speak informally?”

Taehyung easily dodges the hit, not like it was very accurate in the first place. “It’s a saying, hyung. And anyway, wouldn’t you like to know what it’s like to get fucked by something other than life?”

“What?” Seokjin snorts in response. “If you’re offering, then no.”

“Sorry, hyung, I wouldn’t, not even for you,” Taehyung grins wryly. “You’re attractive as fuck, those shoulders really are amazing, but if you’re keen I do have some dudes who’d be into this…”

“Fuck off,” Seokjin mutters without any real heat in his voice, giving in to the urge to rest his head on the table. “Although if any of them had a place I could crash at for the night, that’d be great, I’d be willing to give up my virginity and all.”

“Not sure how much that’s worth, but I could make that happen,” Taehyung says as he peers at Seokjin’s slouched form on the table with growing concern. “Hey, I’m serious, you need a place to stay?”

No response from the older man, and Taehyung resorts to nudging his outstretched arm, but to no avail either. Great, now he’s stuck with a sleeping drunk, and he has to lug a dead weight all the way home.

This better count as arms day, leg day, whatever- for the next week or so.

It’s almost daylight by the time Taehyung manages to lug Seokjin back home, a testament to just how much Taehyung underestimated the older man’s weight. All he wants to do is collapse into bed and just forget everything that happened in the past 24 hours.

He manages to get the door unlocked with just one hand, and his shoulders are protesting over Seokjin’s dead weight. He lets out a curse as his foot hits a table leg in the dark, and he knocks over something that falls to the floor with a crash. Taehyung stumbles the last few steps towards the sofa and dumps Seokjin’s figure none too gently onto it, groaning as he rubs his sore muscles.

Seokjin stirs slightly at all the movement, moaning in protest as his head hits the armrest of the couch.

All the commotion has awoken someone in the house, because Taehyung hears a door opening and footsteps sounding from the hallway. He’s a hundred percent sure that it’s not Yoongi-hyung, so it must either be Jimin or-

You’re rubbing your eyes, squinting around in the dark for the light switch before flipping it on. “Tae? What’s all the noise? Did you just get back? Who-“

“Fuck, that really hurt,” Taehyung is examining his toe for damage before he glances up and follows your line of sight. “Yeah, um, I kinda picked him up off the streets-“

“Kim Taehyung, what did I tell you about picking up strays? This isn’t even an animal for fucks sake,” you take a few steps closer to peer at the sleeping figure on the couch, taking in his dishevelled appearance, wrinkled pink hoodie and faded ripped jeans. “Is- is this who I think it is? How the hell-“

Another door opens, and you stiffen immediately, whipping around to see who it is. In reality, you already know who it’s going to be, because Yoongi sleeps like the dead, and even if he were awake at this hour, he wouldn’t care enough to come out anyway.

Jimin’s hood is drawn over his head and his eyes are half open against the assault of light that fills the living room. “What’s going on here? Why is Seokjin-hyung on our couch right now?”

When his eyes land on you, he immediately straightens up, eyes opening wider than Taehyung’s ever seen before, mirroring your posture. There’s an awkward silence as the two of you awkwardly avoid each other’s gazes, both staring at the sleeping blonde man on your couch.

“Um, look, I have no idea why the two of you are acting like you just saw each other naked, but you’d better settle it between you because I’m going the fuck to bed,” Taehyung side steps you and heads for his room. “Oh, and just give him a blanket or something, I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

Taehyung talks as if Seokjin is more like an object than an actual person, but you keep your mouth shut as he disappears into his room, because he looks like he’s ready to fall asleep on his feet.

Jimin reaches for one of the spare throws that fell to the floor when Taehyung dumped Seokjin on it and drapes it over his sleeping figure. He turns back to head for his room, avoiding your gaze, but you stop him.

“Hey, um, Jimin, about last night, um…” You’ve never been this ineloquent in your life.

He turns around, cautiously meeting your eyes with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. “I’m okay with pretending it never happened, if that’s what you were going to say.”

You take a deep breath, cursing yourself for ever stepping out of your room in the first place, because it looks like you’re not going back to sleep for the rest of the night. “I was hurt, lonely, and desperate, and I took advantage of you. I was being unprofessional, and this won’t affect my ability to treat you at all. I hope we can put this behind us, and if it bothers you in the slightest, I can get someone else to continue your treatments.”

It didn’t bother me at all.

Jimin smiles sadly as he shakes his head, the thought of having someone else take over making him uncomfortable because there’s no one he trusts more than you. “It’s alright. I’m okay. Goodnight, _____. Sleep well.”

You watch him turn and head into his room, regret churning at the bottom of your stomach.

“Goodnight, Jimin.”

Seokjin throws an arm over the bright strip of light that just happens to land directly over his eyes. His head is pounding, nausea stirring right at the bottom of his throat, threatening to spill over if he makes any sudden movements. Where the fuck is he?

He cracks his eyes open just a tad, only to be met with the unfamiliar sight of the ceiling above him. When he cranes his neck a little, his surroundings don’t ring a bell, and he chooses to close his eyes again just to escape everything for a little while more.

Until someone shakes him awake rudely with an iron clad grip on his arm, and Seokjin can’t help but sputter out a few curses he’s sure he never would have said if he were sober.

“Hyung!! Wake up, it’s already past noon.” Taehyung’s insistent voice keeps him from shutting everything out and going back to sleep again.

“So? What does that have to do with me?”

“You sound like Yoongi hyung right now,” another voice comes from somewhere else, along with a chuckle and he vaguely recognises it to be Park Jimin’s.

“Shut up brat, before I make you do extra laps,” he mutters, still half asleep as he reaches to wipe the drool from his mouth. Taehyung pushes a glass of water into his hands, and he sips gratefully.

“Do you think you’ll even make it to practice like this, hyung?”

Practice… Seokjin jolts awake and fumbles for his phone, groaning when he realises that it’s Saturday, and practice starts in less than an hour. Forcing back the wave of nausea that threatens to overwhelm him, Seokjin pushes himself onto his feet, only to wobble dangerously had it not been Taehyung’s arm around his waist.

“Hey, careful, hyung you should rest, I’ll take over training for today.” All traces of teasing vanish from Jimin’s voice as he reaches out to push Seokjin back onto the couch gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll assign myself extra laps too.”

“You better, brat,” Seokjin can’t do more than grumble in what he hopes is an extra threatening manner, but the cool surface of the couch beckons to him.

“Uhh… here’s the thing…” Taehyung starts hesitantly, his arm still around Seokjin’s waist and keeping him from slouching back into a lying position. “You can’t be here, if Yoongi-hyung wakes up to find you here he’s gonna flip. He hates it when I bring strays back, and also, in terms of resident capacity, this house’s full.”

“Fucking brat, I’m not a stray,” even in his inebriated state, Seokjin knows when he’s being insulted, and he reaches over to smack Taehyung over the head, thankfully not missing this time. Although he knows he’s pretty much at Taehyung’s mercy right now, having been kicked out without a place to stay, but still.

Lucky for him, Taehyung’s a pretty easy-going guy.

Taehyung only sighs through his nose and enlists Jimin’s help to heave the larger man off the couch (“You need to use those muscles before they go to waste”) and up the stairs towards Namjoon’s apartment.

He’s praying that Namjoon’s in right now, if you or Yoongi come back to find that he’s adopted another stray into the house, his life will be miserable indeed. His prayers are answered when the door swings open to reveal an immaculately dressed blonde man, everything from his white dress shirt to his black slacks are crisply pressed, and his hair is styled off his forehead with what looks like a lot of gel.

“Hyung, were you about to go out? Sorry for interrupting-“

Namjoon frowns in response, his gaze travelling between Taehyung and Jimin, and the rather inebriated, sloppy looking man leaning on Jimin. “No, I wasn’t. And who’s this?”

“This is, um…” Taehyung hesitates as he takes in Namjoon’s scrutinizing gaze, and Seokjin’s dishevelled bedhead. The two look worlds apart in terms of appearance, and once again Taehyung stops to wonder if this is really a good idea.

“This is my coach!” Jimin pipes up, and Taehyung can hear the note of desperation in his voice as he desperately tries to maintain his grip on the older man. “He’s um… he kinda needs a place to stay right now, and um…”

Namjoon may be overly particular about his standards of cleanliness, but he’s not heartless. So when he sees Jimin struggling to maintain his balance under the older man’s weight, he heaves a sigh and beckons them in, wincing as he imagines every single step that they take across his perfectly polished wooden floors.

Jimin dumps Seokjin’s weight onto the couch much like Taehyung did the night before, and makes sure to complain extra loudly that he won’t be able to do his reps later on at gym. While Namjoon is trying his best not to immediately want to scrub every surface they’ve touched or even breathed on, Taehyung notices his distress and turns to him.

“Hyung, remember what we worked on in our sessions okay? This’ll be good for you, I promise.” Okay, so Taehyung didn’t exactly have this in mind when he thought of having them stay together, but what really matters is that he can pull excuses out of his ass like this and still have people believe him. And it’s not like it isn’t true anyway, one of the next steps in his treatment does involve direct desensitization, maybe not this soon, but soon, alright.

Namjoon takes a deep breath, and even though he’s itching to tell everyone to get out, he does trust Taehyung and his unorthodox methods, because they work. A month ago he couldn’t even stop washing his hands every ten minutes and taking a shower every hour, but now he’s gotten to the point where his skin isn’t dry and crackly from excessive washing.

“Thanks hyung, this means a lot,” Jimin turns to him sincerely, and Namjoon can only give him a strained smile in response as Seokjin shifts his weight onto the couch, before throwing up all over his floor.

“No problem, I had an extra room anyway,” Namjoon says through gritted teeth.

“Hey, punk.” You greet him with a fond smile on your face as you peek into his ward, and Jeongguk’s doe eyes practically light up to see you.

