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caffeinated-mendes · 4 years ago

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The Band - Shawn Mendes

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synopsis: you’re a talented drummer, needed by many tour agencies, and you’ve just gotten another job. this time, you’re on tour with shawn mendes, and it’s one of the best tours you’ve been on. but before you’re close to finishing, you start feeling like you’re something more than a bandmate to shawn.

a/n: hey everyone! it’s been a while. i took a break from writing to focus on my priorities, and now i’m getting back into it. i might upload only once every month or two, but this way, i’ll probably be more consistent and my content will be better and longer. as always, thank you for reading. much love <3

word count: 14.7 k

warnings: swearing, implied/referenced nsfw content

*if you prefer, you can read this on ao3 here

“Are you the new drummer?” You perk your head up from your shaking knee, shifting in the plastic chair you’re sat in. A woman is standing in front of you, seeming to be in her late twenties, and she looked very professional. Black pencil skirt and a navy blue blouse, and bleached hair slicked back with a clipboard in her hand.

You nod, “Yes, I was told to wait here.” You suddenly felt very underdressed next to her. She radiated confidence, and your distressed jeans and graphic tee were sub-par to say the least. Every audition you had you dressed up, but that was all you really dressed up for, save for parties.

She grins a welcoming smile, “Perfect. You’ll fit right in. Come and follow me so you can meet the boys.” Grateful for the warmness in her voice, you pass the many hallways of the studio Shawn and his band had rented out. It was nice, and a little off the grid, which you didn’t mind. “I’m Missy, by the way. My real name’s Margaret, but everyone just calls me Missy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, then, Missy.” You politely reply, because you’re still unsure even if she was nice to you. It was hard to warm up to new people, but when you jammed out on the drums, it felt like everything around you fell away, and you didn’t worry about looking vulnerable. Missy’s heels click on the tile of the studio, which turns to thudding as you enter the carpeted room. Black sound absorption panels line the room, and a fluorescent light shines above, illuminating the otherwise dim room.

Sat on an amp near a set of drums and a guitar rack was a short guy with dirty blonde hair gathered behind his neck. He wore athletic shorts and a muscle shirt, and gave off the vibe that he wouldn’t mind getting drunk with you any time you asked. He slapped on a shimmering black bass, and you were impressed at how well he played. You recognized a bassline from one of your favorite songs. “I love Flea,” you say, and he looks up, grinning an absolutely ridiculous smile. It didn’t match his appearance at all, and made him look dorky as ever. “It sounds great.” You gestured to his bass.

Missy turned to you, “This is Kit. He looks bulky but he won’t do you any harm, I promise.”

Kit sets his bass on the rack and walks up to you, taking your hand and kissing it, “M’lady.” His deep voice sets off a set of laughs between the two of you, “Pleased to meet your acquaintance. And yes, Flea is fucking amazing.”

You smile at his so eloquently-put sentence as another guy enters the room, this one much taller and leaner than Kit. “And this,” Missy turns to him, “Is Simon. He’s our guitarist-slash-vocal backup.” Simon grins, shaggy dark hair going into his eyes as he shakes your hand.

“I saw your audition video. You sound awesome,” He crosses his arms, “Let’s just hope Kit can keep up with you.”

“Shut up, dumbass,” Kit choruses from behind.

Simon smirks, “Shawn should be here any minute. He ran to get us some coffee. I hope you’re okay with cream.” He turns to the soundboard, fidgeting with a track on the monitor. Missy leaves silently, rubbing your arm in comfort before she goes.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” You look around the room. In the middle of the studio is a microphone with headphones hanging on the stand holding it. Next to it is a beautiful guitar: it has three bronze and three brass strings and dark-stained wood. To the left of the stand are your drums for the time being. They’re glossy and black with shining cymbals, and two drumsticks placed on the bass drum.

Kit picked up his bass again and revisited his spot on the amp, even when there was a perfectly good stool for him off the right of the microphone, “Go on,” He says to you, “Give it a go.” You inhaled and grabbed your set of drumsticks from your back pocket. They were special, a gift from your father, and you never wanted to be without them. They had little etchings at the bottom of each of the sticks, a little circle surrounding your initials. The stool underneath you creaked, and you moved the other pair of drumsticks to the ground. Simon smiles, watching you as you hit the pedal beneath you a few times, feeling the deep, booming sound resonate through your body.

You start slow, picking a moderate tempo, and as the seconds pass, you increase the complexity and the speed, feeling a rhythm that explains how you feel yourself right now. Nervous, but excited. Excited for the new adventure, excited for a new chapter, but scared that you won’t find happiness on this tour. It never happens, but it’s still a doubt in your mind. This doubt booms out from the beat, and the cymbals mimic your strangled heartbeat, mimic your unsureness in yourself and your abilities. You begin to move your body with the momentum of the beat, your hair flicking wildly around you as you lean back and forth, bracelets rattling on your wrist and your sneaker hitting the pedal with such intensity that the ending feels like the end of a firework show: it’s sudden, and dramatic, and so adrenaline-filled you feel like you’re coming out of a trance.

It’s silent for a moment, until you hear an unfamiliar cry going, “Yeah! Wooo!” and two other voices whooping and clapping. Looking up, you see someone standing against the closed door, grinning wildly. You exhale a breath of relief and get up from the stool, recognizing the figure. Shawn stood, his eyes glittering, his smile saying he was impressed. A set of coffees sat on the table next to him, dangerously close to the soundboard.

