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stillbandofbrothersthirsty · 4 years ago

Text

Rock Bottom

Joe Liebgott x OC

*Rated T for language and adult themes. (5,471 words)

“Have you guys seen that new girl?” Frank Perconte asked as he squeezed into a small seat along the dining table bench.

“What new girl?” Bill Guarnere asked through a bite of food.

“The new intelligence girl,” Frank said as means of explanation.

“She’s an intelligence officer?” Joe Liebgott asked.

“I heard she was with the OSS before this,” Pat Christensen added.

“I don’t think intelligence officer,” Frank pushed the food around on his plate, “but apparently she speaks like 20 languages.”

“No,” Joe said doubtfully, “no way, that’s so many.”

“Who knows? Once you know one language it’s easier to pick up others,” David Webster said.

Joe shot him an annoyed look.

“I think she’s from the Bronx too, Web.”

“Well hey, there ya go! There’s so many languages going around in the Bronx, she probably picked them up there. It’s so much easier to learn languages when you’re young ya-“

“Where’d you get all this info?” Bill cut David off.

“Luz.” Frank was barely intelligible with his mouth full.

“Hm,” Bill grunted. The information was likely true coming from George Luz, the kid had a way of finding things out.

Their formal introduction to the newest G-2 recruit occurred the next day prior to starting their classroom instruction. The men hadn’t expected the classroom time. They knew the forecast had predicted rain but they didn’t dare to hope Sobel would let them off just because of “a little water”. However, by eleven, the early morning drizzle had grown into a downpour that even Sobel didn’t want to be caught in. He relinquished his company to the instruction of basic compass and map reading.

“Gentleman,” Sobel addressed them dryly, his hands folded behind his back, “before we get started, I would like to introduce you to the newest member of the intelligence general staff.”

The men were gathered in a large tent propped up by recently constructed whitewood. Beside Sobel stood a woman dressed neatly in an army issued pencil skirt, jacket and tie.

“This is Valerie Marchetti, she will be working with the intelligence office as a linguist.”

“Told ya she knew like 20 languages,” Frank whispered to Joe.

“Italian!” Bill nudged Johnny Martin.

“Please make every effort to make her feel welcome,” Sobel finished unenthusiastically, “Alright, let's get started. Radio men, follow Ms. Marchetti.”

“Lucky!” Floyd Talbert clapped George on the shoulder as he stood up. George winked at him with a grin.

“So, what’s she like?” Floyd asked as they headed back to the barracks.

“Aw she’s an angel,” George enthused, “so sweet, and she knows her stuff too!”

“You’d think anyone that pretty was an angel, Luz,” Frank said.

“That,” George said, “is because angels are beautiful.”

But George wasn’t the only one over the moon to have a woman among them. All of the Toccoa men were eager for any chance to ogle Valerie. They were oversexed and grateful to have a beautiful woman in their midst, if only for the hope of earning a smile. Most of the men were limited in their interactions with her seeing as she was part of the intelligence general staff but somehow Bill really got to know her, and by extension, Johnny Martin did too. They became a trio on nights out. Bill jumping from group to group, socializing with all the men while the more mellow Johnny posted up at a table with Valerie.

“Does she actually know 20 languages?” Shifty asked Bill innocently.

“Nah, not actually twenty, but she knows quite a few. She’s damn smart!” Bill said taking a long drink of his beer.

“What languages does she know?” Joe asked.

“Italian, her pa’s Italian. Polish ‘cuz of her ma. Yiddish and I think her German’s okay too,” Bill listed.

Joe nodded thoughtfully, “not bad,” he admitted. “Not gonna be any use to us if we go to Japan though.”

Bill shrugged, “who knows where we’re goin’, they got her here for a reason.”

“Was she posted somewhere else before this?” Moe Alley asked.

“She was a code breaker! Can you believe that? So smart,” Bill shook his head in awe.

“Ya sound like you’re in love there, Bill,” Joe teased.

“God damn right, I love that girl. She’s great!”

Joe chuckled, she was a good looking dame that was for sure. Just his type: curvaceous, dark hair and warm eyes. He admired her just as much as every other guy in the bar. There were plenty of local women around, some of who Joe had gotten to know quite well, but there was something about that army pencil skirt that just did it for Joe.

“She gotta fella?” Joe heard himself asking.

“Why? You interested Joe?” Bill asked.

Joe shrugged, “just curious.”

Bill looked over his shoulder where Valerie sat smiling, her full lips painted a rich red. “I don’t think so, but I’ll tell ya what Joe, she’s not any ol’ dame. She’s a spicy one that’s for sure. She’ll tell you what’s what.”

Yeah, Joe found that out for himself the first time he experienced classroom instruction with Valerie Marchetti.

“Well, actually we’d actually refer to this group as the Allgemeine SS,” Valerie said.

“Deutsche Ausrüstungswerke is German Equipment factories so I don’t-“ Joe defended.

“Well yes, but it’s important to know that this is an armaments division under the SS, Allgemeine SS.”  “Are you sure? You said yourself you aren’t fluent in German, are you sure you’re translating-“

“Yes. I don’t speak fluent German but I know these terms and I know the organization of the SS. You would do well to listen to me, I know what I’m talking about.” Valerie snapped.

“Okay, calm down,” Joe threw his hands up.

Valerie sniffed at his gaslighting before spinning on her heel and walking away. After that it was game over, nothing about her was attractive to Joe any longer; not her silky, dark curls, not her full red lips, not the way the dark lines on her hose travelled seductively up her leg. He decided she was more trouble than she was worth.

A cheer rose up from the dart boards that Friday night where Bill, Johnny, and Bull were playing darts with Valerie. She was wearing trousers that night, which Joe found rather flattering. But he caught himself as his gaze travelled down from her waist, and quickly looked away.

“Okay, if I make this last one, drinks are on me.” Valerie bit her lip in concentration.

“Well now I kinda want you to win,” Bill said jovially.

“Ah!” The men around her cheered again as the dart hit another bullseye.

“Damn, how do you do it?” asked Don Malarkey in awe.

Valeria smiled coyly and shrugged. “Who needs a drink?” she asked to the men gathered.

“Nah, you can’t possibly cover all the drinks here,” Bill held up his hand in protest, a cigarette burning between his fingers.

“Don’t worry about it Bill, I pretty much owe everyone in here a drink anyways after the way they all tripped over themselves to buy me a drink when I first got here.”

The men sung her praises all the way up to the bar where Valerie instructed the tender to pour everyone in proximity a beer and to put it on her tab. She had come up right where Joe had been standing with Moe. Valerie glanced down at his nearly empty glass, “you need a beer Joe?” she asked.

“No thanks, still workin’ on this one.” Joe held up his glass.

“James?” Valerie asked Moe. He nodded appreciatively and accepted the drink even though his original glass held more than Joes.

“You sure Joe?” Valerie asked in a sing song voice. It grated on Joe’s nerves.

“I’m good, thank you though Valerie.” His dark eyes met hers. The piercing darkness of them sent a shiver down her spine and she abruptly looked away, blushing.

Joe was walking back from the latrine later that night when he heard some voices out in the dark, in the direction of HQ. The tone of the two male voices that carried on the air made Joe stand to alert. The speakers weren’t too loud, but there was a forcefulness to them. Then the voice of an agitated female broke through. A coldness rushed into Joe blood. He rushed towards the noise. He came upon two F company men who were walking on either side of Valerie. They were walking fast, the pace clearly set by Valerie who sped forward. The men kept in step with with her all while trying to box her in between their bodies.

“Hey!” Joe snapped, stopping them in their course, “what the hell is going on here?”

Joe looked at Valerie, a chilling look in her eyes: fear.

The men hardly seemed bothered by Joe’s presence. “We’re just making sure this young lady gets back to her quarters safely,” one said.

“Are you?” Joe asked, “do you even know her?”

“Sure we do,” the other said arrogantly, “mind your business pal.”

“Val, you know these guys?” Joe asked. Even with adrenaline coursing through his body he winced internally at his use of her nickname. He wasn’t familiar with her like that, why did he call her Val in that moment?

“Don’t worry about it Joe, I can take care of myself,” she said firmly, “I’m just right here,” she turned towards the main HQ building where she was posted up with the other few females. The men made to follow her into the darkness. Although it was only yards away, there were too many spots of darkness for Joe to feel comfortable letting those men follow her all the way up to her doorstep. Joe stepped in front of them, giving Valerie the time and space to disappear into the fold of the night.

“What’s your problem man?” one of the men snarled.

“It’s late, you’re just gonna have to accept you struck out tonight,” Joe sneered back.

The other man, who was significantly larger than Joe, took a menacing step forward. “She your girl or something?” he asked with narrow eyes.

“She’s no ones girl,” Joe said, and he turned away to head back to his barracks.

“Hey, you should’ve stayed out of it, guy.” Then Joe felt a hand on his collar spin him around before a fist made contact with his eye.

“Do you know what guys from F company?” Edward Tipper asked as he took in the blue and blackness that was beginning to come out around Joe’s eye socket.

Joe shrugged into his breakfast, “whatever, I’m not worried about it.”

“Those bastards,” Moe said, “we oughta give them what they deserve.”

“I said I’m not worried about it,” Joe said, “will you drop it?” His friends reluctantly sat back.

It was then Joe noticed Valerie standing a few feet away, a breakfast tray clutched in her hands. She was staring mournfully at the injuries he incurred. As soon as his eyes met hers she quickly walked to the table where Johnny sat, taking a place beside him and disappearing behind the figures of the Easy Company men she loved. Not Joe, he was not part of that group.

“Joe,” Valerie came up behind him as he was bussing his tray. He turned around to face her. Bags hung under her eyes but her signature red lipstick was applied flawlessly.

“Yeah?” he asked impassively.

“Um, I..” she hesitated, taking in his appearance. His jacket was unbuttoned, revealing his PT shirt. His dog tags hung heavy around his lean neck. His cheek bones were sharp, the top of the left one was split just slightly below where the blueness had spread to fill his entire eye socket. Valerie winced looking at him.

“I just want to say I appreciate you checking in on me last night,” Valerie began.

“Don’t mention,” Joe flicked his hand dismissively and began to walk away.

“But you didn’t need to, I feel bad, you’re eye, I would’ve been fine-“

Joe looked at her like she was crazy, “Valerie I saw how you looked last night, you knew it wasn’t goin’ in a good direction.”

“I was almost back to my quarters, I would’ve been fine,” she insisted.

Joe let out a sharp laugh, “why were you alone anyway? Walking in the dark?”

“It’s none of your business,” Valerie said.

“Wow, this is a hell of a thank you, Val,” Joe winced. Damn it, why did he keep using that nickname?

Valerie wrinkled her own nose in discomfort, “well thank you, but next time I got myself.”

“Valerie I wasn’t going to just leave you there!”  “You don’t need to worry about me! I can take care of myself,” she doubled down.

“God damn it, would you get over yourself?” Joe snapped. Valerie reeled back in momentary shock.

“Get over myself?”

“Those guys were trouble! We both know it!”

“Get over myself? What do you mean? You don’t trust me-“

“I don’t even know you, I would’ve done the same for any girl-“  “So because I’m a girl you don’t trust me to take care of myself?”

“It was two against one.”  “I’m a soldier same as you and you were prepared to take them on-“

“Don’t be ignorant, it’s diff-“

“Ignorant? Who’s calling who ignorant?”

“See, you just think you’re so much better than every-“

“I have to be better than everyone! I have to work twice as hard as everyone here!”

“In your cozy little intelligence office? Yeah, sure, try doing the stuff we have to do.”

“I have to train too! I’m strong!”  “But not strong enough to-“

“I am strong enough!”

“Look what those bastards did to me, you don’t think they would’ve done the same to you?”

“Well, maybe not, because like you said I’m just a girl.”

“Yeah well let me tell you that’s exactly why they could’ve done worse.”

“Do you just assume the worst of your compatriots?”  “Do you not? How dumb are you? I thought you were from the city!”  “You know what, just stay out of it next time Liebgott. I don’t want you getting injured on my behalf.” Valerie stormed away angrily.

“You’re welcome!”Joe shouted after her defiantly. “God damn it,” he cursed under his breath. He kicked a trash bin nearly kicking it over, “fuck this.”

Joe was still heated later that night when he finally retired to the barracks.

“Tough day, Joe?” Bull asked. A cigar hung from his mouth as he unlaced his boots.

“Little bit,” Joe eased down on his bed. His face throbbed where he had been hit. Bull looked up at him thoughtfully, “everything alright now?” he asked cryptically.

“All good, Bull,” Joe lay back on his cot exhaling.

“Not all good,” John Martin was suddenly standing over him, “you were fighting with Valerie?”

“Not really, it’s fine,” Joe draped an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the little light that filled their canvas living quarters.

“It better be, I heard you two shouting at each other earlier. What’d you do to deserve that?”

Joe sat up, “I didn’t do anything!”

John crossed his arms and eyed Joe suspiciously, “well, if she’s after you you probably deserve it.” He stalked off and Joe fell back onto his bed.

“She’s a tough one that Valerie,” Bull said.

“So I’ve heard,” Joe muttered.

“No shit from nobody,” Bull continued.

“You gotta point, Bull?” Joe snapped glaring at the guy in the bunk next to him.

Bull chewed on his cigar, carefully considering what he was going to say next, “it was good of you to look out for her. You did the right thing, Joe.”

Joe hadn’t expected that. He nodded at Bull then rolled over in his bunk. He didn’t know how much Bull knew, or what exactly he had heard through the grapevine, but Bull’s words meant more than he thought the would. Finally a little acknowledgment for preventing the crime he had seen coming. No matter how tough she was, there’s no stopping that when two men decide they’re going to do it.

Joe slid his arm under his pillow, trying to get comfortable. That’s when his hand grazed something hard and rectangular. From underneath his pillow he pulled out a chocolate bar. Wrapped around it, fastened with twine, was a note. In neat cursive were the words: You were right. Thank you for your help.

Joe couldn’t help but smile a little bit. Who the fuck was this woman.

She was a goddamn rule following narc when she wanted to be, that’s who she was. Joe and Moe may or may not have snuck out of the base one Tuesday night and gotten pissed at a nearby bar. They were too drunk to be cautious when they stumbled back onto base, their arms around each other, singing.

Valerie was walking along the well lit path to the women’s latrine when she ran into them.

“What are you guys doing?” she hissed confronting them.

“Hello sweetheart,” Moe slurred with a grin.

“Valerie!” Joe said enthusiastically, “wow thank you for the Hershey bar.”

Valerie flushed bright red, “you guys are being so loud! You’re going to get in trouble.” She looked them up and down, “how drunk are you?”  “Not drunk at all,” Moe shook his head.

Valerie wrinkled her nose, “sure smells like you are.”

“That’s rude Valerie,” Joe said jokingly.

“Yeah well you guys are going to get all of Easy in trouble tomorrow if you show up hungover.”

“We’ll be fine!” Moe waved his hand, “don’t worry about us, doll.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Valerie said sharply, “its the rest of the company you’re screwin’ over. Goodnight!” she walked off shaking her head.

“What a bitch,” Moe said off-handedly.

“She’s not a bitch,” Joe immediately snapped.

Moe swayed in place, grinning stupidly at his friend. “Whoa there, you’re not in love with her now too are you?”

Joe rolled his eyes and the men stumbled back to their barracks, now a little quieter.

He would never admit it after the way Valerie had confronted them, but waking up the next day was rough. Joe was determined to keep it together just to spite Valerie. He had muscled through the morning and was hoping for a moment of respite at lunch. But to his great misfortune, tuna casserole was being served. Joe’s stomach churned as he looked down into his plate. He was hungry but he was sure that the final remains of alcohol digesting inside of him would not be happy to share his stomach with this meal.

As he contemplated whether to eat or not, Joe felt eyes on him. He looked up to see Valerie’s sympathetic face from across the mess hall. She smiled at him tenderly at him and he immediately felt pathetic in her eyes. A irrational sense of anger flared up in him and he stabbed at the casserole with his fork. He brought a first big bite into his mouth all while maintaining eye contact with Valerie. The sympathetic smile dropped from her face as she watched his performance. She narrowed her eyes, her lip curling in disgust at his juvenile defiance.

After the meal ended she came up to him, her tray as empty as his was.

“Feeling alright, Joe?” she asked as sweet as syrup.

Perspiration was beginning to form on his forehead. He was not feeling alright, in fact he felt rather clammy. Moe had done the wise thing and only eaten his buttered bread. Joe was seriously regretting not doing the same.

“Feelin’ great, how’re you feeling, Valerie?” he asked obstinately.

“I’m feeling great too,” she said smugly, because she was, and he clearly was not even if he wasn’t admitting it. “Enjoy the rest of the day!” She sashayed off.

Luckily, the mess hall was mostly empty because as soon as she was out of sight, Joe dived for a nearby trashcan and regurgitated the lunch he had just consumed.

“Better out than in,” Moe said as means of comfort, looking equally washed up.

By the end of the week Joe was ready to go out again. Just as it happens to all young men, the short term memory of how he felt after a night of binge drinking had left him by that Saturday night. Having secured and successfully retained their weekend passes, Joe and his friends bought tickets to the dance that Saturday evening.

The majority of Easy Company had the same idea and they, along with the other companies of the 101st airborne, filled the local dance hall. Joe was having a pretty good time. Beer was flowing, the band was hopping, and there was an endless supply of beautiful women to dance with. Joe was taking a break from the dance floor when he spotted Valerie spinning across the room in the arms of a dark haired gentleman from another company.

“Look at her,” Edward said appreciatively from next to Joe.

“Who?” Joe asked, pretending not to know who his friend was referring to.

“I know you don’t like her much, but Valerie, she is a looker,” Edward whistled.

Joe scowled but allowed himself a moment to check Valerie out. She wore a slightly-outdated red belted dress. Little white flowers peppered the fabric from the hem to the shoulders where the cinched neckline generously revealed her delicate collarbones.

Joe cleared his throat, “yeah, but there’s lots of good lookin’ broads around tonight.”

Edward just shrugged and downed the rest of his beer before setting out for the dance floor again. Joe did his best to avoid Valerie. He distracted himself with drinks, jokes, and other beautiful women. Despite his best efforts Joe still found himself looking across the low lit dance floor directly into Valerie’s eyes when a version of Mood Indigo came on.

It wasn’t Valerie in his arms, it was another woman. A woman he hadn’t known long enough to truly enjoy the moody slow dance with. Valerie was in the arms of the same guy she’d been with all night and she did look like she was enjoying the dance. Joe realized she was enjoying it a lot more than he wanted her to be.

The glance they had shared had been brief, she had broken it off quickly to nestle her cheek against her fellas shoulder. But that short moment had stirred something in Joe. In the dark golden light of the numerous high-hanging light bulbs Valerie’s eyes had looked like melted amber. The shadows that flickered across the hall softened her face, giving it an ethereal look. She was breathtaking and Joe wanted to be the one with his arm around her waist. He wanted to be the one she leaned her cheek against. He felt an overwhelming unreasonable hatred for this random man he didn’t know simply because he was the one who held Valerie so close.

Once the song ended, Joe politely bid goodbye to his partner and made a beeline for Valerie. She stood talking to her partner and a few other guys Joe didn’t recognize. He approached their group stiffly, his hands in his pockets. Everyone looked surprised at his arrival, especially Valerie, who was obligated to introduce him considering she was the only one who really knew him.

