#i think watching this timer has driven me insane

[schwhoopsie]

so i might be really late to this (i was at work when the countdown ended) but uh

there's no blue wire

there's no second half to the black wire??

[tibby]

on the topic of john kramer's morality i just. idk man ive only seen saw (2004) and watched kill counts on youtube for the rest of the movies bc im too chicken for the level of gore that happens but i have this idea that the accomplices only did what they did bc they had some kind of fucked up stockholm syndrome over jigsaw. as for lawrence i simply cannot wrap my head around it. like jigsaw killed the love of his life and lawrence was like ok pal ill help sew ppl's eyes shut. what?? for why??

oh yeah, with amanda it's definitely stockholm syndrome (i think about this gifset every single day of my life), and it's very sad to watch john talk about how he ~saved her~ from her addiction as if he didn't just introduce her to a whole new world of unhealthy coping mechanisms and both enables/punishes her for it. amanda's traps are unwinnable because amanda doesn't think she's deserving of a second chance, because she doesn't think anyone is. it's just her self harm on a larger scale, punishing others to punish herself, and john being like "oooh you know i hate murderers and you can be better than this" is....ugh. honestly despite being one of my favourites of the franchise i can never bring myself to rewatch saw iii just because the amanda and john stuff is so emotionally draining, and it's made even moreso by the original saw iii script onfirming that amanda grew up with an abusive father. whatever his intentions were, john's psychological games that he uses to "fix" people were never going to work on amanda.

with hoffman he's just blackmailing him because he got mad that hoffman killed his sister's murderer and then framed it as a jigsaw trap (he gets all petty about the work being subpar and like. credit where credit is due to hoffman he built an entire working pendulum rigged to a timer by himself. john would be like "idk let's put two guys in a room and see what happens." let's not throw stones here). which. in my opinion was a horrific idea from the start like maybe DON'T enlist the violent guy driven insane by the brutal murder of the only person he ever loved to carry on your legacy, especially when he kind of hates you for forcing him into it.

(why hoffman continues to jigsaw around after john dies and he's just ruining his own life at this point is beyond me. quit while you're ahead, dude).

but yeah, as to why LAWRENCE becomes an apprentice...i don't know! no context is ever really provided and for all his faults, lawrence was never someone who got joy from hurting people and he wouldn't form an emotional dependence on john the way that amanda did. john had lawrence's wife and daughter held hostage for 18 hours and threatened to kill them! and it's not like he could use them as bargaining tools or claim that they died and lawrence had nothing else, because those are lies that would fall apart so fast. so like...what's in it for him?

in MY mind i think it does lead back to the adam of it all in a weird way. the guilt of not being able to save adam drove lawrence insane especially when he realised that oh, adam never had a chance, because he was only ever meant to be a pawn in lawrence's game. so he just develops this mentality of "i need to help people cherish THEIR lives because ADAM wanted to live and HE didn't get to and if anyone dies in their trap it's because they didn't want it enough." and then. you know. his wife leaves him and gets full custody and lawrence has nothing good going for him so it's easier to just. commit himself to john's cause. after all, john's right, isn't he? all he ever does as a doctor is tell people that they're going to die. at least with his work as an apprentice, he might give them a reason to live.

[boldlygo-boldlygoing-boldlygone]

And We Do It All Again - Chapter 7

Summary: Jim has two big problems right now. The first is that he is hopelessly in love with his First Officer and his Chief Medical Officer, and neither seems to return his feelings. The second is that he’s stuck in a time loop where his ship is destroyed and his crew killed, over and over again.

Things can never be simple for James T. Kirk, can they?

Warnings: angst, (temporary) character death, swearing, time loops, suicide attempt in a later chapter (again, it’s in a time loop so it doesn’t really work)

Pairing: McSpirk

Chapter 7 of 7

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A/N: Can also be read here on AO3!

-

Jim woke and sighed, his eyes catching the chess board, the whiskey glasses. A familiar sight by now. He thought about the confessions.

Without another thought, he rolled in his bed and grabbed his communicator. Bones and Spock arrived together, just as Jim finished pulling on his uniform.

"Jim, is all well?"

"Seriously, you better be dying. I was still asleep!"

"I need to tell you both something." Jim informed them, watching them enter the room from his seat on the bed.

"It couldn't wait until breakfast?"

"It's waited long enough." Jim looked at them both, love and a desperate need for them to know rising in him. "This may sound insane, but I promise, I am mentally and physically fine. Bones, you can even check after this, if you want." He began calmly. Both looked concerned, but he continued before they could interrupt. "I am in love with both of you. Have been for a while."

There was a long silence, a moment where they both just stared at her. Then, Spock spoke.

"Captain, I must ask, what has caused this outburst?"

Jim shrugged. "It needed to be said. I'm tired of hiding it." He was so damn tired. It had been so long and he was just so tired. It felt good to admit this. After the last few cycles, it almost felt natural.

"Jim, stop messing around."

"I'm not." He shrugged. "I'm in love with both of you. Whatever happens next is up to you guys. I don't expect anything, but I needed you to know."

"T'hy'la." The word was whispered reverently, Spock's voice shaking. Jim felt a smile tugging at his face despite his exhaustion.

Bones glanced between the two then straightened, shaking his head. "Idiots." He mumbled, turning for the door. Jim rose to stop him, but Spock beat him to it. Spock caught the doctor's wrist and pulled him back. "Leonard. Please, do not leave. I- I must confess, I have also been harboring feelings for both of you as well."

Bones didn't look convinced. "Look, you two are great for each other. You don't need me mucking it up. Just- let me go with my dignity."

"Shut up, Bones." Jim couldn't think of a time when his heart had felt so full.

"I must agree, Leonard."

"This is insane. Actually insane. You just wanna jump into a polygamous relationship? What's the crew gonna say?"

"It's the 23rd century, Bones. I think it'll be okay. And we don't need to rush into anything. Like I said, I don't expect anything. I just... I needed you to know."

"Perhaps we should continue this conversation after our respective shifts. It is nearly time for us to be on the bridge, Jim."

Jim nodded. "We can meet here at 2300, okay? We'll figure out what this all means." The promise of later felt so abstract, so unreal, but it was what they'd expect him to offer. So he offered it.

"Affirmative."

"I guess."

Jim stepped forward, love washing over him as he took the two in. Then, he grabbed Bones and pulled him into a tight hug. "I love you, Bones."

Bones returned the hug. "Love you too, kid." His voice was gruff, but Jim knew better.

In the turbolift with Spock, Jim put a hand on his First Officer's bicep. "I know touch is sacred to Vulcans, so I don't expect anything. I just want you to know I love you."

Spock looked at him, face as calm as Jim had ever seen it. "I love you as well, Jim."

It should have made him happy. Here was Spock, saying he loved him. After everything, it should have been a relief. Somehow it only managed to break his heart.

"Captain on the bridge!"

He sat through his shift, sneaking glanced at Spock (who was doing the same to him) and hating everything. It had been shockingly easy. They weren't his yet, but they were willing to talk. They were both interested.

Well, Spock was. Bones hadn't said it explicitly, but Jim could remember how he'd kissed him, how he'd gripped him. He knew Bones loved him. He suspected he'd always known, deep down. Until now, he'd just been too afraid to allow himself to hope. Of course, now knowing that didn't do him much good. Not when he'd wake tomorrow starting all over again.

"Sir, there's an unidentified ship approaching."

There it was. The worst ship in the galaxy. If only he could stop it. Steer the ship to some safe location. Maybe get aboard it and-

Get aboard it.

