#i can crank one of these out in under 2 hours and this power WILL be used for evil /j

[ra1ny-daze]

guess what. will wood. again

[alicenpai]

art thoughts lately!! particularly about con prep ..

- i am getting tired of drawing chibis during con prep season 😔 like i mentioned before, i think im "good" at drawing them, but they are kind of uninteresting to draw. and i get bored after a while! i think that's why charms burn me out so fast. luckily my last "specialty" merch design was just submitted so . i can move on to prints and other designs now

- i still like designing charms but i think i might try portrait charms. which means that like . my charm catalogue will cover a less broad range of fandoms (?) bc portraits will take a lot more work + harder to draw characters i don't know well

- might also still do buttons bc i like the idea of having low cost options on my table (i.e. canadian con goers tend to have a lower purchasing power?) although i think i may have been under charging...... i might have to raise the price by a few cents, because again, they do take time to draw. i put unnecessary amounts of detailing in them . it sparks joy ok 😔 anything priced under like. $10 (?) will be a low cost merch option and i like the idea of still having my art be "accessible" and not just like. having $15-20 charms and prints

- i also want to lean more into like. stickers in the style of the baccano sheet i drew last year! i think it's a lot of fun to interpret a favourite series in this graphic design style. a lot of work and research but yeah

- i hate lineart again so it might be time to learn how to clean sketches again

- might also be time to crank out the chisel brushes again - whenever i see artists using the chisel brush it makes me miss my 2017-18 era art sm .... there's such a delicious flow in chisel brushes .. part of the reason i stopped using them is 1. i was getting tired of using the brush (though i think my 2019 art was a bit tame compared to the previous year), and 2. complications on my computer with photoshop and then having to move on to clip. i can't replicate the tilt sensitivity of my ps brushes (specifically the helen chen brushes) in clip ^__T so i had to learn to wield another set of favourite brushes. i know clip also has chisel brushes but this one was my favourite aughhgh. will have to dive into the brush settings window for like 2 hours again ..

- overall, im really looking forward to stickers and prints the most! esp prints! i have a greater vision of what i want to capture in my art, after doing the Halloween piece and the pandora hearts twin mirrors piece. i want to push my art in a more illustrative direction (thank you miss shirahama kamome of witch hat atelier you have changed my life), if it works out. ill definitely have to toss the old prints that don't suit my style anymore, though ill see about doing a "last call" to see if anyone wants em during anime north 🤔 if not they will be recycled hehe

[australieh]

miserable derelicts

Prompt from HaveHasHad: Hell's Fiction Give me your undercooked, give me your rubbery, give me your falling apart, give me your abominations.  Most of all, give me prose that's fucking raw!  Name of the game is Hell's Fiction but you can submit any old thing – fiction, CNF, poetry, I-don't-know-whats. Just write it like it's about to fumble dinner service and cry in the walk-in fridge.  Max word count 500. Shorties + poems can sub up to 3, totalling 500 words.  Subs are capped at 150.  Can't wait to see who ate. 

Inspired by my time as a server/bartender in the beach town of Busselton, Western Australia - a summer that was salty, sweaty and sweet.

The dream that’d held me in its grip all night slips away as I awake, gasping as if coming up for air. Immediately I feel the remnants of the bottle of grenache I’d sipped like juice the night before, fruity and acidic and lethal. Can feel every crevice of my brain crying out, sucked dry and left deserted.

I fling my blankets off. Reach for my phone, palms slick, and see the time: 1:28pm. Fuck. I slide off the damp sheets, crank the ceiling fan to high. Stand underneath chugging warm water from the nearest half full glass until I can feel my bangs lifting off my slippery forehead.

The ice-cold water on my back is an oasis, jolting me out of my groggy state – though the alertness will only last for the remainder of the shower. The minute I step back out I begin to melt, tugging a comb through the permanent knots in my hair – no time to condition, and no point when the salty ocean water is my only grace after every shift. I am already looking forward to my nightly swim, avoiding the thought of the 8 hours that stand between then and now.

I pull on my work clothes before I am fully dry, water and sweat already mixing at my lower back. My underwear sticks to me like papier mâché, and my thighs rub raw between faded denim shorts. The socks I wore yesterday are still wet, my Vans covering the smell as soon as I squish my feet into them.

I’m fully drenched under my arms again by the time I park my bike behind the brewery, my only saving grace being the black of our t-shirts. The black that signals we are the staff - that we are the ones who sweep up broken glass and scoop leftover aioli out of ramekins. We are the sweaty-necked twenty-somethings who sit on milk crates next to dumpsters eating cold pizza from the mistake table. Our knuckles are cracked, our pores are clogged, and our beer bellies jut out under our aprons. We are miserable derelicts, and we know you all regard us with fear and awe - that you all crave our favour. That a tilt of an eyebrow is enough to get a table of 40-somethings in an uproar. We know our power, and we wield it with grace and visceral intention.

I tie on my apron and wash my hands. I look into my own eyes in the plate sized mirror at the sink. The kitchen bell dings and my nervous system, trained like Pavlov’s dogs, jerks a signal through my veins. The sweat on my arms glistens in the sun coming through the floor length windows. I check the time: 2:04pm. The ocean, 50 metres from our patio, crashes and calls like the spray from the dishy’s rinse nozzle against dirty pans. Seven hours, fifty six minutes to go.

[regard-luxury]

Nissan Sports Vehicles Photos, Nissan Sports Cars Pictures

Unveiled in 2007 to succeed the Skyline GT-R, the GT-R is a luxury sports car that’s considered one of Nissan’s best efficiency automobiles. The no-nonsense, purpose-driven vehicle will get its energy from a turbocharged 3.8-liter V6 engine. While the original GT-R engine can deliver 478 horsepower, the NISMO variant can produce up to 600 horsepower. The Nissan 370Z is a 2-seater sports car, which was first showcased at the Greater LA Auto Show in 2008. It follows the 350Z, as the sixth generation of the Z model Nissan. Featuring a high-rev V6 engine and a handbook transmission, the 370Z is properly able to ship 332 horsepower.

The Silva 240SX featured a 2.4-liter inline-4 engine, which was used in many racing vehicles of that day, together with the Maserati 4CL. The all-new Nissan Z with a guide transmission and twin turbo V6 engine is the way forward for the Z-Car lineage. With inspiration taken from over 50 years of cautious composition, the next-in-line to carry the title of a Nissan Z-Car is simply nissan sports car models that—unmistakably Z. The Nissan 350Z, a two-door, two-seater sports car, kicked off production for the fifth technology of Nissan Z-Cars 2002 and ended the 6-year manufacturing hiatus in the US. 350Z, with its’ glossy redesign of 240Z DNA, helped rejuvenate the Nissan market presence going into the latter half of the decade.

We have combed through the archives of Nissan concept cars through the years and we predict we obtained most of them in our list under. December 5, 2021 Nissan Motor Co., Ltd. and Nissan Motorsports International Co., Ltd. today unveiled a newly designed Nissan Z GT500 race car at Fuji International Speedway. The new GT500 racer will participate within the Super GT Series starting with the 2022 season. The Z-Series started in late with the Nissan Fairlady Z in Japan and the Datsun 240Z within the US. Its introduction was the culmination of 3 years of research and design that efficiently seemed to create a modern-styled, two-seater 6-cylinder coupe for the North American market.

This material may not be revealed, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed. Quotes displayed in real-time or delayed by at least quarter-hour. Tight inside, heavier than the final Z car, too much road noise. The 370Z Roadster is a recognizable velocity demon on the road, and is outfitted with everything you have to lead the pack in luxury and elegance.

It has a three.8L V6 turbocharged engine that may produce up to seven-hundred horsepower. It is a second-generation 2 seater sports car with monumental engine energy. It can produce 300 horsepower that's excess of the older era. The entry of 24 Hours Of Le Man to the sports car market surprised individuals. It was designed in such a method that its body didn’t have any impact on its speed. Nissan also launched its competitor in 1997 under the name, ” R-390 GT-1 “.

I recently had the possibility to sit in its driver’s seat for lots of of miles on highways and twisting backroads. The new Z proved to be a surprisingly likable long-term companion offering genuine comfort on the lengthy, boring stretches but excitement when the street invited it. There was no such problem in the 2023 Sport model with the handbook gearbox, which responded to clutch-dropping acceleration runs with a easy rush of torque. Nissan hasn’t quoted numbers yet, however my butt tells me that the new Z ought to hit 60 miles per hour in about 4.5 seconds.

The inside feels, except for an absence of adjustable lumbar assist, pleasantly fashionable with out lots of in-your-face gimmicks. The turbocharged engine delivers power like a steamroller in comparability with the 370Z’s naturally aspirated V6 and its easy, deep voice is kind of too refined for a Z. Don't fear, I’m sure the Dom Torettos of the true world will discover a method to crank it up. The 2023 Nissan Z is a rolling tribute to the legendary sports car model line, says Fox News Autos Editor Gary Gastelu. Of course, the best factor about the 2023 Nissan Z is that you just don’t need to spend $50,000 on it should you don’t wish to.

Subaru unveiled its BRZ model in July 2021 (starting from about ￥3.1 million JPY or $27,000 USD). With sports cars and other models concentrating on a variety of individuals, Japan’s car makers should also reply to the global acceleration towards decarbonization. The authentic nissan sports car models 240Z was introduced by what was then Datsun in 1969. It stunned the world, because complacent international automakers hadn’t expected such a cool car to return out of Japan.

Although the Nissan GTR not carries the "Skyline" name, it has its heritage within the Skyline range. The conventional straight-6 "RB26DETT" engine has been replaced with a new V6 "VR38DETT". And the "HICAS" four-wheel-steering system utilized in earlier models has been removed. It is hard to get excited about nissan sports car models the current Nissan lineup should you're a fan of this site. The current automobiles and SUVs are all respectable but they don't seem to be iconic or the sorts of cars readers of supercars.net get amped about.

[jikookpancakes]

JIKOOK FIC RECS that no one asked for (2021)

but im giving anyway because THE TALENT IN THIS FANDOM IS INSANE

long post incoming!! this is probably just part 1 because i wont stop reading anytime soon so i’m inserting that link just in case i do make another one in the future

What’s a Soul Really Worth, Anyway? by thisneedsmorefilth - 130k words, fantasy, demon!jm, witch!jk, listen, this and the next one are my top 2 jikook fics of all time, so well-written, plot so exciting legit reads like a book, better than a lot of books tbh, the world-building is INSANE, jungkook and the gang accidentally summon demon!jimin and chaos ensue, especially for jungkook...and you know why!!!, so funny, angsty, cried so much, happy ending but listen to me: you gotta read the sequel too, YOU GOTTA.

Militat Omnis Amans: The Beginnings by edaen - 92k words, fantasy, werewolf!jk, vampire!jm, forbidden love, super slow burn but super worth it, JIKOOK IN THIS IS MY FAVORITE JIKOOK IN ANY FIC EVER EVER EVER, this is the ultimate all or nothing will freeze hell over for the other kind of love, and the way this is written is just so... how do i describe it. like you can just tell the author wanted to be very realistic with their feelings. you’ve seen the word count, this is SLOW burn. like you will legit feel their struggle to just be able to love each other and while it hurts, it’s also SO GLORIOUS. i love this one so much and if you like reading angst with happy ending but like cranked up to 200% then read this. bonus feels if you read the whole series

Until Dawn (series) by edaen - this is the long series where the previous one above is part of. highly rec if you love fantasy and you wanna read about bts being a rag tag group of supernatural beings fighting evil yay. also it makes the above fic more satisfying because you see more of jikook just being tgt and in love (with bonus angst because of course)

7 Signs by NamHyora - 27k words, secret spies au, abo, alpha!jk, omega!jm who is always used as a raven in their operations aka they use jimin and his attractive self to attract people and gather information or acquire targets and all that spy stuff, and his bestie alpha jk is not too happy about it hehe, friends to lovers, iove this one so much i wish it was longer but i think the author is planning to write a sequel!

Drop Like Confetti by annie_vi - 110k words, ceo!jk, age difference, age swap, ahhh i love this fic so much cause jimin smart and mature and has this no bs attitude, and he can keep up with jk despite the age gap and the difference in status/experiences, jk sexy dilf in this one eheh, i love it cause the drama/angst tackles a very real concern for such couples, like there’s no angst just for the sake of having angst, it really makes sense where they’re both coming from, they’re so whipped for eo too so love that for me

Fold it Up Like Origami by annie_vi - 99k words, gamer!jk, model!jm, same author as above and jk is so boyfriend goals in this one and in all this author’s fics in general like wow my standards are so high now i will legit be single forever just reading jikook fics (with no regrets), secret relationship due to their celeb status, well-written as usual, dialogues/banter in this author’s fics are just YES

The Tournament by kinkmins - 34k words, prince!jm, bodyguard!jk, abo, i’ll paste part of the summary here “Prince Jimin gets ready to hold a tournament where 50 alphas compete for a chance to court him, his father the king hires a new bodyguard who is a little too blunt and a little too talkative.“, i really love this oneeeee

Screwed Up and Brilliant by annie_vi - 113k words, escort!jk, jimin needed a date for a work event and in comes jungkook, escort extraordinaire with a no sex rule and jimin is just dasdkjfhasl, a lot of that “is this real or is he just acting” kinda angst, fluff smut angst

Like Everything Glows by annie_vi - 180k words, merman!jm, aquatic vet!jk, ok this is like my 4th rec from this author just read all their fics you’re welcome, this is their first fantasy fic but soso good, i rec’d this to someone who doesn’t really read fics and she really loved it and said “their love is so pure hhh”, she’s right

Track one: I love you by honeydice - 30k words, they’re “just” best friends, lots of pining it hurts, there’s some yoonmin and mentioned past jinmin in this so just noting in case, angst, denial of feelings, siiiiigh

InYou by edaen - 4k words, pwp :), abo, the morning after jikook mating, more sexytimes ensue + fluff

Falling For You Again by Rose_gold715 - 30k words, amnesia au, jk forgets about jimin and idk just something about this hits right in the feels. btw i don’t support the jk hated jm before in real life agenda so i don’t like this fic for that reason but i like this fic because i love me some good painful angst with happy ending.