After a quick nod to the group Joe said, “Valerie can I talk to you?” Valerie’s brow furrowed in confusion but she politely excused herself. Joe lead her to an unoccupied side of the room near the door.

“Is something wrong?” Valerie asked, a fresh glass of champagne clutched in her perfectly manicured hands. Joe had no clue as to what he had wanted to say to her or what exactly he wanted from her. His goal had simply been to remove her from that man’s presence. In all honesty, he had no plan because he was confused on how exactly he considered her; was she a friend? An enemy? Or just another beautiful woman?

“Well, I just wanted to give you the option to dance with me,” he hesitated, watching her face for a reaction, “or one of the other Easy guys,” he added.

“Um, I’m alright, thank you, I’ve been happy dancing with-“ she gestured back at her partner.

“That guy? Psh,” Joe said dismissively, “guys a cement mixer, don’t you wanna dance with someone good?”

Red rose up in Valerie’s cheeks, “who? Like you?” she asked.

Joe shrugged, “anyone’s better than that fool.”

“You don’t even know him, Joe.”

Fair point, Joe thought, but he didn’t like the guy. “I can tell he’s a dip, just look at him!” Joe laughed.

“This is a really terrible way of asking me to dance with you!”

“Hey, I’m doin’ you a favor.”

“Me a favor? Could you be more full of yourself?”

“Me full of myself? What about you little miss perfect. I’m not the one walking around acting like you know everything.”

“I know more than you!” “See there you go, why do you gotta go around putting people down?”

“No one seems to have a problem with me except you!” Valerie shot back.

“Take it outside lovebirds,” an intoxicated private said as he passed them.

His interruption killed the argument between them. Instead they just stood glaring at each other, dark brown eyes meeting golden ones.   

Finally, Joe said, “come on, let’s dance.”

“You wish!” Valerie stomped on his foot.

Joe swallowed his curse, “fuck,” he said in a strangled a voice. Valerie turned to stalk away but Joe grabbed her elbow.

“Get off of me,” she hissed, trying her best not to make more of a scene than they already had.

“Come on.” Joe pulled her out the nearest door, throwing them both into the cool Georgian night. Now engulfed by darkness they were really free to fight it out.

“What the fuck was that for?” he demanded.

“Who do you think you are?” she shot back. “Interrupting my evening for what? Just to invite me on a pity dance? I don’t need your pity, I was enjoying myself quite a bit tonight until you started all this!” She threw her hands up in frustration. Some of the champagne from the glass still in her hand spilled over the side, onto her hand. “Ugh,” she exclaimed. She wiped her hand angrily on her dress.

Jealousy stabbed through Joe’s chest at her words. She had been enjoying herself with that guy. “What’s so special about that guy anyways? Didn’t you just meet him tonight?” he sneered.

Valerie opened her mouth to speak, then stopped. She closed it, examining him. A devilish smirk crossed her face, “oh is this what it’s about Joe? You jealous?”

  Yes. “No!” he said, “I just don’t know why you’re all moony over this guy. This is a social, not something you bring a date to.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t believe me about what? This isn’t a place for dates? Not usually-”

“That you’re not jealous! What’s your problem Joe? If you’re interested in me just be a man and tell me.”

“Typical, you thinking that everyone has got to be in love with you.”

“Then tell me why you’re being so rude tonight! Either you’re jealous or you hate me.” Was there a third option? Because Joe felt like he was somewhere in between. He definitely didn’t like Valerie. She got under his skin like no one else. At the same time, there was a magnetism about her that kept drawing him in. Those eyes, those lips, even that temper. He wanted to grab her and kiss her just to shut her up.

“And if you hated me you wouldn’t be bothering with all this!”  Joe was barely even listening to her at this point.

He could feel his blood pumping; the adrenaline and anger mixing together to create a roar in ears that made it impossible to comprehend everything she was saying. He knew he was going to do it even as he counseled himself against it. He surprised himself with his sudden movement; he snatched her waist and pulled her into a hard kiss.

Immediately, she pushed him away. “What the hell!” she threw the remainder of her champagne in his face. Cooly, Joe wiped the liquid off his face with the sleeve.

“You told me to tell you!”

“Not like that!”

He stood glaring at her. She glared back, her now empty glass hanging pointlessly from her hand. There was nothing but silence between them, and the chirp of insects in the night sky. The faint sounds from the festivities inside filtered out but Joe and Valerie were completely in their own world, in a standoff.

Then suddenly, mutually, something shifted between them. Flaring rage turned to lust. Simultaneously they lunged for each other. Joe wrapped one arm around her waist, the other hungrily snaking up her thigh. Valerie’s fingers twisted in his hair, tugging at the thick, dark tendrils. He bit down on her lip as she pulled on his hair. Their kisses were messy and hungry; all the pent up anger and tension that had built up between them expressed in an intimate power struggle as they moved to devour each other.

“You drive me crazy,” Joe pulled away for breath.

Her lipstick was completely gone, its last traces staining her swollen mouth red. “I can’t stand you,” she retorted. He kissed her again, tangling her hand in her hair. Their pace slowed from the previous feverish speed to something more sensual without losing its fervor. Joe had her pressed against the building wall. His hands cupped her her jaw and slid down her throat. His mind was muddled with his detestation for this woman and the aching physical desire that was taking over him. She must have felt similarly as one hand pushed against his pelvis, as if warding him off, while the other dug fingernails into the nape of neck, forcing him in closer.

Once again they surfaced for air, this time taking time to really look at each other. The sound of their panting filled the space around them as her eyes searched his for some explanation.

“What’re we doing, Joe?” her voice was oddly vulnerable. Joe traced her jaw with a calloused thumb.

“I don’t know.” He pushed away from her and ran a hand through his tousled hair. Cold air entered the space where their bodies were previously connected. It sent a shiver through Valerie. “I don’t know,” Joe repeated.

He stepped back even further into the dark, his hand on his hips. He kicked a rock on the ground.

“You don’t like me,” Valerie said with the slight intonation of a question. Joe sucked his teeth. “And,” she continued slowly, “I don’t know if I like you.”

“I don’t know how I feel about you,” Joe said.

Valerie crossed her arms, her eyes bore into him. She was waiting for him to say something else, to offer a but. But it never came.

After a few unbearable minutes of silence she finally said, “I’m going back inside, Joe.” The patch of darkness he stood in was filled with a momentary field of light as she opened the door. Then, she was gone and Joe was alone in the darkness.

Joe did his best to avoid Valerie after that, but he felt her golden eyes on him in the mess hall. He wanted to provide her with answers, to tell her how he was feeling, but he didn’t know. He told himself there was a nothing to like about her - she was a pretentious kiss ass who seemed to have every guy wrapped around her finger. But he saw through her - he wasn’t going to fall for her like everyone else had.

Yet, she consumed his thoughts. All the pieces of love and hate swirled in his mind as he desperately tried to conceive a clear way to explain how he was feeling. He didn’t like her, but he might be falling in love with her. But even if he had realized this sooner, it still came too late.

In a matter of weeks she was stepping out with the dark haired guy she had hit it off with that night. He was a boring, strait laced guy, or at least that’s what Joe had gathered from Bill. The guys dullness was obvious. From what Joe witnessed, there was no fire between them. Not that it was his place to care, he reminded himself. Every time Joe saw them together he avoided her gaze. He knew he would see that look that was begging him to step in, to step up and interrupt this course she was on. But, as long as she was with this guy Joe had an excuse not to love her.

#hbo war #band of brothers #joe liebgott #joe liebgott x oc #fanfiction #BoB #hbo band of brothers #angst #heartbreak

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imo-chan-imagines · 4 years ago

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『 Haikyuu!! Week 2020 | Day 3 』

· Sept. 27th → Irresistible Force ·

Characters: Karasuno team

Prompts: A. favourite team + B. crossover/AU

Tags/warnings: Haikyuu!! (anime), PG, fluff, crack, a teensy bit of angst (because who doesn't love a sad superhero backstory), headcanons, AU, superheroes, HaikyuuWeek2020

A/N: Again, I love all the teams and didn't want to pick, but life is cruel, so here I am. This is headcanons about my fav team (Karasuno) in an AU (superheroes). I was thinking of a Hero Association, kind of like in 'The Boys'? But less corrupt... Maybe more like in 'One Punch'? I think you get me.

All of my Haikyuu Week 2020 posts will be SFW, but I have NFSW content on my blog if that butters your biscuit. Feel free to check it out! Thanks for reading! Please enjoy ♡ Imo~

Karasuno / Superhero Association AU

☆ Sawamura Daichi ☆

Powers: nigh invulnerability, super strength, enhanced healing

If he's not the ordinary cop that somehow befriends the heroes I was tempted then he's definitely the leader of the superhero group

Kind of like Superman in the old-school Justice League, just not as OP lol

Looks damn good is spandex those thighs *sweats*

Cape!! so ✨majestic✨

Probably wears dark-ish, neutral colours with a dash of blue

A bit serious. Not the kind of hero to go around making quips all the time, but will make light of his own suffering like Captain America

Takes younger heroes under his wing like the true Dadchi he is

Strong moral compass. Unbreakable

Won't hesitate to lay down his life for others

Who am I kidding. He's basically Captain America with a cape

Poster-boy for the Hero Association

☆ Sugawara Koushi ☆

Powers: telekinesis

A soft, pearly aesthetic with his suit, hair and skin. Lots of white and silver

A favourite among the ladies he's just too pretty, damm it T T

Very plucky and adorable

People in the vicinity will literally faint when he goes all serious to concentrate and use his powers

Has a duo move with Daichi where he literally throws him like a missle YEET

Has the most followers on Twitter and TikTok and his fans can be pretty nuts

Has a perfume line named after him and models for the adverts

Will smile like an angel right before bringing a building down on top of you fuck, I find this one really funny

☆ Azumane Asahi ☆

Powers: regeneration, enhanced stength

Kind of like Wolverine or Deapool but, like, much, much softer on the inside uwu

Wears green and black

Messed up big time back in the day and dropped off the grid out of guilt some people died :(

Was convinced to come back when his old teammates finally found him again because they needed his help in a crisis

Literally shed tears of relief when heroes and citizens alike welcomed him back instead of hating him mah heart *sniffs*

Can withstand seemingly anything and fully heal within a matter of days

Doesn't know the full extent of his powers himself. How exactly do one test it? 🤔

Still has to psych himself up for a fight, though big softy, really

☆ Shimizu Kiyoko ☆

Powers: electrokinesis, flight

Powers like Storm from X-Men, and kicks ass like Wonder Woman

Refuses to wear a revealing suit, but looks bomb af anyway

Kiyoko = absolute queen

One of the most powerful heroes, but doesn't throw her weight around unless she's kicking bady-guy booty

Stella gynamast, and has mastered several martial arts

Can literally throw a guy three times her size, all without any strength powers Tanaka: 👁👄👁

Somehow has perfect hair all the time secret superpower??

Is active on the political stage as a human rights activist, headlining women's rights yes, yes yes

Will strike you with lightning for sexual harassment

Comes up with really good mission plans

Is a soothing balm for Tanaka when he loses it

Black and gold aesthetic✨

Asymmetrical cape! super fashionable

Poster-girl for the Hero Association

☆ Tanaka Ryuunosuke ☆

Powers: fire generation and manipulation

Tanaka brings the heat literally

A bit of a chaotic-good, but what's new there?

Can get out of control if he loses his focus, so his friends have to keep him grounded Kiyoko is a literal angel when that happens

Kiyoko: Sun's getting real low...

Bonus points if you get the reference

Is terrified of hurting innocents if he gets out of control

It rarely happens, but if he loses his self confidence, his powers don't seem to work

Shouts cringy lines at the villains before roasting their asses lmfao

Wears a black and orange flame-retardant suit, and actually looks pretty fine in it 😌👌

Literally head over heels for Kiyoko just imagine it. Biggest hype man

☆ Nishinoya Yuu ☆

Powers: animal metamorphosis, enhanced speed

Think Beast Boy from 'Teen Titans', but less green he's more likely to be yellow or orange, lmao

Handy in lots of different situations. Very versatile

Incredibly cheeky and joins in with Tanaka's cheesy jokes and one-liners

Absolute maniac, but the people love him, especially schoolkids lmao

Has his own energy drink flavour, and he's STOKED about it

Yellow and black suit, kind of like his hair

Has a surprisingly large following of fans

Laps up the attention, but it doesn't really go to his head

Quiet and serious when he's on a mission/fighting

☆ Hinata Shouyou ☆

Powers: self replication, super speed, levitation

His powers took a while to properly manifest, which left him feeling isolated as a teen

Was pretty lost until Ukai helped train him

Got into a fight with Kageyama in an alleyway when he first met him MET HIM IN THE STREET, LMAO

Argues with Kageyama a lot at headquarters, but they work together like a dream when taking down bad guys

Has a heart of literal gold precious baby

Is contantly amazed when he helps significantly

Was inspired to become a hero by his idol, the Little Giant and it's his dream to inspire someone else 😭😭

Uses his replication ability to confuse the bad guys ULTIMATE DECOY

Levitates around the room when he's excited like Aang from ATLA, hahaha

Wears an orange, white and yellow suit with little wings on his heels cuuuute

☆ Kageyama Tobio ☆

Powers: water/ice generation and manipulation, breathing underwater, superhuman reflexes

I was tempted to give him fire/ice powers like Todoroki, but I didn't want to detract from Tanaka

Has problems focusing his powers, and can be quite turbulent in the heat of battle

Finds it hard to work well with others initially, but really makes an effort

Has hurt people close to him by accident before and never wants to do it again it would tear him apart

Becomes a power duo with Hinata when Ukai helps train them, even though they don't seem to get on well at first

Broody boi on the surface, but a cinnamon roll deep down

Wears a dark blue and deep purple suit that has fins to assist in underwater escapades which are his forte

Freezes Hinata's feet to the floor when he pisses him off or anybody's feet, tbh

Can dodge almost anything because of his reflexes don't ever try to punch him. You'll look stupid

Is surprised by the number of people in his fan club especially the number of women asking to marry him??

☆ Tsukishima Kei ☆

Powers: telepathy, superhuman intellect, mind control on weak-willed individuals

Prefers to outwit his enemies rather than getting into a brawl

But his self-designed gadgets and tech help him out if he has to a bit like Tony Stark, wink wonk

Sometimes makes you question if he's really a hero or not Tsukki, please

Doesn't take orders well

Baits villains by insulting them and getting the better of them with his words it's hilarious

Comes up with good plans, but improvises well with whatever he's got

Probably wears suits over his spandex most of the time fancy shmancy

Is prepared to die to protect Yamaguchi waahhh

☆ Yamaguchi Tadashi ☆

Powers: invisibility, force fields, teleportation

Susan Storm with added teleportation, lol

Often finds it hard to value his powers because they're not as visually strong and impressive as other people's

Rather than squaring up to a battle, he often has to 'hide' from it by literally going invisible

But he gradually becomes aware of how vital his powers can be, and learns to control them and make them as advantageous as possible

Is a highly important and valued member of the team

Soft bean that gets nervous and throws up before a fight

But he's hella determined and won't back down

Honestly, just wants to protect Tsukki and make him proud PROTECT HIM

☆ Yachi Hitoka ☆

Powers: size manipulation

She can shrink and enlarge herself and objects she touches at will, including other people

Sometimes shrinks really small to avoid social situations she doesn't want to be in samez, honey

The clumsiest and least experienced on the team

But she tries her best, gradually getting to grips with her powers

Sometimes uses her powers by accident, like when she's nervous

Once touched a watermelon slice on the refreshment table and accidentally blew it up to the size of a car Hinata, Kageyama and Noya fully dug in with their faces 😭😭

Nearly passed out when Daichi, the literal god of the Hero Association, told her she had great potential

Don't worry, Yams teleported and caught her

☆ Ukai Keishin ☆

Powers: laser vision, metal mimicry

The has-been hero who lost his enthusiasm for hero-ing and retired some years ago

Was really cool back in his hayday. Big hot-shot with a fan club

Has been working as a convenience store attendant to pay the bills and is bored out of his mind but refuses to admit it

Was convinced to get back in the game when he found Hinata and Kageyama fighting, both struggling with their abilities. He broke up the fight and agreed to coach them

Doesn't do much of the flashy hero stuff anymore, but will occasionally get stuck in when he's needed must protecc his children

Is only, like, ten years older than the other heroes, but they treat him like some fossilised sensei out of Natuto, or some shit

Tbf, he has the back problems of one 😭😭

☆ Takeda Ittetsu ☆

Powers: power absorption

Transferred from being a hero to hero management after having having issues with the effects of his powers he has a conscience :(

He felt guilty and responsible for permanently taking the powers of others, even if they were criminals

It was like removing a piece of their souls it kind of broke him

These days, he makes sure nobody knows about his powers, so it can't be used against him

He helps in any other way possible

He would only use his powers again in dire circumstances he knows he'll eventually have to

Is generally chipper and good natured, though

If he was ever captured by a villain, they'd probably send him back because he talks too much omg, hahaha

Helps gather info for the team and direct them on missions and in fights

Gives bomb inspirational speeches ✊

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ears-awake-eyes-opened · 5 years ago

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(Hayffie and Everlark 💕. Effie’s first post-revolution visit to District 12. Haymitch and Effie have an agreement to keep their relationship secret, but Katniss and Peeta are observant. This fic began as a set up to a *little piece of a scene* I wanted to write. But I became intrigued by what I imagine of the inner world of each of the characters, and the story became dear to me. Then the I-love-writing-Effie-all-soft-and-gorgeous-and-amazing factor came into play, and the story grew long — 9 mini chapters. So if you make it all the way through this, then wow. Thanks for caring about the characters to go the distance with me, and let me know if you have a guess about the *little piece of a scene* that inspired the full story.)

“Let’s keep this casual,” had been one of their agreements. “This is nobody’s business but ours,” had been another.

In the middle of the revolution, nobody noticed *them* anyway. No one paid attention when they’d ducked out in the middle of Finnick and Annie’s wedding reception, or when they’d eaten meals in the dining hall with their legs touching beneath the table. During their final days in 13, nobody thought anything of Haymitch returning to his quarters long after curfew nor wondered where he’d been.

The sex had been a welcomed distraction. Covertness and privacy effected an intimacy between them which was unexpected and surprisingly not terrifying.

When the revolution ended, secrecy became more complicated.

“Can you feed the geese this weekend?” Haymitch asked Peeta at least once a month, twice if he wanted to push it, which he usually did.

“Sure. Where are you going?” The question was getting harder to answer.

“Buying liquor. That white shit gets dull when there are other drinks in other places and no borders keeping me from them.” That standard response, though not untrue, was becoming less believable as the months passed and more people, supplies, and goods made their way to 12.

Eventually Peeta stopped asking Haymitch where he was going, though occasionally the boy mentioned having seen bourbon or some other whiskey at the reconstructed Hob. Among Peeta’s many qualities were his helpfulness and his unassuming capacity to mind his own business, even while observant.

Katniss, on the other hand, was resuming her former tendency to express opinions about whatever she observed. Haymitch never asked HER to feed the geese when he took the train to the Capitol.

He was attempting to mend a wire fence on the day Katniss approached him with an announcement. “We’ve invited Effie to visit this weekend.”