“Noona! Finally, I was getting so bored in here,” he pouts adorably with his lower lip jutting out as you take a seat beside his bed. “Did you bring it?”

“Yeah I did,” you grumble as you lift his heavy laptop and set it gently onto his lap. “Nearly died getting this into work today, you owe me one, big time.”

But it’s all worth it just for the look on Jeongguk’s face as he unzips his laptop case and pulls out his computer and mouse from within. The last time you saw him, you’d made the mistake of asking if he needed anything, and he claimed he was undergoing serious Overwatch withdrawals and begged you to lug his gaming computer over for him.

“I swear, you’re happier to see your computer than you are to see me,” you tease him with your arms crossed over your chest. “Is this all I am to you?”

“What? No!! Noona, you-“ his voice is cut off even as his fingers itch to lift the lid of his laptop. “Noona, I love you so much.”

You can’t help but laugh at his attempt to convince you, since his eyes are still fixed on the screen of his laptop even as he says it. “Save it, I know what I am to you.”

“No, really,” Jeongguk’s eyes leave the screen of his laptop to focus on you.

You smile back at him, reaching over to check on his bandages and generally fussing over him, aware that he enjoys the attention. “How are you doing though? Better?”

“Much better physically,” Jeongguk would never allow himself to admit that he’s anything less than perfectly functional, but when it comes to you, it feels a little easier, a little less like accepting defeat and more like allowing himself to admit that maybe he can’t shoulder everything on his own all the time.

Jeongguk doesn’t have much experience talking about things like this, so it’s more of the things he doesn’t say that say much more about him.

“You’re doing great,” you reassure him, and you both know that it’s not his physical state you’re talking about.

“Noona, it’s just…” Jeongguk hesitates as he fiddles with his laptop. “What happens after I get discharged from here? Do I… go home and stuff?”

“Generally, yes, that’s what people do when they get discharged,” you answer him with a grin. “Why, did you want to stay here for longer?”

“Y’know, it’s not too bad, having pretty nurses and an even prettier doctor at my beck and call,” Jeongguk grins. “Hey, do you think you could borrow one of the nurse’s uniforms? I’ve always had this thing for nurse fantasies and prescribed blowjobs to speed healing-“

“Okay, okay, I think our time is up,” you wince at the mention of it, holding up your hands to stop him, but you know he’s just joking around, so you don’t actually get up to leave. Instead, you place a hand over his larger one. “Things won’t change after you get discharged, Jeongguk. You don’t have to worry about people treating you differently now that they know. As much as you doubt so, things can and will go back to normal.”

The teasing smirk and crinkles at the corner of his eyes have disappeared now, and Jeongguk is fiddling with the corner of his blanket. He spares you a glance from under his golden hair that’s partially obscuring his vision. “I just… don’t want them to treat me like I’m fragile or something. And now that this happened, I feel like I can’t go on like how I did before, just ignoring everything and charging straight ahead without a second thought.

“Sometimes, I just want to talk about things with someone, tell them how I’m lost and how I don’t feel like existing anymore, but I don’t want them to be sad or worry about how to comfort me. I don’t want to be this toxic person who rains on everyone’s parade with these kind of thoughts, but I just want them to understand. I just want to tell someone. And then we can go on with our lives as per normal, and go get lamb skewers or something.”

“You can tell me,” you say as you squeeze his hand tightly. “I know it seems like it’s my job to psychoanalyze everything people say, but sometimes people just need to get things off their chests.

“I’ll even promise to buy you food every time after.”

This is one of the rare times that you’re thankful for how busy work keeps you, and even though it’s tiring, it keeps you from thinking about whatever happened two nights before.

It’s nice to engage in mindless chatter with the ward clerks at the counter, from giggling over the latest new intern who got transferred in and wondering if he’s single, to discussing the best places to get a full spa day. It’s one of the rare moments where you truly feel a little less tired of everything, and it’s nice to forget, even for a little while.

A slim, pale girl with jet black long hair approaches the counter just as you giggle over Joy’s lame joke. She’s dressed in a pair of cuffed denim shorts and a tank top that seems to engulf her tiny figure, and there’s a hesitant look on her face.

“Hi, can we help you?” Joy is the first to notice her, and you turn around immediately.

“Oh, um, I was just wondering if there’s a Taehyung here. Kim Taehyung.”

Joy’s eyes narrow just a tad. “May I have your name please? And what’s the nature of this, may I ask?”

“Lee Sunmi,” she says as she wraps her arms around herself; her fragility seems to be emphasised in volumes by such a simple action, and you suddenly feel a surge of protectiveness over her small frame. “Um, it’s confidential.”

“I’m afraid he’s not in at the moment, his duty doesn’t start till 2pm,” Seulgi offers helpfully from behind the desk, only to be on the receiving end of Joy’s glare.

“Oh,” she seems disappointed by this information, and you reach out to place a hand soothingly on her arm. “It’s okay, I’ll wait.”

“Are you okay? Is there anything I can do for you? Maybe one of us can help you instead?” You take in her tearstained cheeks and smudged makeup with a growing concern.

“I-I know this is the psychiatric department, but… I need a pr-pregnancy test. And Taehyung told me he’d accompany me.”

Jimin’s thighs are groaning in protest with every step he takes, and not to mention there’s a whole flight of stairs waiting for him ahead. It’s times like this that he absolutely regrets choosing to live here, and regrets even more that he chooses to go extra hard for leg day.

He briefly wonders how you’re doing at work and if you’d be back home already; but these thoughts are pushed to the back of his mind when he sees a suspicious looking silhouette lingering in front of the house. Jimin powers through the last few steps, trying not to let it show on his face as he places himself in between the stranger and the house.

“Who are you?” His tone is rude, and he could have worded his question better, but Jimin is tired from his workout and just wants to collapse into bed without even showering.

The man turns around, and Jimin recognises him as the man you were speaking to just a few nights ago, not that he peeked out of the window to eavesdrop on your conversation anyway. He was just doing his job to make sure you were safe.

“O-oh, nice to meet you, I’m Jung Hoseok, and I assume you live with _____?” Hoseok’s observant gaze flits down to the keys in Jimin’s grasp. “Is she in right now? I’d like to see her for a bit.”

Jimin can almost feel his protective hackles rising as he remembers the way you looked after talking to him that night, tearstained and so heart achingly lonely. “She’s not in right now. And she said she doesn’t want to see you ever again, so please stop coming here.”

“She did, didn’t she?” The sudden change of tone has Jimin immediately on alert, as the once neutral expression on Hoseok’s face turns into an ugly smirk. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but you must be Park Jimin right?”

“Yes, I am,” Jimin answers cautiously, balling up his fists in case this guy needs to be punched. But his next statement catches him off guard, does more damage than he would have ever envisioned, and it turns out that Jung Hoseok never intended on relying on physical strength to get his way.

“Interesting,” Hoseok raises his eyebrows as he takes in the apartment behind Jimin casually. “You know, I found it really interesting that _____ just so happens to live with two- now three- of her patients. _____ always had a thing for dating her patients, so I wonder which one of you three she’s currently fucking? Or maybe she’s sleeping with all three of you at the same time?”

Jimin is struggling with the urge not to sink his fist right into the other man’s nose, and gathers himself together just enough. “What the fuck are you talking about? How did you know all this?”

Hoseok is the epitome of composure as he watches Jimin break out into a sweat. “How did I know she likes to fuck her patients? Past experience, bro.”

He pauses to let his words sink in. “It looks like it might be you… did I guess correctly? You look like her type. In any case, it’d do you good to remember that the only reason why she puts up with you is because she has some serious issues underlying all of that doctor act she puts up. Not because she really loves you. Trust me, once she’s had enough, she’ll dump you like you’re yesterday’s trash.”

The words sound muffled to Jimin, as if he’s hearing them underwater, and suddenly it feels as if he’s treading water as well, like he’s in the midst of one of his games. He blinks rapidly to try and clear the water that’s flooding his eyes even through his goggles, hands coming up to his face to ensure that they’re still on him, but his fingers encounter nothing but the smooth skin of his eyelids instead.

“Anyway, nice meeting you, Park. Let ____ know I dropped by,” Hoseok says with an easy smile as he turns to saunter away, and Jimin takes a step toward his retreating back, but it feels as if he’s walking on the spot, unable to advance any further.

His fingers are suddenly itching, and it’s all he can do to unlock the door in front of him and stumble to his room. He throws himself to the floor on his knees, not even caring about the pain that radiates through his joints as he reaches for the handle of a drawer and pulls it out hurriedly, rummaging pointedly for the one object that he wants.

The sight of crimson stained flesh is naturally alarming to most, but Jimin only stares at it with a sort of morbid fascination, and somehow there’s a disconnect between what his eyes are perceiving and what his brain processes it as.

“He does it because he loves you, and he wants you to grow up to become better,” his mother tells him even as she sponges the blood away from the cuts on his legs. “He means well.”

Another stroke, and it feels like the pressure in his chest lessens even while the area between his thighs grow damper.

“Th-then what about you?” Jimin looks at the bruises on his mother’s arms with wide eyes. “Does he do it because he loves you too? Because he wants you to be better too?”

His mother tugs her sleeves down to cover her own bruises, smiling as she places her hand on his cheek. “Yes, your father loves us very much.”

Jimin looks at her like she’s his entire world, and if she says it’s okay, then it’s okay. “How can we become better for him? So that he won’t hit us anymore, and so that he’ll love us?”

It doesn’t hurt, he’s long ago stopped registering the pain.

“Just let him be, Jimin. This is what he needs to do to show that he loves us.”

It’s nearly midnight when you finish your shift, and you’re itching to get back home. Taehyung’s cell has been off the entire day, and he didn’t even show up for his shift like he was supposed to, so naturally you had to cover for him. In the end you told Sunmi to go home after trying countless of times to contact Taehyung.