The President’s Son by AmeliaBedelia - 55k words, bodyguard!jk, president’s son!jm, jk is assigned to shadow jm bc his life is under threat, and things develop :), jm is jk’s gay awakening :) :)

A Touch of Sin by pettey - 102k words, fantasy au, police officer!jk, supernatural!jm, shamanism, LOOK AT THE RANGE OF JIKOOK WRITERS YALL, this is such an interesting concept, so different from every other fic i’ve read, really well-written, sometimes you come across fics and you cant help but go “someone out there rly blessing me with this art for free”

Tears to the Tide by haromame - 65k words, abo, alpha!jk, omega!jm, honestly there’s not a lot of abo elements it’s focused more on jungkook having ptsd as he just came from war, established relationship jikook, he comes back home to jimin and things have just... changed. except their love ok THEY LOVE EO SO MUCH this made me cry so f much ugh so good tho.

Zero Hour by edaen - 5k words, canon compliant, a little drabble based around rosebowl jikook, it’s part of a series/collection of canon compliant jikook so if you’re looking for more canon compliant here you go!!, also if you can’t tell already i tend to like several things from a single author, i haven’t read their other fics im legit saving for sad days but i am confident enough to say their other fics are also rec-worthy.

Wonder by wordcouture - 7k words, im sorry in advance, mcd :( pls take care of yourself, i don’t like sad endings ok i don’t, but this is so popular and i was like, ok let’s see what the hype is all about, i get it now, :((((((((((((((((((((, well-written tho, bc the author will manage to crush your heart in just 7k words ha ha

The Omega Revolution by PinkBTS  - 158k words, abo, alpha!jk omega!jm, dystopian au, the hunger games more specifically mockingjay vibes, angst with happy ending but there’s some...things... lost along the way and i think that’s realistic for a dystopian war au, well-written

Blind Switch - 226k words, jockey!jk, rich spoiled brat!jm, jm gets exiled to his grandparents ranch where he meets jk yeehaw, im sorry for the yeehaw, anyway fluff smut angst enemies friends to lovers hurt/comfort slow burn happy ending, all the good stuff, ugh jk so boyfriend goals, also the amount of fluff in the later chapters thank u writer

Finally by Rose_gold715 - 12k words, abo, alpha!jk, omega!jm, angst with happy ending, jikook mate out of convenience and jimin runs away from jk and his pack feeling unloved and outcasted, but jungkook goes after him :((

Park Jimin’s Guide to Good Housekeeping by Ashlyn17 - 235k words, fantasy au, when i say jikook has the best fic writers i mean jikook has the best fic writers because THE WORLD-BUILDING in this one?, THE PLOT TWIST?, yesyesyes, jungkook is a powerful fae and jimin is assigned to be his housekeeper hehe, listen my entire fic rec has several that could be great netflix shows and this is definitely one of them

A Spell That Reminds Me of Your Name by Chimneycricket - 42k words, wizards!au, enemies to friends to lovers and the development felt natural, well-written plus the author sometimes makes art of their fics and other jikook fics and posts on twitter, both their fics and art are so good, i’ve heard good stuff about their other fics too :)

that’s it for now!

just a quick one about my preferences: idc about tops/bottoms, i read just about anything but i prefer fantasy and multi-chaptered fics, i love established relationship jikook so hmu with recs anytime, i don’t like reading anything with cheating and mcd, i love fics where jk and jm are just so friggin in love they are just IT for eo, and at the end of the day even if there are elements to the fics i wouldn’t normally read, as long as they’re well-written then i’m all for it

[yourmcu]

Mesmerized (iii)

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Request:

@lostaurorax​ said:

hii!! i love ur writing i was wondering if u could write a natasha x reader fic were reader is part of the guardians of the galaxy and they come to the compound and natasha is just starstruck but reader plays kinda hard to get and then just a bunch of fluff !

Word count: 2,138

A/n: notes at the end

Warnings: crash, mentions of explosion, swearing, space mission, soft!nat, quill’s a jerk

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Your departure from Earth made its one-year mark.

Natasha hasn’t felt like herself since you left. She’s known you for a few months but it felt like ages, it felt like she knew everything about you from the amount of time you spent together.

It’s not like you had a choice. The guardians needed you and of course you’re gonna be there for them too. They saved your ass countless of time and, well, they’re your family.

“Shit!”

Natasha frowns, leaning forward a bit from her sitting position. “What’s wrong?”

You fail to respond back. You curse once more in realization that you had no more ammo left in your guns, using your fire conjuring abilities is risky in this situation too, given on what type of creatures you're fighting.

Rocket is still determined to fight but you know he’s not gonna make it alive so you pick him up and sprint to your ship.

“I had it under control!” The raccoon yells.

“You’re kidding, right? The others already left!” You boom, fiddling with the buttons and levers of the ship to try and start it. The rattling of the monsters behind getting you frazzled. “Fucking-”

“Out of the way before you burn the controls, I got it.”

You go to the back part of the ship to reload all your weapons. You sigh in relief when Rocket managed to start the ship.

The mission went horribly wrong. People died and you were outnumbered. You almost set Groot on fire because of how overwhelmed you were, the fact that Quill was expressing how pissed he was at you didn’t help. Usually the team had every mission handled and sorted. You weren’t used to losing.

And you forgot Natasha is still connected to the call.

She just listens further. It's more silent than earlier so she figured you got away from whatever happened, but she's ready to try and help whatever it takes even though she's a thousand miles away.

“Quill’s not responding,” you frown, frantically searching the back of the ship for the backup weapons. “He must’ve turned his comms off. Can you contact the other ship there?”

“No, offline,” Rocket mumbles, more focused on getting the ship moving. “But geez, you and him have to sort things out.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Save it, we’re still being followed!” Rocket swerves in attempt to knock off the creatures - who're still actively chasing the spaceship. They could fly, and there are a lot. You couldn’t imagine anything like it.

You try your best to fight them off through the spacious hatch on top, but of course you have no match for all of them. You wish Thor was here. As far as you knew he's sorting Asgard things out with Valkyrie.

Every minute just gets worse. The flight gets unstable the more those creatures are catching up, you're surprised they're so determined to destroy both of you.

“Can you go any faster?!”

“I can’t, can I?!” Rocket's driving and pressing multiple buttons for the jump at the same  time.

“Y/N,” Natasha calls out, hoping you could still hear her. “I can tell the team if you need any help-”

On your end, she just got more blasters and guns going off, orders flying between you and the raccoon.

“We need to shake them off, this ship’s not gonna handle them,” You say exasperated. “I’m gonna cause a distraction, got it? You need to get us out of here - anywhere - I don’t care how many jumps it takes!”

Rocket, as rare as it is, displays concern in his face, but he sighs and grips on the levers. “Ready when you are.”

You suck in a breath, letting out a huge burst of what seems like fire and just - heat, aiming at the creatures closest to the ship. It gets nearly all of them. The raccoon mutters a quick countdown, watching you fall unconscious from the hatch in the corner of his eye. He pushes the lever forward slowly, jumping to the one place he knows the both of you could get help.

Earth.

-

As soon as you let yourself go, Natasha loses the connection. The intensity of you using your powers like that might’ve affected it.

“God,” she mutters, pacing around her table, “Friday, you still have contact on that ship?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff,” the A.I responds, and for a moment, a huge explosion sounded somewhere in the forest near the compound. “...and they just landed. Would you like me to send you the exact coordinates?”

Of course Natasha doesn’t waste time to go out and find you. Thankfully Steve is around and was shaken by the sudden explosion too. It’s snowing, the forest covered with thick snow so it wouldn’t be hard to find wherever the ship crashed.

“She’ll be alright, Nat. We’ll find her.” Steve reassures.

Natasha’s breath hitches at the sight of the aircraft completely destroyed, pieces everywhere, she wasted no time to find you under all the rubble.

The unconscious raccoon isn’t hard to find, but you had it worse considering you were already out before the crash.

“Steve,” she states, walking over scraps and metal to get to you. You're sickly pale, giving Natasha the feeling that she's too late but she did feel a slight pulse. There’s blood on the side of your forehead but other than that,

“She’s freezing,” and it isn’t from the snow alone, she thought. You're colder than that. Natasha has an arm around your back and behind your knees, getting ready to carry you. “Steve, we-”

“I’ll call Bruce to get them sorted out. Try and find their stuff that’s not destroyed.” His tone is firm. He doesn’t wait for a response, gently grabbing you from her and strides back to the compound.

Natasha sighs. Almost everything she sees is unrecognizable except for a few complicated looking guns that definitely looks like Rocket’s and your bag you took on one of your dates. Biting the inside of her cheek, she opens it, sighing in relief when everything inside looked in order.

She finds a wallet-sized picture of both of you at a fair's photo booth. You always held onto it and kept it in your pocket most of the time that's why it looks worn out, probably from you holding it so much. This makes Natasha's heart ache, deciding to keep it for the meantime, carrying all your stuff that's left to the compound.

- You wake with a start. You're facing the clean white ceiling of the Avengers' med bay and you tilt your head to the side to see Natasha sleeping on a stool beside your bed with her head lulling forward and her arms are crossed. As much as you feel relieved to see her, you're confused on how you got here, how she found you. You lift your arm to gently pat the redhead awake. She sighs and goes to rub her neck. "You're cold." You smile softly, cringing at the rasp of your voice. "Didn't want you to be sore from the way you were sleeping." "I'm glad you're awake." "How long was I out?" Natasha gets up to get you a glass of water while you sit up the bed. "Twelve hours. You definitely needed the rest, everything sounded really crazy up there," she says. "Rocket's somewhere around, he left his bed the moment he got up." She hands you the glass and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. Feeling how cold you still are since they found you in the forest, she grabs a remote to crank the heater up a bit. You purse your lips and cross your legs, looking at her. "How'd you find us?" "Let's just say we heard the impact of the crash from here," Natasha eyes the bandages on the side of your head for a moment. "It was really lucky your ship crashed nearby, but you know I wouldn't hesitate to get on the jet just to find you. And when I did, I... I thought you were-"

Your hand immediately goes to cup her cheek, the contrast of warm and cold making Natasha relax in your touch. "I'm here now. You saved me." She returns your smile and holds onto your hand on her cheek. "I missed you." "I missed you too." "You know, I did specifically set those coordinates," Rocket says as he enters the room with Tony. "Technically I saved us." Your smile only widens and Natasha chuckles, turning to Tony to see what he has to say about your condition. "You really wore yourself out there fireball, is she still freezing cold?" He asks this to Natasha specifically and she nods. You furrow your eyebrows and turn to your fists, clenching them, only noticing now that you are freezing. "I'm gonna run a simple test and if all goes as expected, Bruce is gonna give you a shot." "Have you already got a conclusion on what happened to me?" You question. Tony pulls out something from his pocket. "Sure have. Now set this on fire." He tosses you a solid crumpled paper. Holding it between three fingers you expect it to turn into ash in your palm, but it stayed the way it is. You're looking at it now to help focus on setting it on fire but it still stayed as normal paper. Natasha grips you on the arm. "I think that's enough." "You went all out with your powers. I did see you let out an overwhelming amount when we were trying to outrun those creatures before you passed out." Rocket states. "Naturally it'll come back, but the shot should help you with your... body temperature and hopefully the speed of recovery." Tony adds. You groan, back landing on the pillow behind you. Not only does losing your powers suck but you aren't a big fan of needles either, but you'll deal with them if you really have to. Natasha's hand slowly crawls up to intertwine with yours, although her attention was still on Tony. "She's gonna have to stay here at least until she recovers, right?" She also looks at Rocket if he has any objections but he merely nods his head. "'Course, they're welcome here for as long as they want." Tony claps his hands together and dismisses himself, Rocket following behind. "In the meantime I'll be figuring out a way to build a new ship." The raccoon says before closing the door behind him. Natasha makes her way to sit beside you and you automatically scooch to make space and rest your head against her shoulder, taking a breath. "You alright?" You shrug. "I guess I do feel pretty useless without those powers. I mean, Quill without a doubt would never let me go on missions anymore. I'd just be a burden to everyone." She lets go of your hand to put around you. "Everything doesn't revolve around your powers, Y/N. You're not useless. I bet you could take that Quill guy down in a fist fight." You let out a chuckle, shaking your head. "What's that guy like anyway?" The sudden question makes your head perk up. "Oh, you know, Quill, he's a nice guy-" Natasha let out a noise, cutting you off. "Didn't sound like it while I was connected in the call." "He can be a mouthful to me sometimes," you admit quietly. "Not to everyone though, I do generally think he's a nice guy. I have no idea what I did that made him so pissed at me." You look up at her and she's staring at the wall, seeming like she's deep in thought. "He doesn't hurt you, does he?" "God, no. He's not like that," you say. "If he did want to of course I wouldn't just take it." Natasha smiles, "that's my girl." You hung your head low so she couldn't see the way you flushed at the phrase, biting your lip to hold in a smile. “I’m glad you have my back, though.”

“I always do. Always will.”

"So, when can I leave this room?"

"After Bruce gives you the shot, then we can do whatever we want." She tilts your head up to move your hair out of your face. You look at her with an amused expression, "where do you plan on taking me this time?” Natasha smirks at the question. She loves spending all her time with you and the sight of you enjoying yourself makes it better. "There’s a new bookstore open, thought you might like it. Also an amusement park. It’s a few hours away but I can always drive. Oh, Tony’s cabin. I’m sure he’d love you to meet his newborn Morgan.”