“That was fucking awesome!” Kit comes up to you and whips you around in a circle, setting you down with a crazy look in his eye. Normally, you would’ve been weirded out by that much contact with someone you met five minutes ago, but it felt normal and comfortable. “We’re never gonna let you go,” Kit said.

“Should I be scared?” You look and Shawn and Simon, pocketing your drumsticks again.

“I’m not sure, Kit gets attached,” Shawn replies, and walks up to you with his hand out, “I’m Shawn. I’m so glad we got you, I don’t know what I would’ve done without a drummer on this tour.” You shake his hand, and then put your hands in your pockets, rocking on your toes.

“I don’t know, but I’m glad I’m here too. I love traveling the world.” You look up at Shawn, his eyes not too far from yours. You were pleased to say you were taller than most people, but he still had a few inches over you. Shawn exhales softly, a small laugh, and you look at his curling brown hair falling onto his forehead, watching as he takes off his jacket and sets it on the desk chair in front of the soundboard.

Shawn hands you a cup of coffee and it warms your cold hands, a sign you were nervous. “Should we go through the setlist? We only have the studio for the rest of today.” Kit and Simon hum in agreement, and Shawn hands you a packet of sheet music.

You refuse it, swallowing the sip of coffee you took, “Oh, don’t worry, I’m pretty sure I got all the songs memorized by now. I wouldn’t want to slip up in concert. I have my own at home, anyway.”

He grins, “Perfect. Let’s start with Lost in Japan, yeah?” He directs the question to all of you as you both take your seats. From here, you can see all of them well. You knew you’d have to start to learn their mannerisms and they way the cued people in, Shawn especially, because you’d seen some guitar and drum solos in the setlist from the information they sent you. Simon moved to the keyboard off to the left of him, running through the melodic introduction to the song. You loved the intro, but loved it even more when the beat dropped and you came in with all your energy, feeling an amazing vibe from Kit’s bass, and every once in a while Shawn would look back at you to make sure you were alright, checking if you were feeling comfortable. You’d been with so many bands, but it never felt like this. Deep down, a tugging in your stomach told you that you had a feeling this was going to be one of the best years of your life.

The line for security was too long. It was the next morning, and you were stuck lugging your massive suitcase a few inches every few minutes because the Toronto airport didn’t know how to manage lines. It’s too early for this, you thought as you gazed out the huge windows lining the sleek airport. It was still dark, and your first stop was Dublin, so you had to leave before the crack of dawn to make your flight. You felt bad for the guys though, each of them having to carry an equally as large suitcase with their guitar cases. All of their cases looked the same: plastered with fragile stickers that were scratched and peeling at the edges. You scratched your head, feeling your loose ponytail. You may or may not have fallen asleep on the car ride there, resulting in your messy hair, and the boys may or may not have made a video of them scaring you awake once you arrived at the airport.

You tugged on your hoodie, pulling the strings nervously, and once you realized you were tapping your foot and playing with the hair tie on your wrist, you took out your earbuds to distract you from the commotion of the line ahead of you. A relaxed melody floated into your head as you put them in, and Shawn shifted in front of you, getting ready to go through the scanner. He turned to face you and the boys, watching as his security guards inched closer to the four of you. You felt bad for him sometimes, because even not knowing him well, you knew that it was hard for him to go places and have normal experiences.

The music settled your nerves a bit, your hand tapping your thigh to the beat of the song. “What are you listening to?” Shawn asks quietly. You handed him an earbud, and he leaned close to you, connected by the cord. You felt your heartbeat quicken, but you didn’t know why. It must’ve been the song, because it was getting louder as it reached the bridge. “I’ve never heard this song,” Shawn says, and you hand him your phone so he can look at what it’s called. “I like it, I think I’ll download their album so I can listen on the plane.”

The sides of your lips turn in a smile, and he mirrors your expression back to you. “If you’re sitting next to me we can always share.” Shawn takes out the earbud, and hands it back to you as the song ends.

“Okay, I think we will be because Kit and Simon like sitting next to each other. They say I snore.” Shawn nudges your shoulder, and you laugh, turning your gaze to the two of them behind you. They were messing with the sticker tags on their suitcases, unsure of how to straighten them out.

“I’m sure you don’t,” You replied, and looked at him. He had his head close to yours, and from there you could smell his shampoo. It smelled like mint, and the scent drifted away as Shawn was called through the metal detector. You suddenly began to feel hot, even though it was March and freezing in the airport. Controlling your breathing, you put your cold hands on your face and started to gain some more control over your heartbeat. What was wrong with you? You had already built up your immunity from so many world tours, and knew you would only catch something once or twice during the tour. Were you already feeling sick?

Simon pushed you along through the tunnel, into the plane. He hated standing still like you, and now that the boys had left their guitars, he had wanted to board as quickly as possible. It was fun to learn all the guys’ quirks. You knew Kit the best so far, just because he never really stopped talking. He loved talking about his life and weird experiences he’d had, and honestly, it was fitting because you were such opposites. You knew how he hated cheese with a passion and once threw up four times in a row after chugging a gallon of milk in thirty seconds. He was very entertaining, to say the least.