A quick perusal of the shoerack tells you that he’s not home, and on top of your anger at him for leaving Sunmi in the lurch, is genuine concern for your best friend. You enter the house only to find Seokjin gone from the couch and Yoongi raiding the fridge.

“Yoongi? Did you see Taehyung today?”

Yoongi pulls out some rice and pauses to turn to you. “No, why? Should he be here or something?”

“No, it’s just- he didn’t turn up for work today, and there was a sort of situation.”

Yoongi only shrugs in response, turning back to the kitchen counter to resume making his dinner.

“Oh, Hoseok dropped by earlier again today. You sure you don’t know that guy?”

“No, I really don’t,” you shoot over your shoulder. “What did he say this time?”

“Don’t know, I think Jimin was the one who talked to him. Maybe ask him?”

You make a non-committal grunt in reply, not exactly sure you want to know what the two men talked about right at that instant. Heading toward your room, you pause to glance past Taehyung’s open door to see if he’s in, but it’s empty, just as you expected. Pulling out your phone again to check for any new messages or calls, worry etches lines across your forehead when the screen shows up blank.

Jimin’s door is closed and it looks like the lights are off inside, so you pad quietly past into your own room and close the door. You drop your bag off by on your desk, suddenly feeling as if it’s been years and years since the day started, and collapse into bed, closing your eyes in an attempt to escape from it all.

Taehyung flicks through the notifications on his phone in disinterest, only barely noting that you’ve been calling him non-stop since that afternoon. What’s more pressing are the multiple texts and voice messages from Sunmi, all of which are things that he’d prefer to ignore.

He closes the lid of the bowl of instant noodles in front of him, suddenly losing his appetite. He’s been trying to ignore the gnawing worry at the back of his mind for what seems forever now, alternating between trying to forget the first time he slept with Sunmi and desperately trying to remember if he’d pulled out.

Taehyung clearly remembers having done so- he never cums in anyone.

Anxiety is building in his chest, rising to a crescendo that matches the restless jiggling of his leg against the table. With a sudden surge of energy, Taehyung pushes his chair back from the table and stands, feeling as if he might explode if he stays still for just a second longer.

He pushes the door of the convenience store open and heads out onto the street, hailing a cab that will take him to Sunmi’s. What would you even say if you knew about this? You’d probably tell him that he can’t run from things forever, and tell him to man the fuck up.

So Taehyung finds himself standing in front of Sunmi’s door after having ignored all her texts and calls for the past day or so. He hesitantly knocks on the door, praying with all his might that she’s not in, but of course, luck isn’t on his side as she opens the door to greet him, barely dressed with a robe hastily thrown over her figure.

“T-Taehyung! You didn’t tell me you were coming over!” Sunmi’s eyes are widened in surprise, and she lingers in the doorway, as if hesitant to let him in. “I’ve been texting and calling you all day.”

“Y-Yeah, about that. I’m sorry. I just came to talk things over.” Taehyung peers over her smaller frame into her empty living room. “Is it a bad time?”

“No!” Sunmi steps aside hastily. “No, of course not, come in, take a seat.”

Taehyung makes himself comfortable as Sunmi disappears in the opposite direction of the kitchen. She reappears a few seconds later, heading past him into the kitchen this time, and he gets up to follow her inside.

On the kitchen table are two empty wine glasses, and Taehyung immediately narrows his eyes in suspicion. Both glasses look like they’ve been used, and there’s a tell-tale pool of red liquid at the bottom.

“Been drinking?” He remarks casually as he watches Sunmi reach for a mug.

She’s startled by his comment, whirling around to follow his gaze to the two wine glasses on the table. Taehyung can see a slight waver in her expression, just a flicker of panic in her eyes and a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, before she gives him a forced smile.

“Oh, no I was just having some friends over. Need to watch my alcohol, especially now that I might be…” Her voice trails off as she glances down.

She hands Taehyung his drink and wraps her arms around herself, pulling on the tie on her robe to close the garment a little tighter around herself. Taehyung’s eyes are drawn to the sliver of skin of her collarbone exposed by her robe, her usually porcelain complexion is now marred with navy and violet bruises that he definitely didn’t remember leaving.

“I went to the hospital today to look for you, but you weren’t in. Waited till your shift started too, but you didn’t turn up.”

“Really? Thought you had friends over today.”

“That was after,” Sunmi hurriedly tacks on, and Taehyung only nods in response, entirely unconvinced.

Now that he’s able to think calmly, without the panicked fog obscuring his rationality, he can smell the familiar musk of sex and sweat wafting off her. He’s so familiar with that smell that it’s obvious even under the layer of perfume she has on to mask it.

“You know; I came over because I wanted to make things right.” He says with as much sincerity as he can muster, and Sunmi falls for it, hook, line and sinker.

“R-really?” She looks a little shocked, and maybe a tad bit doubtful, so Taehyung decides he needs to step up his game.

“Yes, really. I was the one who got you into this situation, so I think I should be there for you when you need me most.”

Sunmi looks as if she’s at a loss of what to say, be it from shock or guilt, so Taehyung decides to strike while the iron is hot.

“Let me move in with you?”

A furious pounding wakes you up from your slumber, and you groggily open your eyes, whining in protest. Surprisingly, you realise that it’s Yoongi’s voice coming from outside your door, and nearly fall out of bed as you make your way to the door, sheets still entangled around your legs.

“What is it?” You ask upon swinging open the door.

“It’s Jimin, come quick!” Yoongi is a man of few words, but at this point you know him so well that you can pick up on the panic in his voice.

He turns around and heads for Jimin’s room, with the door now open wide. You follow him, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste, and you freeze upon seeing him passed out in a pool of crimson red.

“Fuck,” you jolt into action and throw yourself onto your knees beside him, sliding your arm around his neck to cradle his head as you open his eyelids and check his vital signs. His skin feels cold to the touch, and he’s not responding at all.

Choking back a sob, desperation is rising in your chest as you mumble at Yoongi to get an ambulance. Your eyes are still fixed on the nasty gashes on his thighs, guilt eating away at you as you try and remember the last thing you said to him, if you’d done anything to trigger him, but the multitude of thoughts that are racing through your mind makes it impossible.

Jimin looks like he could be sleeping like this, apart from the deathly pale colour of his lips, and you will yourself to believe it, telling yourself over and over that he’ll be okay. You’re running your fingers through his faded blonde hair, panicked breaths making it hard to think straight and you can barely hear Yoongi’s voice as he tells you that the paramedics are here.

The next thing you know, you’re seated in a stiff, hard backed chair and staring at the familiar yet isolating white walls of the hospital.

You barely register Yoongi’s presence next to you, until he reaches for your hand to place a piping hot cup of coffee into your grasp.

“Yoongi- what did Hoseok say to Jimin?” You turn to him, only to see similar lines of worry and concern etched across his forehead.

“I’m not sure, I only know they talked because I left my room to get something, and saw them outside the house. Thought he had everything settled, that’s why I went back to my room. Heard the door slamming a while later, but I didn’t think much of it.” Yoongi cradles his own hands around his cup, staring into the dark liquid as steam curls off the surface.

“I saw you guys the other night.”

His sudden statement catches you mid sip, and you scald your tongue. “Wh-what? Which night was this?”

“The night you kissed Park Jimin and treated him like a fucking rebound.”

“I didn’t- wait, you saw all of this? That’s creepy as fuck, you know that right?”

But Yoongi ignores you and keeps going. “I’m guessing this Hoseok guy is your ex who keeps showing up, and you don’t want to deal with his shit so you’re avoiding him while trying to deny your feelings for Park. Hit the nail on the head yet?”

“Wh- fuck you, you don’t know anything about me, so stop acting like you do.” Yoongi’s a lot more perceptive than you’d realised, and upon hearing his accusations out loud like that, your defences snap back into place, and you can almost feel your hackles rising.

“I wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but thanks for confirming it,” Yoongi’s chuckle gets on your already frazzled nerves. “You know that Park Jimin doesn’t deserve being your collateral damage right?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. There’s nothing going on with Jimin and I. The only relationship that exists between us is a patient and doctor relationship. Period.” You can only hope that the resolution in your voice shuts down any further commentary from him, but no such luck.

“If only things were that simple eh? If only all relationships were all one dimensional; black and white, how fucking great would that be?”

“I. Don’t. Have. Feelings. For. Him.” You say through gritted teeth.

Yoongi shrugs in response. “Have it your way, but you know what’s your problem? You’re scared. Scared of taking off that god damn mask of perfection and emotionlessness and letting others see what’s underneath it. You’re using this whole professionalism thing as an excuse to keep a distance from him, and you may be able to lie to me about your feelings for him, but deep down I think you know the truth.”

Yoongi may be a lot more perceptive than you ever thought he could be, but he still doesn’t know the full picture, and he has no idea what he’s talking about. What he’s saying is just pure speculation, and you really shouldn’t let him get to you like this. He’s entirely wrong. Without realizing, your hands have tightened into fists, making the drink slosh over onto your hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The sensation of the hot liquid scalding your skin barely registers as you fight to keep your gaze on the wall in front of you, if only to escape his penetrating stare.

“You can’t keep using this as an excuse.”

But Yoongi doesn’t know the full story, doesn’t understand that you can’t let yourself go down that path again, can’t let someone else hurt you like that again. He thinks it’s just a simple ‘hung up over an ex and unwilling to take a chance at new love’ kind of story, when it’s so much more than that,

“Look, Yoongi, I don’t know why you think you have the right to lecture me like this, but you don’t know anything. It’s way more complicated than this, there’s a lot more at stake than you think.”

“Then tell me.”

There’s a beat of silence where you imagine pouring everything out to him, disregarding the fact that he is technically still one of your patients. And you imagine how good it would feel, to lay down everything for a second and let someone else shoulder the weight of it with you.

But then the doctor exits from the ward, and you’re off your feet instantly.

“How is he?”

“He’s alright, just suffered some major blood loss, but nothing that we couldn’t fix with a blood transfusion. He’s awake now, and you can go and see him, but please refrain from overwhelming him. Just one visitor at a time, please.”