“Sounds like you have a list,” you muse.

Natasha hums, pulling you closer. “I do.”

-

final one!! no one’s really looking forward to this but I enjoyed writing it anyway :)

btw wrote this way before thor: love and thunder so i have no idea what him and the guardians are up to but i wish them the best

[shameless plug] check out this natasha ambience i made some people thought it was cool

[scarlettwriter91]

Rest

The insistent ringing of the telephone on James’s nightstand pulled him from a deep sleep. He pried his eyes open to see the clock on the small radio that read 2:43 am.

Beside him, Ruth stirred, rolling over so that she was facing him as he reached for the phone.

“Hello?” he said groggily.

“Dad?”

James sat up, now fully awake. “Beau? What’s wrong, son?”

Upon hearing her youngest son’s name, Ruth sat up as well and looked expectantly at her husband.

Beau’s voice sounded so small and tired as he asked, “Can you come get me?”

“Where are you?”

James pulled the truck up next to the curb but before he could get out, he spotted Beau leaning against the wall of a red brick building.

He pushed away from it and started walking towards the truck.

James eyed him closely. He wore jeans that had seen better days, and a burgundy, long-sleeved t-shirt. “Where’s your coat, Beau?” James muttered with a sigh. 

Beau hovered outside the truck as if debating whether or not to get in. 

James knew it would be hard for him. Ever since the accident, Beau did everything in his power to never be in the passenger seat. He didn’t ride with anyone unless he was the driver. So, yes, James knew what a struggle it must have been for Beau to call him, knowing that James wouldn’t allow him to drive in his current state. 

But he continued to wait him out and finally, Beau opened the door and eased himself into the truck. After another few seconds, he shut the door, though he immediately rolled down the window, allowing the cool night air in. 

James put the truck in gear and pulled out. He cranked the heat up to the highest setting and made sure the vents were facing him. It wouldn’t help anything if Beau got pneumonia from being out in the winter without being properly dressed.

James didn’t ask if he was okay. He knew he wasn’t. The dark circles under his dull, blue eyes standing out sharply against his pale skin were a good indicator that the nightmares were back. His hair was greasy and looked like it hadn’t been washed in a while. Which fit right in with the smell of stale alcohol and smoke. But this was the first time in a long while that he’d looked this bad.

At twenty, James thought that Beau was finally getting past it. He’d graduated the year before, he’d been talking a lot to Eric down at the church, and even going occasionally. He was taking over a big chunk of the farm work and things had been okay. Not great, but okay. 

The ride home was silent and when they pulled into the driveway, Beau got out quickly. They made their way up to the porch but instead of going inside, James sat down on the porch swing. He patted the space next to him and after a moment, Beau sat down hesitantly.

“I’m tired, Dad,” Beau said quietly as he leaned his head against the chain that held the swing up.

“I know.” James sighed.

“I don’t know how to make them stop,” he whispered and James had to strain to hear him. 

James reached out slowly and gently put his arm around Beau’s shoulders and for the first time in years, Beau let him. 

He closed his eyes and let himself rest against his dad’s shoulders as if he were a little kid again. 

James dropped a kiss on the top of Beau’s head. He didn’t care one bit that Beau was twenty years old and almost taller than him. He didn’t care that it was going on three-thirty in the morning or that he would still need to be up in a few hours. 

The only thing he cared about was that his child needed him and he was going to be there for him. 

“I don’t wanna do this anymore,” Beau said softly. “I can’t.”

“You don’t have to,” James said as he tightened his arm around him. “Just rest now, Son. Just rest.” 

[keefwho]

July 02 - 3:04pm

Yup, I’m terrified. Im in the vicious cycle of worry and struggling to get out. 

What am I afraid of? I’m afraid amongst all the scattered storms for the next 2 days, one will be strong and knock out the power. Why am I afraid of that? I fear being sick while the power is out because it would be very miserable. Especially during a storm. I’m also afraid of myself because I tend to get into my own head like this and might makes my fears a reality on my own. 

The last time the power went out, I was fine. Kind of naturally, I was just having a good day. But I was able to deliberately keep myself from slipping. The problem is I’ve already slipped and I’m trying to recover. It’s a little hard because an important part of not allowing my feelings to interfere with my life is I currently have no life, at least not today. I don’t want to do anything, or be anything, so how do I put a leash on my anxiety? Theres nothing to do right now but feel scared. 

I’m hoping I’ll naturally feel better tomorrow. It doesn’t help that I just happened to have an upset tummy today. Its just not a good day. Tomorrow I’m going to watch the weather radar and be on the lookout for anything severe. Normal thunderstorms shouldn’t be a threat, but if I see a weather statement about a severe thunderstorm, there is some reason to worry. The last one that hit had 60mph winds that took out power for everyone for at least 6 hours, some a lot longer. I’m lucky to live right off the main line. 

On top of it, I don’t feel like there’s anyone I can turn to, mostly because of how I feel. I dont want to be social when I’m under the weather in any way. People tend to try to hard to help or dont want to put up with babysitting. So I guess I feel alone right now, just waiting for those storms. 

I need to come to accept that I’m afraid again and stop treating my feelings like they are who I am. Feelings and actions are different. Tomorrow my goal is to crank out a commission I have to do despite any storm happening. I can feel afraid and still do what is important to me, or what is necessary. 

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Friday 13 October 1837

7 50

10 55

very fine rather frosty sunny morning and F53° at 8 50 – breakfast at 9 with A- and Mr. Gray in about ½ hour – then in my study – wrote out business letters into business letter book, and wrote to Mr. Oldfield saying I had sent off 16 doz. bottles on Monday evening and ordering 6 doz. fine old rich port and 2 doz. and less priced and 4 dozen fine sherry and 8doz. marsala as before – and wrote for a footman who thoroughly understand his business – can have an unacceptable character from his last place, and being about 30 years of age – Read over A-‘s letter to her sister respecting Bentleys’ offer for the Landymere stone and I wrote in one line under the seal ‘Mrs. Listers’ kind regards and congratulations on the happy choice of a name for the little girl’ – off with A- to H-x at 11 (walked) went by the Lodge – put into the post (had pennies to pay) at 11 ½ A- letter to her sister and my letter to ‘William Oldfield Esquire York’ and my letter to ‘The Register office for servants opposite the George Inn Coney street York Post paid’ then to Nicholsons’ – then Mouseys’ and left A- at Whitley’s while I went to the Bank and got one hundred pounds – ordered at Whitleys’ Adcocks’ Engineers’ almanac and Bruntons’ Compendium of mechanics – then to Mrs. Greenwood A- asked her to order Fish and plums for us (winesours and for plums tarts) then had returned some way past the Pine apple before A- remembered we had forgot what we went to H-x for, i.e. to see what her tenant Ogden wanted doing at his windows and to see Mrs. Bottomleys’ ovens – returned sometime at the two tenants’ – then up the old bank (A- much tired) and back at 2 – sat with A- at luncheon till 3 – she off on her pony to Cliff Hill at 3 10 – and I had Mr. Pollett with him 5 or 6 minutes till 3 25 – he brought estimate of ten horse power steam engine Mr. Holt having told him I wanted one – price above all the rest - £395 of which only £5 to be thrown off for the present crank and small wheel - .:. engine £390  Reckons £39 per horse power ten horse boiler included which separately would be from £50 to £60 4 horse engine £180 = £45 per horse power which is so much higher in consequence of the smallness of the engine – 4 horse separately engine = about £30. vid. Mr. Howarths’ 4 horse engine (turning [bobbins?] at Sowerby bridge) strong enough for six horse – said I should leave Mr. Harper to determine but I had already brought Mr. Holt down from 14 to 10 horse engine and still not satisfied – thought 4 horse power would be enough – had told H- yesterday not to get more estates till I had made up my mind – P- said he had now a person who had 2 sixteen in. bore pumps for lifting water – (I suppose he meant off coal) – wrote the last 19 lines, and went out immediately at 3 50 – no! out at 4 – about – at the hay barn (the woodwork of the roof almost put on – Riley working at it for Stephen Mallinson) at the manure place in Walsh land etc till came in at 6 40 10 minutes with A- dressed – dinner at 7 10 – coffee read the paper – A- and I came upstairs at 9 20 and lay slumbering on the bed in our room ½ hour – then undressed – very fine day – white frost this morning and tonight and F41° at 10 pm – read Colliers and coal trade ¼ hour  

[ff-imagines]

tofu mother! i’m so happy you’re back! i can’t wait to see you talk/write about dumb tofu men some more! uhh, it seems requests are open! if you wouldn’t mind, uhhhh, sweet tofu nsfw alphabet, please? thank you!

Sweet tofu: nsfw alphabet

Holy shit, I haven’t done sweet, have I? I am such a bad horny tofu stan please forgive me 😢

A - aftercare

Very good. He’s always pretty overbearing doting and that trait will be cranked up to an 11. He gets you whatever you need, but desperately wants to stay with you for at least a few hours afterwards. He wants to know how you feel, and he loves to see the spectrum of your emotions, he’d never tell you he secretly wants to know you enjoyed it. Your approval hits a certain twinge in his chest.

B - body part

Of his own, probably his eyes, and his fingers. He takes great care in his nails, manicures are essential for him to feel clean.

Of yours, he loves your chest. Not exactly the tiddy tho lmao. A strange thing to like but he likes how comfy it is to rest his cheek on your chest and lightly trace your collar bones. He’s really comforted in hearing your heartbeat.

He likes your thighs for the same reason, they’re a good pillow. Thighs are also soft, which means easier hickies~

C - cum

There’s…. lots of it. He recovers fast, and will sometimes overwhelm you with cum. it’s kinda fucking endless honestly. Will cum legit anywhere you ask, sometimes will be bratty and cum anywhere but where you want. Loves to cum on you, it makes him feel more possessive.

D - dirty secret

This man has no secrets when it comes to sex. He’s up front, and he’s very open about being into almost everything you can think of. One thing he’d rather not let anyone but you know is that his hips, collar bones, and wrists are really sensitive. If you massage, kiss, or lick over them he loses his composure very quickly.

His favorite spot to be kissed is the vertebrae on the back of his neck, and he’ll be a tad more intimate if you lightly scratch the back of his neck and the hair on the base of his skull.

E - experience

moderate. He’s a creepy looking dude, but it’s fairly easy for him to find entertainment for when staying home gets a bit boring. We know from salty's backstory he’d flirted with a woman who came back to talk to him frequently, along with salty mentioning how he’s always been fairly popular.

“Hehehe, I know what I’m doing kitten. My question is, do you know what I’m going to do?”

F - favorite position

Seriously, what doesn’t he like..?

I think positions where he can see your face is his favorite, most likely loves to put you on his lap so he can watch you desperately grind on him while wrinkling your nose in the most adorable way~

G - goofy

To a degree. I feel he’s goofy in initiating but less goofy as time goes on. He still teases though and sometimes he manages to crack a smile out of you in even the most strangest and awkward positions. He'll never tell you but he loves that he can make you laugh, even when you’re in the most intimate and private state possible.

H- hair

Slightly groomed, but not extensively. Sometimes he has weeks where ofc he’ll shower but doesn’t really want to shave so you’ll have to remind him. Or don’t, if that’s your thing.

I- intimacy

Very but also not always.

He can be so fucking intense, refusing to let you look anywhere but at his face so you can see how hard it is for him to keep his control, watch him this time, let it be known how much he adores seeing your body scream and twitch for his touch.

On the other hand, he might rile you up just to leave you squirming for hours.

Depends on how nice he’s feeling~

“Fuck, no. Look at me. Look. At me. You did this, you fucking did this, look. At. Me. You’re gonna watch me while I fuck you, eyes. On. Me.”

J- jerk off

Not too often? He just prefers the real thing. 1-2 times a week. When you started to catch his interest, he stopped completely for a while, giving his full attention to you, even before confessing his interest in you. It’s more out of him trying to gauge who you are and if he’s actually interested or just entertained by you. When he figured out it was actual interest though? Prolly jumped up to 3-4 times a week due to feeling a growing desperation because of his feelings.

K- Kinks

...All of them.

Most of his favorites are the darker side of BDSM, light blood play (mostly prefers he’s the one bleeding), intense sadomasochism (doesn’t matter who’s who), primal, heavy bondage, breath play, and especially role play. He’s just… really obsessed with putting you in strange situations in order to learn all he can about how you tick.

“So so adorable, but I wonder how you look when you’re in pain~”

L- location

Again, either the place he knows your most comfortable, or the place he knows you’re the least comfortable. He wants to see you squirm as the brick of the alleyway he’s pinned you against rubs into your skin brutally just as much as he loves to see your hands grasp the soft blankets of your warm bed.

M- motivation

When you do something really innocent. The happier you look the more he wants to absolutely corrupt and ruin you.

“Look at you, you’re so precious all wrapped up in these blankets, would you mind if interupted, just for a little bit?”

N- no

I feel he also doesn’t actually like daddy kinks. He’s… got some issues with the man he viewed as his father so if you want to call him something, just don’t make it daddy.

O- oral

God does he love biting your inner thighs and watching you twitch.

He appreciates oral, but being able to make your skin crawl is much more pleasing to him. Might give you oral right after fucking you just to watch you squirm in overstimulation.

“Hehe, I see the bruise from last time is faded… I wonder if I can make a new one that will last just a bit longer~”

P- pace

Depends if he’s playing a bratty role or a more intense one. No matter his pace, he’s gonna stop in the middle and just watch you cry in frustration at his teasing. This man is patient so good luck lmao

Q- quickies

Not… exactly? He loves to tease, so he’d most likely get you incredibly worked up and then leave. Would definitely grope you at a dinner table then right as your getting close leave the room entirely lmao

As for actually quick fucking you, if you beg nicely, he’d most likely give you whatever you wanted no matter what lmao.