An idea hit him hard and he jumped up, body in motion even before his mind had fully considered this new plan. "Mr. Sulu, shields up! Mr. Spock, take the con!"

"Captain-"

"Do it, that's an order!" He called, already sprinting from the room.

He commed Scotty to meet him in the transporter room. They both arrived just as the first hit shook the ship. Jim jumped onto the platform, the seconds ticking away in his head. "Beam me onto that ship!"

"Sir, I don't know if-"

"That's an order!"

Scotty's eyes widened and he began punching buttons, clearly shocked. Jim wasn't one to bark orders like that.

He wasn't sure where he was when he landed, but he had a half-formed plan and that was further than he usually got. Jim took off, squinting at the signs and arrows directing him. As he ran, he shot any and all he came across.

"Enterprise to Captain Kirk!" There was a tightness to Spock's voice. A small shift, something most wouldn't notice. But Jim knew his first officer well. Spock was not pleased with him.

"Kirk here." Jim responded, slightly out of breath as he approached the engineering room.

"Captain, you must beam back aboard the Enterprise immediately. We do not know who is controlling this ship, but they are clearly hostile."

"Can't, Spock. Nothing else is gonna work, they're too strong. I'm taking it down from the inside."

"Captain-"

"Sorry, Spock." Jim snapped the communicator shut and shoved it back into his pocket, just in time. He sprinted into the engineering room, scanning for the most volatile pieces of machinery. It didn't take long to find them. Jim wasn't entirely sure what he was doing. He knew how the Enterprise ran. He knew what to do to keep her happy (though not as happy as Scotty kept her), but this wasn't the Enterprise. It was all cruder, more basic machinery.

Good thing he wasn't trying to keep this ship happy.

"Hey!"

Jim spun, phaser up and firing, but too late. He gasped, grabbing his side as pain seared through him. Huh. Being shot. That was certainly different. Boarding the enemy ship really had opened a world of possibilities.

Still, his aim was true and the last guard was down. He turned back to the equipment and set to work destroying anything he could get his hands on. The timer inside his head was running out. Jim counted himself lucky, then, when something exploded a few feet away from him. The force knocked him down and sent pain up his side, but he ignored it and scrambled to his feet, sprinting for the door.

"Kirk to Enterprise! Requesting immediate beam up, if you have the capability! I repeat, requesting immediate-"

It was too late. Just as he cleared the door, fire engulfed him, catching him and spitting him out. It was somehow just like being on the Enterprise as it exploded and yet so different. Briefly, he was relieved he didn't have to see Bones or Spock die again. As he was thrown out into space, he shut his eyes and let the darkness come, that thought a comfort as he slipped away. Maybe next time he'd figure out how to save them all. Maybe next time, he'd do better.

. . .

He woke slowly and repressed a sigh, keeping his eyes shut this time. Briefly, he wondered if this was a day when he stayed in bed. It was like his pain from the last day had followed him. Everything ached and he was so, so tired. Still, he should probably keep working. Getting aboard the other ship was new. Exploring that might bring new choices. He had to escape this damn loop somehow. There had to be a way. There had to be.

It was just so hard to keep going.

"Jim?"

And now he was hearing things. Great. This damn loop had finally driven him crazy. He thought repeating the same day would keep that from happening, but evidently not. Because now he was hearing Spock's voice, and-

"Jimmy, open your eyes."

And Bones. Great, just great. Like this wasn't hard enough as it was.

"We can see your vitals. We know you're awake."

Might as well get it over with. Sighing softly, Jim let his eyes fall open.

He wasn't in his room.

Immediately, he bolted up, eyes widening and head twisting, searching the area. He was in the sickbay, in a private room. Spock and Bones stood beside him. "Woah, calm down!" Bones grabbed him and forced him back. "You need to lay down!"

"I'm not in my room."

"No, you're not." Bones scowled. "What the hell were you thinking, beaming onto that ship? You're lucky Scotty had the brains to get Chekov to catch you or you'd be dead right now!"

"Chekov caught me?"

"Yeah, after that damn ship blew up and spit you out."

"Wait, the ship- Is the Enterprise okay?"

"Oh for God's sake!"

"Yes, Jim." Spock responded. "There was substantial damage, but because of your early order to put up shields and distraction aboard the other ship, we were able to avoid destruction."

"How many dead?"

"None. Thirty-six injuries, but no deaths."

No deaths. Not a single one.

"We very nearly had one." Bones scowled at Jim, jabbing a hypo into his neck. "You damn fool!"

"Ow, Bones!" Jim complained.

"Don't wanna get hypoed, don't almost get yourself killed!"

"I had to."

"No you didn't!" Bones' eyes were burning. "You pull this damn stunt right after telling us you're in love with us and you expect me to believe you had to? Bullshit!"

"Bones-"

"I was preparing my speech to convince you two to enjoy yourselves without me and then I find out you beamed onto an unknown, hostile ship? Seriously, Jim?"

"I'm sorry."

"You damn well should be! You're an idiot!"

"I am."

Bones stared at him for a long moment, then grabbed him and pulled him into a bruising kiss. "If you'd died before I had a chance to kiss you, I'd have brought you back just to kill you again myself."

"Noted." Jim let out a breathy laugh, chest bubbly with too many emotions to process. He could feel Spock's eyes on him, so he turned and raised two fingers, remembering the Vulcan way of kissing. The corner of Spock's lips turned up and he returned the gesture. Before Jim could speak, however, Spock's other hand curled around the back of Jim's neck. He pulled Jim into a human kiss. It was gentler than Bones', but still filled with emotion.

"As illogical as it is, I must agree with Leonard." He said once they'd pulled apart. "You must learn not to endanger yourself."

Jim let his eyes flutter shut and he laughed again, breathy and tired and so relieved. "I think I can do that. For you two."

Bones snorted. "Yeah right."

"Hey!"

"Lay back down. You still need to rest."

"I'm fine!"

"You were shot, you arm was nearly burned off, and you almost suffocated. Shut up and rest."

"Bones!" Jim moaned, obeying none the less. He let the doctor work, smiling fondly as he grumbled and Spock stood over his bed, watching with those sharp eyes of his. He thought about explaining his actions. Telling them about the loop, about being stuck going through the same day over and over. Giving them the highlights of his experience. But then Spock's fingers pressed rest lightly against his wrist and Bones' hands lingered a moment longer than necessary on his shoulder and he knew he couldn't ruin this. So he lay still and let their presences wash over him.

It was over. The nightmare was finally over. And in this moment, he didn't want to relive any of it. He'd tell them eventually. He'd explain why he'd done what he had, tell them about the highs and lows of his experience, about how much he'd seen and done and felt, but for now he just wanted to remain in the present and let himself feel loved.

And how so very loved he felt.

[duker42]

(1/2) I really liked the professor Levi & y/n idea, so.. Y/N is a student in Levi's class, and she has fallen in love with her stoic, moody prof Ackerman. He is often harsh with his words and grading, & is indifferent towards her, but Y/N doesnt mind, she still gives him her kind, shy smile & greets him each day. Y/n gets a particularly bad grade with harsh remarks on an assignment, & stays after class to talk to her prof, she tries to ask him for a re-do & accidentally...

💜Professor Ackerman💜

Y/N started at the paper in her hand. It was slashed with red marker, covering entire sections of her paper. At the top, a big D was underlined and a note scrawled in hurried penmanship. “A blind retarded monkey could do better.”

That was Professor Ackerman, rude to a fault. She knew that it wasn’t some of her best work, she had written it on little sleep at the last minute due to a family emergency. Maybe the professor would let her redo the work.