Yoongi places a hand on your back to push you into the room, and you don’t even look back as you enter.

Jimin is propped up against his pillow, with his messy blonde hair sticking up in all directions and his eyes are immediately on you. He seems a little better now, with some colour in his cheeks, and it doesn’t look like he’s in one of his other personalities.

“Hi.” Relief fills your chest as you take in his appearance, sitting by his side and reaching for his hand on top of the sheet. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay,” he reciprocates your grip with a squeeze, glancing up with a smile. “I’m sorry, you must have been really worried.”

“D-do you know what happened then?” You ask cautiously, and before you can help it, you’re reaching over to push a strand of his hair out of his eyes. When you catch yourself in the act, you swallow hard, convincing yourself that you’re just doing this out of a platonic concern alone, like how you treated Jeongguk.

“I fainted, didn’t I?” He frowns slightly, as if trying to recall. “H-Hoseok came to the house again. I remember being so angry that I wanted to punch him, so I must have gotten into a fight with him. That’s how I ended up here. Right?”

His voice rises at the end of his sentence in uncertainty, as he waits for you to confirm and reassure him.

“Y-yes, that’s right Jimin,” you force your voice to sound as soothing as possible, even as you stroke his cheek absent-mindedly. He doesn’t seem to remember hurting himself, but since he can remember the encounter with Hoseok, his personality must have taken over after it happened.

“Is it true then? What he said?” His words jolt you back into awareness of your actions, and you hastily withdraw your hand.

“Hoseok? Wh-what did he say?”

“You used to date him, and you broke up with him because you got bored of him.”

That little fucking asshole. You clench your jaw as you imagine Hoseok riling Jimin up, and being entirely to blame for triggering Jimin’s personality.

“Yes, it’s true, we used to date, but I didn’t break up with him because I was bored of him.” You force yourself to appear as calm as possible, when all you can think of is the night you found him in bed with Bae Suzy, and that sickening realisation that accompanied it.

“Then why did you break up with him?”

You’re struggling to find an answer for him, fighting through the sudden flash of images that flood your mind.

Jimin watches you through sleepy, drooping eyes, but he forces himself to focus on you. Looking at you makes him feel like everything might be okay again, and you feel like home to him, if home was anything but a physical place. Like it doesn’t even matter that you’ll love him and throw him away at a second’s notice, because all he wants is for you to look at him like this all the time, never mind that he’ll get hurt, because it’s all worth it.

A part of him aches to be more than just your patient, even if it’s just temporary.

“He cheated on me,” is the simple explanation you offer him. And maybe it’s his drowsiness, or maybe it’s the genuinely devastated, heartbroken expression on your face, but Jimin finds that he believes it whole heartedly, believes you over Jung Hoseok any day.

“Okay.” Is all he says, and he takes in your look of surprise with something akin to amusement

“Just ‘okay’?”

“Yeah. Okay.” He gives you a sleepy little smile, and you return it, reaching to adjust his blanket.

Jimin grips your hand tightly, a mild panic clogging his throat even through the haze of drowsiness that tugs and beckons him back to sleep.

“C-can you stay with me?” He wills himself to keep a hold of your hand, worried that you’ll reject him and leave him all alone again. “Please?”

“Till you fall asleep, and even after then,” you shift closer to his bed, resting your cheek on your arm so that you can watch his angelic features stretch into a relieved smile, before he closes his eyes and slips into a restful slumber.

As you watch him fall asleep, only one thought occurs to you: Yoongi might be right after all.

#bangtan bookclub #bangtanwriters-net #kwriterskollection #btswiters #bts #btsmaknaenet #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #jimin scenarios #bts park jimin #bts x reader

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xtruss · 3 years

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England Soccer Players Face Racist Abuse After Italy Defeat

Three Black players who missed penalty kicks in England’s shootout loss to Italy were targeted online, bringing calls of condemnation from Prince William and Prime Minister Boris Johnson.

England’s players react during the penalty shootout loss to Italy. Photo: Laurence Griffiths/Getty Images

— By Joshua Robinson | July 12, 2021 WSJ

LONDON—England woke from its European Championship hangover on Monday to confront a barrage of racist abuse that had been directed at the three national team players who missed penalty kicks in Sunday night’s defeat against Italy.

What started as an opportunity for a moment of national unity here turned ugly as the trio of Marcus Rashford, Jadon Sancho, and Bukayo Saka, who are Black, were immediately targeted after England’s loss to Italy by thousands of racist social media posts. A mural of Rashford in his native Manchester was also defaced.

Prince William and U.K. Prime Minister Boris Johnson both condemned the attacks. Twitter said on Monday morning that it had removed 1,000 posts directed at the players and “permanently suspended a number of accounts,” while Facebook said it had deleted “vile comments” from Instagram without specifying how many.

“This England team deserve to be lauded as heroes, not racially abused on social media,” Johnson tweeted. “Those responsible for this appalling abuse should be ashamed of themselves.”

Prince William added: “I am sickened by the racist abuse aimed at England players after last night’s match. It is totally unacceptable that players have to endure this abhorrent behavior.”

The England men’s team was playing in its first major tournament final in 55 years. But it couldn’t break down Italy in front of 60,000 fans at Wembley Stadium on Sunday. After 90 minutes of regulation plus 30 more of extra-time, the match went into a penalty shootout. Rashford, 23, stepped up and hit the post. Sancho, 21, saw his effort blocked. And Italy struck the winning blow when goalkeeper Gianluigi Donnarumma plunged to his left to save a shot from Saka, a 19-year-old winger who plays for Arsenal.

“He’s not on his own,” England manager Gareth Southgate said of Saka after the game. “He’s such a super boy. He’s so popular with the whole group. He’s had an incredible tournament, been an absolute star. And he’s going to continue to be a star.”

Black players have been increasingly vocal in recent years about highlighting the relentless nature of the threats against them in the normal course of doing their jobs along with broader social issues. Raheem Sterling, the England star who plays for Manchester City, has for two years campaigned publicly against racism in the sport. Rashford, meanwhile, led a drive to help families that rely on free school lunch programs that were in threat of being cut during the pandemic.

English Premier League clubs and players engaged in a four-day social media blackout in April to urge social media companies to take stronger action against online abuse.

And ever since last summer, when protests following the murder of George Floyd erupted on both sides of the Atlantic, Premier League matches this season began with players taking a knee on the pitch before kickoff.

The England national team had continued the show of support throughout the European Championship, only to be met with scattered boos from their own fans.

“Booing and racially abusing the fine young men that play for our country and have given us so much pleasure and joy over the last month is not being an England fan,” former England striker and BBC analyst Gary Lineker tweeted.

This is not the first time that England supporters have descended en masse on players unfortunate enough to miss a crucial penalty.

Shootouts, one of the most nerve-shredding in sports, have long been a source of trauma for the English national team. After beating Spain at Euro 96, it took more than 20 years for the Three Lions to win another one, against Colombia at the 2018 World Cup in Russia. Southgate himself was the scapegoat for missing the deciding shot in a Euro 96 semifinal, as irate supporters reminded him of his failure at every turn and harassed his parents. It took Southgate over a year to get over it, he said.

A local resident puts love hearts and slogans on the plastic that covers offensive graffiti on the vandalized mural of Manchester United star and England player Marcus Rashford on the wall of a cafe in Machester, England. Photo: Christopher Furlong/Getty Images

But Southgate is white, and his playing days came years before social media gave millions of fans a direct line to athletes. Rashford, Sancho, and Saka—who are young, outspoken, and already stars—have a combined 18.5 million followers on Instagram alone.

Southgate was criticized in the game’s immediate aftermath for even putting three players aged 23 or younger wound up in a position to win or lose a major tournament final. Sancho and Rashford had only come into the game moments before the end of extra time. On Sunday night, he took full responsibility for naming England’s lineup for the shootout and said he’d been confident that his players could repeat the accuracy and poise they had shown in training.

Yet even he wasn’t prepared for what his players might face after the defeat.

“I know a lot of that has come from abroad, that people who track those things have been able to explain that, but not all of it,” Southgate said. “It’s just not what we stand for. We have been a beacon of light in bringing people together…and the national team stands for everybody and so that togetherness has to continue.”

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teshknowledgenotes · 3 years

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BOOK: THE ART OF STRATEGY - AVINASH DIXIT & BARRY NALEBUFF

WHY?

I read this book in order to learn about game theory, it was a book recommended by Rana from Theta Trading.

THOUGHTS

It really helped me think about the stock market, changed my thought process on the stock market and in life. It also helped my process how one choice can lead to different situations, and how one move in the stock market whether with the company, or headlines, or what other investors think will lead the stock price in different directions.

NOTES

Business men and corporations must develop good competitive strategies to survive, and find cooperative opportunities to grow the pie. Politicians have to devise campaign strategies to get elected and legislative strategies to implement their visions. Football coaches plan strategies for players to execute on the field. Parents trying to elicit good behaviour from children must become amateur strategists – the children are pros

Work even social life, is a constant stream of decisions. What career to follow, how to manage a business, whom to marry, how to bring up children, and whether to run for president are just some examples of such fateful choices. The common element in these situations is that you do not act in vacuum. Instead, you are surrounded by active decision makers whose choices interact with yours. This interaction has an important effect on your thinking and actions

In a single game of rock, paper, scissors, for example it isn't hard to choose moves randomly. But when games get repeated, the approach is trickier. Mixing your plays does not mean rotating your strategies in a predicatable manner. Your opponent can observe and exploit any systematic pattern almost as easily as he can exploit an unchanging repetition of a single strategy. It is unpredictability that is important when mixing

it turns out most people fall into predictable patterns. You can test this yourself online where computer programs are able to find the pattern and beat you. In an effort to mix things up, players often rotate their strategies too much. This leads to the surprise success of the “avalanche” strategy: rock, rock, rock

The importance of randomized strategies was one of the early insights of game theory. The idea is simple and intuitive but needs refinement to be useful in practice. It is not enough for a tennis player to know that he should mix his shots between the opponent's forehand and backhand. He needs some idea of whether he should go to the forehand 30 percent or 64 percent of the time and how the answer depends on the relative strengths of the two sides.