You knew Simon had a little sister back at home, and he was from Chicago, which explained the way he said his As. He’d been playing guitar since he was nine years old, and you could relate to him in that way because you started on drums from a young age, too. You had met some of Shawn’s friends that traveled along and of course, his manager, and every other important person that came on tour with you all, but you stayed close to the band. After all, you had known them a day longer than anyone else.

Shawn hadn’t told you much, but he didn’t need to. His friends had already told you some embarrassing things about him, and you knew you would get to know each other better as the tour progressed. You didn’t want to pry.

You boarded the plane, and got into your assigned seat. There were only two seats together because you were flying first class, and you were glad to have the extra leg room and space. Looking out the window, you saw that it began to rain pretty hard, so you already anticipated some bad turbulence going into the sky. Luggage carriers zoomed around the plane, and you watched as the sun began to peek through the horizon. It streaked the sky a bright orange, and made the clouds pink. It gave you a warm feeling that you only got when you saw the sunrise.

Shawn shuffled into the seat next you, snapping you out of your daydream. The lights shut off at that exact moment, making the inside of the plane glow blue at the ceiling, meaning passengers could sleep for a while before it got really bright. You could only see Shawn’s necklace sparkling as it escaped his hoodie, and some of his hair. Finally, your eyes began to adjust right as he got settled in. You pulled out your phone again and offered him an earbud. He took it with a smile. “What are we listening to?”

“My playlist. Prepared to be amazed at my exquisite music taste.”

“Will do.” He put it in his ear, shuffling to the right side of his seat so he wouldn’t accidentally pull it out of your ear. At that moment you felt a bump in your back, ripping it out of your ear anyway.

“Sorry, Sticks!” Kit poked his head over your seat, and you looked up at him.

“Sticks?” You questioned.

“Y’know, you have your own special drumsticks. I gotta find some nickname to call you by.” He grins his dopey grin as he sits back down.

“That’s a terrible nickname.” You call back.

He replies, “That’s why I’m keeping it, cause you don’t like it!” You could practically hear him smiling then. Shawn shakes his head, giggling with you.

At that point the plane began to turn around, ready to go on the runway. You clenched your fists, tapping them on your legs as the plane got faster and faster, and finally, you were pushed back into your seat as it began its ascent. No matter how many times you flew on a plane, you hated getting in and out of the sky. Your mind went to the darkest situations, and you terrified yourself every time with the smallest possibility that you wouldn’t make it to the ground safe.

You remembered your dad’s words to you when you were little. Whenever you would cry he would show you how to breathe. Holding onto your bracelets, you breathed in five seconds, held it, out five seconds. After your heart stopped racing, you looked out the window and completely ruined all the work you’d done. The plane was turning, but it looked like it was falling to you. Turbulence made it shake, quickening your heartbeat. You immediately shut your eyes.

A gentle tap went to your shoulder. You opened your eyes and looked at Shawn, who had concern plastered across his face, “Hey, are you okay?”

You gulped, “Yeah, I’m fine, I get a little panicky on planes. I’ll be fine once we’re above the clouds.” At that point, Shawn took your hand and squeezed it with both of his, warmth surging through. “What are you doing?”

“Pressure to the body helps people control anxiety, remind them that they’re there and okay, you know? Usually holding them works best because they’re soothing too, but-” he stopped himself, “Jeez, your hands are so cold.”

“Yeah, they get like that when I’m nervous.” You replied.

“Okay, just look at me. Don’t look at the windows.” His eyes met yours, and they never wavered. He began to breathe just like how your dad taught you, never letting go of your hand. He stopped after a minute or so. “There you go, now you’ll be okay. We’re above the clouds.”

“Thank you,” You said sympathetically. The music in your ears suddenly came back, and you realized you tuned it out before. Shawn began to rummage through his bag, taking out a case for glasses. He opened it, and put on the ugliest pair of glasses you had ever seen. They were big, orange tinted glasses that covered half his face. “What are those?” You asked, holding in laughter.

“What?” He looked at you like it was nothing out of the ordinary. “These? They help you sleep because of the orange lens.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Dublin came quicker than you expected. You must have fallen asleep on the flight, which was strange, since you never fell asleep on planes. You must’ve been mentally drained from take-off, you tell yourself. As expected, Shawn was fast asleep, adorning his orange glasses and your earbud still in his ear.

Once you grabbed your bag from the overhead compartment, you sped your way through the plane and the tunnel, trying desperately to move your legs. You could feel the pins and needles in your legs and the humid air filling your lungs as you entered the airport. Kit and Simon walked with you, one on both sides, and Shawn lagging behind, talking to his friend Connor. He seemed nice when you had met that same morning, but you didn’t talk much after that.

Driving from the airport, you never got used to the feeling of being somewhere new. The sky was a pale blue with clouds streaked across it and driving along the weathered roads with the sun-baked buildings was another experience. The air smelled cleaner, at least cleaner than Toronto, and looking out the window of the car you and the boys were driving in, you could see shops open for business lining the street, selling bouquets of flowers, books, pastries, and so many other enchanting things. A double decker bus passed you, crowded with people snapping photos. Children ran along the sidewalk playing with kites and eating ice cream. It seemed like a wonderful place to live.

The hotel you stayed at wasn’t big, but a medium-sized building with a few floors. Since you were the only girl besides Alessia (and she was sharing a room with one of her family members) you would get your own room. Missy had stayed in Toronto, telling you that she’d be there for the Asian leg of the tour. You were content with being with Alessia and the guys, though, because you often found ways to entertain yourself. You didn’t doubt that Kit wouldn’t be entertaining nonetheless.