Haymitch narrowly missed hitting his thumb with the hammer. He covered his affectedness with sarcasm. “Sweetheart, it’s not wise to sneak up on me when I’m holding a weapon.”

“I can see how lethal you are to that fence. I don’t think the odds are in its favor.” Trauma had left Katniss with dark humor always ready on her tongue. She and Haymitch were similar in this regard. Their banter was biting, but their hearts had grown in mutual understanding, shared survival, and compassion for one another.

A goose approached Katniss, looking for a handout. “I’ve got nothing for you.”

“This fence will keep the odds in YOUR favor, otherwise you might lose a finger to these gals. They don’t like it when the neighbors show up without snacks.”

“Maybe that’s because you ask *the neighbors* to feed them so often.”

“Peeta doesn’t seem to mind, especially in exchange for eggs for those cakes he bakes.”

Katniss couldn’t argue with that. “He’s making one Saturday. Would you like to join us for supper?”

“Your guest will be there...” He sought confirmation without asking the question. He tried to sound light, as if he was talking about the walls or their sofas, not the person he’d been having sex with for months.

“She’ll be there.”

Haymitch tried to keep a straight face. Failing at that he returned his attention to the fence. “I do enjoy a moist cake.”

“I figured.” Katniss smirked. “...And bring a bottle, not a flask. As much as I care about Effie, her company is easier to enjoy with my brain slightly altered.”

I enjoy her more when I’m sober, he didn’t say. There’s no way in hell he’d admit that. But what’s a dinner party without liquor? It’s basically just walls and sofas. “A bottle,” he agreed.

“A FULL bottle — of something good.”

“So demanding,” he chuckled. It was comforting to see Katniss wanting to engage with life beyond Peeta and the woods.

“It’s a fair trade,” she said, “For the pleasure of the company.”

Since clearly she suspected too much, Haymitch changed the subject, “If you want to gab all afternoon, then how about you help me fix this fence.”

“You and your ‘weapon’ are on your own with that. I’ll see you Saturday.” The goose waddled after her, “And no freeloaders, or I’ll turn you into in a soup.”

“I don’t taste very good.” Haymitch joked.

“Certain people might disagree with that.”

“No idea what you’re talking about.” He hollered after her. Damn, those kids were too sharp to keep secrets from anymore.

His thoughts turned to Effie, and he tried to focus on the fence enough to avoid murdering his thumb.

***

Effie was on edge about returning to 12. Her last trip there had been before the third Quarter Quell, well over a year ago — a lifetime. She’d thrown up on the train that Reaping Day, unable to keep down her rising terror and disgust. It took every ounce of false positivity she’d cultivated throughout her life to do her job that day and pull her victors names from those glass balls. Katniss and Peeta had offered her more than validation of her own existence. They’d shown her the raw beauty that could come from unscripted humanity. They’d lifted the corner of a veil she couldn’t pull back over her eyes, no matter how hard she tried. It was almost like marrying death.

She’d worn butterflies to that reaping. Monarchs. Such a regal name for a creature transformed from a grub in a prison of its own making. She remembered the fleeting moment of relief she felt in pulling Haymitch’s name — relief that the slip of paper didn’t say ‘Peeta.’

What about now? She wondered. How would she feel now to be the agent of fate and injustice who sentenced people’s loved ones to their deaths? There would be no glamor or honor in that. Looking back, there never had been. How would she feel now pulling Haymitch’s name? Acid bubbled up her throat, and she sipped it down with water. Terror and disgust lived within the memory, same as the feelings she’d vomited up the last time on her way to 12.

This thing with Haymitch wasn’t casual for her. She hadn’t meant to feel so much. She wouldn’t give a name to the feelings. That wasn’t part of the deal. This intensity hadn’t been one of their agreements. She was haunted by the memory of pulling his name and haunted by that fleeting moment of relief. In the haunting, her feelings for him kept growing. It was unveiled madness, and she walked the edge in high heeled shoes. She’d never known any other way to walk. She missed Katniss and Peeta fiercely, and they’d invited her to their home. So she’d face 12, without wearing a mask.

There would be no lavish makeup or wigs, no corset of armor, nothing resembling the veiled self who’d pulled names from the Reaping Ball. She wouldn’t face 12 that way. People’s memories deserved more from her than ostentatiousness. Nothing black of course; she wasn’t in mourning. She’d never really known the dead. Soft orange and green were the best choices, the children’s favorite colors. Most people couldn’t pull off a green and orange outfit without resembling an enormous tulip, but Effie wasn’t most people.

As she smoothed her dress, awareness dawned. She rubbed her fingertips together, feeling the fabric covering her hands. Soft cotton. Is that really what she wanted to touch today? The question came because the answer was ‘no.’ She wanted textures beyond herself, even things that may be uncomfortable to touch, like sorrow. She peeled off her gloves, folded them neatly, and slipped them into her bag. “So beautiful. For another day.”

***

Peeta had pushed Katniss a bit for Effie’s visit. His strongest memories of her were colorful and warm, in contrast with the memories of his mother. When Effie had hugged him goodbye last winter, she’d held on until he was ready to let go. Not many people in his life had ever offered him that opportunity to be the one to stop hugging first. That’s the truth he reminded Katniss about when she initially rejected the idea of inviting Effie for the weekend.

Katniss’ mother hadn’t had the capacity to give her those kinds of hugs in the years since her father’s death, but Prim had held on a thousand fold. The ache of her sister’s absence was sharp. She would prefer endless Tracker Jacker stings to the pain of grief. At least their venom would put her to sleep. Grief was a nightmare she still couldn’t sleep through or wake up from.

Peeta grieved his family too, and part of his grief was for the closeness he hadn’t experienced with them when they were alive. Katniss held him when she thought in those terms. She held him until he was ready to let go. It was a simple gift to offer a person.

Effie still had truths to learn beyond the Capitol propaganda which had shaped her, but long ago someone had taught her the value of holding on. The lesson came from either that person’s presence or their absence. Katniss didn’t know which it was or who had been the teacher. Effie hadn’t shared her personal stories. Katniss was curious about her and empathetic for Peeta, so she agreed it was time to invite Effie to visit.

“Let’s meet her at the station,” she suggested, “It’ll be better that way. Different. This isn’t the Victors’ Village anymore. It’s our home.”

Every visit Effie made previously to those houses had been under force. She was an agent of the Capitol then. She had to be there, and they had to invite her in. There was no choice or celebration, despite Effie’s excessive use of “wonderful” as an exclamation.

“She’ll like that. ...She cried for us before the Quarter Quell... Real or not real?”

“Real. She was proud. She wanted something better for us.”

Peeta reached for Katniss’ hand, threaded their fingers together, and held on. “Then let’s show her what we have.”

Peeta had lost memories, but he hadn’t lost his capacity to find words so perfect that even Caesar would be envious.

***

After the train arrived, Haymitch watched the kids’ doorstep through the window of the guest room upstairs. It was either that or from the yard. A few weeks had passed since he’d seen her, and he didn’t want to wait until supper. Katniss and Peeta had been the ones to invite Effie to 12, which is more than he had done. If he invited her, then that would be opening the can of worms they were trying to keep closed. Right? And if there was one thing Effie hated, it was worms crawling all over the place. Real or metaphorical. She preferred containment or at least control when something was uncontainable.

Watching from inside would delay dealing with the lid on the can. But if the kids already knew he spent those Saturdays with Effie, then what did it mattter? It was nobody’s business but his and hers, but if the kids already knew, then they just knew. And if so, he could go out in the yard and kiss her, then the geese could eat any spilled worms, and the jig would be up.

But even if the kids knew, then Effie didn’t know that they knew. And it would probably be better for her to hear it from them than from him because he had no interest in sitting through a dinner party with her pissed at him. Sex with her angry was great, but sitting on sofas in awkward conversation with her fuming at him for revealing their connection didn’t sound like a desirable evening.

So he watched through a rip in the sheet covering the window as the kids walked with her from the station. Effie’s arm was wrapped around Katniss, holding her loosely at the waist. Haymitch and Effie had talked before about burns and how the pain could linger a long time in new skin. Effie was gentle. He knew that better than anyone. Katniss held Effie’s waist too, so the kid must be feeling okay with the connection. Peeta and Effie chatted as he rolled her bag behind him. Haymitch might have thought to open the window to hear their conversation, but it was too late now. Besides, this was already more spying than he felt comfortable doing.

Mostly he just wanted to see her, and the bit of subterfuge was worth it. She was different. Her hair was soft, real, pulled back in some sort of twist. He’d never seen this dress before. The top was orange, but not bright like the fruit. It was like rainbow sherbet melted in a bowl: orange, pink, and white blended together. In the former days of the Capitol, melted ice cream would have gone to waste. But he would drink her up if he could. Her neck, her collarbones, her shoulders, everything her clothes didn’t touch. A dark green band circled her waist, and below it the fabric changed as it hugged from her hips to her knees. The green was covered in tiny flowers, mostly the color of the melted sherbet and also pink, gold, purple, and yellow-green scattered here and there. The flowers laid on top of the dress rather than being part of the fabric itself. He didn’t have the right words to describe it. Just gorgeous. She could have anyone. Anyone would have her if they could. And for at least the hundredth time he wondered what this goddess was doing with a drunk like him.

She turned her head toward his porch and smiled before stepping inside the kids’ house. Before joining them for supper, he needed a shower. A cold one would be best.

***

Effie shivered on the short walk from the station. She was dressed for late summer, but fall was already in the air in 12. The air was changed, permeated by fragrances of the adjacent forest instead of the coal mines. Not enough people had returned for that industry to resume. Reconstruction was slow, and the nation was relying on other sources for fuel. Effie breathed in deeply, surprised by the scents of life. Human bones, charred and weathered a year, had lost the smell of rotting flesh. They smelled like nothing, which was a relief and a strange sadness. She knew thousands of corpses were there, but she didn’t look. She knew her limits. Bearing witness to such death would have been too much.

She was grateful for the children’s hugs and for the warmth of their home. The place had looked cold when she’d seen it last, almost not lived in. But now it was alive, with scuffs on the furniture and food in the oven. Katniss brewed tea from mint leaves she gathered in the woods, and Peeta brought a plate of cookies to the coffee table. Effie’s stomach was not settled enough yet to eat, but she felt welcomed there. The three of them sat on the sofas for conversation.

Katniss curled up her knees, and Peeta leaned toward her with unconscious familiarity. This was their life now — her victors. Tears pooled in Effie’s eyes, and she let one spill over without wiping it away.

“Effie?” Peeta worried.

“I’m so relieved. So relieved to see you both looking well.”

Wellness is a relative concept. When she’d last seen them several months ago, Peeta had little between his skin and his bones. Most of Katniss’ skin was burned, and she’d grown thin from protracted stress. They were healing now as best as they could and filling out into their adult selves.

“We feed each other.” Katniss was straightforward. “That helps.”

Peeta brushed her palm with his fingertips. Satiation is a relative concept too. There were many hungers, unfolding with time.

“This peace helps,” he said, “It makes it easier to quiet the voices inside.”

Katniss curled her fingers around his. This was still their way — protecting each other. Back and forth, exchanging breath.

Effie finally wiped away the tear. Peace was something she felt far from in her inner life. “It’s quiet here, aside from the construction equipment down the road... and the geese next door.”

“The geese are decent neighbors.” Peeta had developed a fondness for them. “They only get riled up around feeding time.”

Katniss looked to her bow and quiver of arrows by the door. “If Haymitch had decided to raise chickens, I can assure you the roosters wouldn’t have lasted long.”

Effie snickered. “Haymitch probably would have had to buy back his dead roosters at the Hob.”

“Exactly.”

“His mother raised geese,” Effie added, “So the choice makes sense. There are different ways to find peace. He only talks about his family when he’s been drinking. It’s probably easier that way. They were close. 26 years is a long time, but some wounds are too deep for time to heal.”

Katniss and Peeta glanced at each other. Effie’s words were telling — full of intimacy and introspection.

“Oh, my darlings. I’m sorry. Here I am going on about grief when the two of you already understand better than I ever will.”

“There’s no need to apologize...” Peeta began.

“...Snow taught us all grief.” Katniss finished the thought.

Effie sighed. “I’m so proud of you both. I recognize I have no right to be, but still I am.”

“You’ve always been supportive of us. Anyone can see that. Without you and Haymitch securing sponsors, we wouldn’t have even survived the Games.”

“Dear boy, you are too kind.”

“He’s honest.” Katniss agreed simply.

The tea had cooled enough to drink, and Effie sipped hers, tasting a bit of their life here. The flavor was good.

***

Haymitch hadn’t asked when supper would be ready. That gave him the flexibility to show up whenever he wanted. He figured they’d spend at least an hour saying things he already knew about all of them. Waiting an hour should be good.

Unfortunately an hour gave him too much time to think about things he didn’t like to think about... What clothes to wear to look good, but not so good that it was obvious he’d thought about what clothes to wear to look good... Which liquor was tasty enough to share but not so tasty that he didn’t want to share it... What time the clock read.

He kicked himself for watching the clock, then he watched the clock again, then kicked himself again, and so on. All the while, he didn’t drink because he wanted to show up sober, and hold her waist sober, and kiss her sober when the kids were distracted. Then he wanted to drink with her and watch her cheeks turn pink and wait for her to touch him in some inconspicuous way that he would feel but nobody else would see.

It was a long hour.

***

“I invited Haymitch to supper,” Katniss said in response to the knock at the door.

“Wonderful!” Effie replied in a rehearsed way that masked however she actually felt about it.

As Peeta shifted to stand, she interrupted. “I’ll get it. I’ve been sitting all day.”

The kids watched her straighten her dress and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear before opening the door.

Haymitch greeted her at the doorstep with a basket in one hand, a bottle of liquor in the other, and a smile big enough to show the gap between his teeth, which she was eager to caress with her tongue.

“It’s good to see you, sweetheart.” he leaned in, kissed the soft patch below her ear, and whispered, “You look incredible.”

She pressed her hand to the tender spot below his sternum. Her touch was reflexive. Their knowing each other’s bodies was difficult to conceal. “I’m glad to see you too.” She loved this particular shirt, grey and form-fitting. She wanted to touch more than his stomach, but she’d already lingered too long, so she pulled away reluctantly. “Come in! Come in before the flies do!”

Haymitch moved toward the sofa before the kids had a chance to get up. “Presents...” He handed Peeta the basket of eggs, and Katniss got the brandy. He lowered his voice, “A full bottle... as requested.”

“Thanks, Haymitch.” and “Perfect.”

“Katniss, I’ll put these away,” Peeta suggested, “And let’s get some glasses.”

Katniss was more interested in what was going on between Haymitch and Effie.

“Hey.” Peeta cocked his head in the direction of the kitchen.

She acquiesced. “Make yourselves comfortable. We’ll be back.”

The moment the kids left the room, Haymitch wrapped his arms around Effie’s waist and kissed her without hesitation or slowness. She responded in kind with her tongue sliding along his teeth, then tasting more deeply. Her hands played over his chest to the hollow between his collarbones where she stroked just once, gently, so gently.

“Jesus, Effie,” he murmured, “You feel...”

No word was enough, so he kissed from her neck along her jaw. Her skin was smooth with so little makeup. He drank her in like melted rainbow sherbet.

“Haymitch...” She was almost too breathless to protest. “We should stop. The children are just in the kitchen.”

“They said to make ourselves comfortable.” He pulled her hips close.

“‘Make yourselves comfortable’ does not translate to ‘Fuck in our living room.’” Her whisper flooded him with desire for exactly that.

“It does in my house.”

“Then how about if I slip over there later for that translation.” She kissed him once more then ran her thumb across his lips to wipe away remnants of her lipstick.

“I’d love to *translate* the fuck out of you, honey.” He adjusted the neckline of her dress which had slipped sideways and was showing a sliver of her bra. “No corset today.”

She shook her head ‘no.’

“Thank god.”

He pulled her to the sofa and sat beside her, close but not too close. “Respectable?”

“We’ll see.” Beneath the coffee table she rested the toe of her stiletto against his boot. They fit together in a way that she could feel so strongly but didn’t yet understand.

***

“Are they done making out in there, or should I drink this brandy in the kitchen?”

“Shhh.” Peeta listened. “Give them a few minutes. What if we hadn’t seen each other in three weeks? Imagine how we’d be feeling.”

“Point taken.” Katniss was still barely able to let Peeta out of her sight. His presence was one of the things keeping her sane. “But this is ridiculous. Why don’t we just tell them that we know?”

“Maybe they don’t want to know that we know. We should let them tell us when they’re ready.”

“Shhh,” she said this time. “I think I hear them talking about Effie’s work.”

“Then lets bring in the drinks.”

“Quickly before they change topics and have sex on our couch.”

“Katniss, they wouldn’t...”

She rolled her eyes.

“Okay. They would. Let’s go.”

***

“...And Paylor’s on board?”

“The president is supportive.” Effie affirmed, “She’ll bring the proposal before Congress when they’re in session.”

“On board with what?” Katniss asked as she opened the bottle of brandy, and Peeta set the glasses on the coffee table.

“If all goes as planned there will be sites in each district designated as national memorials and a memorial museum in the Capitol.”

“Congress isn’t even in session. How did you secure an advocate?” Haymitch asked.

“Several Senators and Representatives are interested. Cressida and Pollux contributed footage of destruction in the districts and filmed the proposal. Since she refused payment, I made a donation to the film she’s producing. The Trinkets don’t have deep pockets, but we have enough. And considering everything Cressida has done for us. For all of us...” Effie’s eyes held tears like old glass — solid fluidity.

“Would you like a drink, sweetheart?”

“I still have my tea.”

Haymitch poured brandy for Katniss and himself. “Peeta?”

“Not yet, thanks.”

Haymitch took a cookie from the plate, dunked it in the brandy, and ate it in two bites.

“And of course they wouldn’t give the proposal coming from me a skerrick of attention if it weren’t for you...” She looked at Katniss and Peeta. ...My victors, she didn’t say the words, but they spilled onto her cheeks.

Haymitch slid his hand between the sofa and her back, drawing circles at the base of her spine, offering her this small comfort and pleasure.

“This work will mean so much to the country, Effie.” Peeta assured her.

“It’s wonderful that you’re involved with this. I had no idea...” Katniss glared then at Haymitch, “You tell me nothing. Still!”

“I told you if you want to gab, then help me fix my fence.”

“That’s extortion.” She grinned.

Effie reached for Haymitch’s glass and took a sip. She did it absentmindedly, as if sharing a glass was a common occurrence.

The kids noticed.

The next time Haymitch picked up the glass, he turned it and drank from the spot where Effie’s lipstick had left a mark. It was an act of unmistakable intimacy, almost communion.

Katniss bit her tongue. Whatever was going on between those two was serious. It occurred to her that maybe they weren’t talking about it because maybe they didn’t know yet what it was.

Her own awareness of love wasn’t unfolding all at once. It was like a primrose opening to the sun, each petal, bit by bit. So why expect someone else’s awareness to be any way other than that?

The brandy was delicious. Katniss drank in contentment rather than to dull an annoyance. Right now, there was no annoyance. Her family was here. Even the ones who weren’t here she felt as more than persistent echoes. She felt them in the flowers appliquéd on Effie’s dress.