If you happen to be a farmer with soy beans to sell in the future, then the contract can provide a hedge against future price movements. Similarily, if you sell soy milk and hence need to buy soy beans in the future, this contract is insurance, not a gamble.

But the volume of the contracts on the exchange suggests that most people buying and selling are traders, not farmers and manufacturers. For them, the deal is a zero-sum game. When both sides agree to trade, each one thinks it will make money. One of them must be wrong. That's the nature of a zero-sum game. Both sides can't win.

This is a paradox. How can both sides think they can outsmart the other? Someone must be wrong. Why do you think the other person is wrong, not you? Let us assume that you don't have any insider information. If someone is willing to sell you a futures contract, any money you make is money they lose. Why do you think that you are smarter than they are? Remember that their willingness to trade means that they think they are smarter than you.

In game theory you need to understand the other player's perspective. You need to consider what they know, what motivates them, and even how they think about you. When thinking strategically, you have to work extra hard to understand the perspective and interactions of all the other players in the game, including ones who may be silent. That brings us to one last point. You may be thinking you are playing one game, but it is only part of a larger game. There is always a larger game.

A better understanding of people's motives enriches our understanding of economic decision making and strategic interactions alike

We should think about why concerns for altruism and fairness and anger or disgust when someone else violates these precepts, have such a strong hold on people. This takes us into realm the realm of speculation, but one plausible explanation can be found in evolutionary psychology. Groups that instill norms of fairness and altruism into their members will have less internal conflict than groups consisting of purely selfish individuals. Therefore they will be more sucessful in taking collective action, such as provision of goods that benefit the whole group and conservation of common resources, and they will spend less effort and resources in internal conflict. As a result, they will do better, both in absolute terms and in competition with group that do not have similar norms. In other words, some measure of fairness and altruism may have evolutionary survival value.

Being of two minds: Chess strategy illustrates another important practical feature of looking forward and reasoning backward: you have to play the game from the perspective both players. While it is hard to calculate your best move in a complicated tree, it is even harder to predict what the other side will do.

If you really could analyze all possible moves and counter moves and the other player could as well, then the two of you would agree up front as to how the entire game would play out. But once the analysis is limited to looking down only some branches of the tree, the other player may see something you didn't miss or something you've seen. Either way the other side may then make a move you didn't anticipate

To really look forward and reason backward, you have to predict what the other players will actually do, not what you would have done in their shoes. The problem is that when you try to put yourself in the other players' shoes, it is hard if not impossible to leave your own shoes behind. You know too much about what you are planning to do in your next move and it is hard to erase that knowledge when you are looking at the game from the other player's perspective. Indeed, that explains why people don't play chess (or poker) against themselves. You certainly can't bluff against yourself or make a surprise attack.

There is no perfect solution to this problem. When you try to put yourself in the other players' shoes, you have to know what they know and not know what they don't know. Your objectives have to be their objectives, not what you wish they had as an objective. In practice, firms trying to simulate the moves and counter-moves of a potential business scenario will hire outsiders to play the role of the other players. That way, they can ensure that their game partners don't know too much. Often the biggest learning comes from seeing the moves that were not anticipated and then understanding what let to that outcome, so that it can be either avoided or promoted

Thomas Schelling invented the way of representing bother players' payoffs in the same table while making clear which payoff belongs to which player. With excessive modesty, he writes “If I am ever asked whether I ever made a contribution to game theory I shall answer yes... the invention of staggered payoffs in a matrix” Actually Schelling develped many of the most important concepts of game theory – focal points, credibility, commitment, threats and promises, tipping and much more. Generally higher payoff numbers are better for each player. Sometimes, as with prisoners under interrogation, the payoff numbers are years in jail, so each player prefers a smaller number for himself. The same can happen if the payoff numbers are ranking where 1 is best. When looking at a game table, you should check the interpretation of the payoff numbers for that game.

Tit for tat: The problem with tit for tat is that any mistake “echoes” back and forth. One side punishes the other for a defection, and this sets off a chain reaction. The rival responds to the punishment by hitting back. This response calls for a second punishment without hitting back. Such cycles or reprisals are often observed in real-life feuds between Israelis and Arabs in the Middle East, or Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland, or Hindus and Muslims in India. What tit for tat lacks is a way of saying “Enough is enough” It is too provocable and not forgiving enough

The Galapagos Islands are the home of Darwin's finches. When the cactus flower withers, the main source of food disappears for the cactus finch. You can predict the end result of this strategy: no nectar, no pollen, no seeds, no fruit, and then no more cactus finch. Does that mean that evolution has led the finches into a prisoners' dilemma where the eventual outcome is extinction?

Not quite on two counts. Finches are territorial and so the finches (and their offspring) whose local cactus shut down may end up as losers. Killing next year's neighbourhood food supply is not worth today's extra sip of pollen. Therefore these deviant finches would not appear to have a fitness advantage over the others. But the conclusion changes if this strategy ever becomes pervasive. The deviant finches will expand their search for food and even those finches that wait will not save their cactus's stigma. Given the famine that is sure to follow, the birds most likely to survive are those who started in the strongest position. The extra sip of nectar could make the difference.

What we have here is a cancerous adaptation. If it stays small, it can die out. But if it ever grows too large, it will become the fittest strategy on a sinking ship. Once it ever becomes advantageous even on a relative scale, the only way to get rid of it is to eliminate the entire population and start again. With no finches left on the Daphne Major, there will be no one left to snip the stigmas and the cacti will bloom again. When two lucky finches alight on this island, they will have an opportunity to start the process from scratch

Many mathematical game theorists dislike the dependence of an outcome on historical, cultural or linguistic aspects of the game or on purely arbitrary devices like round numbers; they would prefer the solution be determined purely by the abstract mathematical facts about the game – the number of players, the strategies available to each, and the payoffs to each in relation to the strategy choices of all. We disagree. We think it entirely appropriate that the outcome of a game played by humans interacting in a society should depend on the social and psychological aspects of the game.

The Nash Equilibrium is a decision-making theorem within game theory that states a player can achieve the desired outcome by not deviating from their initial strategy. Each player's strategy is optimal when considering the decisions of other players. Every player wins because everyone get the outcome they desire. The prisoner's dilemma is a common game theory example and one that adequately showcases the effct of the Nash Equilibrium

A Nash equilibrium is a configuration of strategies where each player's choice is his best response to the other player's choice (or the other players' choices when therea re more thatn two players in the game) If some outcome is not a Nash equilibrium, at least one player must be choosing an action that is not his best response. Such a player has a clear incentive to deviate from that action, which would destroy the proposed solution.

A game is a situation of strategic interdependence: the outcome of your choices (strategies) depends upon the choices of one or more other persons acting purposely. The decision makers involved in a game are called players, and their choices are called moves. The interests of the players in a game may be in strict conflict: one person's gain is always another's loss. Such games are called zero-sum. More typically, there are zones of commonality of interests as well as of conflict and so, there can be combinations of mutually gainful or mutually harful strategies. Nevertheless, we usually refer to the other players in a game as one’s rivals.

The moves in a game may be sequential or simultaneous. In a game of sequential moves, there is a linear chain of thinking: If I do this, my rival can do that, and in turn I can respond in the following way. Such a game is studied by drawing a game tree. The best choices of moves can be found by applying rules.

Rule 1: Look forward and reason backward

Rule 2: If you have a dominant strategy, use it

Rule 3: Eliminate dominated strategies from consideration

Rule 4: Look for an equilibrium, a pair of strategies in which each player's action in the best response to other's

We classify the actions that can enhance the credibility of your unconditional and conditional strategic moves and that can help you practice brinkmanship in eith categories, which are based on three broad principles. We will state them first and then illustrate each

1) Write contracts to back up your resolve

2) Establish and use a reputation

3) Cut off communication

4) Burn bridges behind you

5) Leave the outcome beyond your control, or even to chance

6) Move in small steps

7) Develop credibility through teamwork

8) Employ mandated agents

The size of the U.S. College textbook market is $7 billion. Let's take a stepback and look at the world from the publisher's perspective. If a typical textbook will be resold twice on the used market, then the publisher gets to make only one sale rather than three. If they were looking to make $30 profit per student, now they have to make $90 on the first sale to come out even. This is what leads publishers to raise the list price of the text all the way up to $150, which allows them to get their $90 profit up front. And once the books are sold they have every incentive to eliminate competition from the stock of used textbooks by coming out with a new edition as quickly as they can.

Being a city practitioner is akin to driving over the Bay Bridge – it is wonderful when you are alone and not so great when the city gets too crowded. The first dentist in an area can be extremely valuable and maintain a large practice. But with too many dentists around, there is the potential for congestion and price competition. As the number increases, city dentists will be competing for the same patient pool, and their talents will be underutilized.

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crimsonrevolt · 7 years

Photo

Congratulations Kim you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Andromeda Tonks!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

I can’t tell you how absolutely thrilled we all were to find your app in our inbox! You sum up perfectly the contrasting aspects of her personality along with some wonderful headcanons and gave us a deeper look into who she is making her so very well fleshed out. The writing sample was beautiful and provided an insight into how the war is affecting Andromeda as well as exploring her relationship with her husband and daughter. Welcome to the group and we can’t wait to see what you do with Andromeda.

application beneath the cut

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Hello! My name is Kim, I’m 23, she/her are my pronouns and my timezone is EST.

ACTIVITY

I’m on pretty much every single day. I haven’t done group rps in the longest time because of life but I’d love to get back into them. I have been doing 1x1′s however, and I’m active on those every day/every other day so I would give myself about an 7.5-8/10.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

I found you through the ‘hp rp’ tag. Like I said I’m dying to get back into group rps!