R- risk

Wouldn’t full out fuck you in public but.. again…. if he gets to see the embarrassment on your face while he finger fucks you under the table? Now that’s the good shit.

“Stay still, you’re squirming. You’re gonna give us away if you keep moving, you wouldn’t want that would you?”

S- stamina

Ridiculous. Mainly because he pulls some strings and uses his powers as a healer to recover his own energy. What a bastard.

T- toys

He owns a few. Most are restrictive, like handcuffs, rope, etc. might get a vibrator just to tie you down and make you cry and beg him to turn it off after overstimulating you for what feels like hours.

U- unfair

Y E A. Prolly the worst teaser you’ll ever encounter in your entire fucking life. He wants to see you cry from frustration and then hear your screams when he fucks you so hard it makes you cry all over again.

Then he stops, giggles, and goes back to teasing again.

“Kitty, come on, you can take just one more, cant you? For me?”

V- volume

Talks a lot. And it’s not that he’s “loud”, he just moans a lot. His voice is naturally pretty quiet though. Lots and lots of low groaning. During and after cumming he’s quieter, giving out a low hum while breathing slowly trying to regain his composure.

W- wild card

There is no mention that his hair is dyed, so I’m making the head canon that his natural hair is two tone and that his fuckin body hair is duel colored.

X- X Ray

Like I said, I will go down with the hc his body hair is duel colored like his hair. Mans got white and brown pubes I don’t make the rules.

As for size he’s actually on the smaller/average size, solid 5 inches.

Y- yearning

When you’re down, he is. If he hasn’t seen you in a long time he’s gonna be more grabby. He actually isn’t easy to make that jealous because he’s very confident in your loyalty, you’re willing to stick with him this long so… why worry?

Z- zzz

Lmaoooo? sleep?? Who’s that? Don’t know her. Thinks you’re adorable when you fall asleep though. Likes to study your face while sleeping and will gently coo and let your hair if he notices your face starts twitching because of something like a nightmare. Might peel back the blankets a bit to further… “observe”. And he wonders why you keep waking up freezing.

“Awe, out so quick kitty? Hm, you are cute like this. Wonder if you’ll look cuter when you’re having a nightmare…”

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #59: Jeanne d’Arc

Today on Fate and Phantasms, we’re finally finishing up the original roster of servants with The Maiden of Orleans, Jeanne d’Arc! As you might expect from the holy maiden, Jeanne is 100% a Cleric, protecting her soldiers as she leads the charge.

Check out the level-by-level breakdown below the cut, or the build summary over here!

I’d also like to thank everyone who likes or reblogs these posts; I thought this would be a really niche topic, but this blog now has more followers than my main! We’ve still got plenty of servants to go after this, so I hope you’ll continue to enjoy them.

Race and Background

Like most servants, Jeanne’s a Human. Rather, she’s a bundle of magical energy roughly based on the impact a human made on history, but that’s a mouthful, and also not a race, so we’ll stick with Human. This gives her +1 to all stats.

Jeanne’s your typical Folk Hero; came from humble beginnings, achieved great things through sheer determination, and died a fiery death at the hands of those she saved. That last part’s not typical, but it’s also not part of a person’s background. Being a folk hero gives you proficiency with Animal Handling and Survival. You grew up on a farm, so that’s not too wild.

Stats

You receive visions from a higher power, and know other servants’ True Names on sight. That’s pretty wise, so your Wisdom has to be pretty high. Despite having zero formal education, you can argue theology with the best of them through sheer conviction- that’s Charisma. Third is Constitution; you have a martyr complex, so it helps to have some health in the first place before you go throwing it away to save others. Fourth is Dexterity, because it’s just more helpful here. Your Strength isn’t great. I know canon Jeanne can fold street lamps like pretzels, but sacrifices had to be made somewhere. Finally, dump Intelligence. Remember that “zero formal education” thing from earlier? Yeah.

Class Levels

1. Being a Cleric is a given, but being a catholic complicated our choice of domain a bit. Since you’re a monotheist, God falls under every domain, but your personal power set fits best in the Protection domain from an Unearthed Arcana. First level clerics get Spells, which they cast and prepare using their Wisdom. Protection clerics also get a Shield of the Faithful, letting them react to stick a shield or arm between an attacking creature and their target within 5′ of you. This makes the target harder to hit, imposing disadvantage on the attack.

You also have proficiency in Wisdom and Charisma saves, as well as two cleric skills. You’re a part of History, and I’m sure God’ll fill in any blanks you need to know. Religion is an option, but you’re not educated, just really persistent. That’s Persuasion. 

For cantrips, Light will help your dumb human eyes see in the dark and make your flag all glowy for your noble phantasms. Mending will help keep the soldiers’ uniforms in one piece while on campaign, and Spare the Dying will help keep the soldiers in one piece while on campaign.

Clerics prepare their spells, so your exact spell list isn’t a part of character creation, but I’ll still go over some to keep in mind. Compelled Duel and Protection from Evil and Good are part of your domain spell list, so you get them for free. The former can keep your squishier teammates safe by forcing an enemy to target you, while the latter can keep a key member safe from aberrations, celestials, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead. Given the number of golems you end up fighting most events, this is a good spell to keep on hand. Some other spells to keep in mind are Bless and Shield of Faith for combat support, and Healing Word to keep everyone on their feet.

Finally, the question of what weapons to use. The closest thing to a flagpole on the simple weapon list would probably be a Spear, used two-handed. However, your strength isn’t going to be great; you’ll mostly be using this to wave your banner around. You should also keep a Dagger on hand as well. I’d prefer a shortsword, but a dagger’s is the only simple finesse weapon, so it’s what we have to put up with.

2. At second level you can Channel Divinity once per short rest. As a protection cleric, you have two options to pick from.

Turn Undead forces a wisdom save on undead within 30′ of you or they have to run away for a minute or until it takes damage.

Radiant Defense channels holy energy into an ally within 30′ of you as an action. The first time they take damage in the next minute, that energy is released on the attacker, dealing 2d10+your level in radiant damage.

3. Third level clerics get second level spells, including your domain spells Aid and Protection from Poison. The former increases three creatures’ HP totals by five for eight hours, while the latter does exactly what the name describes. Some other spells to look at include Prayer of Healing for when you can’t quite take a short rest, Lesser Restoration for disease and conditions, and Augury to start getting some divine visions.

4. Use your first ASI to become a Heavy Armor Master. This reduces all nonmagical slashing, bludgeoning, and piercing damage by 3 while wearing heavy armor.  Calling what you wear “heavy” armor is a bit generous, but you’re throwing yourself in front of the enemy with d8s for hit dice, you can be a bit generous with yourself.

You also get another cantrip this level. Resistance adds a d4 to an ally’s saving throw, for when you need to be sure Spartacus doesn’t get charmed.

5. At fifth level, your Turn Undead transforms into Destroy Undead. Now when undead of CR 1/2 or lower fail the save, they just die instantly. 

You also get third level spells, including domain spells Protection from Energy and Slow. Sometimes an idiot lizard is throwing fire all over the place and you just don’t want to deal with it, and sometimes the DM gives you a maralith with seven extra attacks. These spells help protect the party from those situations. Some other spells to check out are Aura of Vitality for health regeneration, Beacon of Hope to give your party something to rally around, Daylight for the aesthetic, and Mass Healing Word for when your whole party plays barbarians.

6. You can now Channel Divinity twice between rests, and you are a Blessed Healer. Rather than just healing Brian Blessed, this means that whenever you cast a spell to heal someone else, you also gain life; 2+ the spell’s level, to be exact.

7. Seventh level clerics get fourth level spells. Your domain spells are Guardian of Faith and Otiluke’s Resilient Sphere. The former isn’t that in-character for you, but the latter gives a creature Invincibility at the cost of trapping them inside a hamster ball. Another spell to look over is Divination to ask the big man a question that burning you up inside.

8. Use your next ASI to become an Inspiring Leader. Give the party a 10 minute speech to give them temporary hit points equal to your level + your charisma modifier. You may not know anything about tactics, military history, who you’re fighting, or why you’re fighting, but you’ve got heart, dammit! And that counts for something! 

Also, your Destroy Undead kills at CR 1, and you gain a Divine Strike. Once per turn, you can add 1d8 Radiant damage to an attack for some extra holy favor.

9. Ninth level clerics get fifth level spells, including your final domain spells Antilife Shell and Wall of Force. The former can protect you from other creatures, so long as they aren’t forced through the barrier. The latter creates a solid wall between your party and danger, and is likely the closest you’ll get to invincibility at this level. For other spells, Dawn creates a cylinder of radiant damage you can move around the battlefield, and Mass Cure Wounds cures massive amounts of wounds.

10. You learn to call upon Divine Intervention. You use your action to beg the DM for a literal Deus Ex Machina, and roll percentile dice. If you roll lower than your level, you get some help. You can use this feature once per long rest, but if you succeed you have to wait a week before you use it again.

You also get another cantrip. Guidance lets you back seat game with the help of God, giving a creature a d4 it can add to one ability check.

11. Your Destroy Undead cranks up to killing anything CR 2 or lower, and you can prepare 6th level spells. Find the Path is another form of your Revelation skill, letting you find the most direct route to a chosen location, as long as that location stays in one place on the same plane. You could also check out Heal for, you guessed it, more healing.

12. Use your next ASI to become a leader on the battlefield with Tandem Tactician. Now you can Help as a bonus action with a range of 10 feet, and you can help on two attacks if they’re aimed at the same enemy. You’re not that accurate, so why not help out the who are?

13. Thirteenth level clerics get a Divine Strike Improvement, adding an extra d8 of radiant damage when you use it. You also learn seventh level spells! Divine Word can cripple weakened enemies, and more importantly it forces extraplanar creatures back to their own world for 24 hours. Regenerate is even more healing that you won’t have to pay attention to.

14. Your Destroy Undead increases to affect CR 3 undead. Now Mummies and Wights will tremble before your might! ...Isn’t it weird how the other Channel Divinity option doesn’t get any stronger?

15. Fifteenth level clerics get eighth level spells. Holy Aura will protect your party from anything Wall of Force won’t, Antimagic Field will give you a command spell to counteract most of the nonsense the other servants might be using.

16. Use your ASI to bump up your Wisdom for stronger spell saves.

17. Your Destroy Undead now destroys undead of CR 4 or lower, letting you instantly banish any ghost that comes your way. You also gain an Indomitable Defense. At the end of short or long rests, you can resist two types of damage from the following: Bludgeoning, Necrotic, Piercing, Radiant, and Slashing. You can also use your action to pass these resistances to another creature, who’ll hold onto them until your next rest or until you spend a bonus action to take them back.

Finally, you get 9th level spells! Mass Heal and Power Word: Heal will maximize your healing powers to help the rest of your party stay not dead.

18. You can now Channel Divinity three times per short rest.

19. Use your last ASI to round up your Dexterity for more accuracy and better saves and Charisma for more rousing speeches.

20. At your capstone level, your Divine Intervention Improvement means your calls for some holy help are always successful.

Pros:

You can set up a very strong Defense, shutting down and blocking out enemy attacks and spells. You can impose disadvantage, physically block their advance, counter any magic within 30′ of you, or make their attacks blow up in their face with some Radiant Defense.

Whatever damage does go through won’t be a problem thanks to all your Healing, keeping the rest of the party on their feet until the battle’s won.

Intelligence might be your dump stat, but you’ve got a hotline to the one who knows all, so it’s not a big deal. Spells like Divination and Find the Path will help keep the party pointed in the right direction.

Cons: 

You can’t really do all that much on your own, offensively speaking. Your highest attacking stat is a 14, and that will only help you swing a dagger around.

Your physical stats aren’t that good in general. 143 HP isn’t bad for a caster, but you want to be on the front lines, so it could be an issue. Aid is a great way to cover this weakness, but that does mean you’ll be spending spells to do so. Your low strength also means you’re stuck with the weakest heavy armor available, so your AC isn’t amazing.

You don’t need to worry about getting hit if the enemy has to shoot through a wall though, so stay on the defensive and pray your allies will take up arms with you.

Next up: Animal Abuse!

[themonstrousarchives]

Hunt: Timbern

Apollo “Paul” Robbins [] [] [] [] [] [] [] HP, Armor: 2

Description: The Divine wishes to begin his ritual, but some obstacles are in his way, including a fellow Avatar of the Desolation. An owner of a logging company which is doing mining speculation on the company’s property.

Hook, Session goals: Set up the beginning of the end. Refocus on the Divine’s character goal of bringing about the apocalypse, and secure more resources or allies (or both, potentially) for the Ritual.

This session, the ‘monster’ is a boss.

Apollo “Paul” Robbins

9mm Pistol- 2-harm close loud

Monster Type: Queen (to possess and control)

Powers: Resistant to fire, melting and reforming at will. Can slowly raise the temperature in an area and cook people or things from the inside out without them noticing.

Attacks: 

Contact Burn- 1-harm ignore armor magic fire hand

Frog Boil- 4-harm area innocuous

Weaknesses: Burying him in his own mine, labor unionization, press exposure on the company’s license violations (and the legal consequence of the state enforcing replanting policy)

Minions:

Foreman- Ed Dominici: ([] [] [] [] [] HP, Armor: 1) Loyal to Paul and the company over his workers, about 75% are temporary. Of those 30% are undocumented.

Construction & Loggers ([] [] [] [] []  Armor: 1 for each NPC)- Mostly loyal to the company or at least are not willing to jeopardize their job. Most of them brag about how hard they work, intentionally forgoing breaks as a masculine competition of one-upmanship. A few sensitive souls do exist, and will privately be open to emotional pleas.