He was a hard teacher, his literature class not for the faint of heart. He was often called a heartless bastard by those that had taken or were taking his classes. Quick to call someone out and brutally eviscerate them in the middle of a lecture, the short statured man was a formidable figure.

Still, Y/N didn’t care much about that. The raven haired man appealed to her, even if he didn’t know that she was breathing. She still makes an effort to greet him when entering his lecture room and anytime she had to look directly at him, she would give him a gentle smile. She wasn’t afraid of him, despite his fierce bark.

She stayed behind when the class was dismissed wanting to talk to him about the paper. “Um, professor?”

“What is it?” He didn’t look up as he continued packing his messenger back to leave. She knew he had office hours coming up and was due to head back to his cramped office.

“I was hoping that I could redo the paper. Sir...I mean...” Her words faltered a bit as he lifted his grey eyes up to stare into her soul it seemed. “Wow....they’re really pretty.” Her eyes widened as she realized what she had just said.

Levi snorted as he glared at the girl. “Listen, you wouldn’t be the first brat that thought batting pretty eyes, or offering a quick fuck would get a better grade.”

“No! It’s not that at all....I like....” She trailed off, his face becoming even more unpleasant.

“Yeah, right. Because I’m the epitome of charm. Go suck someone else off and leave me alone, the grade stands. You wanted a better GPA? Actually do the fucking work.” He watched as her eyes watered a bit and she turned red.

“T-thank you s-sir. I-I’ll go. B-bye” Y/N turns and flees, certain that she never felt more humiliated in her life.

~~~~~

The next day she still walked into the classroom and greeted him, surprising him significantly. She still smiled, but there was sadness behind her eyes. Y/N sat down and got her laptop out to take notes.

Levi noticed that when his eyes drifted over to her side of the room, she didn’t look away, but her face fell just a bit. Not that he was noticing a brat like her. He had never spent more time looking at her than he should. It was nothing more than the fact that she was sitting in a seat that perfectly aligned with his roaming eyes.

He had been harsh with her, perhaps too harsh. He knew that she wasn’t offering anything like he accused her of. But he needed to get away from those eyes and that smile before he did something stupid, especially when she practically told him that she liked him.

The rest of the week was the same. She still greeted him and said goodbye, but the melancholy in her eyes was driving him insane. He had never had someone that seemed to genuinely care. There had been plenty of students that want to sleep with the Professor, it seemed to be a kink among the college age girls. That was a mess that he steered clear of, not wanting to be caught up in the drama and headache.

But Y/N reaction was strange, not seeming to want anything but grump, ill tempered him. And that was something he wasn’t used to. By the time that he had dismissed her class of Friday, he knew that he needed to go have a stiff drink or twelve to forget the weird week and realign his own priorities.

~~~~~

He didn’t go to a bar near the campus, wanting to stay well away from the moronic brats as they drank away what little brain cells they had left. He shook his head at their ability to drink continuously day after day and show up to class bright eyed. It must be his age catching up with him. Not that he was old, but 10 years made a big difference in his recovery period.

When he entered the bar he didn’t notice her at first. It wasn’t until he had sat down and looked for the bartender did he groan in consternation. It seemed that whatever Gods were in the universe were fucking with him. At the other end of the bar, behind the counter, stood Y/N in a tank top and tight jeans, seemingly reading a text book.

Levi though he could slip away before she recognized she had a customer, but she looked up at that moment. Shit. He was now stuck. She welcomed him with that sad smile and muted greeting that had driven him to drink in the first place.

She left him alone for the most part, the bar was empty save for a few old timers in seats that probably had their names carved into them. She checked on his drink levels and got him refills when necessary and returned to her text book when there was nothing else to do. He noticed how she leaned over and propped her elbows on the bar while she read, sticking her ass out and shifting her weight ever so often.

He knew that the time had passed as the drinks were steadily coming. Still he didn’t think of leaving as he observed her. He had figured out that she was pretty damn studious and admired that about her. Weren’t too many brats that would be studying a text book on a Friday when she could be out partying.