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Probably Harry himself (because I too could never catch a break), but in all honesty I think I fell in love with Harry’s sense of adventure, loyalty and constant need to please others. I can relate.

ANYTHING ELSE?

None that I can think of at this time!

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Andromeda Walburga Tonks, née Black. Andromeda means persistence and ruler of men, and is a constellation in the northern sky. It is fitting for a steadfast woman like Andromeda and she is actually very content with her name. The first one, at least. Andromeda hates her middle name, Walburga, mostly because it is the name of her aunt whom she cannot stand for good reason.

FACE CLAIM

Jenna Coleman is perfect!

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

Andromeda was actually the first character that I began playing in tumblr rp around seven years ago. I connected to her right off the bat because I felt like she was such an underrated, unexplored character with one of the most fascinating backstories in the Harry Potter universe. A woman who left everything she had ever known to marry a muggleborn must have so many different conflicts, demons and emotions, and I was really drawn to fleshing out what those could be.

I see Andromeda as a very conflicted character. Unlike most members of her family she was always an individual thinker, taking what her family fed her and questioning them at every turn. Admittedly when she was younger she bought into it easier than when she first began attending Hogwarts. When her entire world was within the walls of Black Manor, it was easy not to be subjected to the ‘monsters’ her parents would complain about on a daily basis. But Andromeda just truly did not understand what was so wrong with these seemingly normal wizards and witches, going as far as questioning them one day as to why they hated them so. To Andromeda they truly didn’t seem so bad. Andromeda received a strike across the cheek from her mother, and never again did she outwardly question their beliefs. Until Ted, of course.

Andromeda is probably a mess of contradictions. She comes from a pureblood, preppy family and grew up to prefer parties with friends than lavish balls, leather jackets than ballgowns. An originally quiet girl she really grew into her own and gained a voice most prominently after meeting Ted. Finally she realized that her life truly never resided in the confines of Black Manor in the luxurious world of the purebloods. Andromeda preferred fire and brim, muggle record players and London pubs, spending time with newfound friends other than senior purists. It took a lot for her to grow out of her biases and learn from her mistakes, and while she is still the lady she was raised to become Andromeda has learned to stop squashing her rebellious spirit…which she feels guilty about from time to time. Like I said, it’s complicated.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Andromeda & Ted // Heterosexual // She/Her Pronouns

Ted Tonks is Andromeda’s saving grace. Meeting him turned Andromeda’s world upside down, prompting her to question everything that she thought she had known from the moment he had caught her attention. It wasn’t love at first sight by any means – Andromeda’s own insecurities and doubts certainly left her guarded at first. But Ted always had a funny effect on her. Soon she was unable to get him off of her mind. He filled her every thought, every whim, every desire. It came as no surprise that he found a place within her heart. Ted is the other half of her whole, the love her life. Every day Andromeda falls more and more in love with her husband, and will never regret her decision to choose him over her family, especially whenever she looks at their daughter.

Many would probably be surprised to learn that Andromeda is actually a very sexually positive person. It probably has to do with her stuffy upbringing, having been viewed for years as the ‘untouchable Andromeda Black.’ But she finds sex and intimacy to be extremely important. Ted is the only man she’s ever been with and always will be. Andromeda has always been a curious girl by nature, eager to learn and try new things. Ted opened her up to so many different things that she hadn’t known even existed, and I’d imagine that sex would have just been another thing she was eager to learn from him when they got together.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

Determined/Stubborn - There’s really no stopping Andromeda once her mind is set on something. It was why there was no dissuading her once she realized that she wanted a life more than what her parents had planned for her, and there was no stopping her when she decided to leave them for a muggleborn. Andromeda now remains most determined to keep her family together, at whatever cost. Ted and Nymphadora are her entire world now, and she lives in fear that her old family will try and rip it from her. This goes hand-in-hand with how stubborn she can be. It’s difficult to sway her once her mind is set on something.

Loyal - Andromeda is loyal to a fault. She is protective over her family and her friends, and there isn’t anything that she wouldn’t do to keep them safe. Funny, considering many purebloods would not see her as loyal. They see her as disloyal and traitorous, but what they don’t know is how much she struggled with the decision to leave. In the beginning she couldn’t stand knowing that the relationship she had with her sisters. Andromeda loves her sisters and she always will, even though she completely and utterly abhors what Bellatrix does. A part of her hopes that they will see the fault in their ways just like her…but she isn’t holding her breath waiting for that to happen.

Brave - It takes a large amount of bravery to completely leave everything that she had known for a life of the unknown but that was exactly what Andromeda. She has always had a streak of bravery that has led to where she is today. Andromeda was brave when she stayed in her room during countless Black parties, resigned to a book while protesting everything all the party guests stood for. She was brave sneaking out to be with Ted and their friends, and she was brave when she ultimately made the decision to change her life to be with them. Now she is brave in the way that she continues to fight to keep her family together, and despite her worries and doubts nothing will stop her from keeping her loved ones safe.

Emphatic/Feisty - When Andromeda was younger she was considered a quiet child, which was a big mistake. Andromeda isn’t quiet. She is polite and understanding but quiet she is not, and she really came into that trait as she matured. Just like her beloved Sirius, Andromeda learned to speak out against her family and hold her head high in her differing beliefs. Now she has no problem being passionate and loud and outspoken, although there are some hesitancies when she comes across someone from her past. Andromeda may be loud but she isn’t foolish; she wouldn’t say or do something to put Ted and Nymphadora in danger.

Afraid of letting others down/Self-Conscious - Leaving her family was the hardest thing that Andromeda ever has and will ever have to do. It shattered her heart leaving behind everything that she had ever known and abandoning her home. As time as passed most, but not all, of her wounds have healed. Still, she remains terrified of letting others down. She knows the awful, crushing feeling when disappointing someone, most harshly felt by the disappointment from her sisters. Perhaps it is from her upbringing why she is so worried of how she will perceived and if she is making the right decisions, but especially nowadays Andromeda has to think out her every move to ensure that she does not endanger those close to her.

Headcanon: If you ask Andromeda what her favorite music is she would say ABBA. Or The Beatles. Honestly it depends on the day and what kind of mood she is in. Marrying a muggleborn opened her world to plenty of new and exciting things, including muggle music. Andromeda holds a special fondness for muggle music, and she usually has some kind of record playing in the house when she’s home with Nymphadora.

Headcanon: Before motherhood Andromeda couldn’t cook to save her life. Her family never taught her (since that was house elves were for as her mother liked to say) and she was hopeless following recipes. Apparently they were even more complicated than potions, a class she excelled in at Hogwarts. After she and Ted were married Andromeda tried her hand at cooking. The first night she almost burnt down the kitchen after fiddling with the oven. Needless to say, she leaves major kitchen duty to her husband.

Headcanon: Her favorite book is a muggle one, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. It was the first book she picked up at a muggle bookstore that Ted had brought her to and she reads it every year at Christmastime.

Headcanon: Andromeda’s patronus is a chestnut mare. The chestnut mare has an appetite for freedom and is adventurous at heart. They often follow their own path, and are passionate creatures. They are highly emotional as well as family and friend oriented.

Headcanon: Andromeda’s amortentia is a mixture of vanilla (her favorite scent), leather (because it reminds her of Ted), pages from an old book and Christmas trees (because Christmas is her favorite time of year).

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“Perhaps a spell that would prevent my daughter from changing her hair color or facial features whilst out in muggle London. I know that she cannot help herself – she takes after her father in that regard – but there’s only so many obliviation charms a woman can do.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“I cannot imagine choosing anyone other than Ted, especially if we are venturing into the Forbidden Forest.” Andromeda paused, a funny little smile crossing her lips as she fondly shook her head. “Although I can only imagine how worried he would be despite my constant insistence that I could handle myself. Regardless, I would take Ted and a flashlight if a wand is impermissible. There’s no navigating that forest without one.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

The decisions that she has made in her life were already some of the most difficult one could possibly make and Andromeda knows that all too well. “Anything regarding my family. Whether or not it is safe to take Nymphadora somewhere, or if I am making the right decision in protecting them. Everything that I do, I do for them.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“I’ve learned not to care what people say of me.” Such knowledge has not stopped her, however. “I’ve been a hot topic of conversation since I was sixteen.” In reality, however, Andromeda despises having it said that what she did was a mistake. Many did, particularly those pure of blood. But she cannot stand the thought that there are those who believe that Ted and Nymphadora are a mistake.

WRITING SAMPLE

It was truly a picture perfect moment, one that Andromeda wouldn’t have any other way. It was everything that she wished to obtain in a world like the one of today. Sitting on a couch in front of the fire, a sleeping husband on one side and a sleeping daughter curled up on his chest. In the Tonks household no one would have known that there was a storm brewing just outside the window, a war within a world where no one appeared to be safe. But right then and there Andromeda had her husband and her daughter, a roaring fire, and a moment of peace. How much more could she have asked for?

With everything that was going on they deserved the moments of normalcy, moments where they could all be together as a family. That evening Andromeda had found an old scrapbook, her curiosity and wave of nostalgia prompting her to open it. She flipped through pictures of her and Ted and their years at Hogwarts. Nymphadora had laughed at the fact that Andromeda somehow looked even smaller next to her giant of a husband and laughed at the funny faces that he would make until both her and her daughter were laughing at him and Ted was grinning from ear to ear. At some point they had all grown tired over pictures and stories and the warmth of the fire and had drifted off to sleep, leaving Andromeda still smiling to herself and more content than she had been for a long time. But a picture perfect moment never lasted forever.