Andrew, Shawn’s manager, handed all of you your keycards as you entered the lobby of the hotel. It looked nice; high ceilings, chandeliers, places to sit and a bar ready for anyone to sit at. All you wanted to do was sleep and the first concert wasn’t until tomorrow, so you took the first elevator and slipped out of the group as quietly as possible. When you unlocked your room, you were met with a queen bed, a bathroom, a small counter space, table with two chairs, a beautiful view from the window. White curtains blew from the wind that picked up in the room and your mouth watered at the smell of the bakery across the street. Setting your bag down, you began your mental hotel room checklist your mother ingrained into your head: check the mattress for bed bugs, take the top cover off because it’s never washed, put your suitcase in the closet, check inside and under all furniture for anything suspicious.

You sometimes wondered how your mother and father even married each other, and stayed together at that. They were such opposites. She was a control freak, obsessed with keeping things orderly the way she wanted. He was relaxed, ready for anything that came his way. You wondered how people saw you as when they first met you. You cast the thought aside and closed and locked the window. You changed into leggings and a big t-shirt and crawled into bed, feeling the stress of the day fade away as you sank into the mattress. Within seconds, you fell asleep.

A harsh knocking woke you up from your sleep, and for a second you sat disoriented, not remembering where you were. The sun was setting outside, the horizon glowing. Events from the day came back to you, and knocking kept coming from your door. “Hey, you up?” Someone called on the other side. Yawning, you padded over to it, opening the door and rubbing your eyes.

It was Shawn, and he looked at you, hair a mess from turning in your sleep and the big t-shirt you wore going to your thighs. “Uh, sorry I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just wanted to know if you wanted to come get dinner with everyone?” He scratched the back of his neck, looking at you. He had changed into a green long sleeved sweater and black jeans, looking very put together. His hair had been tamed a little more, still curly but not sticking up in places.

“Yeah, sure, and it’s no problem, I was tired. Are we having a rehearsal tonight?” You touched the bracelets on your wrist subconsciously, and took your hair out of its ponytail, releasing the tension from your scalp.

Shawn cleared his throat after looking at you strangely, “No, the hotel doesn’t have a drum set for you, so we can’t, but we’re gonna go down the street to a place Andrew reserved for us in about ten minutes.”

You nodded, “Alright, let me get dressed and I’ll be waiting in the lobby.” Shawn nodded, and turned to leave, but you caught his wrist. He looked back at you, hazel eyes boring into yours, “Hey, seriously though, thank you for helping me on the plane. I don’t like to tell people about that but it’s hard to hide it. Especially since you’re intuitive.”

“Thank you for the compliment, and hey, that’s what friends are for, right?” Shawn doesn’t take his wrist from your grasp, but you let it go.

“Well, technically, you’re my boss, so-”

“I don’t like that technicality. I want us to be friends. I want you to feel welcome with us, and I want to get to know you and the others to be your friends. So if that means helping you breathe every time we take off or have turbulence, I will gladly do that.” Shawn turns to leave again.

“You don’t even know yet if I work with you all on stage. How do you know I’ll get to stay?” You questioned.

He pressed the elevator button down the hall, to the right of you, “I have a feeling you will.” With that, he went inside the elevator and let the doors close on him.

You skipped and hopped along the cobbled streets of Dublin, laughing, looking up at the sky. As the breeze bit at your face and the moon looked back at you, you got a strange nostalgic feeling, a feeling that made you think you should remember this night forever. You and a few of Shawn’s friends had begun to walk away from the restaurant you had dinner at. Alessia, his special guest and opener, had begun to chat with you, and for a while you felt bad. Through all the commotion you didn’t even introduce yourself because you hadn’t even seen her, even though you knew all the drum parts to her songs. Her setlist was really fun to play.

Alessia ran along with you, a few of the others in tow. You had sparked some conversation about music, fashion, and new movies when you heard some folk music being played on the speakers at the bar across the road. Your feet moved in a rhythm, following a step pattern that you had been taught from folk dancers around the world. That was another thing you loved about touring: learning things from other cultures. “What are you doing?” Alessia asks, snickering as you dance along the pavement. Your sneakers tap the stone to the beat.

“Dancing. Folk dancing.” You turn to face her, dancing while moving backwards, “Come try.” Alessia smiles as you slow down the steps. She catches on fast, and soon enough you’re speeding it back to tempo. Suddenly your jacket isn’t needed as much, and you feel your face is flushed. Tying it around your waist, you see Alessia teaching Kit and Connor, and soon enough, all four of you are dancing, arms linked in a line. Andrew, Shawn, and the rest of the crew finally notice as they catch up to the four of you laughing, humming along to the song. Simon joins the line, asking, “What are we doing?”

“Having fun!” Kit screams back, whooping into the night sky. You see Shawn take a seat on one of the benches across from the five of you, him and everyone else clapping to the beat. He had a strange look on his face, and he wouldn’t break his gaze from you. Every time you laughed, you would sneak a look at him and see a tiny smile tug at his lips. It made you feel off-balance, in a way.

The song ends in no time, and you’re left with some energy spent, smoothing your messy hair down and tying a loose shoelace. A new song comes on, and you and Alessia begin twirling around the street, on your way back to the hotel. Shawn catches up to the two of you, face red from the cold. Alessia reaches out a hand, and her and Shawn begin to zoom in circles with locked arms, going fast with the momentum like a spinning top.