Last call came sooner than he expected and when the bar closed down he was still there, waiting. When he stood up, the drinks in his system hit him like a freight train and he remembered Y/N calling his name before blacking out.

~~~~~

He woke up to a pounding head and a dry, disgusting mouth. He felt like he had been dragged through a sewer and come out only after drowning. As he adjusted to the light in the room, he realized he was in his house, but he had no idea how he got there.

His bladder was screaming at him, so he stumbled to the bathroom to take care of the one issue, while praying his head wouldn’t explode from the movement. When he was done he gulped down a handful of aspirin and crawled into the shower, hoping the hot water would clear his head somewhat.

He emerged feeling slightly human. Dressing, he went to walk into the kitchen to see about finding something to help the rolling of his stomach when he stopped and stared at his couch.

Y/N was sleeping on it. She had removed her jeans that were laying over the end and was in only the tank top from the night before an a pair of enticing panties. The blanket she had used was over half of her body, with her lean leg thrown out. It made such an innocent yet erotic picture that he felt himself get hard. He had no idea why Y/N would be sleeping on his couch, but he didn’t want to wake her right now before he had managed to get some caffeine in his system.

It turned out that the smell of coffee was like a lure to bring Y/N to him. She had stumbled into the kitchen, her sleepy smile making his heart race, and that still semi hard cock twitch in his sweatpants. She was still too tired to remember to give him the sad smile, but he had gotten a glimpse of what it would be like to wake up with her.

He handed her a mug of coffee and she accepted it with another one of those ‘I’m not awake’ smiles. He really liked those, making him sad to see her starting to wake up as the coffee entered her system.

“So, what happened last night?” Levi ventured.

“Apparently you don’t show any affects of alcohol until it all hits you at once. You were a bit out of it, so I brought you home and stayed to keep an eye on you.” Levi felt his face heat up as he realized he had probably made a complete ass of himself in front of his student. But she didn’t seem to be lording it over his head. She had just taken care of him.

She finished her coffee and took it over to his sink. He watched as she washed out the mug, her hips swaying slightly as she moved, washing the cup and setting it in the drying rack. She wiped her hands and turn back to him, awake enough now to have that sad smile back in her eyes as she met his.

“Well, I better go.....You’re alright now.” Y/N went to walk past him, headed. Back to the living room to put her pants and shoes on. To walk out and pretend that this hadn’t happened.

His hand shot out from where he was sitting and encircled her wrist. She stopped when he tugged lightly and looked down at him. His eyes were dark, almost angry looking and she wondered if he was angry at her. She hadn’t thought so when he handed her the cup of coffee but she didn’t really function before one cup.

“It’s really just me?” His words were low, almost mumbled as he looked at her. She wasn’t really sure what he meant, but she watched curiously as he stood and drew closer.

“It’s not for a grade, or a quick fuck for bragging rights?” He asked, his darkened eyes searching hers.

She shook her head and watched as his gaze lowered to her lips, his own parted in interest as his tongue slipped out to moisten them.

“Fuck.” Levi cursed as he gave in and pulled her to him. The first kiss was messy, needy as his mouth covered hers ravenously. He didn’t even care that she hadn’t brushed her teeth as his tongue swept into her mouth to taste the coffee off of her tongue.

Y/N felt on fire as he let go of her wrist to slid his hand under her tank top to rest on her ribcage. He surprisingly calloused hand was right below her breast and she felt her nipples harden as goose flesh covered her.

He pulled back and looked at her flushed and wanton face. His grey orbs staring into hers as he asked the question he needed answering. Y/N’s eyes no longer had that sadness in them as she nodded at him, saying that she wanted him. He groaned and pulled her quickly through the house and back to the bedroom.

He got to the dresser and turned around, backing her up against it and lifting her to sit on it’s bare surface. His grey eyes were hungry when he pulled back.

She pulled him back for another kiss and he felt himself give in, leaning forward and not resisting like he wanted to. She had spread her legs on either side of his waist, letting him closer to the scantily clad heat he wanted to taste, touch and fill.

Her hands were under his shirt, hot steaks of fire to his system wherever her fingertips touched. He pulled back so she could lift it off his head. As soon as his chest was bare, she was attacking it. Kissing and lightly biting whatever flesh she could reach, it made him close his eyes, the blood pumping furiously in his veins.

He rolled up her tank top and pulled it off. She had perfect breasts for cupping, his hands filling with the mounds. The stiff peaks sensitive as she bit down a touch harder when he grazed on with his thumb.

His very prominent erection tenting through his sweatpants was ground against her as she wiggled towards the edge of the dresser and rotated her hips against him. His loud groan matched hers as they both enjoyed the feeling. Levi hadn’t had too many woman that were as unabashedly eager as Y/N was, preferring to play that boring role of innocence and cluelessness. The forward nature of her hands on him and her wants being communicated was intoxicating.

“Fuck. Just do it.” Y/N muttered as she moved her lips up his neck and back to his mouth.

He needed no more words of encouragement. He yanked her hips forward, and drew her panties down, moving to slide them completely off. She watched with interest as he kicked off his sweatpants and his cock was exposed. He saw the flash of heat and anticipation in her eyes, stroking his ego as he moved back towards her.

He was so used to be in charge, but this girl, this student of his was completely unraveling him as she encompassed his aching cock with her warm hand to guide it to her wetness. He felt the blunt tip nudge the velvety slick entrance and he lifted his eyes to her to watch as he slid inside her.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her hand shot up to grab on to his shoulders as she released a throaty little moan that did nothing to cool the lust in his blood. She fit him perfectly, tight heat surrounding him deliciously as he started to move.

His thrusts weren’t gentle they were demanding and deep. Y/N felt him trying to fill every possible space inside her as he pounded into her. She loved every bit of it. Her legs hooked around him and she pulled him closer as her hips moved against him. His fingers tightened, digging into the soft skin of her thighs as he used them for leverage.

She was addicting, her body perfectly in sync with his as they moved, taking from each other as they gave pleasure. His hands moved to her ass as he lifted her, still moving inside her, to bring her to the bed.

Once there, he took over. He moved her legs onto his shoulders as he watched her beneath him. He could tell the moment he hit the right spot because her eyes shot opened and his name filled the room. He angled his hips to drive into that same spot over and over again as she clutched at him, scratching red welts down his arms and chest.

She was going to break soon, her breaths catching with each snap of his hips, her walls clenching around him. He gritted his teeth and continued to push into her, driving her closer until she finally shattered around him.

He held his breath as she tightened even further around him, her muscles squeezing him to where it was almost painful. He throbbed as he felt his own end coming close.

She was still cumming as he lowered her legs and slid his arms around her. He pushed his hips towards and hovered as his body tensed, his release intense as he shuddered over her.

She moaned as she felt him fill her, the heat adding to her pleasure as stroked his back while he came. She lifted up and pressed her lips to his collarbone as he grunted her name into her ear.

They fell to the bed together, exhausted and boneless from the high they just experienced. Levi rolled to the side and looked at the small tired smile on her face. He knew that he wasn’t going to push this girl away again, but he couldn’t help his next remark.

“A fucking plus for the sex Y/N, but your paper is still shit. The D stands.”

Y/N laughed as she pinched his side. He chuckled as he leaned over and kissed her again. She could live with a bad grade if it meant she got to have him.

Mobile MasterList

[obeetlebeetle]

Do all the dnd asks!

1. A favorite character you have played.

done!

2. Your favorite character that someone else has played.

o my god.. this is so hard, my group makes really good characters! for each of them:zach - nickels!! trauma child kenku weirdo who sold their soul to talk.. who grew up to be an angry pirate who adopted a child on impulse.ari - lael, obviously. they have a half-elf complex, a good chunk of their personality is being the kid that catches lizards, and they have a robot arm.lemon - honestly? jj devinyl. i mean, john mulaney as a tiefling cleric who loves his wife and is also going completely insane? yeah.bree - i.. love layla. she’s a good-aligned cleric to an evil god and her and kellan are the cutest couple in dnd tbh.connor - guardian is a robot.

3. Your favorite side quest.

o fuck!! y’all.. it’s bufo. it’s the fact that my talking toad npc was so lovable that they unlocked the quest in which his mother hunts him down and tries to kill him so that she can live forever. they killed her ofc and bufo was untransformed into a handsome.. halfling.

4. Your current campaign.

i’m running a murder mystery set aboard an airship! with strong cosmic horror elements! and i’m playing in a large-scale epic about spies caught up in the very start of a continent-wide war.