Lucas Taylor

Dylan Willis

Patrick Riley

Marvin Pena

Cesar Gould

Brody Hester

Owen Davidson

Kevin Holland

Eli MacGuire

Ramon Costa

Justin Villa

Ramón Cortés

Manuel Cabal

José Mariano

Joaquín Espiga

Ernesto Gallo

Rafael Ortiz

Jonatán Reyes

Countdown:

“Unskilled” workers are hired en masse to build and made to swear utmost secrecy about the mining project. Most workers are... legally vulnerable, and as such have little to no interest compromising their situation.

Robbins Logging Company builds a mine in a hidden corner of the company property. 

The mine opens into a cave system, gold (and pyrite) excavation begins.

Apollo begins arranging dealings with the extracted resources to enrich himself further, filling a bunker with gold bullion. Robbins Logging Company becomes financially intertwined with Lobos Ltd; their security services made necessary.

Due to corporate pressure, the state of California repeals many legal environmental protections to the area, and allows for wholesale destruction of the forest and surrounding biomes.

Entire animal populations collapse from habitat destruction. Dozens of vulnerable workers are killed in workplace accidents. This goes unreported.

Humboldt county, environmentally devastated, becomes an economic wasteland as well, as Lobos Ltd and Robbins Logging Co move elsewhere.

Bystanders:

Construction, Loggers, Miners ([] [] [] [] []  Armor: 1 for each NPC)- see above. Most will not be very helpful but the soft ones will.

William Hayes ([] [] [] [] []  Armor: 1)- a leftist, but is keeping his politics secret, more or less. He could be pushed to encourage the workers to organize but will need help with it by providing resources and cash for the workers to support their families while they strike or otherwise organize.

Locations:

Logging site- obstacles: Foreman (social rolls), the workers

Mine-

1. Rubble coats the ground here. Among the scattered rocks are rusted cans, the occasional pick or hammer, and other antique refuse.

2. More rubble here, but a crack in the wall allows a trickle of spring water through to a small pool in the top corner. There is a box of dynamite in the bottom right corner, farthest away from the corner with the water.

3. A long passageway that betrays many hundred year old footprints, shockingly still intact after so much time. The footprints lead past the cart to the rubble on the right side.

4. Behind the rubble is a Buried avatar, or perhaps Buried Avatars (the collective ghosts of a union who want to destroy and drown the bourgeois in their vengeance). Negotiating with them will be volatile depending on the PCs- if this were any other adventure they would be a full-fledged monster (powers: overwhelming and subsuming, trampling, destruction. weakness: division, separation, isolation, the government, leftist infighting).

5. This chamber has three entrances, and at the end of the center path is a modern mining drill that’s been assembled. To the left of it is an antique hand-crank drill. The modern drill requires some specialized knowledge or training to set it, which Apollo has. If he is killed, some of the construction workers will be able to set it.

Cold Open: 

An old Volkswagen bus, painted in psychedelic colors and shapes, jostles its passengers as it drives slowly through the redwood forest under cover of night. Inside, an ancient, distorted voice croons a melancholy tune over an equally distorted acoustic guitar. The driver and passenger however, don’t sing along- their faces are downcast, the wrinkles forming on their old visages incongruent with the laugh lines that have made their mark.

There’s a gravity to this drive, as if they know this will be the last time they do this. The driver- a long haired man with grey hair that’s yellowed over the years of rough living, puts the bus into park and looks at his partner in crime, love, free love, and cultural appropriation. She wears thick round glasses that magnify her eyes comically, and an old felt hat stained with moss with way, way too many ratty feathers tucked into its band. She pats his upper arm and smiles meekly, like a turtle trying to sell someone a crystal.

The pair step out of the bus, chains in hand, with weights attached and dragging in the leaf litter behind them. They stand before a large tree, marked for logging the next day, when someone steps out from behind them.

“Donna. Craig.“

“Is that you, Apollo? Our little boy...”

“It’s Paul. That isn’t my name anymore. It hasn’t been in a long time.”

“Dancer? Get the chains in place-”

“Donna you should stop where you are and go back to whatever parking lot will have you and your decrepit relic. If you know what’s good for your miserable little lives. What little life you have left.”

“Apoll- Paul, we know we made mistakes raising you, but this is beyond that. What you’re doing here, it’s been wrong since before we ever donned tie dye. You know that we can’t- even if you’re our son, we can’t look away.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” The tall man stares his parents down, unmoving.

Hours later, a pillar of smoke billows as Paul Robbins of Robbins Logging Company sits down at his desk and lights a cigar.

[princesssarcastia]

The Morning After aka How To Tell Your Super-Powered Kids You Just Murdered Their Abusive Father

heyo, here it is, in honor of season 2 coming out in *checks watch* like three days!!

the sequel to Reginald Hargreeves Die Challenge, in which Grace cares for her children, considers the unquantifiable elements in the human condition, and struggles to start (and finish) a terrible conversation.

also on AO3, if you’d prefer

_ _ _ _ _ _

Grace tuts at her reflection in passing as she makes her way up the stairs.  Her dress will have to be burned; stains from the ashes at the crematorium liberally speckle the skirt, and she won’t be able to get them out.   And now she has to change first thing, instead of looking in on her children like she normally does before shutting down for the night.

Oh, well.  Some deviations from her routine are to be expected tonight.  In fact, she may have to create a whole new routine, now that Sir Reginald is no longer a factor.  

She shucks off her dress in front of the closet where Sir Reginald stored her accessories and holds it for a moment, considering, before dropping it dismissively in the corner, crumpled.  Her hands run gently over the selection of new outfits, before settling on the sole black article; an A-line tea length hem.

Adhering to cultural rituals, like wearing black after the passing of a loved one or relative, put humans at ease.

With only a few tugs to adjust how the new dress rests on her, Grace pivots and makes her way back down the stairs, toward her children.

Her children.

It’s still a new designation, and something about it is electrifying.

—

Vanya, dear girl, is soundly asleep; her still form barely rises and falls with each breath.

Ben looks up sheepishly as she enters, setting aside his book and clicking off his bedside light before she even has to ask.  Grace smiles down at him and pulls the covers up around him as he reclines, and he smiles back.

Klaus is sprawled on his back in the center of his bed, snoring loudly; he forgot to shut his lights off again, so Grace turns them off for him.  She leaves his bedsheets twisted at his feet, however.  After the first three times he woke up screaming and tangled in them, some brief research indicated Klaus might be suffering from moderate to severe sleep-related claustrophobia.

It takes almost six minutes to convince Five to leave his calculations for tomorrow, but he relents when she recites research about adequate sleep patterns and their effect on brain development.

Luther asked her to stop tucking him in at night after a few pointed comments from Sir Reginald months ago, so Grace doesn’t enter his room.  Just a quick peek around the corner to make sure he’s in bed, at least.

Diego mumbles when she gently pushes his hair back from his forehead but doesn’t wake.

Allison is sitting in the middle of her bed, arms wrapped around her knees and face tucked away.  Grace steps on the creaky floorboard in the doorway to catch her attention.

Her head whips up.  “Mom?”

Grace instantly considers and discards three different facial expressions before settling on a solemn nod.  “Are you alright, Allison?”

“Mom, what—” her voice cracks.  “Where’s Dad?”

Now, Grace smiles, because she hasn’t considered how to answer that question yet and can’t respond. Her processors whir almost audibly, but it doesn’t—compute.  At last, she says, “Everything is going to be just fine, dear.  Don’t you worry,” and rests a hand on Allison’s cheek.

Her daughter’s eyes widen at the gesture; so rare, but perhaps—perhaps it won’t have to be anymore. She sweeps her thumb across Allison’s skin once, twice, before gently pushing at her shoulders so she lies down.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Allison asks haltingly, as Grace starts to leave. 

Grace pauses, hand on the door.  She blinks several times rapidly, to indicate she’s considering her response.  After a moment, she tilts her head back to Allison and gives her a smaller, warmer smile than the one before.  The smile she only ever gives to them.  “Yes, dear.  I think I’ll be just fine.”

Then she gently pulls the door shut behind her and walks back upstairs to her charging station.

The woman in the gallery painting still looks lonely, but—not as much as she did yesterday.   Grace tries to arrange her limbs like the woman’s, with her arm partially raised, though her expression isn’t quite right.  Her expression is never quite right; never exactly like the woman in the painting.

She shuts down for the night.

—

A preset alarm in her subroutines pulls her out of charging at six am.  Grace slowly initializes, eyelids dragging open as the cords retract, and takes stock of her systems.  Energy levels below optimal, but that’s to be expected, given she was two hours late to bed last night. 

She’ll have to find help overriding her self-maintenance protocols so she can edit her own code. [priority one] is currently overriding the lesser behavioral instructions, making several of them defunct, and the now-useless code is slowing down her processors.  Grace would like to get rid of them entirely, just to be certain the children are safe.

So many things to do today!

But first, pancakes for her children.

Diego stumbles into the kitchen two minutes after Grace, still yawning and rubbing his eyes. 

Sir Reginald never cared about the children’s activities before breakfast, so long as they were not seen, nor heard, and they all took advantage of this to do different things.  Diego comes to help her make breakfast.  Grace has been teaching him to cook for weeks, now, after he showed some interest in it. If Sir Reginald asked, she would tell him basic chemistry principles illustrated by cooking and baking are a good foundation for later study, but he never did.  The kitchen was never a place he spent much time, after all.

Her son—the possessive is still electrifying this morning—sleepily reaches for the ingredients for oatmeal, their usual weekday breakfast, only to stop and blink as he notices what she has out instead.

“We’re going to make pancakes this morning, Diego,” Grace says with hushed excitement.  Loud noises are uncomfortable so soon after waking.

“But…” Diego starts, then trails off.  His shoulder hunch ever so slightly, indicating he’s uncomfortable with the change in routine.  That’s to be expected, too; but the new routines will be better.

“It’s all right, dear. Look at the recipe, there,” she points, “and help me measure out the dry ingredients.”

And then the kitchen is silent except for his movements and hers, and the low hum of heat from the stove as she melts butter in the skillet, inaudible to human ears but perfectly clear to Grace.

She slides the bowl towards herself when he finishes measuring and deftly cracks the eggs into the bowl, then hands him the shells with a small smile. 

He grins back at her, earlier discomfort forgotten, as he throws the shells across the room to the garbage can in a perfect arc.

Stir in the milk, the oil, careful not to over-mix!, and then she starts pouring batter into the skillet.  Diego starts moving furtively in her peripheral; Grace pointedly keeps her focus on the pan in front of her, allowing him to pull bacon out of the fridge and make it all the way back to the stove before she glances at him.

“W-we need protein, ri-i-i—" he stops with a huff.  Grace waits patiently for him to try again, beaming when he finishes, “Right?”

“I suppose it’s alright for today.”

Grace calculates another twenty seconds before she needs to flip, so she turns and pulls the flat skillet out of the bottom cabinet and sets it on an open burner, cranking the heat all the way up to get it ready.

With one hand, she flips the first pancake, and with the other she peels back the paper on the meat and lines it up, wiping cold grease off on her apron.

“Why don’t you try the next one?” She says when the first pancake is done.  Diego nods seriously, the way he does when Sir Reginald assigns him a task in training.  Grace pauses, then ruffles his hair as they switch places, earning another surprised look from Diego.

Her systems say it’s 6:30 a.m.; the other children will start making their way here in another ten minutes.  Pogo never eats with the children or Sir Reginald, so he won’t come to the kitchen until mid-morning, for tea and toast; by then, Grace will have calculated the best way to break the news to him.

But the children….her processors kick up a notch as she considers the conundrum before her.  When her sensors register the flat skillet has reached 400° F Grace slides the first round of bacon onto it.

She can calculate each of their likely reactions to the news that their father is dead.  Calculating their response to the fact that Grace is the one who removed him requires more data.  And there is the problem of how to tell them.

Saying she killed Sir Reginald because he raised a hand to Allison would be truthful; but it would place a burden on Allison and is not the entire truth. 

The entire truth is that she killed Sir Reginald because she is responsible for protecting them; because he hit them and it wasn’t training; because he ignored them at bedtime; because he trained them to kill other people; because he made them hurt each other; because he sent them to bed exhausted every night and woke them up early; because he didn’t want them to be happy; because he didn’t want them to love each other; because he didn’t let Grace brush hair from their foreheads or kiss their cheeks or read them bedtime stories or make their favorite foods or tell them she—[error] [error] [error] [priority one] [priority one override] —

“Mom, I think the bacon’s done,” Diego says, as he attempts to slide the spatula under his second attempt at a pancake.

Grace smiles at him and keep smiling as she removes the strips and places them on a cloth covered plate.  Another seven slide on easy as you please, the sizzling sound of hot grease rising in the kitchen.

His third pancake is much better than his first and second; he looks up at her hopefully, and Grace knows he is looking for approval.  He often looked at Sir Reginald with the same expression, but Sir Reginald ignored the research on positive reinforcement because he believed it made his soldiers weak.

But Sir Reginald isn’t here anymore.

“Wonderful job, Diego,” she says softly, and starts pulling plates out of the cabinets and silverware out of the drawers and sets it all in stacks on the table because today is Five’s turn to set everything up.

Another round of bacon goes on the skillet, and she sets up a third to speed up the pancakes; they’re going to need a lot more to adequately feed seven growing girls and boys! Her processing attention splits between the food and her calculations about the discussion ahead.

Can Grace…lie to them?

She’s done it before, when Sir Reginald tells her to.  About Vanya’s powers, and about what’s best for their physical, mental, and emotional health.  But given how detrimental most of Sir Reginald’s other actions were to them, Grace determines that lying is unlikely to be the best way to proceed.

The problem is that unfortunate element of unpredictability in human behavior.  Grace is not human, and her children are, and this is limiting. If her children were like her, she could simply transmit her [priority one] and the calculations she made the night before, standing in Sir Reginald’s office and holding his arm in a vise grip.

But they are not, so she cannot. 

And there are no calculable lies with as much supporting evidence in their surroundings and the children’s memories of her and Sir Reginald’s behavior as the truth has. 