You remembered playing that game when you were little. You and your friends called it Twister. Alessia beckoned you over, and now the three of you became interlinked; Shawn’s cackling, leaning his head back in adrenaline as you scream to slow down. “I think that the rest of them think we’re acting like kids!” You grin, feeling your hair whip your face.

Shawn gasps out, nose and cheeks cherry red, “Who cares?”

“You’re on with Alessia in five,” a stage manager peeks into your’s and Alessia’s shared dressing room, and you nod at them, a mumble of okay in reply. You got nervous before going on stage, but it was more of the adrenaline making you unable to speak. The bright lights in the vanity in front of you shined, illuminating your face. You always did something fun with your makeup with each tour, and decided that this time, you’d do a bright color lining your eyes with some mascara. A bright blue lined your eyes this time, making them pop. Simple, but cool. The band usually had to wear darker clothes to emphasize Shawn and Alessia in front, which wasn’t a problem, so you sported some black sneakers, ripped jeans, denim jacket, and a gray tie-dyed shirt.

You’re tapping your drumsticks against your thighs as you lightly jog down the bright hall, near the band. People are gathered around in a huddle. “There she is!” Kit says, watching as you walk to the group.

“What’re we doing?” You ask, joining the huddle. You felt like a football player.

“It’s tradition. We say a speech, and then go on stage.” Simon tells you, putting a hand on your back. Alessia’s to the right of you, and Shawn’s opposite from you, watching you. You feel strange again, only for a second. Was he watching you because he wanted to see if you wouldn’t do well tonight? That was impossible, given what he’d said to you last night.

Alessia’s set left you feeling like you’d drank five coffees and then some more energy drinks, every nerve buzzing in your body. The crowd was wild; they knew all the words to her songs and she would occasionally run to you, singing her heart out while you returned the amazing feeling back, hearing your drums boom over the speakers. Sometimes you would see that the cameras panned on you, and you watched your flushed face, looking like you were completely in your element.

When she told the crowd to give it up for the band, Simon gave you a big thumbs up, reassurance that you were doing well. The first performance was always the hardest. The crowd’s screams roared through your ears, and they became deafening when Shawn appeared on stage, rising from the middle platform, smoke bathing him in the spotlights. You felt your stomach lurch in excitement, ready for the next two and a half hours, every single beat memorized in your fingertips.

Shawn starts with Lost in Japan, singing beautifully. His voice sounds buttery and warm, and you wait for your queue as he pauses before the beat for dramatic effect. You come in right on time, everything syncing together, and your body’s pulsing, moving with the beat. You’re sweating, but it’s the best feeling you’ve ever felt in your entire life. A few songs pass, and Shawn begins one of his covers, walking over to Kit as they assemble back to back, shredding solos. As the interlude progresses, you see Shawn walking to you, and you swear his gaze is something you’ve never seen before. It’s euphoric, his hair and face glistening, the lights shining so bright that it makes him hard to see until he’s right in front of you, leaning over your cymbals. You flick the drumstick in a circle, catching it as you crash onto the symbols. Shawn’s looking at you, and you feel like all that exists is the two of you. It’s like you’re connected: you know that you’re both feeding each other the best kind of energy you’ve ever felt.

It wasn’t that way with Alessia. Sure, it felt awesome, but this, this guy, this guy who looks absolutely perfect in every way is putting you in a trance and suddenly you come back to your body, him giving you a wink as he makes his way back to center stage. You try to control your breathing with the beat, feeling lightheaded. Soon enough, you focus back on your drums and you pretend like nothing’s happened. But you know, deep down in your stomach, something in you has changed.

Four Months Later

“Goddamn it, I had two yellows left!” Alessia screams, huffing in frustration and flopping back onto the pillows of your bed. You laugh maniacally, falling down next to her, ignoring the scattering Uno cards all over your coverlet. “I can’t believe we’ve been on tour since March, and it’s already July,” She mutters quietly, looking up at the popcorn ceiling.

“I know. It feels like it’s been my entire life but somehow went by so fast I didn’t even notice,” You say back. The two of you just finished a show, exhausted but glad you got to rest for a bit before you left. All of you were taking the bus tonight and you know you wouldn’t sleep very much. Your sleeping habits on planes and buses had not improved one bit since March.

“You wanna watch a movie tonight on the bus?” Alessia asks, sitting up to gather the cards. She picks one off your thigh, and you stretch your arms, your tank top making the Miami heat and humidity less miserable. Your hotel room still kept the moisture in, and if there was one thing you hated about Canada, it would be the humidity. It made you feel homesick, though, and you sigh as you feel your back stiffen.

“Yes, please, and Shawn asked if we could watch Far From Home,” You grinned at the thought of seeing MJ and Peter’s kiss on the Tower Bridge. You liked some romance if it involved Tom Holland.

Alessia groans, “How many times have you and Shawn watched Spiderman?” She snorts, “It feels endless. And you both can quote that movie word for word.”

“But you forget that we’ve watched the Andrew Garfield and Toby Maguire ones more. Now pick: confident and suave Spiderman, or cute, geeky, highschool Spiderman?”