5. Favorite NPC.

also a very hard question. on one hand, jean is my actual boyfriend and also a literal angel assassin. on the other hand, nika is a child god trapped in an amulet whose super god power makes people trip which is so fucking funny. back around to the first hand, which is now the third, aengus is so well-done as a villain that he’s almost scared me in my real-life actual heart and yet he’s an a huge loser with breakup trauma, which is objectively also so fucking funny. on my fourth hand, fela is my most important npc who i’m probably in love with and she’s been in every one of my campaigns. on my FIFTH hand--

6. Favorite death (monster, player character, NPC, etc).

done!

7. Your favorite downtime activity.

done!

8. Your favorite fight/encounter.

that time nasuada beat lumley up in her own dumb-ass head, and lumley’s response was to find this super hot.

9. Your favorite thing about D&D.

getting together and spending time with my friends! or maybe that it lets me be creative without the stress writing gives me.

10. Your favorite enemy and the enemy you hate the most.

fav enemy is def aengus!! like wow he’s fucking terrifying!! and i hate yin&yang the most, they were so creepy and cruel and they were never really punished.

11. How often do you play and how often would you ideally like to play?

i dm once a week these days, and i play sporadically. thesis year has been hard on me! but ideally i would love to dm twice a week and play in one or two steady campaigns, or dm once a week with regular one-shot sessions!

12. Your in game inside jokes/memes/catchphrases and where they came from.

o.. there’s a lot?? my favorite is “honeyclaw pissed on lenthol” bc our barbarian thought it would be a good idea to climb into the robot piloted by the “big bad” (or so we thought at the time), and then to sell her bluff that she was looking for the bathroom, she just...... pissed herself >:(

13. Introduce your current party.

as a dm: lael (half-elf magitechnician who bases their mad science off of cool bugs); guardian (robot paladin on his third life, basically robocop with light existential crises); senhora (brash and kind-hearted by turns, an elf who [REDACTED] before becoming a ranger and bonding w a wolf); jj devinyl (a tiefling cleric who does stand-up comedy and loves his wife); and percy (an android with identity issues, driven by curiosity, and love for magic, and literally no qualms about threatening to kill her friends).

as a player:rowan (the last prince of a lost kingdom and also the saddest, gayest boy in town); ko&kokumo (my elf boy whose soul split in two after leaving his warlock patron, driven by nosiness and romance respectively); honeyclaw (a tabaxi pro-wrestler who deserted her life as a child soldier, pissed on lenthol); peitho (the surprisingly wholesome god of sex, was kinda into the tactics of being a spy before he got distracted by p*ssy); and lumley (the dumbest baby lesbian ever o my god, she’s the daughter of a powerful river goddess and she still can’t get a date).

14. Introduce any other parties you have played in or DM-ed.

that would take me one million years.

15. Do you have snacks during game times?

yeah!! traditionally we take a halfway break at 9 and all go get snacks together, it’s great.

16. Do you play online or in person? Which do you prefer?

i prefer in person, but we play online a lot, and we’ll have to be only online once we graduate.

17. What are some house rules that your group has?

we round up score mods from odds and we don’t pay attention to like.. most of the little rules. it’s more abt the storytelling. (which is why we may switch to a different system if i can seduce them away.)

18. Does your party keep any pets?

o yeah, i think almost every group has had an animal companion. and if not, zach always plays a furry.

19. Do you or your party have any dice superstitions?

a lot of us roll specific sets for each character! 

20. How did you get into D&D? How long have you been playing?

i got into dnd in high school bc i liked a boy who watched community, and then i watched community, and the dnd episode fucking rocked. never got past making characters and one botched attempt at a session. then in my first year of college, i joined the dnd club and i’ve been playing since! so like, three years and some change.

21. Have you ever regretted something your character has done?

ya lol i play very much how my character would act and tho that usually goes well for me.. ko wanted to break his pact with aengus despite the Consequences and i didn’t. but overall i think the outcome has been a lot of fun!

22. What color was your first dragon?

silver! just introduced them, actually!

23. Do you use premade modules or original campaigns?

all original, baby.

24. How much planning/preparation do you do for a game?

a ton. as a dm i write........ a lot. i want to have a lot of vivid characters, solid plots, and a huge interwoven world. so my docs are always huge and take me months to finish. 

as a player i do less bc players just inherently have far less to do. but i still try put a ton into really developing my character so i can play them more naturally.

For DMs

25. What have your players done that you never could have planned for?

in my first campaign, i used a lot of weird memory spells to keep characters from remembering the big bad, because him being unremembered was a HUGE plot point for me. i had two different groups playing in the city at the same time, and one of them.... had this dragonborn who just liked to talk to plants and who hated nobles, and who fucking cast MAGIC MOUTH on their FANNY PACK to record that big bad so that it COULDN’T BE FORGOTTEN. MAGIC MOUTH. THAT’S THE SPELL THAT BROKE ME.

26. What was your favorite scene to write and show your characters.

i’ve really liked a couple, but i know i haven’t topped the finale for my first campaign. after finally the groups finally came together and killed Shargaas, the city began to crumble around them, and they all watched me set a ten-minute timer for them to figure out how to get away with their lives.

27. Do you allow homebrew content?

o yea, i adore MFOV particularly.

28. How often do you use NPCs in a party?

o there are always a couple kicking around.

29. Do you prefer RP heavy sessions or combat sessions?

we don’t really.. do... that second thing....

30. Are your players diplomatic or murder hobos?

yes.

For Players

31. What is your favorite class? Favorite race?

o fuck. uh probably wizard. and i love................. half-elves.

32. What role do you like to play the most? (Tank/healer/etc?)

i really like long-distance damage dealers.

33. How do you write your backstory, or do you even write a backstory?

i always start with a concept and then i just write an entire novel ell em ay oh.

34. Do you tend pick weapons/spells for being useful or for flavor?

done!

35. How much roleplay do you like to do?

like, 70% rp, 30% jokes,

[unsettlingshortstories]

Three Skeleton Key

Georges-Gustave Toudouze (1937)

 My most terrifying experience? Well, one does have a few in thirty-five years of service in the Lights, although it's mostly monotonous routine work - keeping the light in order, making out the reports.

 When I was a young man, not very long in the service, there was an opening in a lighthouse newly built off the coast of Guiana, on a small rock twenty miles or so from the main land. The pay was high, so in order to reach the sum I had set out to save before I was married, I volunteered for service in the new light.

 Three Skeleton Key, the small rock on which the light stood, bore a bad reputation. It earned its name from the story of the three convicts who, escaping from Cayenne in a stolen dugout canoe, were wrecked on the rock during the night, managed to escape the sea but eventually died of hunger and thirst. When they were discovered, nothing remained but three heaps of bones, picked clean by birds. The story was that the three skeletons, gleaming with phosphorescent light, danced over the small rock, screaming…

 But there are many such stories and I did not give the warnings of the old-timers at the Isle de Sein a second thought. I signed up, boarded ship and in a month I was installed at the light.

 Picture a gray, tapering cylinder welded to the solid black rock by iron rods and concrete rising from a small island twenty-odd miles from land. It lay in the midst of the sea, this island, a small, bare piece of stone, about one hundred fifty feet long, perhaps forty wide. Small, barely large enough for a man to walk about and stretch his legs at low tide.

 This is an advantage one doesn't find in all lights, however, for some of them rise sheer from the waves, with no room for one to move save within the light itself. Still, on our island, one must be careful, for the rocks were treacherously smooth. One misstep and down you would fall into the sea - not that the risk of drowning was so great, but the waters around our island swarmed with huge sharks that kept an eternal patrol around the base of the light.

 Still, it was a nice life there. We had enough provisions to last for months, in the event that the sea should become too rough for the supply ship to reach us on schedule. During the day we would work about the light, cleaning the rooms, polishing the metalwork and the lens and the reflector of the light itself, and at night we would sit on the gallery and watch our light, a twenty-thousand-candle power lantern, swing its strong, white bar of light over the sea from the top of its hundred-twenty-foot tower.

 Some days, when the air would be very clear, we could see the land, a threadlike line to the west. To the east, north and south stretched the ocean. Landsmen, perhaps, would soon have tired of that kind of life, perched on a small island off the coast of South America for eighteen weeks, until one's turn for leave ashore came around. But, we liked it there, my two fellow tenders and myself - so much so that, for twenty-two months on end with the exception of shore leaves, I was greatly satisfied with the life on Three Skeleton Key.