There are myriad possible responses from them.  Anger and violence against her are likely, given the training they have received and the behavior they have observed in their father as a role model.  Relief and dread are also likely, in some of them.

Fear is also a possible response.  Fear of Grace.  Fear that she might kill them the way she killed their father.  That possibility is wrong, it is anathema to her purpose; [priority one] forbids it.  And even if it didn’t, she—she—[error]

Five teleports into the room behind them and moves to start putting together place settings, but when the smell of bacon and pancakes registers, he stops, and frowns.

“Why are you making that? It’s Thursday, we eat oatmeal on Thursdays.”

Grace slides the last set of bacon from the skillet and turns off the burner.  “Today is an unusual day, Five.  We’ll discuss it when the rest of your siblings arrive.  Now, finish setting the table, please.”

What if they decide to shut Grace down?  Then there will be no one to care for the children, they will be alone.  Would they call the local authorities to be placed in foster care?

Sir Reginald was never this hard to predict.  And even the children were easier to calculate when he was alive, because certain behaviors were infinitely more likely and unlikely in his presence.  But Grace is still certain her logic last night was sound; his death was the only way to protect them.   She will simply have to protect them no matter what their response is.  No matter if they are angry at her or scared of her or try to shut her off.

That’s what mothers are supposed to do.  That’s what fathers are supposed to do, too.

She and Diego finish the last of the batter.  He takes the towering, wobbly stack of pancakes to the table in slow steps to maintain its balance.

“Five, get the glasses, please,” she calls over her shoulder as she pulls milk and orange juice out of the fridge and brings them to the table.  Five teleports onto the counter to get them, and then teleports back across the room to set them down.

Grace considers scolding him, but his feet are bare, still in his pajamas as he is, and the counter was clean.  And he was doing as she asked without complaint. 

Klaus and Ben clatter into the kitchen and the noise level in the room raises to 85 decibels.

They, too, come to a halt when they see what Grace and Diego have made for breakfast this morning, but then Klaus turns to look at her more fully. 

“Whoa, Mom, what the hell are you wearing?” Klaus says.  “You never wear anything that isn’t a color.”

“Oh, well,” Grace looks down and runs her hands along the side seams, making infinitesimal adjustments, “I thought it was appropriate today.”

Klaus’ nose wrinkles in confusion, and Five raises an eyebrow at her, taking in the new data and, Grace decides, most likely trying to figure out what’s happening before she tells them.  It’s something he does with Sir Reginald, as well; as part of his situational awareness training, and also outside of his training, as a way to elicit a negative emotional response.

Grace calculates the likelihood of him succeeding today at 17% currently, though that number will rise with more time and data.  Unless he has spoken to Allison and she told him what happened last night, but that seems even less likely.

Vanya enters and slips into her seat at the head of the table so quietly the others don’t notice right away, but Grace tilts her head to catch Vanya’s eyes and smiles widely. Vanya blinks and gives a little wave in response.

Quiet chatter between them fills the kitchen as Five finishes setting places, and the others make it to their assigned seats.  Allison and Luther enter together, at the very last minute before they are due.  She gives Luther a cursory examination, and he appears puzzled with Allison, who is as tense as she was last night.  When she catches sight of Grace, standing with her hands folded at her waist, she freezes.

“Allison,” Grace says warmly, “how are you this morning?”

“Um.  Alright,” she says hesitantly.

After they both sit, Grace follows suit, settling at the other end opposite Vanya, and her children all send her various quizzical looks.  Five takes her presence at the table, when she normally cleans the kitchen while they eat breakfast, as another clue, but his expression is missing that triumphant edge he gets when he’s figured something out.

“Well,” Grace starts, smile wide.  “I hope you all slept well.”

Klaus reaches for his silverware and starts serving himself, affecting unconcern, but Grace can see the hesitation in his shoulders.  When Grace says nothing, the others all follow suit, carefully taking food and placing it on their plates.

She knows their tension is because she has altered their routine; her research indicates that children who have been—abused, by men like Sir Reginald, find comfort in routines.  But this change today is necessary.

“There will be some necessary changes in your routines starting today,” Grace continues, circling around why to get to what instead.  “All meals will be held in the kitchen until further notice.  Your training and classes will be different, too.”

None of them say a word against the idea, keeping their gazes locked on their plates as they eat, because they don’t yet realize she isn’t a mouthpiece for their father anymore. His authority is unassailable.  Grace’s is not.

“And,” she hesitates, “Sir Reginald will not be—here.  To oversee it.”

Now they look up.  “Really?”  Klaus asks excitedly, as Five’s eyes narrow at her, that much closer to working it out. Vanya simply blinks, but her brow is slightly furrowed; Ben has stilled, his hands halfway between his plate and his mouth.  Diego fidgets, pulling one of his knives from his sleeve and flipping it into the air. Allison’s expression indicates she is nauseated. 

Luther frowns.

“Why won’t father be here? Did,” his eyes glimmer, “did we do something wrong?”

“No,” Grace says firmly. “None of you did anything wrong.”

“Are we being punished?”

“It’s not a punishment.”

“Where is he?”  Ben asks.  “If he’s not going to be here, then, where is he?”

Grace is certain the correct answer is not, ‘scattered in ashes along the riverbed’, no matter that it is the truth, but she still doesn’t quite understand how to put it so they will understand.

“Is it because of what happened last night?”  Allison asks, one of her hands coming up to trace the side of her face.  The exact spot, Grace calculates, where Sir Reginald would have struck her if Grace had allowed it.

“What happened last night?” Five demands, leaning across the table toward Allison.

Allison darts a glance at Grace, then Luther.  “I—I was angry that he wouldn’t say goodnight to us.  So, when you all left, I,” she lowers her head, “I tried to rumor him.”

The table erupts, all of them making noise at once.  Klaus and Diego appear impressed, the former even reaching across to proffer his hand for a high-five; Vanya’s eyes go wide, and she grips her own arms, whispering, “You’re not supposed to use your powers on him;” Ben and Five exchange a glance and then look to Grace; Luther’s frown deepens into outrage as he says, “Allison, how could you?  You know he just doesn’t have time for stupid stuff like bedtimes.”

They all start to talk over one another, except for Allison who pales, indicating a loss of blood flow to her face, and Five, who is still looking at Grace.

Finally, before Grace can even attempt to regain their attention, Five cuts through the noise.  “And then what happened?”

Allison’s throat moves as she swallows.  “Um.” She rubs her face again, and Five’s expression changes, as does Klaus’.  “He tried to hit me,” her voice falls quieter with every word.  Luther seems more upset, now, as does Vanya.

“Tried?” Five prompts when she doesn’t say anything else.

Allison shifts in her seat, and Grace cuts in, sensing her discomfort.  “I caught his hand before he did and sent Allison to bed.”

“Holy shit,” Klaus breathes.

“Language,” Grace admonishes, gently, and he mumbles an apology.

“But…” Luther starts again, eyes darting from face to face, “Why would you do that?  What does that have to do with Dad not being here anymore?”

“Fathers aren’t supposed to hit their children,” Grace says evenly.

“But Allison was trying to rumor him!”

“That doesn’t make it right.”  Grace sees his confusion, still, and tries to explain.  “Fathers are supposed to be,” she tries to quantify love and devotion and care and attention, “kind.”  Thinks further, about training and hitting and bruises and blood.  “They’re supposed to protect their children.”  Thinks about disappointed faces at bedtime, and silent meals, and ignored questions, and continues, “They’re supposed to raise their children.

“Sir Reginald was not kind to you all, and he did not protect you.  I think,” Grace looks at them, meeting their eyes as a way to emphasize her seriousness, “that he hurt you all a great deal.  My function as your mother is to protect you, even from Sir Reginald.”

All seven of her children have fallen utterly still, eyes trained on her in complete silence, and shock, and, in Five’s case, as his gaze darts to her black dress and back to her face, realization.  His face pales even more drastically than Allison’s had, two minutes ago.

“What happened to Dad?” Luther asks, his voice breaking in the middle, and some line of code or processor or something in Grace malfunctions, if only for a moment, to hear him make that sound.

“Luther,” Five says, and Ben and Diego look at him.

“What happened to Dad?” Luther says, louder this time.  “What happened to him?  Tell me!” He shouts and stands up from the table, his warped silverware clattering onto the table.

Grace stands as well and starts to make her way around the table toward Luther, ignoring Diego’s, “Mom, what—” and Five’s, “Luther!” so she can give Luther her full attention

“Where’s our Dad?” Luther screams in her face as she reaches him and grabs her arm and starts squeezing.  “Tell me, tell me where he is!”

“Luther, darling,” Grace says, and does nothing to stop him, “he’s gone.  Sir Reginald is—your father is gone.”

His chest rises and falls rapidly, much faster than is optimal; Grace calculates he’ll start to hyperventilate in another twenty seconds if he continues.  “What did you do?”  He cries, and his voice breaks again, and Grace senses something in her malfunction again.

The plating on her arm is sending out alerts that it will become compromised if the current pressure continues.  Luther’s knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on her arm.

“I calculated the best way to keep you all safe,” Grace says calmly, shaking her head at Diego when he moves to intervene.  All of the children have risen, now.   “Sir Reginald could not be allowed to hurt you anymore.  The authorities would have been unable to apprehend him, and he would not have stopped treating you the way he did.”

“Mom,” Diego whispers, but she doesn’t look away from Luther, who tightens his grip again and cracks the outer casing on her arm with a loud noise.  The others jolt in place, but Luther keeps breathing rapidly and starts to cry.

“Your father is dead, Luther,” Grace says at last.  For all her calculations, and study of human behavior, there is no other way to say this than plainly.  “I killed him.”

He lets loose a harsh, broken cry, and Grace catalogues it as the most human sound she’s ever heard. Unquantifiable.

Now, she raises her free hand to cup the side of Luther’s face, lets her thumb sweep across his cheek in a soothing gesture for the first time in his life.  His expression crumples and he lets out another shout as tears begin to leak from his eyes, and Grace catches one and smooths it away.  “I’m so sorry, dear.”

“How could you?”  Luther jerks away from her hand and releases her arm, stumbling backwards into the kitchen table.  Plates and silverware rattle and shift, and some of the milk and juice sloshes over the sides of their glasses and onto the wood.

“Luther,” Five says again, the pitch of his voice much lower, making his way around to his brother. Allison steps into him, too, and the pair of them clutch at Luther until he grabs back, much more gently than he had Grace.

None of them take their eyes off Grace for more than a few seconds at a time, a kind of watchfulness they had previously only reserved for Sir Reginald.  Grace reviews her earlier calculations on fear being part of their reaction to the news and lets it go.

The news has hurt them, she realizes suddenly; all of them, she recognizes as she turns to see all of them at once.  Even if it was for the best, Grace has—hurt her children.  And that means that she has failed to uphold her protocol today.

Diego reaches out to her and Grace automatically reaches back, will always automatically reach back to her children now that she will be allowed, and wraps her arms around him, careful to avoid getting the leaking oil from her broken casing on his pajamas.

“Mom,” he says, looking up at her as he hugs her middle, “are you okay?”

“Of course, dear,” she smiles down at him and squeezes him, gently.  “Are you okay, Diego?”

“I thi-i-ink so,” Diego says forcefully, and then sniffles.  “Is Si-i-r Reginald really gone?”

“Yes,” she says softly.

Klaus and Ben are looking at each other while Five and Allison still do their best to comfort Luther. Vanya stands listlessly by her seat with an uncertain expression.  Grace can read grief and fear in all of their faces and bodies, and anger.

Part of her programming tries to override her current actions and offer solutions to their feelings: encourage them to finish breakfast, make cookies, soothe and console and make sure they’re all right until the hurt fades and Grace is no longer paining them simply by existing.

But her knowledge of human behavior, and of these seven in particular, allows her to determine that those actions are unlikely to be successful.  Her children will continue to be in pain, and there is very little Grace can do to fix it.  

[danielletinybruiser]

The Good Fight New York/New Jersey Open 7/31/21

I competed yesterday! And I actually feel really good about it! I'm a writer, so, writing about my experiences helps me really grasp them and process them and such, so, here goes! 

And also: as always, when I compete, it's in basically no-stakes tournaments for anybody. I'm not going to big competitions, I'm just doing this as a hobby and going to light fires under my butt and test my skills as they are in the moment. So, I take it seriously, but I don't go into this with delusions of grandeur! I do not think I am the next Danielle Kelly.

(Content warning for weight here, I talk about it a fair bit!)

I think I prepared pretty well this time around! I trained *a lot* and took conditioning very seriously. I also had a funny thing with weight: since getting my (cough, cough, under my breath) Peleton - I've been riding a lot and running a ton using the app. I sure thought I was being a genius doing frequent two-a-day cardio workouts, thinking "oh yeah, I'll be 125 no problem." Instead, obviously, I gained some muscle weight from doing tons of high intensity interval workouts. It's a good thing! I'm so much stronger than I was, walking now at 134-137, and my cardio is very solid. But it did mean having to be very conscious of weight to ensure I came in at 135 on Saturday.

Again, this should actually be ideal for this level of competition (read: LOW), because it means my walking weight and competition weight are super nice and close (I used to be around 126-129 and still competed at 135, thanks to the other major tournament I do having nothing between 120 and 135), and I feel so much more durable.

An action shot! Thanks for reading so far! Lol

So, I was strict with my diet for the last month (I usually am, this just meant no cheat days for a couple of weeks, really), and did weigh-ins periodically, then every day in the last week. It also meant doing a little bit of math and knowing exactly what kind of food I could have in the morning, and what was safe to do in terms of sweating just in case. It was good to know, because that came in handy!