“Primroses.” Katniss realized. “Are you wearing them for us?”

“Yes, my dear.”

Haymitch’s hand stilled on Effie’s back. She was remarkable. He had no idea how they were going to keep this casual, when it was already so much more. He had no idea how they were going to keep this private when their feelings were so close to the surface and already running so deep.

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thetravelerwrites · 5 years ago

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Monster Match #24: Bugul Noz

The Traveler's Masterlist

For: @voxnipop: Hi there! I'm Ariel (Voxni on Kofi). I'm female-presenting agender, and use they/them pronouns. For a brief description, I'm a software engineer and genre-fiction writer. I love learning new languages and skills in my free time. Physically, I am clearly the designated nerd in a family of badasses. Tall, pale, and soft with curly red hair and thick thick glasses. (Compared to the rest of my tattoo-ed, super-athletic family. I love them though, do their taxes for them every year lol.) Always down for a fight to defend my family or friends, but thankfully as a super-soft sweet female-bodied person in the Southern US, most people disengage quickly after that.

In a partner, I honestly want to feel valued and protected. I know my default is to take control and basically be the protector and nurturer, but I'd like someone who reciprocates that care that I give. Intelligence isn't all that important as much as sweetness, and also maybe the ability to cook? I'm living that takeout lifestyle haaaard. Physically, I have a slight preference for larger partners, but I'd be pretty excited to see whoever the match happens with! No preference on SFW vs NSFW, whatever you feel more inclined/simpler to do. Thank you, and hope you hit your goal soon!

You’ve been matched with a Bugul Noz!

In Breton beliefs, the Bugul Noz, or "Night Shepherd"), is a fae-like being who lives in the woodlands of Brittany. He is the last of his kind and is said to be incredibly ugly, which causes him distress. His appearance is so awful that even woodland animals avoid him, and he sometimes cries out to warn others nearby of his approach, so that he won't frighten them and that they’ll go home. He is called the night shepherd because it is generally not safe in forests late at night, when he is most active. The Bugul Noz is not malicious (indeed, rather kind and gentle), he is always alone because of his hideous visage.

Rather than being a spirit to be feared, he’s said to, "fulfill a beneficial office, in warning human beings, by his coming, that night is not made for lingering in the fields or on the roads, but for shutting oneself in behind closed doors and going to sleep. This shepherd of the shades would then be, take it altogether, a kind of good shepherd. It is to ensure our rest and safety, to withdraw us from excesses of toil and the snares of night, that he compels us, thoughtless sheep, to return quickly to the fold."

It was the baleful moaning that alerted you, making the hairs stand up on your neck.

When you first heard the sound, you were spooked but unsure what you could do. You only had your bag, which had a map, compass, and a cellphone that had no service. You’d gone hiking before and never had a problem, but it only took one wrong turn in the woods to lead to disaster.

You didn’t work out much, as you kind of enjoyed being squishy, but walking along hiking trails was your favorite form of exercise because you could take it in your own pace and sit to sketch if you were tired.

You’d gotten lost while hiking during your vacation in France and night had rapidly come upon you. You eventually found yourself in some sort of ravine with a sheer cliff face preventing you from leaving. You followed it until you’d become tired, finding a cave-like cliff hollow to shelter under.

It was then that a gigantic brown bear decided to come back to what you realized was its den, and panicked. It reared up on its hind legs and bellowed at you, and you shrieked in reply.

“Oh, god, please don’t let me die,” You prayed. “All I wanted was a vacation in Europe before I became a serious adult! Please let me live to see the Louvre!”

You heard the moaning again, but it wasn’t coming from the bear. The bear came down from its hind legs and looked behind itself. It stiffened, and then jumped as if startled. The moaning grew louder, and the bear grunted, shying away from whatever it was. Apparently deciding that a fight with whatever it was looking at wasn’t worth it and moved on.

After a moment of waiting for the bear to return, you cautiously stood up. It was still dark out, the stars were clear and bright, but not enough to illuminate the way out.

“Hello?” You called to the darkness. “Who’s there?”

“Est-ce que tu vas bien?” The voice called. It was deep and scratchy, like someone who had a cough.

“I’m sorry,” You said. “I don’t speak much French.”

“Parlez vous anglais?” They asked.

“Angl--English! Yes, I speak English,” You replied, relieved.

“My English… not good,” They said in a very heavy regional French accent. “Follow, s'il vous plaît. Lead you to trail.”

“I can’t see you,” You said.

“C'est pour le mieux,” They replied. “Come now. Not far.”

“How can I follow you if I can’t see you?”

They were quiet for a moment. “Sing?”

“You’ll sing?” You asked, slightly amused.

“Oui,” They said. “Ça va?”

“Okay,” You said, unsure whether or not this was a better option than the bear. “Lead the way.

The… person… began to sing in French a song you didn’t know. Their voice was coarse, but they could carry a tune, and you could follow it well enough to be able to join them for the refrain.

“Singing est très jolie,” They said during a pause in the song.

“Thanks,” You said, smiling. “I like your voice, too.”

“Merci,” They replied with a happy, sing-songy tone. “Sing alone often. Nice to have… partenaire.”

“Do you live out here?” You asked as you walked.

“Oui,” They said. “Près de.”

“Close?” You asked. “I don’t want to impose, but I’m very tired and thirsty. I ran out of water hours ago. I just want to rest for a little while and have a drink and I can manage.”

They were quiet, and for a moment you wondered if they had understood you. You opened your mouth to rephrase it more simply when they said, “Juste une minute.”

“Thank you. Uh… Merci,” You said.

You followed their humming until you reached a hut made of stones. It looked old, like centuries old. It looked like someone had been keeping it up by replacing the old crumbling stones with newer ones. There was a simple door made of sticks and vines.

“Il y a un puits sur le côté de la maison,” They said. “Water. Must draw bucket. Go in. Sit. I get.”

Inside, there was a small fire inside a stone circle on a dirt floor. There was a rudimentary chair sitting next to it, and a simply carved table next to it with a bamboo cup. At the farthest end was a straw and large leaf pallet that you assumed they used for sleeping. Maybe it was an old man who shunned modern society and made his life out of leading lost people out of the woods. That would be noble.

Well, it was much better than your worst imaginings, which were running rampant in your head at the moment.

There was a thump at the door and you heard their voice again.

“Water,” They said. “Outside. You drink. I wait.”

You opened the door slowly, and there was a bucket sitting on the ground full of water. Though you couldn’t tell in this light, it looked clean enough, and you were too thirsty to complain.

“Where are you?” You asked.

“Here,” They said, though you couldn’t see them. “Go now?”

“Why won’t you let me see you?”

“Ugly,” They said. “Scare you.”

You laughed. “That’s silly. You won’t scare me.”

“I scare toutes les choses,” They said sadly. “Best no see. Get you home.”

“If you say so,” You said. “Okay, I’m ready.”

They began to sing again, and you followed the sound of their voice until you eventually came upon a trail. You laughed in relief and rushed to it.

“Go west,” They said. You heard shuffling, as if they were moving away.

“Wait!” You called. “What’s your name?”

“Auberi,” They said. “Be safe.”

You made it back to the town where you were staying as dawn broke. There had been a search team out looking for you, and they were relieved to hear you were alive and unharmed for spending an entire night in the woods.

You insisted you were fine, but they called an ambulance anyway. At the hospital, you asked the nurse, “Have you heard about someone living out in the forest?”

“Que voulez-vous dire?” She asked. “Did you see someone else out there?”

“Not see,” You said. “Heard. There was a person out there who led me out of the woods, but they wouldn’t let me see their face. They sang a song and I followed their voice out of the woods.”

“Ah,” The nurse said with a knowing smile. “You must have met le Bugul Noz.”

“The what?”

“Night Shepherd,” She translated. “It’s a kind creature that helps keep people and animals safe, but it’s said to be so ugly that it scares everything away from it. Not even animals will go near it if they see it. It is lonely and cries because no one will be friends with it.”

“Is the Night Shepherd real?” You asked.

“It’s a fairy tale,” The nurse replied. “But who’s to say it is real or not?”

A week later, you went hiking on the same trail, with a GPS this time in case you got lost again, and went searching for the Night Shepherd. You tried to sing the song they had, but you could only remember the refrain, so you sang that over and over, hoping it would draw their ear.

After a few hours of nothing, you sat down on a large stone and sighed unhappily. Perhaps you had hallucinated the voice, but how would you have hallucinated a song you’d never heard in a language you barely knew?

“Lost again, petit oiseau?” You heard the rough voice say.

“Auberi!” You said, jumping up and looking around only too see nothing but forest. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you?”

“Moi?” They said, sounding surprised. “Pourquoi?”

“I heard a story from the nurse after I made it out of the forest,” You said. “About a creature so ugly that no one would stay with it. Is that you? The night shepherd? Le Bugul Noz?”

They sighed heavily. “Oui,” The admitted. “Je suis.”

“Is that why I heard you crying before you drove off the bear?” You asked gently. “You are lonely, aren’t you?”

They were silent.

“You saved my life,” You said earnestly. “No matter what you look like, I want to thank you for that. Please, can I see you?”

“Je ne veux pas te faire peur.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Scare you,” They said. “Don’t want.”

“You won’t,” You said. “Come out, please? I have a gift for you.”

“Not ask for gift,” They said. “Just want safe.”

“I know,” You said. “But I brought you one anyway. Please? Please let me see you.”

There was a large breath followed by a deep, heavy sigh that blew the low branches around. Then the saplings in the low brush were moved aside as the creature came out into the light.

They were hunched and crooked, with a long neck like a horse, complete with a main of tangled, coarse tan hair. They had three pairs of arms, one of which worked in tandem with their feet to propel their large body forward. They were covered in the same coarse fur as their mane, only shorter and curlier. Their face was flat and revealed a dark hole that seemed to lead to nowhere. They had no visible eyes or ears, but they seemed to hear and see just fine. There was a long tail stretched out behind them that dragged the ground as they walked. You had no way to determine their gender, so you didn’t try.

They were certainly unusual, but you didn’t think they were ugly.

“Not running?” They asked, their head turning in surprise. You had no idea where the voice was coming from, as they had no mouth, just the dark maw in the middle of their face.

“Not running,” You said. “I told you, you saved me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re as handsome as a prince.” You reached up to touch them, and they shied a little in fear, but allowed you to put your hand on their neck. You stroked their hair and scratched their skin, and there was a strange guttural purring sound from the maw.

“I’m going to be in the village for another month,” You said. “And I came to France to learn about it’s art, it’s culture, and it’s people. You’re part of that. I think I’d like to spend my month with you.”

They leaned their head against your cheek, and there was an odd hollow whistling from the maw, but it wasn’t so bad.

“Teach you all my songs,” They said. “We sing together, petit oiseau?”

“I’d love to sing with you, Auberi.” You said, laughing and snuggling against them.

To get your own Monster Match, buy me a Kofi!

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal.

Thanks for reading!

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writhingcreature · 4 years ago

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I'd love to hear your take on hp! feel free to rant all you want

Ri I fucking love you

First of all, there is a KEY thing to understand: I believe that Harry, Hermione and Ron were all meant to be in Gryffindor and here’s why.

Second key thing to understand: Everyone has the main house they identify with, which I refer to as a primary house. Everyone also has a second house that is very important to categorization that I refer to as a secondary house. That’s why I refer to myself as a “Ravedor” - primary Ravenclaw, secondary Gryffindor.

With this in mind, this is how I categorize what is your primary house and what is your secondary house: Your primary house is who you are, and your secondary house is who society has demanded you be.

This is why when children (ex: Harry) gave input about which house they wanted/didn’t want to be in, the Sorting Hat took it into consideration and acted according. It’s about how you see yourself. It’s also because at 11, your house will decide basically your entire life. It'll decide which parts of your personality will become most prominent, because you'll be around people who will bring out that side of you the most. It'll decide your classes and friends and the ideas you cultivate and the things you value. It's not only how you see yourself now, but who you will eventually become.

Your secondary house is what comes after what you want. It's who you have to be when you can't be the person you wish you were.

Harry Potter wanted to be a hero, a good person who fought for justice and truth and protected those who needed protecting, and he wanted to be around the brave and the hot headed and the passionate of heart. He would have done well as a Slytherin, but the parts of him that would have bloomed in Slytherin, weren't parts of him he wanted to feed.

Society demanded Harry Potter to be perfection. Demanded hun to strive for bigger and better every single time he did anything. He couldn't just defeat the greatest wizard of all time. He couldn't just face the most evil man of the time, the most feared being, as a BABY, and call it a life. No he had to do it every single year he was apart of the Wizarding world until he wasn't just a wizard, he was a staple of history - the savior of lives everywhere, several times over. His shadow grew so big and his goals so impossible that they outgrew him but he rose to meet them anyway. His leadership and drive and aspiration and determination is what would have made him such a great Slytherin, and those around him demanded him to feed those traits even as he fought to be better than the darkness that came with it all.

Hermione Granger wanted most of all to learn everything she could, but not just for the sake of learning. For the sake of EXPERIENCING. She wanted to drink every memory made and every friend squires and every goal achieved. She didn't just want to study, she wanted to get her hands dirty and jump in the water and she wanted to do it with an attitude and a will that refused to be crushed.

Society demanded Hermione to be a level head and a creative mind. Forced her to be always prepared and well versed in everything. Her passion for the rules fought her very being as she was forced again and again to break the rules and question the laws she so clung to, and even as she tried to stay on the true and narrow and be the perfect example every Gryffindor stands to show, she was demanded to think outside the box to keep herself, her friends, and by association the entire Wizarding world alive. If she wasn't intelligent and crafty and fast on her feet, the people she loved most would have died several times over. Even as she tried to lead with her heart, everyone forced her to lead with her head and that's what brings her to Ravenclaw even as she tried with everything in her to be a Gryffindor as she was meant to be.

Ronald Weasley wanted to be like his family, but he also wanted to be more. He didn't want to blend in; he wanted to do something fantastic. He wanted to experience everything too, and he wanted the glory. His pride and yearning of success and fierce protectiveness of those who were overlooked as he was drove him to reach for fire and face his fears and stand tall even as his legs shook under him.

Society demanded from Ron a lot of things. Compassion. Patience. Understanding. And above all, loyalty. His temper and pride was ripped apart and his aspiration to rise above and be the best was ground I totally he dirt as he forever stood in Harry's shadow. But he accepted that, because he learned in the end that what was more important than anything else were his friends. His family. Someone had to be the heart, and hurt and feel and cry and sacrifice for everyone, because if he didn't take some of the weight off of Harry's shoulders the boy would have crumbled. And sure, his red Gryffindor blood would sometimes get in the way, but in the end, society's pushing him toward Hufflepuff and forcing him to be soft and protective and fight limitlessly and take the brunt of the emotional effort for them through everything they faced.

God I’m gonna cut it off here because there are just my emotions about SORTING and THREE CHARACTERS let alone all my favorites lmaooooo.

Sorry this is so long-

#Harry Potter #hpu #hp universe #Hogwarts #I tag so that if you have it blocked this rant won’t show up

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eroticcannibal · 5 years ago

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What's recovery rhetoric? I think I have a basic understanding of it, but I feel like I'm missing the nuance of it, if that makes sense?

Ok I’ve learned my lesson, I’m typing this up in wordpad too and also I’m lazy so I’m cribbing from previous posts (which I will link to in case anyone wants some further reading). Also it might not be necessary for u but I’m gonna cover basics in this in case any newer followers are curious.

So, SUPER short version, “recovery rhetoric” is the eugenics-lite way that recovery is discussed and pushed on mentally ill/mad/neurodiverse people. Recovery rhetoric is essentially the intra-community version of neurotypical ableism and their ultimate goal of eradicating neurodivergency. It’s an ultimately harmful attempt to try and assimilate into neurotypical society. Now I don’t think those that perpetuate it are intentionally malicious, I completely understand the desire to get better and be “normal”, but nonetheless the impact is ultimately harmful.

Things that are typical of recovery rhetoric:

Constantly changing redefinitions of “recovery”. Recovery means the problem is gone, which for most people is not possible, ever. Most people engaging in recovery rhetoric recognise this but rather than give up on recovery, which is demanded of all of us by ableist society, they attempt to redefine it, which creates a situation of one side telling a vulnerable person that “recovery is possible!”, which sets them up for the trauma of constant and inevitable failure for not living up to The Actual Definition Of Recovery, which will usually be internalised as a personal failing.

The insistence that their is One Way That Recovery Looks. To make this easier to discuss here I’m going to define this as “improvement” rather than “recovery”, but recovery rhetoric ignores the variety of people and their situations and experiences. The standard for improvement tends to be go to therapy, take your meds, “healthy” (read: respectable by ableist standards) coping mechanisms only etc etc which is inherently harmful for prioritising respectability over what is actually helpful for an individual.

One example would be the earlier discussion on my blog regarding addiction, the recovery rhetoric approach would frame replacement and even addiction itself as “unhealthy” coping mechanisms, therefore things that should be eradicated immediately regardless of the individuals situation. Their is no consideration for those who would be worse off in their current situations without their “bad” ways of coping. No consideration for those that respond differently to different things (insulting myself is FUN it doesn’t actually damage me, the same is true of others, please leave us be). Their is no consideration of the fact that “healthy” is subjective. Their is no consideration of the fact that for some “healthy” is UNACHIEVABLE. Their is no consideration of those who would be harmed by “respectable” methods of improvement, such as therapy or meds (abuse within mental health fields exists and is rampant). And this tends to breed a lack of compassion for those in worse situations than those who can just drink a glass of water and take their meds to feel better. It’s respectability or you aren’t trying hard enough and you just want to be ill. Because recognising that personal improvement is actually antithetical to the expectations of ableist society, those entrenched in recovery rhetoric will tear down anyone who is a threat to their viewpoint so they can hold on to the hope they will be “normal”.

(Also, I’ve just realised this parallels the CBT approach: removing a negative behavior results in the problem it is a response to being solved. Which is… not how things work but given how CBT has been pushed lately above all other forms of treatment due to low costs, to the point where some other treatments have been cut away completely, I’m… much less suprised by this aspect of recovery rhetoric. I’m copywriting this insight /j)

The idea that to be neurotypical and sane is the default, what we should all aim to be, and that existence outside of that is a deviation to be fixed no matter the cost. By God You Better Be A Productive Cog In The Machinery Of Capitalism Or You Have Failed. This links in a little with the previous point, in that what is considered “healthy” and “recovered” doesn’t always correlate with what is good for someone.

The pathologising of Every Damn Thing Even If It Is Harmless. Not texting back is because you are traumatised. Don’t do toooo much self care because that’s indulgence. Don’t trust people? It’s because you’re crazy, not because people have shown you can’t trust them. I could go on.

Coercive loss of autonomy through intra-community pressure. You are not allowed to be ok with being ill or mad. You are not allowed to disagree with professionals, you must submit to them and seek treatment from them. Recovery is not optional. Don’t you dare suggest there is nothing actually wrong with you. And of course listen to some random blogger who knows nothing about your life, they just want the best for you, you aren’t anti-recovery, are you?

The denial of outside factors in mental illness and madness. If you have a problem, it’s because of you, your brain, you have to fix it. Your recovery is down to you. Homeless? Abused? Can’t get medical treatment? RECOVER ANYWAY.