 I had just returned from my leave at the end of June, that is to say mid-winter in that latitude, and had settled down to the routine with my two fellow-keepers, a Breton by the name of Le Gleo and the head keeper Itchoua, a Basque some dozen years or so older than either of us.

 Eight days went by as usual; then on the ninth night after my return, Itchoua, who was on night duty, called Le Gleo and me, sleeping in our rooms in the middle of the tower, at two in the morning. We rose immediately and, climbing the thirty or so steps that led to the gallery, stood beside our chief.

 Now, ships were a rare sight in our waters, for our light was a warning of treacherous reefs, barely hidden under the surface and running far out to sea. Consequently, we were always given s wide berth, especially by sailing vessels, which cannot maneuver readily as steamers.

 No wonder that we were surprised at seeing this three-master heading dead for us in the gloom of early morning. I had immediately recognized her lines, for she stood out plainly, even at the distance of a mile, when our light shone on her.

 She was a beautiful ship of some four thousand tons, a fast sailer that had carried cargoes to every part of the world, plowing the seas unceasingly. By her line she was identified as Dutch-built, which was understandable, as Paramaribo and Dutch Guiana are very close to Cayenne.

 Watching her sailing dead for us, a white wave boiling her bows, Le Gleo cried out. “What's wrong with her crew? Are they all drunk or insane? Can't they see us?”

 Itchoua nodded soberly, looked at us sharply as he remarked: “See us? No doubt-if there is a crew aboard!”

 “What do you mean, Chief?” Le Gleo had started, turned to the Basque. “Are you saying that she's the Flying Dutchman?”

His sudden fright had been so evident that the older man laughed: “No, old man, that's not what I meant. If I say there's no one aboard, I mean she's derelict.”

 Then we understood her queer behavior. Itchoua was right. For some reason, believing she was doomed, her crew had abandoned her. Then she had righted herself and sailed on, wandering with the wind.

 The three of us grew tense as the ship seemed about to crash on one of our numerous reefs, but she suddenly lurched with some change of the wind, the yards swung around and the derelict came clumsily about and sailed dead away from us.

 In the light of our lantern she seemed so sound, so strong, that Itchoua exclaimed impatiently: “But why the devil was she abandoned? Nothing is smashed, no sign of fire---and she doesn't sail as if she were taking water.”

Le Gleo waved to the departing ship: “Bon voyage!” he smiled at Itchoua and went on. “She's leaving us, chief, and now we'll never know what ---“

 “No, she's not!” cried the Basque. “Look! She's turning!”

 As if obeying his words, the derelict three-master stopped, came about and headed for us once more. And for the next four hours the vessel played around us - zigzagging, coming about, stopping, then suddenly lurching forward. No doubt some freak of current and wind, of which our island was the center, kept her near us.

 Then suddenly, the tropic dawn broke, the sun rose and it was day and the ship was plainly visible as she sailed past us. Our light extinguished, we returned to the gallery with our glasses and inspected her.

 The three of us focused our glasses on her poop, saw standing out sharply, black letters on the white background of a life-ring, the stenciled name: Cornelius de Witt, Rotterdam.

 We had read her lines correctly, she was Dutch. Just then the wind rose and the Cornelius de Witt changed course, leaned to port and headed straight for us once more. But this time she was so close that we knew she would not turn in time.

 “Thunder!” cried Le Gleo, his Breton soul aching to see a fine ship doomed to smash upon a reef. “She's going to pile up! She's gone!” I shook my head: “Yes, and a shame to see that beautiful ship wreck herself. And we're helpless.”

 There was nothing we could do but watch. A ship sailing with all sail spread, creaming the sea with her forefoot as she runs before the wind, is one of the most beautiful sights in the world - but this time I could feel the tears stinging in my eyes as I saw this fine ship headed for her doom.

 All this time our glasses were riveted on her and we suddenly cried out together: “The rats!”

 Now we knew why this ship, in perfect condition, was sailing without her crew aboard. They had been driven out by the rats. Not those poor specimens of rats you see ashore, barely reaching the length of one foot from their trembling noses to the tip of their skinny tails, wretched creatures that dodge and hide at the mere sound of a footfall.

 No, these were ships' rats, huge, wise creatures, born on the sea, sailing all over the world on ships, transferring to other, larger ships as they multiply. There is as much difference between the rats of the land and these maritime rats as between a fishing smack and an armored cruiser.

 The rats of the sea were fierce, bold animals. Large, strong and intelligent, clannish and sea-wise, able to put the best of mariners of shame with their knowledge of the sea, their uncanny ability to foretell the weather.

 And they are brave, the rats, and vengeful. If you so much as harm one, his sharp cry will bring hordes of his fellows to swarm over you, tear you, and not cease until your flesh has been stripped from your bones.

 The ones on this ship, the rats of Holland, are the worst, superior to other rats of the sea as their brethren are to the land rats. There is a well-known tale about these animals.

A Dutch captain, thinking to protect his cargo, brought aboard his ship -  not cats - but two terriers, dogs trained in the hunting, fighting and killing of vicious rats. By the time the ship, sailing from Rotterdam, had passed the Ostend light, the dogs were gone and never seen again. In twenty-four hours they had been overwhelmed, killed and eaten by the rats.

 At times, when the cargo does not suffice, the rats attack the crew, either driving them from the ship, or eating them alive. And studying the Cornelius de Witt, I turned sick, for her small boats were all in place. She had not been abandoned.

 Over her bridge, on her deck, in the rigging, on every visible spot, the ship was a writhing mass - a starving army coming toward us on a vessel gone mad!

 Our island was a small spot in that immense stretch of sea. The ship could have grazed us, passed to port or starboard with its ravening cargo - but no, she came for us at full speed, as if she were leading the regatta at a race, and impaled herself on a sharp point of rock.

 There was a dull shock as her bottom stove in, then a horrible crackling as the three masts went overboard at once, as if cut down with one blow of some gigantic sickle. A sighing groan came as the water rushed into the ship; then she split in two and sank like a stone.

 But the rats did not drown. Not these fellows! As much at home in the sea as any fish, they formed ranks in the water, heads lifted, tails stretched out, paws paddling. And half of them, those from the forepart of the ship, sprang along the masts and onto the rocks in the instant before she sank. Before we had time even to move, nothing remained of the three-master save some pieces of wreckage floating on the surface and an army of rats covering the rocks left bare by the receding tide.

 Thousands of heads rose, felt the wind and we were scented, seen! To them, we were fresh meat, after possible weeks of starving. There came a scream, composed of innumerable screams, sharper than the howl of a saw attacking a bar of iron, and in the one motion, every rat leaped to attack the tower!

 We barely had time to leap back, close the door leading to the gallery, descend the stairs and shut every window tightly. Luckily the door at the base of the light, which we never could have reached in time, was of bronze set in granite and was tightly closed.

 The horrible band, in no measurable time, had swarmed up and over the tower as if it had been a tree, piled on the embrasures of the windows, scraped at the glass with thousands of claws, covered the lighthouse with a furry mantle, and reached the top of the tower, filling the gallery and piling atop the lantern.

 Their teeth grated as they pressed against the glass of the lantern room, where they could plainly see us, though they could not reach us. A few millimeters of glass, luckily very strong, separated our faces from their gleaming, beady eyes, their sharp claws and teeth. Their odor filled the tower, poisoned our lungs, and rasped our nostrils with a pestilential, nauseating smell. And there we were, sealed alive in our own light, prisoners of a horde of starving rats.

 That first night, the tension was so great that we could not sleep. Every moment, we felt that some opening had been made, some window given away, and that our horrible besiegers were pouring through the breach. The rising tide, chasing those of the rats which had stayed on the bare rocks, increased the numbers clinging to the walls, piled on the balcony -   so much so that clusters of rats clinging to one another hung from the lantern and the gallery.

 With the coming of darkness we lit the light and the turning beam completely maddened the beasts. As the light turned, it successively blinded thousands of rats crowded against the glass, while the darkside of the lantern room gleamed with thousands of points of light, burning like the eyes of jungle beasts in the night.

 All the while we could hear the enraged scraping of claws against the stone and glass, while the chorus of cries was so loud that we had to shout to hear one another. From time to time, some of the rats fought among themselves and a cluster would detach itself, falling into the sea like a ripe fruit from a tree. Then we would see phosphorescent streaks as triangular fins slashed the water - sharks, permanent guardians of our rock, feasting on our jailers.

 The next day we were calmer, and amused ourselves teasing the rats, placing our faces against the glass which separated us. They could not fathom the invisible barrier which separated them from us, and we laughed as we watched them leaping against the heavy glass.