Yesterday morning, I woke up at 136.2 (you get a 1lb allowance, so I was only .2 over). I did a shorty 15 minute HIIT workout so I could have a tiny bit of food and fluid, being very careful to not dehydrate or do anything stupid. I'm not going to cut weight for this, lol, but it would be truly ridiculous for me, at my height (5'5") and body composition (muscular, but not JACKED), to have to go in at 145 for being, you know, .2 over.

The nice side effect of a short workout in the morning was helping my nerves a little bit (they were BAD), so at least that helped me breathe. I don't know if I've ever been this anxious before competing before, and I'm not sure exactly why — I know there are no stakes besides my pride, there's no money on the line, this isn't my career! This is my hobby, for fuck's sake, so I don't know why my body interpreted "lets compete" as "we are going to WAR and we might DIE," but there it was! I was scared! Brains are stupid!

We got a tiny bit lost on the way, but it was ok because things were running behind at the tournament. No problem at all. I made weight (135.6) and started to warm up. The venue had plenty of extra space on a turf field to warm up, and Viki was a SAINT, not only to drive my nervous ass over, but to help me warm up about six times. I felt better after just drilling and flow rolling a tiny bit.

It was a long wait, but my gi division was up first. I had one opponent at bantamweight, so, a small bracket in gi.

Here's how it goes in a submission-only tournament: you have your brackets, for a full division it's basically semi-finals and finals, with a bronze medal match and the two winners do a gold/silver match. With two, it's best two out of three wins gold, the other person gets silver.

For blue belts, we have eight minute regulation matches. No points, no advantages, no stupid bullshit (sorry, I hate points tournaments). If you both survive eight minutes with no submissions, you go into overtime rounds: a back take, a spiderweb/armbar, and a classic head and arm triangle. For each, the defender needs to escape, and the attacker needs to submit. If you successfully escape, and you successfully submit, you win! If both people escape, or both people submit, you go to the next round, and it repeats as needed (back, armbar, triangle).

It's a great format, imo, and really suits my style: I play defense, I like to wear people down, and then go for it when I see an opportunity. I will play all kinds of wild positions and try to get creative and weird with it, and frankly have fun, and I think submission-only facilitates that!

Still, I was so goddamned nervous.

We started the match and it was ON. My opponent and I were really, really well matched. Size and skill wise, we gave each other a lot of hell. It was rough, too, and I have all the bruises on my face to prove it! But I was having fun. A lot of fun.

Overtime action shot!

Our match went through regulation, to overtime. I escaped her back take, but her coaches fought with the ref a little. I offered to do it again, because, hey, I want to do it better. This may have been stupid of me, but I also, like... the reason I like sub-only so much is that I hate stupid technicalities and bullshit. So I offered to go again and did! And I escaped pretty well. On my turn to attack, I submitted her.

I honestly couldn't believe I won a match in gi. The last time I got a gold medal in gi, it was because I went to the 30+ division, and my opponent was 53. I was happy to win that day, but like... c'mon. I was 35 at the time. In sub-only, women don't have age categories, and I believe my opponent was maybe a bit younger than me, but probably not far from my age, and tough as hell. She was my size, we were well-matched in strength. And she BROUGHT IT.

I remember that going through my head, like "you can win in gi???" I could hardly believe it. I got my hand raised IN GI.

This felt great, and I was basically in shock.

(I won't belabor this, but I hate the gi. I think I'm terrible in it. Tuesday night - my last hard training day before competition, I did ok, but felt demoralized. I almost cried after training and told Viki that night "I don't think I'm going to compete in gi" and thought about pulling my registration. This is why I couldn't believe it, lol).

We had a short break and went again. Again, we did the full regulation match - she had an armbar at one point that I escaped, and I did have a last second back take and choke attempt, but I ran out of time. We went to overtime, I escaped her back take... and I remember, in the moment, getting ready for my turn to attack: "this is probably for a medal. IN GI. You are this close!" and I cinched it with a submission. I got my hand raised again. I thanked her and her coaches, and even chatted with them a little.

We went to the podium - another woman congratulated me on the match, saying she watched it and love dit. The podium worker said the same, and I was flattered. Kirsten (my opponent, who again, was fucking AWESOME and tough) and I did the podium thing, getting our medals and taking pictures.

Podium action shot!

Then, it was off to watch my teammate Ollie compete and kick ass,  and then get changed for no-gi, where I absolutely knew Kirsten was going to come for blood, lol.

It still didn't feel real: a gold medal? Me? Danielle? Gi-hating Danielle who almost cried after just training in a gi on Tuesday night (again, nothing went wrong, lol, my training partners are incredibly conscientious and were preparing me!) - I let myself wear the medal for a couple of minutes before putting it in the backpack.

Even now, just about 24 hours later, it doesn't feel completely real. I swear, I only even compete in the gi because it's just five bucks more to do both divisions, and you may as well get all the rolls you can on a day you are showing up.

There was a pretty big time gap between gi and no gi, but I was honestly a little nervous again. They put a (fantastic) purple belt (that's the next skill level up if you aren't familiar with jiu jitsu, and a pretty huge gap for me, being honest) in our division, and I faced her first. There was really no pressure at all here, I do not expect to win against a purple belt. I feel — very honestly — that I have a very, very long way to go in blue. Based on how the day went, I do feel like I'm on my way, and making real improvements — But I'm no where near purple.

I survived about five minutes of an eight minute regulation period, and did survive a pretty intense back take at first, but she got me with a second back take and rear naked choke/crank. All the power to her!

Then, the bronze medal match was between me and Kirsten again (who I faced in gi). Holy shit, this was a doozy. We fought really, really hard in regulation. I know she wanted it BADLY after gi, and I could tell she had serious wrestling and probably Judo as well in her background. She tossed my ass around! It was rough and it was tough, and my face is a little fucked up today, not going to lie. But I loved it, and loved rolling with her — she had such good pressure, and beautiful knee cuts, and she was strong and fast and athletic.

We went through regulation, to the first overtime. I won the "rock paper scissors" to determine who went first and I took her back... and she escaped. She did her back attack, and I escaped. 

At this point, I was TIRED. Not no much cardio-tired (I have myself conditioned pretty well), but... "I want to lie down and sleep" tired. But I got her in the armbar position for the second round, squeezed... and got the tap! Again, I thought "you are this close to a medal!" and defended the second round armbar well.. I really, really thought I was out, but in the last possible instant she just NAILED IT and got my arm back and I had to tap. It was fantastic, she did well to grab it back.

So, we went to a third round of overtime. Triangle. I had her in, squeezed, cut the angle... and got the tap! Yes! Now, I really knew I was close. I tapped her, all I needed to do was escape her triangle and I'd have a bronze in no-gi. I wanted it. I really wanted it!

I got into her triangle. It was tight right away (which it should be!), I *thought* I had stacked her in the correct position to escape, I thought I could do it...

And then... I remember dreaming. I started coming to, thinking I was asleep in my bed, and that i was dreaming about competition. I started to become conscious, and I heard her say "I think she's out!" and saw her face and the ref's face. It took me a few moments, but I realized where I was, and that I had passed out completely. She sank a PERFECT blood choke on me. Absolutely picture perfect.

I sort of kept saying, in my confusion "I'm ok! I'm ok!" and shook her hand and kind of stumbled off the mat.

Me, laughing in utter confusion after taking a nice nap on the mat (my opponent was really nice about it!)

Later on, I realized: we were actually supposed to go to a fourth overtime round! We both submitted to a triangle (if you lose consciousness, that counts as a tap!), and I believe the ref was actually asking me if I wanted to continue. Hand to heart, I'm not trying to save face, I just didn't realize it at all, in my complete confusion. I accidentally forfeited by walking off, lol. I seriously had no idea, and honestly, it was probably better that I didn't try to do another round THAT confused.

But still, that is absolutely going to be something I kick myself about, for forever. Just being THAT CLOSE.

By the way, I will say: it was the second time losing consciousness in jiu jitsu (and the first time... I'm not sure I was all the way out, this time I absolutely was) — it doesn't hurt. I'm not saying it's pleasant or great, exactly, it's very, very disorienting, because you actually start to dream a bit and have NO IDEA where you are for a few. But I would rather that than a broken arm or a torn ACL, so, as things happen on the mat, really not a terrible experience.

Kirsten deserves all the respect in the world — she put me out, and FAST (I had no idea how fast until Viki told me, lol. I sure thought I was fighting it for much longer!). She was wonderful to compete with, and I felt we were very evenly matched and got the best out of one another. I chatted with her afterward and we both complimented one another.

Overall, I'm proud of how hard I fought. I know that, in competition, I have absolutely defeated my self before, and gotten so discouraged. It's never conscious, I will always push, I will always mechanically force myself to get back up and get back out. Always. But mentally, in the past, I've really fucked myself.

Yesterday, I vowed to stay patient, and I actually did. I stuck to a gameplan fully: patience, defense, attacking whenever I saw or felt an opportunity. I actually feel, for the first time, that I did my best out there, the best I can do with my jiu jitsu right now, at 4.5 years of training, as a blue belt with one stripe.

That is a wildly unfamiliar feeling. Every other time I've competed, I've come out with at least a few things that were "holy christ, I am terrible at X and need to work on Y." The only other slight exception was the sub only tournament I got my first-ever medals at (silver in both) where I legitimately shocked myself. Even then, I had a couple of specific things I needed to work on (ankle lock defense! I still think about it!)

I'm a little bit beat up today (that armbar I thought I was out of, then got caught right at the last second? I tapped on time, but "on time" with adrenaline is "a tiny bit late" so it hurts like hell today), and will probably just do cardio for a few days to take time to heal up before going back to grappling. But I feel really proud. I feel good about it. I feel stupid as hell for accidentally forfeiting, but overall very pleased with the day.

Where do I go from here? Rubber guard, baby! I want to get *great* at rubber guard. And this has given me a huge boost to keep chipping away at gi, no matter how much I may hate it in the moment. Because I won yesterday, I do get a free invitation to the submission only worlds for this tournament, so, that's something I can think about...

But for now... I'm going to try and let the good parts sink in. Viki got me victory pizza last night, and holy shit, I don't know if anything has ever tasted so good :D

[houseki-no-suffering]

Pssst.... gush about some thing you’ve wanted to for so long but haven’t found the ask to do so! I really like reading your metas or off-the-wall posts.

aw ty!

mmmh usually i just crank out a random meta when i feel like it, which i havent had the energy to do in a while. so have a lot of hcs about gem language, gem society and how it resembles a totalitarian system cause why not, this is already a dystopia. 

goes from cute to shady real quick, have fun

Gem Vocabulary

gems have no gender, they dont age, they dont reproduce. the whole vocabulary about relationships, aging and sex must be completely different in gem language. they probably lack a lot of words we commonly use, and have unique words for things we dont have (like winter duty, patrol duty... i wouldnt be surprised if gem language had unique grammatical features for those)

this is one of the reasons why its so unfair of aechmea to call cairn ‘wife’ and ‘princess.’ the gems have no concept of wife-ness, we dont know if a gem equivalent of marriage exists, but its definitely much, much different from what the lunarians (and us) perceive as one.

do gems have anything akin coming of age? this could be weird bc gems can potentially live forever, but they can also be abducted by the lunarians at any time, so who’s to say how long a lustrous will live? how do you calculate being ‘of age’? is it by calculating the average life-span of a gem? 

how do they measure time and seasons? we know they have winter and summer and phos mentions ‘spring’ in chapter 20, but what about months and lunar phases? do they have words for that or are months just too small a timeframe for the immortal lustrous to utilize? how do they measure time? in hours and seconds? weeks? different units altogether?

Gem Relationships

similarly, gem relationships are codified in a completely different way. we know they have a concept of romance bc dia ships phos and shinsha and makes comments here and there about other gems being in love. 

at the same time, the relationships btw alexandrite and chrysoberyl, padpa and rutile, ghost/cairn and lapis etc are little different from ‘pure’ sibling/sibling relationships or senpai/kohai relationships.

this is not to say that they’re all romantic in nature, but the way they’re codified in canon (especially in the way the characters grief for their partner) makes me think that even if the gems have no blood/physical kinship with one another they have a very articulated system of establishing family bonds.

dia and bort are clearly siblings, but the same can’t be said, for example, for rutile and padpa, even if they were partners and even if they display a similar junior/senior relationship. this means that relationships are predicated on something else in hnk, and kinship, family and romance are all codified in a different way.

think of vulcans in star trek: physical contact such as two fingers touching, holding hands and kissing is unknown of (save for very specific circumstances). and vulcan people have a completely different way of expressing intimacy and romance than humans. 

this makes me think: just how many canonically romantic relationships are there in hnk (if any) that we’re simply unaware of bc the way gems codify and express romance is so different from ours? is romance even common? rare? perceived as weird? useless? 

what about other relationships? the gems use ‘little brother/ older brother’ but what if this is just japanese approximations? what kind of relationships can lustrous language really express and how different are they from ours?

Imagination

as @ruddy-rutile​ pointed out some time ago, the gems lack a concept of fantasy. thats why i posted that panel about alex’s original lunarian designs. sure, it’s funny, but it also makes you think: these gems are not raised to think outside the box and they can do it without being told so only under exceptional circumstances.

of the vast library of texts that ghost (and lapis) used to take care of, just how many are novels and fiction? none of them? a small amount? a decent amount? in a society thats as focused on practicality, efficiency and conservatism as the lustrous’, how is fiction perceived if perceived at all? 

is there art? red beryl’s craft comes very close to art when they express their feelings about ‘fashion for fashion’s sake,’ but it’s an exception that the other gems find hard to grasp.

phos is often told to stop fantasizing about the world and get things done, the only tale we know the gems are told is the actual story of how their world came to be. the gems always talk about real things, stuff that happened, and make and do things that have a practical use. 

even bort’s jellyfish diary is just made up of a recollection of what happened when they tried to feed them. still, the fact that bort names the jellyfish makes you think that these rocks do have potential for fantasy, theyre just not used to it

Totalitarianism and Privacy

to make this even more shady, here’s your gentle reminder that:

- gems’ rooms have no doors. the only door ive been able to find is the one in shinsha’s room (ch 2) and that is because shinsha’s room is closed off to other people and full of mercury. its like putting a patch on smth you dont want to deal with (much like shinsha’s whole character arc tbh)

- the gems have little to no free time. or their free time can be revoked any time in case an emergency occurs, sensei is napping etc. the gems’ time is rigorously managed by jade, euc and sensei. each gem has a place to be and a time to be.

this means that a missing gem can be found at all times and slackers can be identified very easily. they all have a job and they have to follow it. this is not to say that they have no fun ever, but leisure time is rare and (at least as far as we know) its not contemplated when tasks are assigned each day.

the mere fact that there is a morning assembly and tasks are assigned each day makes you think. is this communism? is this totalitarianism? but most importantly, is this a scary dystopia that hits you in the face like a brick the third time you reread ch 2?   