It leaves no space for those who have been harmed by recovery attempts and the mental health field. Certainly no space for those that have been killed by them.

(can u tell I’m getting lazy towards the end here? My hands hurt, sorry)

Recovery rhetoric may seem quite lovely on the surface, but the end result is a few uwu recovery drink-water-take-your-meds blogs feeling all morally superior because it’s easier for them, and a culture of attacking anyone who has life a bit harder.

MORE POSTS ON RECOVERY RHETORIC, PRO-RECOVERY CULTURE AND RELATED TOPICS )some are more serious, thought out posts like this, some are fairly casual exchanges of experiences)(check the notes, there’s some good additions)

[Example of the hostility towards those who cannot perform to the standards of pro-recovery culture]

[The value of “toxic” communities like pro-ana]

[Pathologising normal behaviors]

[What is recovery culture]

[A positive approach to personal improvement]

[The cost of recovery]

[Personal accounts of psychiatric abuse][Theres a ton more on my blog if u search “psych”]

[An alternative view on living with a weird brain, which I include mostly due to the hostility in the notes as an example of the behavior directed at anyone who does not perpetuate recovery rhetoric. IDK if the worst of it will show up in the notes cus a lot of people blocked me over that post lmao]

[Pathologising healthy behaviors]

[How recovery culture can cause a lack of trust in yourself]

[”What is recovery?” a perspective by a psychiatric survivor, I’d also recommend that whole site for anyone interested in anti-psych, recovery-critical and Mad perspectives]

[An alternative vision of treatment]

My blog is not the be all and end all of reading, I’m just not looking further lmao

#Anonymous #why did i write this much

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tactyl-ymon · 4 years ago

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DnD session write up - Remorse and Revelations

Boy howdy, who knew a global pandemic could disrupt social gatherings? Anyway, straight into it kids. Enjoy.

We open with everyone still laughing on an empty beach, catching their breath after narrowly escaping a collapsing demi plane that held an imprisoned dracolich that fed off peoples memories and the revelation that they'd been in said hell plane for a month when Eridol, Veiraen & Whisky all collapse on the ground trying to stop their skulls from retching open as the magic Nervlyth had used to repress every memory from before coming to Ostaria shattered and lifetimes of memories snap back into place. While Whisky and Veiraen take a few minutes to shake off their psychosis, Eridol is trapped in an kaleidoscope of his worst memories and is probably stuck that way for a while, whisky offers to stay back and drink the pain away/keep him safe until he's somewhat functional again and the other three decide they need to debrief Core and the council and with their magical fax machine out of commission it means a jaunty several hour trek through the woods to the capital city and we have our first proper split party of the campaign.

It's around sunset that Whisky notices Eridol doing something besides mutely staring directly at the sun and drinking too much beer and she asks if he's ok after everything they went through and in between too large gulps of booze and those gross sad snot bubbles you get when you cry too hard he tells her about his fiance and how happy they were, about the friends he'd lost to cultists of Bane, the torture they had put him through, the brand on his abdomen that won't go away no matter how many times he burns it off. He tells her about being freed from the cultist camp by clerics of Tyr, he's about halfway through explaining how he ran away from his fiance when he clams up, realising what he was saying and without thinking, gets up and mentions that they should really catch up to everyone else or at the very least head back to the keep so it's safer than camping on the ground near a possible exit from hell space and before Whisky can stop him, the tiny heavily armoured drunk wades into the water and begins paddling for the mainland and Whisky has no choice but to wade in after him.

Because Eridol has the emotional processing power of a particularly dense rock, he's too focused cramming everything he just said back in his head that he doesn't immediately notice that he can't hear Whisky swimming behind him anymore. In a panic he frantically scans the water that accompanies this thought shoving itself to the front of his mind he notices several small bubbles clearing the surface 20 feet away and Eridol does what he does best, which is stupidly dive and swim to the bottom of the lake to find a thrashing Whisky tangled in some kelp. He gets her free just as the bubbles stop and she goes limp. With the fear and adrenaline of having someone else he cares about die, Eridol drags her along with his exhausted chainmail wearing self out and with his limited resources, immediately channels all his remaining energy into a single healing prayer and using it to force the water out of her lungs. While Whisky is busy taking her first of many new breaths, Eridol is babbling about how this is his fault and he can make it better as he begins digging through his pack and shakily offers up a small, rough cut gem necklace. Offering apology after apology even as he slumps into unconsciousness.

Whisky silently tries to take stock of the situation which now includes one severely passed out and heavily waterlogged gnome with a pendant laying on the sand just out of reach and with a single solitary “fuck” she scoops up the necklace and begins thinking on how to move what is effectively canned dead weight and decides the best option would be to get the armor off him and at that point he's basically just a toddler sized sack of potatoes. With the armor off, Whisky gets an unhindered look at the hodge podge of scars that make up Eridol's torso. Skin knitted back together over burns, cuts and punctures, a deep cut through one shoulder surrounded by lots of interlocking circles and a large patch of heavy burns on his right side that he would normally keep hidden. She takes all this in for a moment and decides the most immediate need is to draw a large charcoal penis on his forehead before bundling the tiny man up and dragging him through the forest back to the keep before dumping him in front of one of the fireplaces for the guards to find and wandering off to bed.

Meanwhile, the adults of the group were finishing their several hour trek to the capital and began to notice small camps dotting the farmland outside the city, growing more and more dense until they were smack in the middle of a makeshift tent city. Taking a moment to look around they see the normal array of humans, elves, dwarves and the like but also a greater population of half orcs, goblins, bugbears and teiflings than would have been allowed this close to the city before the slight jaunt through time and space. As they wander through the shanty town fearing some kind of attack had taken place within the city walls to displace everyone, they learn that the newly formed ruling council ordered the lower quarters of the city to be upgraded to decrease the gap between the elite at the centre of the city and the less wealthy that surrounded them. Continuing through the city gates and past the city wide work sites, they come to where the ostentatious council building should be. In its place stands a squat, single storey wood and stone hall, a few small meeting rooms sit on either side of the larger council room. A short queue of the days remaining business slowly filtering through the rough wooden doors of the central chamber, which Veiraen, Septima and Emmi attempt to bypass because they’re big damn heroes, but faced with several town guards and a fairly aggressive half orc with a hard on for bureaucracy at the head of the line, they are momentarily pushed to the back of the queue until the council chamber doors open and Core pokes his head outside, spots the responsible half of the adventurers group and merrily ushers them inside to debrief.

They enter the central chamber to find the two remaining council members, Rorstaad, the human and Sharona the high elf. While Rorstaad remains seated, on seeing Emmi, Sharona immediately strides over and hugs the daughter she had magically forgotten for so many years. Emmi doesn’t say anything but just shrugs off the affection and Sharona meekly walks back to her seat and the trio take turns covering the basics of what happened after they had left through the Slyph’s portal, how they found themselves in an overgrown mushroom forest which paralysed or caused hallucinations in some of the party when it was burned. Whisky’s impromptu growth spurt. Fighting off a giant bird that looked like the night sky itself. Following Septimas sometimes moral compass through the woods and to the druidic village of Kincaid, jumping through a tree into a voided hellscape of nothingness that contained a highly intelligent undead dragon that had been eating peoples memories as a way to sustain itself after Septima, Fulgur and Fafnir had sealed it there a few centuries ago. They go on about how the dragon asked for two people to sacrifice their lifeforce because he just wanted the freedom it deserved, that was all and after a clever ruse from Septima all hell breaks loose and then he kind of dies twice because nobody really knows how warforged work and now the dragon is free. Somewhere in the material plane, maybe. Things got a bit fuzzy after that point. But with the dragon gone, Ostaria is now back in the material plane properly and there’ll be no more weird amnesia things going on so it’s a win win really.

After taking a moment to take all that in and pour himself half a bottle of wine, Core tries to change the conversation and ask where the other members were? It was strange not to see the group together and with the magic words uttered, Septima gladly mentions how Tornur disappeared as soon as they made it out of the mushroom forest and left a note saying he was called for something and they left Whisky next to a non responsive, shaking Eridol back on the beach they tumbled out onto. Hearing all this, Core pours the other half of the bottle of wine into his cup and downs it in an instant, takes a deep breath and begins very uncalmly explaining why literally all of those are horrible choices. They can deal with Tornur when the time comes, but why did they think leaving the easily spooked, emotional powderkeg of a cleric basically on his own was a good idea? Septima mentions it was fine, he had been like this since Veiraen set him on fire before trying to break his curse on top of a mountain with Fulgir the sometimes dragon a few days prior to them leaving. Veiraen to his credit who had mostly been standing there quietly trying not to draw attention to himself doesn’t shy away from the slew of verbal abuse Core throws at him, only offering a small apology before retreating back into himself. With the initial debrief over, Core dismisses the trio but asks that they get in touch with Eridol and Whisky to make their way to the city just in case the council needs some additional information. Septima opens his hand and like the disney princess he is, snatches a bird out of the air and asks that it deliver a message to Eridol about Core needing to speak with Whisky and him, before the trio make their way to the short barracks building they had been using before the keep was built.

In the morning, Eridol is woken up by a bird landing next to his head, slowly opening its beak and without moving begins emitting a message in Septimas voice, Eridollets out a shriek and immediately scoots several feet backwards in terror at what is obviously a literal nightmare. Animals can’t talk. The bird repeats the message a few times before Eridol calms down enough to realise what’s going on and quietly thanks the bird and it closes its beak and takes off through a nearby window. The gnome takes in whatever that was before realising that this is definitely not the beach he passed out on and he is definitely half naked on a couch in the keep, with no idea on how he got there Eridol grabs his armor from the foot of the couch and scuttles upstairs to get ready before getting Whisky who successfully stifles a laugh at the large charcoal dong on the tiny mans forehead and they set off to the city, encountering the same large tent city surrounding Principium as they make their way towards the bar the rest of the party were waiting and spend several hours drinking and carousing with the locals. During the impromptu pub crawl, Whisky and Emmi take a spot of gambling with bar patrons, Veiraen makes several attempts to apologise to Eridol who refuses any attempt to have the conversation and Septima befriends a travelling merchant and they begin talking about how the group has a lot of money and money can be exchanged for goods and services and Septima being the good boy that he is decides he should get gifts for everybody, but he doesn’t have much money on him so he asks a very drunk and distracted Eridol for the bag of holding because that’s where all the gold is. Eridol can’t see any faults in this logic and begins handing the bag over before Emmi swats the bag out of his hands and glares at the tiny drunk who sheepishly shrugs before being distracted by a dog and runs outside to pet it. Emmi and Septima have a short discussion with the merchant about where he’s set up and that they’ll come by in the morning to check out his wares but for now they’re just going to keep drinking and enjoying the company. After a fairly extensive shopping montage that got the group some new weapons, armor and several magical wands for future shenanigans the crew makes their way back to the keep, trying not to discuss the tension between Veiraen and Eridol on the way. It’s a couple hours after midnight, with everyone capable of sleeping being out like a light that Eridols door quietly opens and Septima creeps in and grabs Eridol’s mount and occasional emotional support dog, Pickle from the base of the bed and taps his newly bought staff to the dogs head, asking him to be the friend that Eridol desperately needs at the moment and blessing it with enlightened intelligence and the ability to speak before whispering not to wake Eridol just yet. Which lasts a whole 5 seconds after Septima shuts the door behind him and Pickle begins headbutting Eridol and licking his face and yelling his buddy’s name excitedly and saying how much he loves his tiny master. Faced with all of this, Eridol not sure if this is a dream or that all the psychosis finally caught up to him and he does the only thing that makes sense and begins hugging his dog and quietly crying into his fur for the remainder of the night.

#dnd #Tactyl Ymon #Eridol #Veiraen #Emmi #Whisky #Septima

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pi-cat000 · 5 years ago

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MSA: Winged Arthur AU (part 9)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Part 10: here

The Lance POV:

NOTE: I may have gotten a little carried away with the introspection, which kind of took over from the ‘Lance explains Lewis’ plan I originally wrote.

Lance leaves Vivi with Arthur. The girl’s got a head on her shoulders so he can trust her to keep an eye on the kid in case he wakes from his- apparently- magic induced unconsciousness. Magic…Not something a regular person thought about, but, hey, it was quickly becoming a reoccurring theme in situations involving his nephew, so he should work on getting used the idea. Especially if the wings are permanent. Lance still doesn’t know what to make of that development. Wearily, he pulls a beer from the fridge before thinking better of it and replacing it with Arthur’s extra-strength coffee. This night is going to be a long one. He’ll need the additional energy. The herbal tea he finds pushed to the back of the cupboard in a stack of small coloured boxes. Lance spends a second staring at the odd assortment before rubbing his eyes. Arthur and the slowly expanding collection of drinks he kept around for his friends…Friend. A long sigh and he picks a box at random.

Never had he seen the universe have it out for two people more than his nephew and the girl. And his life hadn’t exactly been filled with sunshine and roses, so he has a sound basis for comparison. Lance slams two cups down with a little more intensity than is strictly necessary. What the hell is he going to tell Vivi anyway? The whole subject of Lewis is a bloody minefield. Sometimes, on the rare nights, when Vivi and Arthur decided to take a break from endless road tripping to just spend a quiet second relaxing in front of the TV, Lance would salubriously listen to them chat and act like ordinary young people. Mostly, the subjects were light and friendly, echoing a time from before the bullshit. Other times, he’d be subjected to Arthur’s heartbreaking attempts at describing Lewis to Vivi. A pointless endeavour, the girl’s memory was so scrambled she struggled to retain even the barest comprehension of Lewis for more than a few minutes. Not that that had stopped the boy from trying. Right up until Lance put his foot down, banning any talk of Lewis in the house for all their sanities. Not a popular move that one. Now Lance gets to be the one to explain how Lewis, a guy Vivi had been friends with -and probably dating but not like he had ever confirmed that- had been erased, taking half her memory with him. Also, Lewis might now be a ghost…wraith…or whatever, because sure, that made sense. Lance finishes up with his coffee and aggressively dumps a tea bag in some hot water, carrying the two drinks out into the lounge. Vivi is right where he’d left her, settled next to Arthur, working through more of the feathers. The wings don’t appear nearly as dishevelled as they had been. Both kids are covered in enough dirt and blood that he’s amazed, and insanely grateful, that they’re even alive. The room has dropped several degrees in temperature, which Lance attributes to the windows, empty, devoid of their glass. He’d have to work on boarding them up later. For now, he places the two cups down on the tv-tray, before shuffling over to the cupboard quashed behind the couch, pulling free a pile of old blankets. They are motheaten and musty smelling, but it’d do. When he shimmies back around, Vivi glances up and gives a strained grin, taking the offered blanket. She immediately throws it over Arthur. Lance snorts and doesn’t bother commenting, placing the pile at her feet, finding his seat in the recliner. “So, about Lewis. How much are yeh rememberin?” He starts, figuring he should first gauge just how much Vivi remembers before launching into the convoluted tale. The basics. He would start with the basics. An exhale of familiar frustration, “Nothing really. All I have is this feeling that I know him, the ghost that is, from somewhere. Maybe the Lewis you know is a different Lewis?… Did we meet on a case or something?” “Not quite….” Lance grunts. So that was a big fat zero on the memory front. Looks like he’d be telling this story from scratch. He leans back, crosses his arms, and gathers his thoughts. “Yeh know that thing… The thing Arthur’s been searchin for this last few years?” A suspicious, abet calculating, squint. “Yeah…of course I do. I mean I should, I’ve been here for most of it,” Vivi responds promptly. Her next sentence is a statement, “Lewis is connected to my memory loss isn’t he.” Lance nods, continuing bluntly, “That thing… not really a thing at all. More of a person. A person who went missing the night yeh lost ya memories and Arthur lost his arm.” “…and this person is Lewis,” Vivi finishes, catching on quick. He nods, “That’s the name,” leaning back to gulp down some coffee and watch Vivi silently work through the information. “That ghost…the one outside…is he the same Lewis?” Lance grunts, “No idea.” Vivi continues, her tone sharp, “Because he was pretty intent on hurting Arthur. Why would Arthur want to find someone who’d want to hurt him?” Lance doesn’t answer, considering the question carefully. He doesn’t know much about ghosts or wraiths or supernatural anything. All he knew was that he’d liked Lewis when the kid had been around. There wasn’t a person in Tempo who hadn’t. The boy had been polite, friendly, and good-natured in a way many people weren’t. Honestly, Lewis and Vivi had easily been the best thing to happen to nephew, what with how happy hanging out with them made him. After Lewis ‘disappeared’ - god forbid Lance suggest he was dead in Arthur’s presence- Lance had grown to quickly dislike the echo he left behind. Easy to hate a person who wasn’t around. Now, there’s some fire ghost claiming he’s Lewis, and Arthur is covered in blood and scorch marks. Never mind that Lance had walked in on the bastard threatening Vivi, who had looked two seconds away from lunging at said skeleton with only a bat as a weapon. All to protect his nephew. This…this wraith creature claiming to be Lewis? It’s very easy to hate. “The three of ya were close friends for years. Did everythin together. Don’t know nothin about wraiths, but if it wants ta hurt Arthur, then it’s not the Lewis Arthur is searching for.” A pause. That energy rush Vivi had described earlier appears to have been mostly physical because there is an aura of fatigue resting on her shoulders, showing the beginnings of mental exhaustion. “Surely, I would remember someone that important? Or Arthur would have mentioned him.” “The kid tried,” He says, toning down the bluntness, trying for more compassion, “Multiple times. Whatever got the memories, it targeted Lewis and stopped yeh from retainin any info about him.” Vivi hesitates at that, muttering to herself, “I knew it. There is a connection between all the missing memories. It's not random. No wonder Arthur always got upset when I asked questions.” Then speaking louder, “…But I remember now. Well, I recognised the name at any rate…so that’s something.” She perks up in a way that tells Lance he’s about to learn a bunch of weird supernatural trivia. “A wraith is an embodiment of anger and pain. When a person dies, and the circumstances surrounding the death are traumatic enough, their negative emotions trap them between here and wherever souls go. That’s what the books say.” “You said Lewis disappeared the night Arthur…When Arthur lost his arm.” A physical shiver. “What if, whatever happened back then, it killed this person…Lewis. I mean, we already know the event was bad enough to give us both blackouts, and god knows Arthur gets enough nightmares from the incident. Maybe it was bad enough to create a wraith. Of course, that still doesn’t explain why it wants to hurt Arthur. If you are right about us being friends and stuff, it shouldn’t be targeting us.” Lance can only shrug, “The Lewis I remember wouldn’t have hurt either of yeh. Well, as far as I could tell at any rate.” It is odd hearing Vivi talk about Lewis with such dispassion. Frankly, it’s strange hearing the word Lewis again, period. Along with the name is that weight of frustration and minor irritation. Of course, it couldn’t be a normal, regular, wraith of a random stranger. No, that would have been too fuckin easy. This wraith just had to be the very friend Arthur was driving himself to collapse searching for. Of fuckin course it was. Because that’s what Arthur needed, a dead friend who wanted to burn him ‘to a crisp.’ Heaven help it if it’s pretending to be Lewis to mess with them because Lance is one more encounter with bullshit away from shooting the shit out of the next supernatural bastard he saw.

NOTE: Lance is decidedly not happy.