 But the day after that, we realized how serious our position was. The air was foul; even the heavy smell of oil within our stronghold could not dominate the fetid odor of the beasts massed around us. And there was no way of admitting fresh air without also admitting the rats.

 In the morning of the fourth day, at early dawn, I saw the wooden framework of my window, eaten away from the outside, sagging inward. I called my comrades and the three of us fastened a sheet of tin in the opening, sealing it tightly. When we had completed the task, Itchoua turned to us and said dully:

 “Well - the supply boat came thirteen days ago, and she won't be back for twenty-nine.” He pointed at the white metal plate sealing the opening through the granite. “If that gives way” - he shrugged - “they can change the name of this place to Six Skeleton Key.”

 The next six days and seven nights, our only distraction was watching the rats whose holds were insecure fall a hundred and twenty feet into the maws of the sharks - but they were so many that we could not see any diminution in their numbers.

 Thinking to calm ourselves and pass the time, we attempted to count them, but we soon gave up. They moved incessantly, never still. Then we tried identifying them, naming them.

 One of them, larger than the others, who seemed to lead them in their rushes against the glass separating us, we named “Nero”; and there were several others whom we had learned to distinguish through various peculiarities.

 But the thought of our bones joining those of the convicts was always in the back of our minds. And the gloom of our prison fed these thoughts, for the interior of the light was almost completely dark, as we had to seal every window in the same fashion as mine, and the only space that still admitted daylight was the glassed-in lantern room at the very top of the tower.

 Then Le Gleo became morose and had nightmares in which he would see the three skeletons dancing around him, gleaming coldly, seeking to grasp him. His maniacal, raving descriptions were so vivid that Itchoua and I began seeing them also.

 It was a living nightmare, the raging cries of the rats as they swarmed over the light, mad with hunger; the sickening, strangling odor of their bodies -

 True, there is a way of signaling from lighthouses. But to reach the mast on which to hang the signal we would have to go out on the gallery where the rats were.

 There was only one thing left to do. After debating all of the ninth day, we decided not to light the lantern that night. This is the greatest breach of our service, never committed as long as the tenders of the light are alive; for the light is something sacred, warning ships of danger in the night. Either the light gleams, a quarter hour after the sun goes down, or no one is left alive to light it.

 Well, that night, Three Skeleton Light was dark, and all the men were alive. At the risk of causing ships to crash on our reefs, we left it unlit, for we were worn out - going mad!

 At two in the morning, while Itchoua was dozing in his room, the sheet metal sealing his window gave way. The chief had just time enough to leap to his feet and cry for help, the rats swarming over him.

 But Le Gleo and I, who had been watching from the lantern room, got to him immediately, and the three of us battled with the horde of maddened rats which flowed through the gaping window. They bit, we struck them down with our knives - and retreated.

 We locked the door of the room on them, but before we had time to bind our wounds, the door was eaten through, and gave way and we retreated up the stairs, fighting off the rats that leaped on us from the knee-deep swarm.

 I do not remember to this day, how we managed to escape. All I can remember is wading through them up the stairs, striking them off as they swarmed over us; and then we found ourselves, bleeding from innumerable bites, our clothes shredded, sprawled across the trapdoor in the floor of the lantern room - without food or drink.

 Luckily, the trapdoor was metal set into the granite with iron bolts.

 The rats occupied the entire light beneath us, and on the floor of our retreat lay some twenty of their fellows, who had gotten in with us before the trapdoor closed, and whom we had killed with our knives. Below us, in the tower, we could hear the screams of the rats as they devoured everything edible that they found. Those on the outside squealed in reply, and writhed in a horrible curtain as they stared at us through the glass of the lantern room.

 Itchoua sat up, stared silently at his blood trickling from the wounds on his limbs and body, and running in thin streams on the floor around him. Le Gleo, who was in as bad a state (and so was I, for that matter), stared at the chief and me vacantly, started as his gaze swung to the multitude of rats against the glass, then, suddenly began laughing horribly:

 “Hee! Hee! The Three Skeletons! Hee! Hee! The Three Skeletons are now six skeletons! Six skeletons!”

 He threw his head back and howled, his eyes glazed, a trickle of saliva running from the corners of his mouth and thinning the blood flowing over his chest. I shouted to him to shut up, but he did not hear me, so I did the only thing I could do to quiet him - I swung the back of my hand across his face.

 The howling stopped suddenly, his eyes swung around the room, then he bowed his head and began weeping softly, like a child.

 Our darkened light had been noticed from the mainland, and as dawn was breaking the patrol was there, to investigate the failure of our light. Looking through my binoculars, I could see the horrified expression on the faces of the officers and crew when, the daylight strengthening, they saw the light completely covered by a seething mass of rats. They thought, as I afterward found out, that we had been eaten alive.

 But the rats had also seen the ship, or had scented the crew. As the ship drew nearer, a solid phalanx left the light, plunged into the water and, swimming out, attempted to board her. They would have succeeded, as the ship was hove to, but the engineer connected his steam to a hose on the deck and scalded the head of the attacking column, which slowed them up long enough for the ship to get underway and leave the rats behind.

 Then the sharks took part. Belly up, mouths gaping, they arrived in swarms and scooped up the rats, sweeping through them like a sickle through wheat. That was one day that sharks really served a useful purpose.

 The remaining rats turned tail, swam to the shore and emerged dripping. As they neared the light, their comrades greeted them with shrill cries, with what sounded like a derisive note predominating. They answered angrily and mingled with their fellows. From the several tussles that broke out, it seemed as if they resented being ridiculed for their failure to capture the ship.

 But all this did nothing to get us out of our jail. The small ship could not approach, but steamed around the light at a safe distance, and the tower must have seemed fantastic, some weird, many-mouthed beast hurling defiance at them.

 Finally, seeing the rats running in and out of the tower through the door and the windows, those on the ship decided that we had perished and were about to leave when Itchoua, regaining his senses, thought of using the light as a signal. He lit it and, using a plank placed and withdrawn before the beam to form the dots and dashes, quickly sent out our story to those on the vessel.

 Our reply came quickly. When they understood our position, how we could not get rid of the rats, Le Gleo's mind going fast, Itchoua and myself covered with bites, cornered in the lantern room without food or water, they had a signalman send us their reply.

 His arms swinging like those of a windmill, he quickly spelled out: “Don't give up, hang on a little longer! We'll get you out of this!” Then she turned and steamed at top speed for the coast, leaving us little reassured.

 She was back at noon, accompanied by the supply ship, two small coast guard boats, and the fireboat - a small squadron. At twelve-thirty the battle was on.

 After a short reconnaissance, the fireboat picked her way slowly through the reefs until she was close to us, then turned her powerful jet of water on the rats. The heavy stream tore the rats from their places, hurled them screaming into the water where the sharks gulped them down. But for every ten that were dislodged, seven swam ashore, and the stream could do nothing to the rats within the tower. Furthermore, some of them, instead of returning to the rocks, boarded the fireboat and the men were forced to battle them hand-to-hand. They were true rats of Holland, fearing no man, fighting for the right to live!

 Nightfall came, and it was as if nothing had been done, the rats were still in possession. One of the patrol boats stayed by the island; the rest of the flotilla departed for the coast. We had to spend another night in our prison. Le Gleo was sitting on the floor, babbling about skeletons; and as I turned to Itchoua, he fell unconscious from his wounds. I was in no better shape and could feel my blood flaming with fever.

 Somehow the night dragged by, and the next afternoon I saw the tug, accompanied by the fireboat, come from the mainland with a huge barge in tow. Through my glasses, I saw the barge was filled with meat.

 Risking the treacherous reefs, the tug dragged the barge as close to the island as possible. To the last rat, our besiegers deserted the rock, swam out and boarded the barge reeking with the scent of freshly cut meat. The tug dragged the barge about a mile from shore, where the fireboat drenched the barge with gasoline. A well placed incendiary shell from the patrol boat bombarded them with shrapnel from a safe distance, and the sharks finished off the survivors.

 A whaleboat from the patrol boat took us off the island and left three men to replace us. By nightfall we were in the hospital in Cayenne. What became of my friends?