“Cute geeky highschool Spiderman.” She responds, and all of a sudden there’s a knock at your door. Alessia gets up to answer it, but the door’s already swinging open, and Shawn struts in. He’s wearing a plain, black t-shirt and some gray sweatpants and his hair is wet from the shower. You feel a tugging in your stomach and ignore it.

He grins, “Did someone say Spiderman?” Alessia throws a pillow at him, and he falls back into the desk chair opposite the two of you, laughing.

“Unfortunately, and how did you even get in?” She responds, sitting up on the headboard of your bed.

“Kit stole your spare keycard so he could eat some of the German chocolate you have stashed in your backpack, and I caught him in the hallway before the show, so I came to return it now.” He gets up from the desk chair, and sits on the foot of the bed, handing it to you.

You grit your teeth, “I’m gonna kill him. I have been saving that for good reason, rationing it bit by bit. It’s not like you can get it back at home.” Alessia and Shawn respond in a chorus of giggles, looking at your angry face. “What? No one messes with my chocolate!”

It’s a few hours later, and you, Shawn and Alessia are crowded onto the long couch in the bus, letting the streetlamps and highways pass you by. Everyone else had left to go sleep, but you wanted to finish the movie and see the ending, even though you knew exactly what happened. You wore your warm, black sweatpants and the same tank top you had on before. Your hair tickled your back, but it felt good to release the tension from your scalp. You’d decided to put it up from the show tonight, an elegant, slicked back look. Shawn was off to the right of you, watching as Mysterio ‘saved’ the city from the ‘fire elemental.’ You hated him so much, feeling a little too attached to your Marvel characters. Alessia had begun to nod off, and finally was awoken when the bus hit a pothole. She groaned, “I need to sleep,” She pushed herself up off the couch, moving down the hallway into the bunks, “Goodnight, nerds.”

She always did that when you watched anything superhero-y. “Goodnight,” you and Shawn replied in unison.

Opening your phone, you scrolled through your Instagram, seeing all your mentions of the band in concert. There was a picture of you and Kit hugging, Alessia and you running across the stage together, and you and Shawn playing through your solo. “You always do so well on that part,” Shawn says, leaning into you and looking at your phone. You felt your cheeks flare up and cursed yourself. He looked stunning in the photo, as per usual. Curly hair a mess, and his shirt stuck to his body with sweat. “I loved that outfit you wore, too, it was so cool.” He added.

You looked at yourself and saw your lace, navy blue blouse, attached with interlacing straps, and flared black pants, paired with combat boots and your usual bracelets. Your slicked back ponytail was completed with the dangly earrings you wore. “Thanks,” you responded, “I try.” You can feel his shoulder touching yours, his knee brushing up against you. You scroll down a bit farther through the photos you’re tagged in, and see a picture of you and your dad. He posted it on your birthday. It was you and him backstage, a few years ago when you’d played your first tour. His hair and eyes were the same color as yours, and he always had a scruffy beard. You’re hugging him, and you remembered at that moment what he’d said to you. I love you, I’m so proud of the person you’ve become. Never stop doing what you love. Follow your heart, my love.

You smiled to yourself and began to miss him so much. He was probably at home, watching his favorite show on TV, mom sitting next to him on the couch, reading a book. “Who’s that?” Shawn asked. He looked at you, and you turned your head, watching as his eyes studied you.

“My dad. He’s the one who taught me to play the drums.” You fiddled with the bracelets on your wrist.

Shawn nods, “I’m guessing those bracelets you always wear are from him.” You looked down as he took your wrist, looking at three entangled together.

“The first one, the one with the bird on it,” It was brown, the engraved bird, silver, “That was his. It was his good luck charm. The second he got me on my fifteenth birthday, the one that’s the silver chain.” That one had your birthstone on it in the middle, “And the last, that was given to me when I graduated high school.” It was a braided black cord, and on it a charm silvery-black that was your first initial.

“They’re beautiful.” Shawn moves his fingers down from your arm, tracing your skin, and you shiver, “You’re beautiful.” His voice is soft, almost as if he’s scared for you to realize what he said, bottom lip quivering. His eyes never move away from you. It’s hard to see him, but the bus’s blue lights keep the room from being pitch black. You see his lips tug into a smile, and then he’s kissing you, and it’s like your body’s wired to respond to him. Kissing back, you move your fingers to the nape of his neck, twisting his hair into knots. You feel his hand settle on your waist, and he moves closer till you’re nearly on his lap. He smells like mint shampoo and his lips are soft. He teases you, licking your lip until you open your mouth, engulfing yourself in his touch.

You’re suddenly glad that you’re at the back of the bus, far from the driver and everyone sleeping. You pause for breath, looking at him. His eyes are sparkling, pupils blown out, and his lips and cheeks are flushed red. Your hair creates a curtain around your faces, and he plays with it, now that you’re settled on his lap. Feeling another wave of desire pulse through you, and you trace your fingers across his chest as he whines in response, but then you realize what’s happening, and your breath hitches, and you pull back, blood rushing to your face. “Wait, wait, we can’t do this. This isn’t right. I work with you.” You move off of him, getting up and standing.

Shawn grabs your hand, lightly. “What, no!” His voice is hushed, but still frantic, “It’s not like that. I’ve been feeling this for a while now, and every time I see you, it’s like I need you, I need you so-”

“-Shawn,” you say, and he stops, shutting his mouth and swallowing. He looks so good, and you feel your entire body wanting to go to him, but you knew it would end badly. You couldn’t have feelings. You shouldn’t. “This,” you waved your hands from you to Shawn, “We can’t do this.”