Part 10: here

#MSA #mystery skulls animated #fanfiction #fanfic #lance kingsmen #Vivi Yukino #arthur but he's unconsiouse #yeah lance has some FEELINGS #the rare lance pov #coarse language #winged arthur #ghost lewis

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mor-beck-more-problems · 5 years ago

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Friend Fail || Skylar and Morgan

@theskyeandsea

Don’t do blood magic in front of the baby seal.

Morgan stopped her work for the third time this hour to make sure she really did have everything she needed. The crystals were all made, the bath salt jars were freshly clean and ready. She had her measuring cups and postage boxes so Skylar could help. She had even gotten through half her grading. There really was no reason not to make use of her new chalkboard and try another summoning. She’d gotten Sean with a birthday cake--sort of. Who was to say she couldn’t get Constance with a proper circle and a little blood? At least, practice getting the circle, right? The board had even come with chalk in three different colors, just waiting, begging to be used. Morgan checked her phone to see where the planets were. Still Aquarius season, so not great for her, but her Mercury was almost in a water sign. It was all so...promising. Enough to give her pause and make her look around the room once more. It didn’t feel very much like skirting around the curse if the universe was setting everything up so nicely for her. But if she waited until things were more dire, what would that achieve? Morgan pulled up the spell on her phone again. This was not Cassie approved, but at least she had salt this time. She could line the place if she decided to get serious. Which, she wouldn’t. Probably. (What if this was her one door and she was missing the good kind of signal? Or what if that was just what the curse wanted her to think?)

A knock at the door startled her out of her thought loop. Right. Skylar was stopping by the house to visit. Good for her! Making friends with grownups was kind of pitiful, but she’d been there before herself. Sometimes you had to take what you could get. “Hey, come on in!” She stepped back and signed, Good afternoon! Happy to see you. She’d watched a couple of videos online and had mostly memorized the greeting, plus two other words. Work there, Magic there.

Skylar really, really, really didn’t want to be here. Her head had been aching all day, she’d barely been able to eat anything, and her body just felt run down, even though she’d slept ten hours the previous night. And… what made it worse was she knew exactly why she was feeling this way. Ricky had told her as much. It was because she hadn’t transformed. Apparently, all her problems were a direct result of not turning into a seal, which she didn’t quite follow. She wasn’t a seal who could sometimes be human. She was a human, a normal human. With… quirks. Taking a long drink from her thermos of coffee, Skylar sighed as she walked up to Morgan’s house. This was going to be good for her. This was going to be something good and helpful and nice. Because Morgan had been nothing but nice and helpful, even after Skylar had been dismissive of the whole magic situation. Knocking on the door, Skylar offered what she hoped was a bright smile as Morgan opened the door.

The signing threw her for a second. For one thing, she was going way too fast for her fingers, so they came out garbled. Skylar could tell what she meant, but it wasn’t the best use of sign. “Hi! Thanks for having me.” She said. Setting her coffee down, she let out a small laugh and signed, What do you mean by work there, magic here?

Oh, thank god Skylar could talk just fine, maybe (probably) even read lips! Morgan saw the two whole words she’d learned outside of the basic greeting repeated in a new way, one she had no idea how to answer. She winced. “Sorry. Just--different tasks I have going on today! Um, I’ve got some bath salts that need to go into those very uh, hashtag aesthetic jars, and I have this shiny new chalkboard that has a lot of magic potential! I’m not going to do anything to it, I should clarify, I’m going to use it to make some more elaborate circles that I’m using right now.” Only after she finished did she realize just how fast she was prone to talking sometimes. Sorry, she signed, the only other word she’d thought make handy use of. “I talk fast sometimes, and I don’t always realize. Can I get you some sweet tea?”

“No problem.” Skylar said, waving it off with a laugh. “I was joking. Sorry, I didn’t mean to make fun.” She said as she took look around Morgan’s house curiously. There were a lot of odds and ends, and a lot of jars as well. What were the jars for? Watching Morgan intently, Skylar did her best to match the lip movements with what she was hearing, but it wasn’t easy. Morgan was speaking just a bit too quickly for her. “Ah. It’s okay, really! You said something about aesthetic jars? Is that what these are for?” She said, gesturing to the mason jars that were set up. “Tea? No, no, I’m good. Thank you though.” Skylar said as she picked up her thermos from where she’d set it down. Being around other people usually helped take her mind off what troubled her, so hopefully helping Morgan would do the same.

“No, I think you earn the right to tease,” Morgan said, trying to reassure her. “I tried to be competent in your language over the course of forty-eight hours maybe, with nothing but youtube and willpower. But, grab a pillow! Make yourself cozy!” She grabbed some tea for herself and sat on the floor with her shiny new board. It was so smooth it didn’t even look real. Morgan broke the seal on the chalk. It was good to practice, right? “You can put the TV on and make yourself at home if you want, but if you really want to help, You can use the measuring cup to put two scoops into the jars.” Morgan beamed over at the girl,who, now that she wasn’t moving quite so fast, really did seem in need of some kind of pick-me-up, poor kid.

Shaking her head, Skylar shrugged. “I appreciate you trying at the very least. It’s more than a lot of people do.” She said, the thought making her slightly melancholy. Ack. No, no, no. Watching as Morgan picked up a neat little chalkboard, she settled down on the proffered pillow, her legs curling under her. “Oh, that’s okay. I’d much rather do something productive than just use your cable.” She said with a smile. Looking at the set up in front of her, Skylar set to work doing as she was told, putting two scoops of… stuff into the jars and screwing the lids on. “What are these jars full of anyways? Magic salt or something?” She asked curiously.

Morgan began drawing the circle. After so many years of alchemy, she was pretty good at freehand, though everything that went in would need more precision. She couldn’t help but smile at the tingle that went up her hand from that new-supply feeling. She looked up at Skylar to make sure she could see what she was saying alright. “Salt, lavender oil, dry roses and yarrow, and ground crystals. Very relaxing, but less real magic and more mind over matter fluffy magic,” she admitted. She got up and went for her chalk compass. “This, on the other hand, will hopefully be real magic someday. Thank you for deciding to help me out, by the way.”

All of the things Morgan rattled off sounded just like normal herbal stuff that you could find in any shop, which Skylar realized was exactly the case as the woman finished speaking. Hm. So there were still some parts of “magic” that weren’t exactly flame throwers and turning garbage into candles. At least some things still made sense. Lavender was just relaxing because it smelled nice, not because it had any crazy property to it. “No, don’t worry about it. I needed to get out of the house anyways.” She said as she filled another jar with salt mixture. She watched as Morgan grabbed a small instrument and tilted her head, intrigued. “What’s all of that for? The chalkboard and things.”

Morgan hesitated, compass in hand, as she started to section off her array, making room for each of the runes and sigils she would need to make this work. And, terrifying as the feeling was, she couldn’t help but feel excited. She had a name. Constance Bachman. She had to be related to Sean and Agnes, even if she hadn’t been able to find her name in the geneology list. Maybe a spinster aunt? Or a lost sister? Either way, she was findable. And if Morgan actually managed to hack herself a successful, specific, ghost summoning with this, it would be the craziest and most amazing feat of magic she’d ever accomplished. Which meant she definitely wouldn’t today. Or that if she did, she’d get some static-y bitter brother of Sean’s. Or maybe some minor pesky demon. But she had to thread the needle between knowing the curse wanted to screw her over and manifesting some progress. It could work. And, well, who was Skylar going to talk about it with anyway? “Reason A for getting a big board is so I can make my crystals faster. The more material I can fit and work with, the more I can pop out at a time. My pop socket lid is great, but really not practical. But this,” she explained. “Is something different than my normal bag of tricks. I’ve got this project about spirits and their living descendants.” She began marking out the basic runes for summoning, then constructing the smaller circle she had designed to get Constance. Hopefully, anyway. She reached over for the version she’d sketched out on paper. She smudged away one of the sigils and drew it over again, clearer this time. “If it works, I might be able to bring someone over. Wanna see?”

Skylar watched as Morgan divied up the board with chalk, still not quite sure what she was looking it. Magic seemed to be a bit different than she thought it was. Winston had just kinda… done magic when they’d done it. But, she supposed that there was probably some method to the madness. Continuing to screw the lids on jars, she listened as Morgan offered an explanation. She wasn’t really sure what she meant by pop socket lid-- was she talking about the thing on the back of phones? Not wanting to interupt, she continued to listen. “So… you’re using a chalk board to summon a ghost?” She repeat, just trying to wrap her head around all of that. Ghosts. Ghosts were real. Okay. And you could use chalk and weird little doodles to make them appear? Mmmm, that was less okay. Even though she didn’t really want to see the odd little circle, Skylar scooted closer, “That’s interesting. They look like something out of Skyrim, honestly.”

Morgan was almost finished. She laid it down on the floor and examined her handiwork, then knelt down to add in the minor markings of the array. “What’s a Skyrim?” She asked. “Wait, don’t tell me--it’s that new show on Netflix right?” No, that sounded wrong. Morgan was more preoccupied with getting all the connecting lines just right anyway. “Sorry,” she said, looking up again. “I’m old. Like way old. I follow Grey’s Anatomy, and I have my supernatural crime shows, and food network. But tell me about Skyrim! I’m just going to grab some salt from the kitchen real quick.”

Raising an eyebrow, Skylar tilted her head in surprise. Mm. Well, after Alain had sent her the weird old French music, it shouldn’t be that surprising that some people weren’t as in the know with video games and stuff. “It’s a video game. You play as a Dragonborn, someone who’s got the spirit of a dragon, and can read and speak the ancient language of dragons. It’s…” She paused, realizing that she had no idea if dragons were a real thing. Were they real? Was Skyrim real? “It’s a fun game!” She finished, offering a slightly stressed smile. Oh dear. “Are you using table salt..” She asked. So, magic consisted of weird little runes on a chalkboard and table salt. Good to know, good to know.

Video games. Morgan probably should have guessed something like that. There hadn’t been time or money to that when she was a kid, and though now, as far as she could tell, you could download one off the internet for thirty dollars, it seemed like an alien existence. “It sounds like fun!” She said brightly. “Fantasy conception is one of my favorite interests. Oh--and it’s not table salt, or not just table salt. It’s a mix this exorcist friend of mine told me about.” She came back out with the mix and started shifting around some objects in the room. She would need to get the real estate for this eventually. And maybe--maybe this could happen. “Hey, Skylar, do you think you can write the alphabet out for me real quick?

“It’s a neat game, mhm.” Skylar said with a smile before taking a long sip of coffee. Thank God for this new thermos, honestly. Alain had been right about investing in one of these. And she honestly needed it now more than ever. As Morgan explained the mix of salt, Skylar watched with interest as she moved things around. Was this a big spell..? She had been under the assumption that the… spirit would just pop out of the chalk board kinda like a hologram in Star Wars or something. But then again, what did she know about magic anyways? “Huh? Oh, sure. On the chalkboard or somewhere else?” She asked, picking up one of the pieces of chalk from where Morgan had left them.

“Huh?” Morgan looked up from her work distractedly. “No, just grab a pen and paper from my grading pile over there. If I do, hypothetically, get a ghost in here, it’s going to need a way to talk to me. Especially, uh, since I can’t see them!” She was finished. She was finished and she felt like she’d stolen a cookie from her mom’s jar. Like she should run and enjoy her spoils or stay and get as many into her hand before she was caught. Morgan started to work on the salt circle, was going to fetch her dad’s old athame, just cleaned, before she realized just how this might look to someone who just learned that half the mythical creatures they’d read about as a kid were real. “Um, you don’t have to stick around for this part if it’s too much,” she said. “My cat is around somewhere if you’d like to meet her, or I can take it from here,” she offered. “Unless you can secretly see ghosts, in which case I will literally pay you to stick around.”

The back of her neck burning in embarrassment, Skylar nodded and did as Morgan told her. “Sure! Will do!” She said, hoping her tone sounded bright and not mortified. Mmm, yeah the alphabet made more sense to be written on a piece of paper. Writing out the alphabet in clean, large letters, Skylar tilted her head in surprise. “You can’t see ghosts? I thought that if you summoned them you’d be able to see them. But, um, sorry. Dumb assumption, I guess.” She said as she printed out a large Z. When Morgan offered her an out, Skylar chewed on the inside of her cheek. A big part of her wanted nothing more than to just… pretend that this wasn’t real. She wanted to forget everything about this. But, she couldn’t just run away from magic. It was here and she should know more about it. “Um, sorry. I don’t think I can see ghosts, but… I’d like to stay, if that’s okay. I just, I want to know more about all of this.”

“Oh, gosh, I wish,” Morgan confessed. “I honestly thought that too, but as it turns out you need some kind of special ability for that. And, for the record, not a dumb question. Didn’t you only learn all this weird shit was real two weeks ago? You’re harder on yourself than I am on actual students. There’s a lot to learn. Too much, really. I’ve known magic was real my whole life and I just figured out the ghost thing a while ago.” She smiled brightly at Skylar, hoping she felt better and went for the athame. She’d laid the salt thick. If, even, anything happened, they would be safe, and she could vacuum away the evidence before Cece came home to ask questions. And maybe if she was lucky Skylar would be willing to help with that too. She grabbed one of her novelty bowls, a tragic indulgence from the dollar store during her Traveler’s Rest stay, the happy faces of the Disney princesses already peeling away, and positioned herself over the circle. Then she put Skylar’s alphabet paper and pen in where it wouldn’t disturb the runes. “Let’s just hope this doesn’t turn out really anticlimactic, huh?” She raised the ritual knife and began to chant. So far so good. Then came the time for her blood offering. Morgan pressed the knife into her arm, voice hiccuping only a little as the pain sliced into her. So far, so good. Then she looked down into the bowl to make sure she had enough and the world shrank down to the size of a single drop of blood. She went silent and the rising magic and the knife both went whizzing away from her.

“I… Yeah, only the last two weeks, with the karkinoids.” Skylar said with a shrug as she moved over to the side, letting Morgan do all the final preparation work on the spell that she had laid out. But… No, Morgan didn’t need to know about her situation. Not after she mentioned how there were people going around trying to steal teeth for potions and stuff. Skylar watched, curiously as Morgan pulled out a weird little disney princess bowl and set it down. Were princesses important for this? Fingers curling up at her side, she forced herself to watch as Morgan began to say words she’d never heard before and then draw the knife blade-- What the fuuuuuuck was she doing? Before Skylar could react, tremors began to fill the room, the bowl of blood shaking violently-- A sharp pain lanced through her right shoulder, searing and hot, as the knife flew towards her and lodged itself into her body. Letting out a scream of pain, Skylar fell to the ground, a large spout of blood splattering across the room. “MORGAN!” She cried out, panic threatening to overwhelm her as she stared at the knife sticking out of her.

Morgan didn’t hear or notice anything except the blood in the bowl. She shoved the plastic into her mouth with both hands, guzzling the liquid ravenously and licking the sides where it had stuck. And there was more, streaks puddling on the floor and the coffee table. Morgan dropped the bowl and threw herself down to lap them all up. When she pulled away at last, panting and dizzy, her face stained from nose to chin, and saw her dad’s knife lodged in Skylar’s arm. “Oh fuck.” She licked her lips in spite of herself and scrambled to her feet. Keys. She needed her phone and her keys so they could get to the car so they could drive to the hospital. Fuck. The fucking blood clinger. She should’ve known it wouldn’t have worn off that quickly. “It’s okay, it’s okay!” She cried, her voice jumping higher each time she said it. The edges of her vision felt blurry and she grabbed an empty mason jar while she was at it. “Come on, we’re taking you to the hospital, okay! Also, hold this to collect any blood you lose! This is fine, you’re gonna be fine!” She, on the other hand, looked like a walking crime scene, but maybe if she bulldozed ahead on the knife inside the girl’s arm they wouldn’t have to go into it.

Skylar began to hyperventilate as she stared at the knife in her arm, her vision narrowing at the edges as she tried to focus on anything other than the knife-- “What the fuck are you doing?!” Skylar screamed, pointing at the bowl of blood that Morgan had just drank from. Scrambling away across the floor, she let out a cry of pain as she tried to put as much distance from her and Morgan, who was apparently some kinda vampire? “G-get away from me!” Skylar said, rivulets of blood running down her arm to pool on the floor. The more she struggled, the more and more blood poured from around the knife still lodged in her arm. “I’m not going anywhere with a vampire! An-And I’m not,” She let out a groan of pain as her arm screamed in pain, “Going to make you a to-go cup!”

“Oh my god you’re making it worse!” Morgan shrieked, starting to panic herself. She screwed her eyes shut. Maybe if she didn’t see the blood she wouldn’t have some weird blood-clinger blackout. “I’m not a vampire, it was a magic tick! I thought it had worn off but apparently not! I mean, would you rather be the juice box? Come on!” But no sooner did she settle this in her head than did she slip on the floor and come face to face with the fresh streams of blood from Skylar. Morgan forgot everything she was talking about and licked them up like her life depended on it.

As Morgan tried to convince her that she wasn’t some kind of vampire out to suck her blood, Skylar remembered what Ricky had told her. Selkies had more blood than other people, making them prime targets for vampires. “A magic tick? That’s, that’s a thing? WHAT THE FUCK!” Skylar screeched as Morgan dropped down and began to lap up her blood from the floor. Skylar watched in horror and reached behind her to pull herself up to her feet-- she needed to get out of her, she needed too… As she stood up, what blood was in her head, immediately rushed out and her vision went white around the edges as fell back to the ground, woozy. “I… I… I’m…” She couldn’t fully make out words any more, all she could do was grasp at a nearby mason jar and hold it to her still bleeding shoulder.

Morgan slithered her way over the floor, lapping every drop until her tongue felt rough and every drop had been siphoned. She groaned, still thirsty, and made a grab for Skylar, but missed as the girl stood up. Her head hit the wall and she lost her balance, going splat and rolling onto her back Slowly, her brain cleared again. Maybe anticlimactic would’ve been better after all. “Skylar??” She asked. “Are you still there? Can you drive yourself maybe? Or, I don’t know, call an Uber? There’s Uber in White Crest, right?” She was afraid to get up again. Afraid the floor would fall out from under herself. Afraid of the red, tangy blood. It was still on her rough-scraped tongue and in the back of her, hateful and terrifying. But in the moment it hadn’t been. God she was so screwed. “Skylar--?” She croaked.

“Mmmnot good. No’ good.” Skylar said thickly, her head heavy as she continued to try and get away from Morgan. Holding the mason jar in her hand, she did her best to siphon some of the blood that clung to her skin into the jar. “Don’ eat me… ’m… fishy. Wouldn’t tas’ good.” Her words slurred together as she slid the mason jar towards Morgan. Uber? Her phone. Her phone! Pulling her phone out of her pocket, Skylar swiped her thumb across the screen to send a garbled text before setting it down on the ground, “Please don’t eat me.” She mumbled.

This was not going to be a good day. And really, Morgan should’ve known better than to hope for getting away with anything for long. She reached across the floor and grabbed the jar, stomach-lurching at the precaution and inched, achingly, to a sit. “I promise on whatever will make you feel better I do not want to eat you!” Never the less she sipped the blood. It didn’t soothe her like it did earlier, so maybe she was past the worst of this. “Come on, Uber’s going to take too long and you need help.” She was unsteady on her feet, but she had what she needed and she could just about make it to the door, to-go cup in hand as Skylar had so kindly put it. She staggered out and took a deep lung full of fresh air. She had no idea how she was going to explain this to Ricky, or anyone else for that matter. How far was the hospital again?