It was only after Ted and Nymphadora had fallen asleep did the thoughts begin to creep in, the thoughts that she tried to keep at bay. What would happen if she lost all of it? What would happen if this was the last night that she was able to sit on the couch with Ted and their daughter? Andromeda’s eyes fell upon the open scrapbook that was in her lap, focusing on a picture of her and Ted smiling and laughing without a care in the world. At first glance it would be easy to miss the worry that was in her younger version’s eyes as she stared up at her. She could see the paranoia that it would all disappear in the blink of an eye, that she would lose everything that she had fought so hard to attain. But Andromeda knew that she was a ticking time bomb, someone wanted in the eyes of many for abandoning her family and committing the almighty sin of marrying a muggleborn and bearing his child. Everyday it seemed like more and more people were disappearing or dying and all that she could do was hold onto her family by keeping them safe, protecting them, making sure that they were happy while the situation outside their four walls was growing more and more dim with each passing day.

Andromeda knew her husband loved her and that they could get through all of this together. But what would happen if it all disappeared? Everything that Andromeda had ever dreamed of, and it killed her that she couldn’t say for certain what the future would bring. She would comfort everyone that it would all be okay with a smile and a reassuring word but the truth was that she was terrified. As things grew darker, as it became more and more dangerous for herself and her family, what would stop Ted from taking their daughter and leaving? What would stop him from wanting to protect himself and their daughter? If he was gone in the morning Andromeda wouldn’t even blame him. It would kill her but she wouldn’t blame him. It would mean that Andromeda would have failed in protecting them, in keeping her family together. And Andromeda couldn’t have that. She wouldn’t have that.

“Andy?” The voice of her husband snapped her out of the more darker thoughts and brought her back to reality. She was still on the couch, still before the fire with Ted and Nymphadora by her side. She was still where she wanted to be, with the people that she wanted to be with. And that’s enough for me she silently reminded herself as she looked up from the scrapbook and turned to see Ted’s eyes looking up at her. A smile slowly spread onto her lips as she shuffled forward on the couch, leaving the scrapbook behind. Carefully she rested upon his chest, wrapping her arm around both her husband and daughter as she tilted her chin up toward him, stealing a quick kiss. “Go back to sleep, my love,” she murmured against his skin, turning her head to rest against his shoulder. Her eyes were drawn back to the fire, the effortless dancing of the flames. The world may have been burning outside their door but Andromeda would be damned if she allowed the metaphorical fire inside her home. “Everything’s okay.”

#Accepted App

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mylifeisanartisticmesswrites · 6 years

Text

Failure

His name was Eric Fireneck.

Bold.

Charming.

Flirt.

Kind.

Dead.

The year 5289, there wasn’t much left on planet Earth. It was certainly not love. The planet was reduced to rubble and destruction prevailed throughout. You would think some other force played part in the world’s destruction; I am here to tell you, that is not the case. Earth was destroyed by power hungry fools. Everyone else who suffered was an ‘unfortunate’ victim of the ‘greater good’. Greater good, my arse. Those of us who are alive are subjected two things – be tortured, or serve these fools for the rest of our days.

The Earth was covered in red skies, ashes showered down. The sound of bullets and bombs was a norm. No one was shaken by the sound. The buildings, which once had stood high and looked glorious, were reduced to nothing by rubble. The world was divided; the strong countries took over the world. From one hundred and ninety-eight countries, only five remained. I was in the Islamic Republic. I was one of the very few female generals in the country. I got my reputation for being the best. Nothing but the best was acceptable.

I remember my whole squadron had waltzed in an ambush. The soldiers made a poor decision and thought it was wise not to consult me. The minute I found out, I had rushed to their aid. All of them were dead and I was taken, prisoner. They, the British Gala Empire, gave me two options - serve them or be torture for the rest of my days.

I had refused to serve them, and I was tortured endlessly for months. They had tried to take my dignity and pride, by raping me, prodding me, humiliating me. I was too stubborn for them, a little too stubborn that it caught the attention of a British general.

I remember I was beaten senselessly because I fought back. I bit a man’s penis off. The general was just passing by that day when I pulled that bold move. I remember getting up and spitting the blood out and flesh out of my mouth. I had wiped my mouth when the other guards had attacked me. I had managed to fight the guards, it had been a while where I was engaged in battle. One of the guards managed to punch me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of my lungs. From there, they got the upper hand and the beating had commenced. I had curled on the ground, protecting my face with my arms and hands, my legs being tucked onto my stomach.

He had halted the beating and pulled me up. He had brushed the dust off me and punished the guards heavily. I was shocked, to say the least, was an understatement. I had received several bruises but thankfully nothing was broken. My face was purple and blue, but it was nothing new, I was used to it.

The pit of despair, as many called it, was a gruesome place. It made Adolf Hitler look like a saint. It was an open ground, stretched for miles, covered with people who refused or couldn’t join to serve. Bodies were never moved, and no one got a proper burial there. People were forgotten. Children were killed on the spot while the adults were tortured slowly, making each day worse than before. People weren’t given clothing, and if they were wearing, it was from the skin of the deceased. May God have mercy on their souls, but it was the way to give us some form of dignity. Dignity was just a meaningless word for the damned.

The British General dragged me away from the pit of despair. He had handed me over to the help and ordered them to clean me up. I had refused, protested, argued and even charged against him. Screaming at him, I rather be beaten, then be his concubine. He dodged my attack effortlessly and twisted my arm behind my back. I knew my mistake; I let my anger get the best of me, that’s why he was able to do what he did. However, he didn’t hurt me, he could have broken my arm there and then, but he didn’t. He let me go and told me to clean up and just walked away.

That was when I noticed him. I really noticed his jet black hair which straight and silky and fell right on his shoulder. His grey eyes reminded me of a mist which seemed to visit the world every other day. His face was quite handsome, and his physique, complimented him, he didn’t look strong, he was lean but he was well built, which was proven by his defence maneuverer. He was wearing a black shirt and pants. I watched him walk away, only to be tugged by a maid ushering me to the bathroom.

I was stripped, waxed, scrubbed, brushed, washed, polished. It must have taken at least a few hours before I was done. I was given a new set of clothes and my rags were burned in front of me. The bruises I once I had been healed by the healers and I was taken to the room where the general was. I looked around the room only to realise it was an eating area. The General was seated and smiled as he saw me, pointing and telling me to come forward. I had huffed and walked over to him. I was later served food, which I had taken my time eating. I couldn’t just gobble it down. I wanted it to last as long as it could. He was looking at me like I was an alien. I put my fork down and looked at him.

“Is there a reason why I am here?” I was a stubborn fool but I took pride in my hardness.

He had laughed and just smiled. “Fight for me.” That was all he said. He didn’t explain, he didn’t go into detail. He just spoke those two words. I crossed my arms and sighed softly.

“You know who I am then."

"Indeed."

"Then I don’t fight.” I had gotten up and walked to the door. I could tell he was smiling. I was beyond annoyed.

“You fought today.” He had a smirk on his lips. “Twenty guards and not a scratch. After what? Five years. A little rusty, but I’ll take it."

I had growled and I turned around. "I am not a fucking chess piece.”

"Oh but you are my darling, Sonya. The whole world compromises on chess pieces and players.“ He was smiling and tapping his chin. He got up and walked over to me. I was shaking with anger. A wet anger, I had invested my life for the world and I got too attached once.

He had sensed my anger and sighed, placing his hand on my head and rubbing it gently. "I know what happened, and I know you aren’t to blame for their death. But it was supposed to happen, if not there, then somewhere else."

I curled my fingers up and made a fist, tucking my thumb in and punched the general in the chest. He didn’t budge and my head fell, my hair covered my face as tears streamed down my cheeks. He pulled me into a tight embrace as I cried my heart out. I never cried when I was in the pit of despair; I never showed one sign of weakness. No one there knew who I was and I made sure to keep it that way. He just walks along and I become a weakling. I pushed him away and took a deep breath. "I am not going to fight.”

He nodded, but the smile was gone. His expression looked like he was thinking of something. He rang a bell and a maid appeared. Ordering her to take me to the chambers so I could rest. She bowed and led the way. I couldn’t sleep that night, I had gotten out of bed and went to the gym and turned on the fight simulator. I wanted to see how rusty I was. I used to be one of the best, but now I couldn’t go on without getting hit.

I had received bruises and cuts all over. Anger fuelled my desire to move forward. My clothes seeped in blood. Every time the simulation would end, I would order it to start again. I think by the twentieth time, I had managed to go so far without a bruise, but my body was sore. My instincts that I once prided myself in had kicked in and I managed to go on all night. I was barely able to stand when morning came. There was so much a body can take. Running? I could go on forever. Fighting without any place to catch my breath, I would only last twelve hours. I was breathing heavily, blood was dripping down on the ground.

The General was alerted to my whereabouts when I had refused to leave the fight simulator. I was exhausted and sweat was trickling down my forehead. My sweat had mixed with my blood, the room was spinning around me as I tried to keep my breathing steady. I remember the adrenaline pumping through my veins, my survival instincts were in overdrive, anyone who approached me was attacked – expect him. He had subdued me after thirty minutes. He fought with me and I nearly had him, if it weren’t for my exhausted body trying to fight to stay conscious. He must have sensed it because I remember he was sweating by the time my body caved in. My world going black when I couldn’t stand anymore. I remember he had caught me and took care of me. I remember he lectured me like my brothers used to. He had ruffled my hair and asked me again to join his army and I had refused.

Every night I would go and train thinking he would have no knowledge of it and every day he would ask me to join his army while he would tend to my wounds. I think at some point he decided that it would be better than I knew he knew, that I would go out every night and fight, so the lectures stopped and he just tended to my wounds. Three months of rigorous training had passed, and I finally agreed to join his army. He never stopped asking. I think he knew I would join him. We had gotten close, I had regained my former general status and soon I was invited to the social gathering accompanied by him. He would flirt and charm girls shamelessly and I would be there to scare them away. People talked about how we were lovers.