All of a sudden, he takes your hand and puts it on his chest. “Tell me,” he says, and you feel his heart pounding, “Tell me you don’t feel anything when I do this. Tell me,” He pulls you in, putting his hand on your waist. The bus shakes, but he’s there, holding you, “You don’t feel anything when I do this.” He’s leaning over you now, mouth right next to your ear, “When you feel my hand running along your back,” you shiver, your entire body stiff, “Or when you hear me say that all I think about is you. And when you’re around me, all I want is to hold you like this, and feel your hands in my hair, and listen to your laugh, and lean on you when we watch movies, and play music with you, and-”

You move his face from your side, and pull him in, kissing him again, and again, till you feel your lips swollen and your body pulsing, taking the feeling in one last time. Like that, it’s over, and you push away from him again, looking at his messy hair, curls strewn everywhere, and mutter, “I-I need to go to bed.” You can’t meet his eyes. His hands fall from your waist as you walk into the hallway, down to the bunks, every atom in your body protesting.

The next morning, you’re trying to busy your mind with anything you could possibly think of: memorizing the music for potential covers, reorganizing your suitcase; it was a flurry of meaningless tasks as you finally had to face soundcheck. Last night left you feeling lightheaded and warm inside, but when you thought about what was actually happening, that you had feelings for Shawn that he returned, your heart would pound and anxiety would creep into your chest.

It wasn’t right. What if you decided to be together and then two weeks later you’ve argued and broken up and then the band doesn’t work? You’d ruin the entire tour. Or what if you felt that same pain you knew all too well?

You're tugging at the peeling skin on your lips, trying to delay soundcheck as much as possible as you round through the twisting hallways of the stadium. Humming helps you clear your head a bit, but the instant you see Shawn you know you’ll be tripping over yourself trying to get to your drums. As if heaven itself was descended upon you, Alessia and Simon are walking towards you, coming from the stage entrance. “They’re almost ready,” Simon said, his face calm.

Wondering if your face looked the same way your mind would’ve, you nodded, replying, “Alright, let’s go. Did you still want to do that solo with me, A?” You force yourself to tug a smile onto your lips. Simon patted your shoulder as he moved down the hallway, probably to get Kit to stop raiding the catering rooms for food.

Praying that the drums would muffle the world around you, Alessia replied, “Yeah, and I was thinking that maybe I could bring you to the front with me to hit the soundbox for an acoustic version, because Shawn said-”

“I kissed Shawn last night,” You blurted right before you walked through the stage door. You could see Connor, Geoff, and a few others crowding around some cameras, and your skull was pounding. Everything you felt that you questioned yourself about felt like a blow to the head. Alessia looked at you, her face unsettlingly calm. “Say something,” You pleaded.

“Was it good?”

“What? Ask me anything but that! Tell me I’m horrible, tell me this is wrong, that I’ll ruin this for everyone!” You grabbed Alessia’s arms, shaking her wildly.

She began to smile. Smile. Why would she smile, of all things? “You guys are way more than friends, and you both know it,” Alessia assures. “You’re always teasing each other, you sit next to each other on planes and buses, and have you seen the way he looks at you on stage?”

“What do you mean?” You asked. Alessia pulled you to the side of the doorway, Shawn walking down by Connor.

“He looks back at you all the time on stage, and when he’s doing that solo with you, he’s facing only you on purpose. It’s like he doesn’t even remember anyone else is there.” She lovingly puts her hand on your arm, and you feel your stomach settling. “I’ve seen you on the plane, when you start to panic. He’s the only one who can calm you down, and you always make him feel better about being nervous up there.” She nods her head to the stage. “It’s only about what you want now.”

You groaned, turning your head to look at him. He was stiff all over, strumming his guitar as he sat on the edge of the stage. “I don’t know what I want. I have rules when it comes to tours. Relationships don’t end well.”

“Who’s relationship?” You jumped, turning to see Kit walk up, crumbs on his face.

You shrugged, “Oh, no one’s. I was just saying that usually band relationships don’t end well. I’ve seen one or two of ‘em.” You covered yourself, Alessia nodding. You didn’t actually know anyone who dated someone they worked with.

Kit scratches his chin, crumbs falling to the ground, “Well, my best friend’s mom ended up marrying the guy she was in a high school band with. They’re probably the happiest couple I’ve seen. Don’t ask me though,” He grinned, walking through the doorway and turning his head to face them, “I have commitment problems. See ya on stage, Sticks!”

You and Alessia rolled your eyes in unison. As he walked away from you, you looked at Shawn, who turned his head at the sound of your nickname. Alessia rubbed the small of your back, “I think he wants to talk to you,” she stated. You shook your head, ripping your eyes away from his stare. His eyes practically drowned you, his longing gaze making you feel dizzy. You were so fucked for him, and you didn’t have a clue what to do.

“Stay with me, A,” You practically whined like a five year old.

She shook her head, “I can’t do this for you,” She sounded like your mother, “If you tell him what you’re thinking, he’ll understand.”