“Not an Uber… Ricky, he’s gonna… gonna help me. Can’ go hospital.” Skylar said, shaking her head back and forth. As she continued to struggle away, she fell flat on her back onto Morgan’s floor, the knife still sticking out of her shoulder. Fatigue and blood loss overtook her and Skylar passed out right in the entryway of the front door.

Morgan heard the thump of Skylar’s body on the floor and went more or less splat herself on Cece’s porch in defeat. The was no way she was getting her in the car by herself, or answering any questions EMTs might have. And Skylar didn’t want that stuff anyways, though whether it was because health insurance was a curse on everyone, or because of some supernatural bullshit she didn’t know about yet, she had no clue. But in the end, it didn’t matter. Morgan sent off some messages and waited for everything, as usual, to get worse.

#wr skylar #wr chatzy #wr skylar chatzy #wickedswriting #friend fail #alas i had to name this all by myself #woe

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gay-spaghetti · 6 years ago

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Tips to Save your life

I absolutely love those megaposts with helpful tips, so I wanted to make my own! These are tips that EVERYONE should know!

Click “keep reading” for ways to save your life in a dire situation!

TIPS:

-LEARN the Heimlich maneuver! Learn how to do it on yourself, on pregnant women, and on babies.

-In a crisis situation, remind yourself to pay attention to what’s going on around you. Prevent yourself from panicking by realizing what’s going on and trying to find a solution, but do not fall victim to normalcy bias, which is basically when you irrationally underestimate the dangerous circumstances. So stay calm, but not TOO calm, and DO NOT freeze in place.

-If you need to call 911 BUT: you don’t have a signal, don’t have money for a payphone, or are in a another country, DIAL 911 ANYWAY! American law says that ALL phones MUST be able to dial 911 no matter what. If you’re in another country, use what you’re familiar with and you will be directed to the correct emergency service line. Dialing 112 or 999 is a good option too.

-If you are approached by a brown bear, or see one near you, DO NOT RUN. You could NEVER outrun a bear. Instead, lay on the ground with your arms protecting your head. You can lay flat, or in a ball on your knees. Just play dead!

-If you are approached by a black bear, or see one near you, DO NOT PLAY DEAD! Black bears will see you as an easy treat if you lay down or act weak. If a black bear attacks you, fight back! They wont try to pursue prey that aggressively resists. Really, you can scream at a black bear to scare it off; they don’t like confrontation. They bluff and go for easy food.

-*If bitten by a snake, try to remember the snake’s appearance. This could help medical experts when trying to give you the correct anti-venom. Calm down and place the wound below your heart to slow down the spread of venom. Do not wash the wound! Just cover it with loose clothing or a clean bandage and call emergency services.

-**If you see a shark swimming nearby, or if you’ve just survived an attack from one, slowly swim backwards to the shore while keeping your eyes locked to the shark.

-If you encounter a mountain lion, DO NOT turn your back to it! Keep your eyes locked on it and slowly walk to safety.

-If a tornado seems stationary (not moving), it’s either moving away from you or TOWARDS you. Do NOT waste time by waiting to see if it’s coming or not! Tornadoes are faster than they look!

-In a housefire: stay low to the ground for breathable air and check doorknobs with the back of your hand. Every family should have a fire escape plan and should know the layout of their home!

-If you need to check something that could potentially shock you, touch it with the BACK of your hand. If you grab it and it electrifies you, your muscles with clamp onto the object and you will not be able to let go.

-(*)If you are grabbed by a stranger, scream for help and make as much noise as you can. If you can’t scream, do EVERYTHING you can to harm them. Gouge their eyes with your fingers, bite their ear off, punch their throat. DO not be kind to them!

-(*) If you are in the back of a stranger’s vehicle, do anything you can to get your DNA everywhere. Spit, pee/poop, tear out your hair, bleed---anything to get your DNA in their car!

- If you’re stuck in a trunk, try to kick out the back lights and wave your arm or leg out.

-Don’t slide into pins in a bowling alley, you could get crushed by the arms of the alleyway that clears out the knocked-over pins. (Seriously DO NOT do this)

-If you need to break open a car window, smash it from the sides/corners where it is the weakest.

-If you are on the beach and the water seems gone or far beyond the normal tide, RUN like hell. This is a sure sign of an upcoming tsunami.

-If someone or even some animal has ingested antifreeze or wiper fluid, drink alcohol (vodka works best), and get them to the hospital immediately. The alcohol will stop the toxic fluid from shredding their kidneys.

-If you’re in a pool and you can taste something metallic in the water, then it’s very likely an electrical short is somewhere in the water. Get out immediately. Ideally, taste the water before going into a pool (it’s gross, yes, but survival isn’t always delicious)

-The Morse code for SOS is: …---...--- (three short, three long, three short).

-If you are performing CPR on someone, DO NOT STOP IF YOU HEAR BONES CRACK. Bones can heal! A stopped heart cannot!

-If you are driving and a deer runs across the road, it’s better to hit it than to end up in a ditch. BUT!!! If a cow or a moose is in your way, SWERVE! Hitting cows or moose is just as impactful as hitting a brick wall.

CORRECTED SURVIVAL MYTHS:

-*DO NOT suck out snake venom! Do not tie a tourniquet around your leg to stop the venom either. Call emergency services instead.

-While abandoned in the wild, food should NOT be your first priority. CLEAN WATER is your first priority! You can survive up to three weeks without food, but only three days without water. Food should be your LAST priority.

-DO NOT EAT SNOW IN PLACE OF DRINKING WATER! If you’re stranded in a snowy area and need water, melt the snow first!

-Moss DOES NOT JUST grow on the North side of trees! If you plan on going on a trip, BRING A COMPASS.

-**DO NOT punch a shark to prevent them from attacking you! Poke out their eyes or gills.

-DO NOT DRINK YOUR OWN PEE! Urine contains your body’s waste, which could include salt. Consuming your own urine could dehydrate you even more. Put it through some kind of filter, or just find clean water.

-DO NOT SPLASH WATER ON OIL/GREASE/ELECTRICAL FIRES!

-DO NOT DRINK CACTUS WATER!

-SIMPLY BOILING WATER WON’T COMPLETELY CLEAN IT! Filter it through a cloth, and THEN boil it!

#important #tips #survival tips #long post

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condiscum · 6 years ago

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(Asks are being super dumb and not publshing so I’m replying this way, gomen…)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA OKAY SO. I’ll definitely gush about him in weird headcanon ways at some point in the near future but because im too tired to formulate good sentences right now, have his extended bio! (If you wanna see more brief bios of the Oasis cast, including Denzel, with no spoilers for the fanfic, click here to go to the collective story blog! This extended bio post is spoiler-free too tho

This is gonna be long, so its under a cut!

Without further ado, Denzel…

Basic

Name Pronunciation: DEHN-zel

Nicknames/Aliases: None

Gender: Male

Age: A fifthborn, 26

Birthdate: Scion 86, 1306 AE

Cycle: Night

Physical

Height: 5’9”

Weight/Build: 150ish lbs; slender, lanky

Physical Health: Not bad, but could probably use to eat more real food.

Mental Health: Pretty shit. Struggles with depression/anxiety.

Assets (hair, eyes, etc.): Deep green and brown leaves that look like perpetual bedhead, oak brown skin, bright white eyes and a mint green glow.

Tattoos/Alterations: None

Scars: Self harm scars on his wrists and thighs.

Sexuality: Homosexual

Romantic Orientation: Homoromantic

Handedness: Ambidextrous

Gait: Awkward alternating stride lengths that don’t properly gauge the space that needs to be covered (too many small steps/too long steps requiring fast halting, not quite approaching what he’s aiming for). Often overthought, hesitant, or “on a mission”.

Voice: Light, accented tenor. Wide range in pitch, volume, and emotionality.

Psychological

MBTI: INFP

Intelligence: Incredibly smart. His mind often runs faster than his mouth or body can keep up. Learns very quickly through basically any means. Keen wit.

Temperament: Unsure and reserved around those he doesn’t know well. Hides a lot behind dry humor. More emotional around those he trusts. Only actually lashes out around people he feels safest with.

Happiness Level: Pretty fuckin depressed.

Habits: Talking to himself mentally, sticking his tongue out a bit when deeply focused.

Outlook: Tries his best every day and means it. Wants nothing but the best for others, but especially those he cares about. Despite being prone to crippling bouts of hopelessness and self-doubt, he has optimistic tendencies that push him through his anxiety, depression and isolation.

Personal

Wealth: He gets by alright.

Friends: Few and close. Lierik is his closest and oldest friend, who he met at age 7 while living in Mabon. Lierik was 12. They became fast friends, mostly because Lierik took an interest in him and his inventions and was very dogged about spending time with him and working together on projects. To this day they act like siblings, unafraid to call each other on their bullshit or fight, but always with deep respect. His second closest friend is Vivienne. They live as neighbors in Mabon village, and have always gotten along well due to both being quiet, self-conscious, and relentlessly kind.

Sapling Years: At his awakening, Denzel was curious, kind, and painfully shy. He was intensely empathetic, and as such, had a stronger empathic connection to other Sylvari than most. Unfortunately, his mind often twisted the emotions of others internally. Happy people he’d never met were happier without him. People who were upset or angry while around him were only feeling that way because of him. It drove his anxiety to a point where he couldn’t handle it, and so first he tried isolating himself, and then a few months later, becoming Soundless. After learning to shut off his connection to the Dream, and therefore, others of his kind, his anxiety got a bit better, but he was still reclusive and kept few friends. Despite living for years in Mabon Village, his only friend in town was Vivienne, and his other closest friend lived in Metrica Province, causing them to communicate mostly by letter and radio. As such, he spent most of his time in the company of his inventions, which he gave names and attributed personalities to as though they were people.

Education: Basic sapling mentorship.

Likes: Tea (particularly oolong, bergamot, and chai), books, blankets, pillows, patterned fabric, sleeping, inventing, witty humor.

Dislikes: New people, crowds, drudgery, coffee (but he drinks it for the caffeine anyway), expectations.

Hobbies: Inventing, taking things apart to study them, reading things cover-to-cover in one sitting, analyzing schematics, solving complex theoretical equations, and watching people and animals from a distance.

Values: Morally sound. Sees the good in others sometimes more than they deserve, but can never see it in himself. He sees compassion, confidence, and sharp intellect as noble skills to have.

Lifestyle: Likes to sleep. Spends time feeling comfortable and cozy and stimulated whenever he can. Often forgets to eat, but drinks a lot of tea and coffee as though that makes up for it.

Relationship Status: Single.

Romantic History: None.

Religion: Soundless.

Profession: Engineer, Inventor.

Prized possessions: Zigy, his first gyro. A large, thick reprint of one of Zinn’s journals on golemancy. A flat, smooth stone that he found near the water one day when he, Lierik, and Vivienne skipped stones near the weeping isle years ago.

Personality

Wants: To be happy. To make others happy. To be useful. To make a difference. To feel like he’s good enough.

Hopes: That there are happy endings. That even really bad things will get better if you just give them enough time.

Fears: Abandonment. That people do truly view him as worthless and stupid.

Regrets: Many things that aren’t very noteworthy, usually overthought because of anxiety.

Resentments: Few.

Dreams: Inventing something that makes the world better. Living a happy and simple life.

Notable Memories: Moving to Mabon, meeting Lierik, meeting Vivienne, the time he jokingly challenged Lierik to a rap battle and failed miserably, and many other little simple happy moments he holds onto with a tight grip.

Practices

Says: Often has a hard time expressing what he means. Tends to use a lot of snark and dry witty humor.

Eats: Not overly picky, but also not very interested in food. Enjoys sweet things and flavored beverages.

Wears: Comfortable clothes. Rarely seen without a utility belt when at work or on the go.

Buys: Books, candies, drafting supplies, soft blankets, fancy specialty tools.

Wields: He’s not a fighter.

Is Skilled at: Inventing/building machinery, picking up new skills.

Came from: The Grove

Currently Resides in: Mabon Village

Allies with: Has no need for “allies” in the classical sense.

Plays at: Literal games, joke fighting, teasing his friends, reading stories aloud with dramatic voices and acting out scenes.

Works at: His workshop, improving his inventions and problem solving skills. Household tasks.

Do his speech and thought patterns change around certain individuals?

With Lierik, he’s slightly more open than around others, and much more snarky. They like to give each other shit a lot, so despite feeling inherently more comfortable around Lierik than most people, he also doesn’t want to lose respect or pride points.

Over all, he’s pretty socially anxious, but he’s a lot more eloquent when he isn’t around new people, or is at least in the company of someone he trusts.

What sort of contradictions and conflicts does he have?

Despite struggling day in and out with depression, hopelessness, and self-loathing, he has an undying hope that things will get better eventually, and it makes him resilient. It keeps him open-minded and loving and trying to see the best in everything even when things are really bleak.

Who or what influences him most?

Lierik is his first influence. He’s always challenged Denzel to prove himself and encouraged him through competition to feel more confident.

Vivienne influenced him heavily by showing him how to appreciate simple things when the complex things get too hard to deal with. She teaches him some of the self-care skills he uses to cope with his depression.

#gw2 #guild wars 2 #guildwars 2 #sylvari #oc meme #denzel #oasis #ask #bio #cw: self harm mention #griffyreplies #anon #:D

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videobun-gameblog · 6 years ago

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Rambling about Sekiro (spoilers below read me):

- Evolution of "i'm scared to block, i like Souls rolling" to "okay i'll block and sort of deflect but only basic attacks i know" to "okay I don't even need to dash except for perilous attacks!" to "okay now i can actually flip between defense and offense on the fly and this is SUPER fun!!"

- Basically, I've never in my life played a game where offense and defense mesh so well together, where blocking is FUN and viable, and seeing your attacks get deflected is actually GOOD and not just infuriating, because you're making progress in the fight.

- People've said Dark Souls is a little like a hard, combat focused Zelda but really, THIS is what that's like, and I'm in love. From did it.

- The upgrade system is neat and I appreciate it for rewarding exploration but also allowing you to challenge yourself by refusing to use them. Also it just works out really well for speedrun balancing and I can’t wait to see the evolution of speedruns in this game because there’s a good balance between wanting more power, posture, and HP and wanting to go as fast as possible.

SPOILERS UNDER CUT, DON’T DO IT UNLESS YOU ARE ALREADY AT /END/ GAME OR DO NOT EVER INTEND TO BUY SEKIRO

---!!!SPOILER ZONE (I'm serious do not read if you intend to play or are still playing)!!!---

(long space for people who might see this on the blog first as opposed to via the dashboard)

- I absolutely adore the weird scientific/medicinal/supernatural macabre shit in this game. The red lump item gave me chills picking it up the first time. Same thing with seeing the first undying monk thing, I couldn't even burn it (but then I finally did it with THAT ITEM... more below)

- haha hand in a jar! haha that guy that flies at you... haha, monkey :) haha ninja dog...... hell even the headless... I love From's mix of disturbing humor (or just flat out being funny despite the bleak setting). Their version of mimics in Souls sum this up best but there's plenty of things here too that are just flat out hilarious and I love it.

- Oh Christ, speaking of, I did the Doctor questline and oh god it gave me some of that Bloodborne dread.

- "IS THAT A FUCKING DARK SOULS?" also lmao when he falls

- "IS THAT THE FUCKING CHAOS BLADE!??" oooh fuck oh fuck *pushes up glasses* remember the cut content with Shiva in Dark Souls???

- Sekiro/Wolf having the "defy your father, break the code" moment was SO good and I love that whole archetype. Simple but I just... <3 Oh god and When Owl is basically just like "that's my boy" when you kill him... I... u_u

- giving Lord Kuro rice was SO cute and just furthered my love for Wolf because this child is teaching him part of how to be himself and to also enjoy things (basically chill the fuck out you freaking murder machine, you are more than that) through compassion, friendship, and a reminder of his own childhood and I don't really get emotional over stuff like this often but awww..! ;_;

- The sake dialogue moments are so good. A very simple concept but I love the nature of sharing part of one's past through a friendly offering, it felt like a really good balance between clear concise mechanics (sake) fitting neatly with narrative elements. It's basically just a dialogue item but it didn't FEEL that way. I felt genuine excitement upon finding new drinks knowing I'd get a chance to share it.

- OH MY GOD ENFEEBLED IS SUCH A GOOD ASS STATUS EFFECT??? THE ANIMATIONS!!! He just hobbles around like a dude who just suddenly became an old man (’cuz that’s literally what it is) with his sword as a cane??? I LOVE FROMSOFT! That shit is so wonderfully expressive but also fits perfectly with that style of horror humor (and I lied before. Mimics are beaten by THIS status effect. New number one spot for my fave moment like this in a From game)

- Oh also speaking of animation, those fucking boss kills!!! *deep inhale* BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- While not my favorite boss mechanically, SPECIFICALLY that kill animation on the Giant Ape... DUDE HOLY FUUUCK! and then the fake out!?!?!? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!! SO good!

- Lady Butterfly was a fun main boss and O'Rin of the Water was a fun mini boss. Plenty of others were fantastic but those stood out. Like, two of my friends so far have expressed the same feelings on Butterfly! Good Fight!

- I even liked the gimmick fights! They did it! Gimmick fights that are actually well designed! They're more about exploring mechanics outside of pure combat without punishing you super fucking hard at a random point just because they can. (Bed of Chaos, Micolash) Strangely a little bit of a breather, which is fitting because it’s a perfect counter balance to the stress of finding yourself in a unique situation. They actually give you time to analyze, think, and breathe it all in!

- I'm currently stuck on an end game "secret"/optional boss with some classic From Lore Implications *ok hand* and it's brutal af. I am excited to learn how to master this.

--- SLIGHT CRITICISM (basically the “i love it so much i can’t help but see small flaws but I’d still give it a 10/10 anyway” part) ---

- I like that even when they repeat mid bosses they usually put them in a new arena to change things up. I think a FEW were a little overdone though and could have benefited from maybe... I dunno, a couple new ones in their place or at LEAST alternate movesets to change things up a bit more than just location BUT the combat is engaging enough that I don't mind, I just found it a LITTLE weird how despite the rest of the polish there was a tad bit of copy-paste (but far FAR less egregious than DS1)

- Idk how replayable this game is gonna be but I can definitely see myself finishing NG+ and doing two more playthroughs for all endings. It's replayable more in the Metroid or Legend of Zelda sense and less in the Dark Souls character build sense. "I wanna try a new route first and beat bosses more effectively this time. I wanna be as stealthy as possible this run" etc. and not "I wanna make an int build" (less a critique and more an observation on how it differs from Souls replayability)

- Dragonrot is like, the only actual flaw in this game imo. It doesn't have enough depth. I was thinking it would have more end game narrative significance but it's just something tied to the sort of useless unseen aid mechanic which fails to really incentivize risky play. If anything it just encourages you to grind before bosses to cap the current exp bar and save/store/spend sen by spending 10 minutes fucking around elsewhere until you're ready so that you have nothing to lose. I feel like it should have done some world state changes and something more intense, like ACTUALLY having npcs die and having a healthier world state and an unhealthier world state where some enemies get weaker or stronger based on which extreme your world is on etc. etc. basically ANYTHING more than it is now. But this is super minor relative to how good everything else is. It just felt underwhelming considering all it was hyped up to be. It’s one of those things I just ignore as if it wasn’t there and it’s just as good because it has little effect on the parts that I DO like the game for.