Truth is, we never were. I believe we were fond of each other but never as lovers are fond of one another. I had begun to fight on the front lines again and led armies to victories with him. Years passed by and the world was still not ready to give up the senseless fighting. I lost many soldiers, but I learned from my mistake and never brought myself to become attached. I mourned on their deaths and then avenged them. There was never a battle I had fought were I could have saved, my soldiers. The General knew this and helped me to stay steady.

He couldn’t ask me to resign, I knew he fought with the president to fire me, but the president was a selfish bastard. The General turned on him. He had infiltrated the president’s lodging, gave the president a chance to redeem himself, I guess things didn’t work out. Next morning, word had gotten out that the president was assassinated. It was all over the news. I remember panicking and finding him with the greatest difficulty and when I did, I was going to join him, be by his side. But he refused.

He had refused to have me in fear I would be killed. I remember fighting him just so I can join him, but in the end, my emotions had me defeated. He had hugged me tightly and kissed my forehead before leaving me. One of the hardest things in life was watching him walk away and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop him.

I remember putting on a brave face and getting by through battle after battle. I think my heart shattered when someone caught him and executed in front of the world. I had never cried so hard. I was completely broken. A few days after execution I was given a parcel and a letter. I was sent off to a battle when I received it. It had turned out, he had killed a traitor and it was found out moments after his execution. I was the closest thing to family he ever had, so I was given the news. He had died a hero. I thought all my tears had dried up, but new tears appeared and I cried once again. I kicked and screamed and broke everything in the room. That was the first war I lost.

#short story #stories #my writing #writers on tumblr #writing

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andrewuttaro · 5 years

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Alternative History: The Rhinos made it to Major League Soccer!

I used to have a blog called Rhinos Outsider. This post is meant to be a more fun one harkening back to those days… earlier this year. Back then I wrote these pointed think pieces on the Rhinos past, present and future. I beat the MLS Push phase of the club’s history into the ground including a whole blog post asking if the Rhinos should even want MLS anymore. If you want that material feel free to go back and read it, once I get the blog in order again they should be easier to find. This post will only be like those in format. Part of the fun of those posts were that they involved some speculation and deep thinking about this club. As I try to be a more cerebral blogger these days I thought some good old speculation would be a fun break.

What if the Rochester Rhinos made Major League Soccer? What if the big 2000s MLS push that bankrupt the club’s original owners was somehow successful? I’ll be taking some creative liberties and changing history to imagine how it might have happened. I know it didn’t and this is not me continuing to beat the dead horse. No, as you read on you’ll see why this is not a frantic love letter to this country’s top-flight. In fact, this piece maybe a cautionary tale about how MLS has grown and does business. What could have actually happened if a few things were different? Maybe not as much as we think. I’ll change some turning points in the real story and once we diverge to Rochester reaching Major League Soccer I’m going to go off to the races! It’s speculation of course but its also supposed to be a little fun if you know the real story… or if you just know Major League Soccer.

With no further ado, let’s get to the fun!

Where it all went wrong…

The stadium building delay still happens. PAETEC Park is still funded with a large aid package from New York State and the original owners still go financially insolvent, it just plays out differently. First things first, that fateful night when Don Garber and the Major League Soccer bigwigs demanded a full payment of the expansion fee goes differently. Our OG owners don’t get cold feet: they take out yet another loan, this time from a different bank, and pay them their money. That decisive night goes Rochester’s way instead. That payment turned out to be everything the league needed! Even after the 2006 opening of PAETEC Park went just as haphazardly as it did in our timeline MLS and the National Federation granted the organization a three-year waiver period from the stadium standards they were not yet up to.

The first of those waiver years in Major League Soccer is the 2007 season. From the very get go it is clear all is not well in Rochester. After a very underwhelming MLS season the team does not even come close to the playoffs: the first time the team misses’ their league’s playoffs in club history. The Rhinos also suffer their worst loss in club history losing a spectacular 9-0 decision to New England Revolution. Off field things are worse as the contractors the club enlists to upgrade the new stadium to MLS standards suddenly pull out of the job the week of Halloween. The issue peaks the League Office’s interest and an internal investigation reveals the Rhinos owners are in deep debt overborrowing from three different banks. The scandal embarrasses MLS and Rochester. The club’s owners file for bankruptcy a year earlier than our timeline and the league takes over the team on December 1st, 2007.

With the embarrassment of the league contracting two Florida teams in recent memory Don Garber and MLS resolve to find an owner even after the initial search proves very difficult. Eventually the league turns ownership over to trusted ally Philip Anschutz, a founder of the league with ownership stakes in several teams. Seeking the stability of the league he insists on only holding onto the franchise until its two remaining years of the waiver period is over after the 2009 season. He helps pay for the necessary stadium upgrades and enlists the help of the City of Rochester in finding a new owner in a revamped 2008 owners search. Local grocery store magnate Danny Wegman buys the Rochester Rhinos that year after much insistence from Major League Soccer. Wegman’s purchase corresponds pleasantly with the Rhinos clinching their first MLS Playoff appearance with a comeback victory over downstate rival New York Red Bulls on September 28th, 2008. For a brief moment at the end of the 2008 season it looks like all maybe well with Rochester Rhinos SC.

The Dream Dies

While the Wegman Era starts out with a bang, it trails off from there. The Rochester Rhinos are eliminated in the 2008 Conference Semifinals by Houston Dynamo and fail to qualify for the playoffs in the following season in 2009. By 2012 Major League Soccer is fully in its 2.0 stage; downtown Soccer specific stadiums are the impetus along with spending on foreign talent. The Wegman family becomes notoriously cheap with spending and refuses to take an active role in the franchise as the years go on. Wegman infamously states at an industry conference that the supermarket chain’s expansion into the south is being slowed by “some god-forsaken kickball team”. Wegman’s frustration may have arisen from construction costs. Although his investment allowed the downtown stadium to get up to MLS standards by the end of 2009, by summer 2011 the Rhinos stadium is still undergoing piecemeal projects that needlessly frustrate match attendees.

For the third straight year attendance declines. Average attendance at Rhinos games falls to 10,000 in 2011 before almost cutting in half in 2012 to 5,560. After a local petition to change the team’s name to Rochester Lancers led by local pizza magnate Soccer Sam Fantauzzo fails he exclaims the club is not the same one that won the Open Cup in 1999. Fantauzzo starts a budget team in the amateur ranks by the name Rochester Lancers. The club’s first game in the summer of 2013 draws 3000 fans and turns into a protest of the Rhinos after the conclusion of the match. Meanwhile season ticket holders and box seat purchases at Wegmans Soccer Stadium hit an all-time low and general attendance collapses to a 3200 average in 2013.

For a brief time in the Fall of 2013 there is speculation the owners of the Buffalo Sabres, Terry and Kim Pegula, have interest in buying the MLS organization. While sources deny the rumors it gets out they considered it if they could move the team to Buffalo. Apparently Don Garber was ready to finalize the deal before the Pegulas got distracted by the opportunity to buy the NFL Buffalo Bills. MLS wanted to move the club and switch owners but had no good pretext to do so beyond attendance numbers. Then they got their way. The Wegman family’s growing disinterest in owning the team leads them to default on the lease agreement with the City of Rochester. Knowing the owners do in fact have the money to pay, Rochester moves on MLS in a lawsuit. The suit is settled out of court, but the MLS removes the Wegmans from ownership of the team five years to the day they took over. The league rallies interested ownership groups in other cities and manages to move the club to St. Louis just ahead of the 2014 season.

The City of Rochester is relieved at the departure of the troubled franchise while supporters cry foul. The NPSL Rochester Lancers move into the downtown soccer stadium which is now renamed Salvatore’s Pizza Stadium. After the 2014 NPSL season concludes Sam Fantauzzo announces his club will move to the USL PDL in 2015. After the Lancer’s 2015 season in the PDL the City of Rochester takes over full control of the stadium and kicks the PDL squad out. Ironically, the Rochester Lancers fold after failing to secure another home field due to a perceived connection to the MLS Rhinos. After three years abandoned by the City, the downtown soccer stadium burns to the ground in June 2018 after a mysterious explosion. After gunning for MLS for most of a decade, the Rochester Rhinos are gone from Rochester after only six seasons in that top-flight.

Conclusion

Ha Ha: the first priority here is to laugh. If you’re an avid follower of MLS expansion or lower league soccer you may find some humor in parts of this… or not, I’m no comedian. So why did I write such a nasty alternative history if I am supposedly a Rochester Rhinos supporter? Part of why the Rhinos went downhill in our timeline was the result of a hasty buildup in the MLS push. The financial reality of MLS in the 2000s means that push would only have continued after making the league. Moreover, after David Beckham arrived MLS changed. MLS changed even more as Portland, Seattle and similarly transformative clubs entered the league with plans to make money by actually winning. Rochester, a City still rebounding from decades of diaspora, would simply not have survived in Major League Soccer.

I feel like I should say sorry but no, I’m not sorry. Why our timeline’s Rochester Rhinos are in the situation they are right now has less to do with MLS and more to do with Rochester itself. Sometimes the dreams we think we need are the poison pill that fate saves us from. I truly believe the Rhinos would’ve floundered in MLS and would’ve been a relocation candidate from the word go. In our timeline we have stadium truthers who tell you how they called into sports radio in 2004 warning about the stadium as if that’s not the most obvious flex ever. In the alternative timeline we have St. Louis Soccer fans in Rochester boycotting Wegmans supermarkets because they’re too thick to see the bigger picture.

Soccer in America is still a “pick your poison” affair. If you go with lower league/non-league soccer you have short ass amateur seasons. You go USL, you have all the academy players and none of the prestige. You go MLS… while then you better be a top 50 City population wise with a pretty attentive sugar daddy. I don’t want my team to be on hiatus, and they may only just barely exist now, but they’re here. That’s what I have that alternative history MLS Rochester Rhinos fans don’t have: a club to support in 2019. Well… sorta.

Thanks for reading.

#major league soccer #soccer #blog #rochester rhinos #rochester #rochester sports #USL

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