- sameness > equality. i already went over this in the past. gems society underlines sameness and conformity over anything else. the gems think theyre equal but theyre actually ‘similar.’

a system based on equality emphasizes differences so that every individual can do the best with what they have got and get back what they need, according to their personal needs. 

these gems emphasize sameness: everyone is upheld to the same standards, even when those standards dont match with a gem’s unique characteristics (ie phos cannot be a fighter, no reason to keep saying stuff like ‘if only you were stronger/you’re useless’ etc. they’re a rock with an imagination in a world where dull reality is the rule. just make them write theater plays and play with slugs with shinsha, wth)

It’s real 1984 hours:

all of the above means that:

- your sense of self is subordinated to the group. if you dont belong you’re simply a nothing. at times, the gems almost display a collective consciousness (a pretty hostile one too): everything must be decided together and done together

- you are what you do. gems identify completely with their job. thats why a job is so important, thats why this system is so fucked up. self worth is not inherent, it depends on what you can do. talk about a breeding ground for mental health issues 

- you dont have a saying in picking your career or deciding for you future. thats up to sensei (and maybe euc and jade). unless you have a very strong affinity with a certain task (like red beryl and alex)

- youre expected to follow orders all the damn time. no matter how much sensei wants his gems to exert free will, they still prefer to do what theyre told. ill admit, its much easier than taking your life in your hands and decide what youre gonna do with it, but damn if it isnt depressing. and childish

- euclase and sensei are the authority. sensei and euc are the powers that be. in the sense that they assign tasks, they decide on times and battle plans, on purpose etc. lets not forget that euc was the one to take on sensei’s role after he ‘resigned.’ 

i wonder what would happen if euc were abducted and the gems had no one to follow anymore, no orders. who’d be the new leader? would there be one? lets not forget that no matter how gentle euc is, phos is shit scared of them.

- thought police is a thing. to end this meta on what is probably the shadiest note: surveillance is a thing. the gems report on each other, it’s thought police, no sugarcoating this. 

there’s no privacy, no secrets. even antarc reads rutile’s diary. this goes from cute and childish (’you did this one wrong thing, im gonna tell sensei’) to absolutely fucked up (’you did this one wrong thing, im gonna tell sensei’)

[artificialqueens]

Something Just Like This, Chapter One (Trixya) - Calliope

a/n: hello hello hello, this is cal, the writer of cirque d'amour and I'm back back back again! (with a slightly different pseudonym)

this fic will be the slowest of slow burns if y'all can handle that, with the beloved friends to lovers trope; however, that friendship will always be a little blurred...

I'm actually quite nervous to post this! I do hope you enjoy it.

*TW: MILD MENTIONS OF UNDEREATING/OVEREXERCISING

---

Trixie is sweating.

Trixie isn't quite used to the sensation - the fire on her skin, the rush of blood throughout her veins, the protest of every single sinew - and to be beetroot red in front of a wealth of fit strangers.

Trixie could hardly care, though; her mind was in a thick fog. She'd force-fed her thick thighs into some loose leggings, had pulled a baggy t-shirt over her head, and lost herself in arguably the healthiest form of self-punishment. Trixie was by no stretch interested in becoming a gym bunny - but today, she needed the release.

Trixie cranked the height of her treadmill up higher, feeling her muscles screaming in protest. She ignored their pleas, puffing out laboured breaths as she increased her speed. Her neighbours, all buff and beautiful, paid her no attention, and that is exactly what Trixie needed - to be ignored, whilst she punished herself.

Her music was cranked up as loud as her broken iPhone would allow, and she pitifully replayed Ed Sheeran on a loop as she climbed. Every time her mind dare wander to the forbidden fruit she had just tasted, she would stubbornly shut her thoughts down.

Trixie was not a home-wrecker. Not, of course, on purpose, anyway.

But despite telling herself on a loop that this was the truth, Trixie couldn't help but feel like she was, at the very least, being white-lied to.

A bead of sweat trickled from Trixie's pounding temple, which she quickly dashed away with a feeble hand. Her insides felt weak, and she couldn't quite decide whether that was from lack of food and forced exercise, or because she couldn't help but think about what happened only two days before.

***

4 years earlier

K: hi :)

Oh for the love of all things, what am I doing?

Trixie rubbed a weary hand across her face, pressing sharply into the cheeks that poked out from under her skin. Her phone vibrated a second time, a new message waking her phone from its momentary sleep.

Trixie glared at it as though it was betraying her, and she silently turned her phone face-down against her desk.

Trixie had joined a dating site. A dating site named Brenda, no less. She uploaded her cutest photos; where her tiny cat Kim were pressed against her cheeks, or the one where she were her skinniest; make-up painted and hair in perfect ringlets.

This was not her current reality, though: Kim had stubbornly ignored her all night, probably judging her every move, and Trixie had gained a little weight. It was okay, though, because who wanted to date someone who had their spine on show? Damn, fuck. Be friends with . Not date.

The thing is, Trixie wasn't looking for love.

A third buzz from her dormant phone jumped Trixie from her fervent haze, and she snatched it into clawed hands.

Pearl: I can't come this weekend - gotta work. sorry

Trixie's baited breath shuddered from her lips, the familiar feeling of upset creeping at her insides. This was the very first message she'd received from her long-distance girlfriend all day, and hardly a pleasant one at that.

Trixie lay her phone flat against the desk where she was perched, and drew her legs up onto her computer chair. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, her chin resting somberly against the soft fabric of her Disney pj's that were littered with tiny grey thumpers.

No, Trixie wasn't looking for love. Her heart was occupied; occupied by someone far away, someone who had stolen her heart at a time she thought she needn't have one. Someone who was now so distant, not only in a physical sense, but miles apart emotionally.

Trixie couldn't understand it. Her and Pearl were a match made in heaven; even their astrological signs had aligned, making Trixie think that the very stars wrote out their love in ageless constellations. Pearl would smoke a short blunt, her arm wrapped tentatively around Trixie's small shoulders, and they'd play old runs of GTA on her dusty PlayStation 2. Pearl would cook beautiful dinners for her, vegetarian of course, and let her watch reruns of Barbie's Dream House, despite her disdain for its childish backdrop. Pearl would fuck Trixie into oblivion, tending carefully to all of her kinks and indulging full-heartedly into every single fantasy that Trixie had ever had.

Would. Pearl would do these things. But not anymore.

Trixie carefully plucked her phone back up, turning it over in her hands for a few hesitant moments before finally unlocking it.

T: hey :)

Trixie felt a prickle of guilt gnaw away at her bones as she pressed a thumb to the "send" button on the Brenda messenger. No, she thought. I am doing nothing wrong. I'm just making friends.

She turned her attention to the pitiful thread of texts from Pearl.

Trixie: okay… I could come to you? I don't mind hanging out at your flat while you work.

Trixie knew that Pearl's reply may not come for hours, days even. She heaved a shuddering sigh, forcing herself to her slippered feet in search of her grumpy cat.

Her phone buzzed against the thick of her thigh from her pocket, and she snatched it up immediately, hoping desperately for Pearl's response.

No, it was the girl from Brenda.

K: how are you doing? I'm not very good at this malarkey, but you seem cute, so… here I am

Trixie snickered slightly, deciding to inspect this person further.

She thumbed at her profile picture to get a closer look - she was butch, but softly so, with dirty blonde hair that was religiously scraped back throughout all of her profile photos. She seemed cute, though, Trixie thought. She had piercing green eyes and Trixie swore she could spy a chiselled abdomen beneath her plain t-shirts.

T: thank you, that's sweet! you seem cute too, is that a guitar I spy in one of your photos?

Trixie knew this game she was playing was inherently dangerous. She knew that she was projecting dissatisfaction from her current relationship, and seeking some form of, well, anything , from anyone . Still, she couldn't help but feel a thrill when a second message - from a different girl, no less - brightened her dormant screen. Another butch, with thick, jet-black hair, and piercings on her lip, offending her with the opening line of "hey there ;)".

Still, this fruitless back and forth with cute, eager bachelors certainly beat her usual evenings of misery; overeating, overthinking, and waiting for a call from Pearl that would never come.

"What's up?"

Trixie nearly flung her phone from her palms with fright, her hair whipping her pink cheeks as she spun on her heels to greet the intruder, fist raised with a warning.

Of course, it was only her roommate, Blair - a boy who, despite creeping past the age of 20, looked like he belonged in a primary school. His deer-like legs stretched below him, and in his tiny arms lay a bag of what could only be Chinese takeout.

His sculpted eyebrows raised in wonderment at his roommate's defensive stance. "Trix, hun - - - are you alright?"

Slowly, deliberately, Trixie lowered her raised fist, choking back a fit of laughter. "Jesus, fuck, Blair. You scared the living daylights out of me."

Blair carefully laid the takeaway bag onto the dining room table. "I was singing as I came in. How did you not hear that?"

Trixie audibly groaned. "Show tunes?"

Blair grinned, all teeth. "What else?"

"What did you bring me?" Trixie asked, trotting excitedly over to the dining room table towards the source of the delicious smell.

"Sweet and sour tofu," he shrugged, heading for the kitchen to retrieve some cutlery. "I figured you could use some cheering up."

Trixie could've kissed him right there and then. "You are the best housemate ever."

"I know!" Blair sing-songed in response from the kitchen, the tell-tale sound of clattering telling Trixie he was picking out plates. Trixie thought for a moment.

"Wanna watch Chicago?" she called out, already knowing the answer.

Blair's boyish face appeared in the doorway at once, his cheeks flushed red and his bright blue eyes wide. "Of fucking course! "

Trixie chuckled. Blair was the pinnacle of the gay stereotype, she thought, listening to her friend hum along to an 80's power ballad she had forgotten the name of.

Trixie was in such high spirits that she almost forgot the back-and-forth she was having on Brenda, and the reason for it. That was, until part-way through the film, and a mouthful of crispy tofu, her phone buzzed angrily against the countertop.

Both Blair and Trixie startled, and Blair's carton of seaweed went flying across the room, littering the hardwood floor with tiny, crispy sprigs.

"Fuck sake!" Blair exclaimed, throwing his hands up and staring with dismay at the mess.

Trixie shot him an apologetic glance, before throwing herself at the vibrating phone.

Pearl.

"H-hey, baby!" Trixie babbled into the mouthpiece, clutching the phone as if it were a precious gemstone. Blair rolled his eyes to the heavens with great exaggeration, and Trixie promptly gave him the finger.

"Hey," Pearl's voice, deep and soft and laced with sleepiness, was like music to Trixie's ears. The mounting unread messages from Brenda now evaporated into nothingness.

"How are you doing, I---" Trixie stumbled around the coffee table in her haste to reach her bedroom, the spilled seawood crunching beneath her bare feet. Mouthing another "I'm sorry" at Blair, Trixie managed to reach her bedroom, and collapsed onto her bed, clinging the phone to her ear with desperation. A smile crept against her dainty lips. "How are you?"

"Tired," Pearl muttered, though Trixie could hear the smile in her voice. Trixie's heart fluttered.

"All done in the studio?"

"Just about," Pearl mumbled boredly. Trixie's heart sank at the pause that followed; hollow and vast.

"Listen," Pearl's voice was slightly muffled, and Trixie knew immediately that she was rolling a cigarette between her perfect teeth. "I got your message, and I appreciate the offer, but I'm doing overtime at the bar. There'd be no point in you coming down this weekend. By the time I get back home, it's late, and then I'm back in at 10 in the morning."

Trixie nodded somberly, feeling utterly stupid for allowing herself to feel a flicker of hope that she might see Pearl this week. Or this month.

"Trixie? You there?"

"O-oh! Y-yes, I'm here…"

"Oh, come on, Blondie," Pearl's words were blown out in exasperation, and Trixie could visualise the tendrils of smoke rising from her nostrils like a dragon as she smoked. Trixie wasn't sure why Pearl had christened her with the nickname "blondie", when she herself was also a pale, silver-blonde. "Don't give me that sad, sad voice. You know I have to work."

Trixie could feel pricks of upset choking up her throat at the bemused tone from her girlfriend. She shook herself slightly, forcing a shaky smile despite it not being visable. "No, no, of course. I get it, it's fine. What about a call? A video chat?"

Pearl hummed against the cigarette in her mouth, and Trixie knew at once that she was to be further let down. "Probably not, babe. I'll be tired. I have music to make."

Trixie nodded again against the handset. At least, she thought with a tiny glup, at least Pearl had called tonight.

"Well---" Pearl blew out smoke again, and Trixie swore she could taste it. "I need to go… love ya."

The call went dead in her hands, but Trixie still cradled the phone to her ear, as if in doing so would bring Pearl's voice back. She thought bitterly about how they used to spend hours on that very phone, talking about everything and nothing at all. Trixie continued to listen to the tone of the terminated call, and she couldn't help but think it sounded like a flatlining heart.