---FINAL NOTE---

- To end on a positive note though, Sekiro managed to be a game that iterated on the Souls formula by defying part of what it became (dodge heavy, block averse play, slow, parrying primarily for one-shotting) yet still providing the same feelings of starting one of those games fresh. Part of what makes it FEEL Souls-y is precisely what separates it from those games, and it's all too good to really put into words at the moment. Like sure it's got Estus, bonfires, and a kick-your-ass "you're going to get stuck and frustrated and that's how it is" attitude and it's got a similar enough control scheme, but beyond that, there's just so much more combat and movement depth that it's a whole new beast, and I love it so much.

#Sekiro #spoilers

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mal-likes-biscuits · 6 years ago

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Series Behind the Scenes (Diablo: Amor Aeternus)

I wanted to share some of the fun hidden eggs/did you know/lore reference/extra stuff that appears throughout the series, but I didn’t have a chance to mention as I posted.

LONG post: content after the break! (Also, series spoilers. In case that’s not obvious.)

In All Things Light and Dark

Water imagery: all the Aspects have an element associated with them. Wisdom/Death is water/ice, per their arcane spells and the domain itself (Pools of Wisdom). Malthael returns to life in a spot that reminds him of the Pools.

Biscuits are the first food Malthael ever eats. He likes them afterwards because they remind him of the warm compassion he was shown. This carries on into later stories, where he has an obvious preference for baking, but also a lingering soft spot for biscuits in particular.

Fallen angels carry with them some sort of lingering power. One of Mal’s most important but not really mentioned ones is that he can speak/read all languages. It’s about 50% practice and 50% magic. He just knows what things mean.

I probably should have had ice manifest on his hands in the church instead of the arcane glow. However, I also wanted to underscore the difference between his base element/person and the Reaper.

The blades themselves aren’t the cause/fix of his memory loss. He’s suppressing things due to a) an extremely painful death and b) his mortal brain trying to reconcile things with his previously immortal/corrupted soul. His taking up the blades and recovering the past through combat is purely symbolic.

Things Malthael does in the year before Tyrael finds him: scribe, translator, and at-no-pay demon cull-er. He spends his entire savings to buy Talm the farm sickles.

Tyrael and the companions probably overreact when they see Malthael, thinking he is a Reaper. But he also is super grungy looking and his clothing is all tattered. He’s been sleeping on the streets when he hasn’t been working at the church. He doesn’t look that far off from a corrupted Reaper.

The reason there’s a punisher in Salvos, and a demon swell in general, is because (you may have guessed it) another angel Fell near there, and is now living there. You see undead when Tyrael falls and his angelic power causes chaos. Any remaining Reapers come out of their fugue state and gravitate towards the lingering essence of their master...who is not really impressed to see them.

This does get mentioned elsewhere, but yes: they all drink the mead. They all get extremely drunk. Malthael and Tyrael get dragged into the farmer’s hand-to-hand just for fun fight and end up smacking the snot out of each other for catharsis.

Arcane & Apples

This story came about because I wanted to write a fun one-shot about how Tristram would appear to an outsider.

Also, I felt bad there was a lack of scholarly characters in the series after Cain dies and wanted to bring someone else in.

Farah was originally meant to be an Archivist (based on the April Fool’s content in the game) before I canned that idea, because I have plans for that later that are very different.

Osseus’ name was one he took when he became a proper necromancer. It derives from “ossuary”, or a place where the dead are kept (bones only).

Farah had a cat for most of her life in Caldeum, but she was currently without one or she would have likely brought it with. You see a few cat references from her throughout the series.

Aya and Tyrael were more than a little hoping that Malthael would strike up a conversation with Farah. They were just dodging around the topic most of the time.

Aya almost barfs when Farah sniffs one of Malthael’s journals. She says she doesn’t know where it’s been, but she has ideas from what she’s seen.

Originally Osseus was going to be Xul, until I learned that Xul was the Diablo 2 necromancer. Part of this carried over to my description of Osseus having a rather charming voice, which is more like Xul and less like the actual Diablo 3 necromancer. I’m chalking it up to artistic variance.

The unreadable scrolls about scroll-crafting are going to be important in Series 2.

The prophetic line from Farah’s dream about Malthael ("This man walks the crossroads. One path leads to ruin. The other, survival.") is meant to read as applying to the survival of the Nephalem (or himself), but it also applies to his decision about the Arch in Act 4.

Farah reacting to the tone of Malthael’s voice (beyond just basic surprise) was added in after several edit rounds, when the characters decided they had this Love thing going on in later stories. Still, I wanted to keep it relatively understated.

The "Aya, would you explain mortal courtship?” line was in the very first draft and was meant to be a humorous throw-away line, but, you know. He still doesn’t understand mortal courtship.

A Light in the Darkness

Most of the first scene was added in the final edit draft, because I wanted to up the banter between all of them.

Lyndon and Malthael pretty much subside by insulting each other, like the not-quite-brothers they seem to be. Tyrael is mostly relieved it’s not him dealing with it anymore.

There’s a small suggestion that people have been beaking at Farah for her being kind to Malthael, and this is true; he’s not making that part up. But they try and not whisper about it if he’s around because he would end them. He finds out anyway.

Lyndon isn’t bugging him for that reason, he really just likes pushing his buttons and doesn’t have anything against Farah or them all getting along.

Unlike Osseus, Zaira never changed her name. It’s hers. It’s who she is. That pretty much sums her up.

Zaira happened because I wanted to write a morally grey/lesser evil human character who was nonetheless on the side of good. Sort of like Malthael when he’s the Reaper.

Zaira’s unhealthy fixation that Lyndon mentions has been mentioned on this blog a few times and implied in the story. She is obsessed with learning more about the Reaper of Westmarch, and admires him greatly. Also, had a really weird infatuation with his power, which is what led to her and Osseus breaking up.

Chith never got far enough to even talk about adopting a new necromancer name.

Chith was named by my husband, when I asked him to come up with a name for a necromancer. He thought it was for Zaira’s character, who we’d chatted about in concept awhile earlier. Nope.

The book lady really has no idea she just called the oldest being in creation “young man” until after it happens.

The book lady is also important and is going to be reappearing later in Series 2.

The bit with Malthael arguing with the Reaper part of him (mentally) during the big gem-fight was added in much later, as part of a sweep I did across the series to build up that conflict for his character, as well as establish the level of PTSD flashbacks he experiences.

Born of Night & Beams of Light

This was originally meant to be the second large story in the series, and come fairly closely after “In All Things Light and Dark”.

The idea for the Archshards happened way before Diablo: Immortals and the Worldstone Shards were announced (my reaction to that probably makes more sense now).

I had planned on making Imperius the antagonist for this story from the beginning, based on his character development in Diablo 3.

Originally, the Prime Evil was going to take more complete control of Imperius, and his form was going to reflect that. But I didn’t think a character as strong as Imperius would give in that much, and that a lot of his behaviour would be due to his own issues and not the influence of the Hells.

The “charger” Tyrael rides in the opening chapters is a reference to Tyrael’s Charger from Heroes of the Storm.

I had notes for the scene in Salvos with Malthael drafted while I was writing “In All Things Light and Dark” because I knew he was going to be revisiting Death.

Talm and his family were originally slated to die in Salvos, but I thought Malthael bringing them back alive would actually have a more positive impact on his character, plot-wise. I wanted him to draw on Death out of responsibility instead of despair.

Malthael’s Death abilities (while mortal) are inspired by the frost magic he uses in Reaper of Souls, as well as by some of the magic the necromancers use in the game series. His Wisdom Aspect form is mostly intellectual abilities (scrying with the Chalice, languages, etc.); his Death Aspect is mage-ish.

The “mental connection” Malthael and Farah use is inspired directly by what Tyrael does with Leah in Diablo 3 in terms of imparting memories and feelings. The mortal angels seem to be at least partially psychic.

A lot of Aya’s character development in the series was inspired by me wanting to write a) a more HUMAN Nephalem and b) how a Nephalem would handle having imposter syndrome. (Since the Nephalem in the game are essentially unflappable.) It is a slight departure from the game characterization, but also my attempt to bring some realism to an overpowered character class.

Originally, Auriel wasn’t supposed to recognize/learn it was Malthael stealing the Chalice until after it was all done, to show that she was willing to help the humans specifically. But the scene ended up being very emotional and affecting and I left it as I wrote it, with her finding out his identity right away.

Auriel’s fate was somewhat undetermined, but I knew she would oppose Imperius. When Chith came about as a character, I decided to have her become mortal instead of dying because I wanted to be able to write a student-mentor relationship between them.

Itherael was plotted to die from very early in the series planning, due to the nature of the Prophecy of the End of Days. Unfortunately, for everyone who is a fan of them.

Auriel’s mortality is one of the more self-indulgent items I wrote into the series, mostly because that could have gone so many different ways.

I really wanted to explore Chalad’ar’s uses, particularly since it seems to be so powerful but isn’t really explained much even in Storm of Light. There’s a lot of suggested functionality, intentional or accidental, with how the user can interact with what they are studying.

Farah helping Malthael with the scrying was a relatively late addition to the story and didn’t appear until I began to write the scene.

Farah’s Nephalem abilities actually extend beyond the Sight, but aren’t fully developed yet -- though they are hinted at when she is able to tolerate Chalad’ar better than some of the others. This will be developed more in Series 2.

My description of the Chalice use/scrying was written before I read “Storm of Light” and ended up being surprisingly close to canon. I had to change very little.

All the various Nephalem classes from Diablo 2 and 3 are represented in the final battle, though not all are named characters. Some of the unnamed Nephalem will be appearing in Series 2 as “new” characters.

The final battle takes place somewhere in the Fields of Misery.

The “Death Knells” described by Chith are a reference to Auriel’s Heroes of the Storm ability that lets her see the “souls” of the dead in order to resurrect them with her ult. This idea will be expanded on in Series 2.

None of the end-battle deaths were planned ahead of time except for Imperius. I let the battle write itself fairly organically and saw what came out of it.

Malthael sees as much in the Caverns of Terror as Tyrael does. Imperius is correct when he says he is thinking about Farah: one of the visions he has is of her telling him that he has disappointed her (which, thanks to some of the mind-to-mind conversations they have had, he does not believe).

The arcane abilities that Aya unleashes on Imperius at the end of the fight are a reference to the wizard’s archon mode in the game. And like in the game, they are taxing and have a cool-down period.

We don’t see Kormac return as one of the souls that Malthael works with, because he is “ready to die” and at peace with how he goes out. It’s in many ways the ideal death he wanted to have as a warrior.

In the original outline I did for the series, Malthael was scripted to die at the end, ensuring Imperius could be defeated. I had a change of heart as his character developed throughout the series, and his redemption occurred in very different ways than I had planned.

Lyndon saving Malthael from death was not scripted at all, but when I started writing that part, it came about naturally. I went back and built up stuff with the two of them for the entire rest of the story to set it up, character-wise.

Malthael is meant to be the “brother” that Lyndon actually manages to save, vs. the one that he didn’t.

The bit with Farah waiting at the water is an accidental but direct mirror/echo of the opening story, where Malthael washes up on the lakeshore. More overt references to this were added in after the draft was completed.

There’s a lot of unwritten material that happens during the Epilogue, including lots of conversations between the characters, patching up, the wake/celebration, etc. This may be material I write and refer back to later, but I didn’t want to include it in the Epilogue because there is so much of it.

I hadn’t actually planned on getting Tyrael and Aya together until I wrote the Epilogue and it just sort of happened. Again, lots of additions/tweaks went into the story earlier to help set it up more overtly.

Malthael hasn’t actually been sitting on that bench for that long. He doesn’t specify when he leaves Farah to go back home.

Tales from Tristram

I wrote “Echoes” about 3 times partially, and scrapped each version, because I thought the chapter kept backtracking on Malthael and Farah’s character development from “Arcane & Apples”. The published version is the 4th attempt.

“Echoes” is also the first time we see Malthael’s PTSD manifest from his POV, post-memory recovery.

"Echoes” also gives the details of him working through the PTSD after fighting himself in Act 1, including some subtle references to the very annoying inner (anxiety) monologue he has.

“Night of Souls” was me writing a Halloween story and accidentally stumbling on pivotal character development for pretty much everyone.

Malthael’s comments in “NoS” about Wisdom angels stargazing is related to the description of the Pools. Even when they are pure they are said to show Balance, and I assume if you went high up enough in the Heavens you would eventually see the stars. It’s an interesting visual balance between light and darkness and very fitting of his role.

Malthael arguing with himself while sitting at the bonfire in “NoS” is an example of how he handles his anxiety when he’s in better control of it; the devil’s advocate voice is a lot more nuanced, and he’s more than able to tell it to be quiet.

“Justice and Wisdom Walk into a Bar” was the original plot idea behind “A Light in the Darkness”. Zaera-d was telling me a story about their DnD group burning down a tavern and I thought it was something the Tristram gang would do. Only they ended up not doing that in Act 3.

The above chapter was also the only real time in the series that Tyrael and Malthael’s sexualities get mentioned directly (though Lyndon hints at Malthael’s in Act 3); I really had to balance it being a humorous scene without actually making fun Tyrael because that was 100% not my intent.

#diablo: amor aeternus #my writing #behind the scenes material #long post #some fun stuff for you to read #a little insight into the stories #i'm sure there's stuff i'm missing #but this is a sample of some of my notes and related things

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pcttrailsidereader · 6 years ago

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Expert Tips

Originally published August 21, 2018 in the Seattle Times and written by Crystal Paul travel and outdoors reporter. This seems like an appropriate way to begin the new year.

When collecting stories for inclusion in The Pacific Crest Trailside Reader, I was struck by the number of stories that turned on a poor choice, an unnecessary risk, backpacking alone, or going excessively light. They may make for good reading but terrible backpacking.

“Just like any sport there is inherent risk to hiking, but there’s definitely things you can do to mitigate those risks,” says Kindra Ramos, director of communications at the Washington Trails Association (WTA). Ramos’ words are worth considering.

Hiking can be a great way to relax, get away and enjoy the natural beauty around us. But while going on a hike can literally be a walk in the park, there are some inherent risks involved when you head out into the wilderness.

We spoke with Sgt. John Adams with the Search and Rescue unit at Snohomish County Volunteer Search and Rescue, and Kindra Ramos, director of communications at the Washington Trails Association (WTA), to learn some tips that can keep you safe on the trail.

Here’s what they suggested.

Tell someone where you’re going

Especially if you’re hiking alone, it is important to make sure someone knows exactly where you’re going and when you expect to be back. Snohomish County Search and Rescue, and Everett Mountain Rescue have a handy “Trip Plan” on their websites you can fill out and leave with a friend or family member.

Adams also suggests leaving information with a friend of family member that includes the make and model of the car you are driving, information on a back-up route or trail that you might take if your original route is compromised, and a date and/or time when someone should alert authorities if you haven’t returned.

Research the trail and check conditions before you go

Before you leave, learn as much as you can about the trail, and check current conditions. WTA provides detailed descriptions of many hiking trails in Washington, including maps and current trip reports on their website, wta.org.

Check trail conditions and weather forecasts before you leave. The weather can be very different even an hour from where you live, and trail conditions can change daily. Also consider things like what time it will begin to get dark, and water levels if there are streams on the trail. In Washington, where many streams are glacier-fed, water levels can rise over the course of the day. For the most up-to-date trail information, call a ranger station. WTA maintains a convenient online list of contact information for several ranger stations at National Forests and Parks.

Pack the essentials

Whether your hike lasts a couple hours or several days, having appropriate gear is crucial. WTA’s list of “Ten Essentials” that every hiker should bring with them includes the following:

1. Navigation: A map and compass, GPS unit, or even a smartphone.

2. Hydration: Staying hydrated is essential. Carry either enough water for yourself for the duration of your hike, or a map of natural water sources along your route and a water filter, purifier, chemical tablets, or means of boiling unfiltered water before drinking it.

3. Nutrition: Bring enough food to tide you over on your hike, plus extra snacks in case you are unexpectedly delayed on your return.

4. Rain gear and insulation: You’ll want moisture-wicking, water-resistant, warm clothing, even on a nice day. Temperatures change and can drop dramatically as night approaches and at higher elevations.

5. Fire-starter: Matches, a lighter, and flint all work just fine. Make sure to keep any fire-starter and kindling dry.

6. First-aid kit: A good first-aid kit will have what you need to deal with major injuries. To make sure you know how to use everything in your kit, take a course or talk to someone experienced in first-aid.

7. Tools: A multi-tool and some duct tape will get you through a great deal of gear repairs and other challenges that may arise.

8. Illumination: Make sure it’s a good source of light. A cell phone will rarely provide the kind of illumination you’ll need in the extreme dark. Instead, carry a flashlight or a headlamp (and extra batteries).

9. Sun protection: Sunglasses (especially if you’re traveling in snow), a hat and sunscreen.

10. Shelter: You don’t need to carry a tent, but a Mylar blanket or tarp can protect you from the elements in an emergency.

Consider bringing more gear

The “Ten Essentials” will likely see you through the most common dangers, but Adams of Snohomish County Volunteer Search and Rescue suggests you also consider bringing along a personal locator beacon and a whistle. He cites several successful Search and Rescue cases in which hikers were found alive and rescued when using locators like the Garmin inReach.

Don’t be afraid to turn back

Ramos says one of the most important safety tips is to remember that the trail will always be there tomorrow. If you are uncomfortable, uncertain or worried about your safety at any time, be honest with yourself. Don’t be afraid to call it a day and turn back.

Educate yourself

If you’re new to hiking or backpacking, there are several introductory courses — like REI’s “Map and Compass Navigation Basics” or “Lightweight Backpacking Basics” — that can help you get started. But even seasoned hikers can benefit from skill development courses like The Mountaineers’ “Alpine/Wilderness First Aid” course. The National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) is another great resource for courses.

Adams also recommends joining your local volunteer search and rescue organization and taking advantage of the training they offer.

“It’s really about the knowledge of what to do,” says Ramos. “Your brain is your most important essential all of the time,” she says.

If worse comes to worst

Sometimes, no matter how much research you’ve done and how careful you are, things go wrong anyway. This is where the gear you packed and the preparation you made before hitting the trail just might save your life. But first things first:

Stay calm. Both Adams and Ramos emphasize the importance of staying calm in a crisis. This will allow you to assess the situation and intelligently deploy the gear you need and the skills you’ve developed to keep yourself safe.

Get to a safe place and stay there. If you are already in a safe place, stay there. If you’re lost, wandering is likely to take you further away from the known trail and make you harder to find. If you’re injured, trying to move around may lead to further injury. If you are not in a safe place, find the nearest safe location and stay there.

Remember your gear. Use your gear to stay warm, hydrated, fed and as visible as possible. If you opted for that locator beacon, activate it. If you brought that whistle, use it. The information you left with a friend or family member will make it easier for Search and Rescue to find you.

Crystal Paul: [email protected].

#Ten Essentials #Search and Rescue #Washington Trails Association #The Mountaineers #National Outdoor Leadership School

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