 Well, Le Gleo's mind had cracked and he was raving mad. They sent him back to France and locked him up in an asylum, the poor devil. Itchoua died within a week; a rat's bite is dangerous in that hot humid climate, and infection sets in rapidly.

 As for me - when they fumigated the light and repaired the damage done by the rats, I resumed my service there. Why not? No reason why such an incident should keep me from finishing out my service there, is there?

 Besides - I told you I liked the place - to be truthful, I've never had a post as pleasant as that one, and when my time came to leave it forever, I tell you that I almost wept as Three Skeleton Key disappeared below the horizon

[meowlexandragrace]

Reflections, Creativity, and Carrie Fisher Quotes

The year is coming to an end and it’s left me catching my breath and looking back on 2017- on what went well and what didn’t. It was an amazing year for growth in personal relationships in my life. In contrast, the world around me seems to be constantly on fire (and right now that’s both a metaphor and a reality in Southern California). I’m constantly re-imagining where I fit in this dumpster fire of a universe we live in right now and over the past few years it’s changed a lot. That’s both terrifying and exhilarating because the older I get, the less I know exactly where I want to end up. It’s teaching me how to learn how to let go and see what the universe has to offer me.

Letting go has always been a really hard lesson for me. I’ve learned it time and again, after working myself to consistent mental breakdown, never stopping to take care of myself or stop to ask why I am even doing what I'm doing. That became a part of my personality and I thought it made me tough. Growing up, I would win awards in sports and at school for being the most dedicated, the hardest working, I was the one who wouldn’t sleep if it meant getting a project done. Hard work always pays off, it’s true. If I have ever gotten good at anything, it’s not by luck. If I’ve ever gotten anything in life, it’s because I worked my ass off for it. I’m a stubborn Capricorn, through and through. But sometimes, you need to learn when to save your energy for what is really important.

I always thought because of this mentality, I would be a career driven woman for my entire life. It’s always been what I thought would happen, I would get good grades and go to a good college and get a good job. Except, I seem to get stuck at that last part, over and over and over again. The logical part of my brain knows, duh, of course I’m still young and just because I don’t have a solid “career” figured out doesn’t mean that I never will. Then, the anxious, somehow always louder part of my brain just keeps screaming “F A I L U R E !” Every time I would scroll through Instagram and someone else younger than me got a good job, I would get insanely bitter. Social media in general could be a really big anxiety trigger. Most of the time, people are only posting the best parts of their life. We all do it, and it makes the most sense. That’s the easiest part of your life to share with the entire world on the internet- your best self. Putting your mistakes online puts you in an vulnerable position, so most of the time we don’t do it. That still doesn't mean we have to compare our worse selves to someone else's best self. 

That loud voice inside my head screaming “failure” started seeping into everything I did. If I went out with my friends and did something I enjoyed, it was always shadowed with a layer of guilt knowing I could be doing something more productive. If I took time to rest, I was obviously a lazy millennial who wasn’t worth anything. If I spent time with family instead of going to a networking event, I obviously deserved to be a failure because I wasn't working as hard as someone else, even if I was really making myself happy.  The opposite was also true- if I did work on writing, working out, eating healthy, whatever it was- it was never enough. The constant pressure to be more than I was started making nothing feel like it was worth trying for. It felt like any effort was futile, and why bother.

As I was reflecting on the year, I decided to focus for a bit on what went well. I just sat for twenty minutes (put a timer on and everything) and wrote about what I liked about last year. It all came back to my personal relationships blossoming. Things like spending time with family and barbecuing in my parents backyard, running around with my dog, late night board games and drinks with friends, and meeting the love of my life all gave my life meaning again. The older I get, though, the more I realize a career isn’t what’s going to make me happy, it’s the moments in between with the people I love. If you look at the longest study done on happiness, they actually found two things were consistent- the ability to learn how to let go of what’s not important to you and having solid relationships in your life. We’re essentially all looking for a family of some sort, whether that’s in the traditional sense or not. We just want a group of loved ones to belong to, who we can depend on through thick and thin. It’s becoming more clear to me that this is what’s the most important thing in my life- my inner circle. Who knows, if I had become this boss-ass-business person straight away, it might have taken me so much longer to realize the importance of the community I was building around me. So, it was time to let go of what I perceived as my biggest failures, because I was succeeding in ways I hadn't realized.

At this point, I stopped looking at things like, why continue to try at anything when it’s not going to get you anywhere and started thinking how can I improve my life so that I can do more of what I love? What did I still feel like was missing? After changing my perspective, I realized that what I want more than a specific career is to create art and connect with other people. I want other people to feel less alone, because when you feel alone it does start to feel like everything you do is pointless. This is where the terrifying part is- that really isn’t one specific job. There isn’t exactly a job market on LinkedIn for “creative person who likes to write and make things and just really needs to get paid for it so she doesn’t have to be homeless someday.” The moral of the story is- I still don’t know what the heck I’m doing, maybe even less so than I thought I did at the start of this year.

At the beginning of 2017, when I sat down to think of a new year's resolution, I came up with something pretty vague. Instead of making a really specific goal like “lose ten pounds,” I thought how I could have a new mentality to change the year for the better. A Carrie Fisher quote that I couldn’t stop reading came to mind. For background, she happened to die on my birthday last year, and for some reason, that really affected me. I became obsessed with reading interviews she did, watching video clips of her and just taking in all the magic and badassery. A few of her words echoed in my head, “Stay afraid, do it anyway. What’s important is the action. You don’t have to wait to be confident. Just do it and eventually the confidence will follow. ” As someone who suffers from anxiety, I liked the idea of allowing myself to be afraid instead of trying to control the fear. That became my mantra of 2017. It opened up my mind to new opportunities- I started working on a novel this year, I started this blog, shit, I even tried online dating (that last one ended up to be the most successful thing I tried last year!).

I would like to say, instead of overthinking things, I just let go and did them, but that would be a lie. We’re taking baby steps here, people. I still overthought everything I did. My anxiety didn’t just disappear (though, I did eventually get medication and help for the anxiety). I just did things while I overthought them. For example, when I work on writing a blog post, I just start writing what I’m thinking about that week. Usually I sit in the bath or in bed and journal my feelings until I have a complete thought that I want to expand on. My thought process is never full or complete when I start out and I tend to be thinking about at least six things at once (and one of those things is almost always what I’m going to eat for my next meal). I have to mine through the thoughts to make sense of things before I share them. After that, it takes me about a week to write it, agonize over it, edit it, format it, and post it. That’s plenty of time to overthink things, but I’m still creating, I’m still regularly posting. In the end, I’ve been pretty happy with a lot of what I’ve made, overthinking and all!

That leaves me to where I am now and what comes next. Similarly to last year, I’m not setting one specific goal for the year. I tend to try and stack up a lot of smaller goals like this week I’m going to pack healthy lunches for work, or like this week, since it’s near the holidays and I am a serial collector of junk, I decided my goal was to go through my bedroom and make a pile of stuff I wanted to donate to Goodwill. Little things like that that actually will make a difference, one week at a time tend to add up more for me. Instead, I thought about what I wanted more of in my life and when it came down to it, I just want to be more creative. 2018 is all about how I can bring creativity in my every day life, right here, right now!

That doesn’t mean I’m giving up work. Sadly, I’m one of the many people in life who has to go to work for a living. I still would love to find a job doing something I’m even somewhat interested in because I actually take joy in doing work on things that I’m interested in. I just think I’m going to take a step back and take a more broad look at what I want out of life. Right now, it’s to be more creative in my everyday life. I’m trying new things, even if I don’t know if I’ll be any good at them. I want to surround myself with creativity and see what that brings! Even though I’m trying things that sometimes scare me, I’m planning on sharing them with all of you who wish to follow along on the struggle bus with me.

What about you guys? What or who makes you happy? What worked out in 2017? What helped you survive the insanity this year brought? Comments below!

xoxox