You nodded and soon enough Alessia was gone, her laughing echoing through the arena. Shawn left his conversation, his friends’ eyes trailing after him as he approached you. He looked tired, devoid of sleep, and you felt guilt settle in the pit of your stomach. He lost sleep over you. It shouldn’t affect you, but you weren’t surprised by the same dark circles under your eyes this morning. He wore a plain white t-shirt, reasonable for the warm season, but now that you accepted your feelings for him, it was like you were seeing him differently this time. His eyes were prettier, body more graceful in the way he moved, and you could see every little detail that made him look perfect to you. “Hey,” was all he said.

His face seemed to be saying so much more, but you replied, “Hi.” God, you were so lame.

“We need to talk,” He said, fingers nearly touching yours where both your arms lay limp.

You nodded, watching his eyes shifting around your face as if he were trying to figure out a puzzle. “I know, it’s just that right now, I’m really confused, and I know that doesn’t make up for anything I did last night, but I just don’t know what I want.” You wanted to say you did, and everything in your heart that told you to kiss him right then and tell him you wanted him was chided at and locked away by your brain’s fears and doubts. You hadn’t realized that both your hands had met, and you were subconsciously running your thumb over the rings on his fingers.

Shawn was wordless, his mouth in a tight line. You watched as he inhaled, studying your intertwined hands, “I’ll wait for your answer,” He said it quietly, in the same way he had said that you were beautiful last night, unsure of what you were going to reply with. You began to open your mouth, but then someone cut you off.

“Yo, Sticks! Where are you?” Kit called from the stage, “Where is she, man?” You could hear Simon mumble an ‘I don’t know.’

“I should probably go.” You didn’t dare to meet his eyes.

He let go of your hand, palm still outstretched. “Yeah, probably.”

The soundcheck had run by with few hiccups, Shawn asking you to adjust your amp a few times and approving of the acoustic version of one of Alessia’s songs. He all asked it politely, as if nothing happened in the last twenty-four hours. The same went for the concert: the crowd was amazing, as per usual, and that solo that you had always done with Shawn felt like nothing but pure tension. He looked at you in a way that showed he was trying to restrain himself and you doubted you looked any different.

“Did he say anything else to you after the show?” Alessia asked from your bed. You had finally gotten a hotel room together, and it was nice to have her there and to keep your mind off things.

Wiping the pink eyeshadow and mascara lining your eyes, you muttered, “No, God, it’s like the worst feeling ever. It feels like he hates me, and he’s already so disconnected.” You threw your makeup wipe in the bathroom trash can, “He didn’t say a word, didn’t come to my dressing room like he always does. I feel like I’m losing him.” You glared at yourself in the mirror, steadying your body with two arms on the counter.

“Sweetheart, I’m sure he’s just as confused. Shawn needs some time to sort himself out, too.” You left the bathroom and joined her on the bed, groaning as you got under the covers.

“That’s the problem! He’s not confused. He knows what he wants and he told me he’d wait for my decision!” You aggressively turned to face her on your pillow.

Alessia turned herself to face you, the lamp behind her illuminating her outline, “What are you so scared of?” Her eyes were warm, and her hand ran up and down your arm.

“That I’ll ruin everything. What if we don’t work and then they’ll have to get a new band member because I messed it up?” Your eyes shifted from her to the threading of the covers.

Alessia sighed, “I know that can’t be all of it. What’re you hiding? Tell me.”

You knew the answer. It tugged at the back of your mind relentlessly. “I guess, I-I’m scared to love him. And for him to love me,” you replied, forcing yourself to accept it. You brought a hand up to your lip, tearing away at the skin. “I’ve been hurt before.”

Her mouth hinted at a smile, “Shawn would never hurt you. I know him, and I know that you’ve told me a little about your relationships, and you don’t need to tell me about them if you don’t want to.”

“I love you, A.” Your eyes began to flutter closed, the day’s exhaustion creeping up on you.

She shook you, making your eyes pop open, “I love you too. Now get out of my bed, you move around too much when you sleep.”

You had arrived home for two days, the tour coming to a stall for Shawn’s birthday. He had invited you to the party, and it had been the first time he’d spoken to you outside of a group for a few days. Now that you were safely home, you unsurely said that you would come, it being that you only lived twenty minutes away from him (you seriously wondered how you’d never played for him before).

Arriving home felt strange. It was too quiet. When you’d set your keys down, everything was silent save for the storm raging outside. Toronto was refusing to be sunny for the time being. There weren’t any of Kit’s jokes causing everyone to laugh hysterically or scold him, none of Simon’s practicing sounding through the room, Alessia’s humming and drumming on any surface she could find, and especially none of Shawn’s laughter. Even when it was awkward between you two, you could always hear it, warm and broad coming from the back of the bus, or in a practice room.

You had started to long for a pet, but you never wanted them to have to deal with your life of traveling. It might as well have belonged to your parents.

The first thing you did was raid the fridge for any food, and since you were gone for nearly five months, all you could see were bottles of ketchup and coffee creamer (which had definitely gone bad). Groaning, you pushed yourself away from the kitchen and grabbed your shoes from the front door, putting them on to walk down the block to your favorite pizza place.

The healthiness of tour always gave you terrible cravings for junk food, and you basked in the glory of eating it twenty-five minutes later and laying on your couch in a food coma. A show you watched three times already played in the background, familiar voices and dialogue comforting you.

Your parents were enjoying their retirement, and were off exploring the Mediterranean, so no one familiar to your life before tour had been available. It was hard to make friends when you were gone for most of the year, but you still had a few, all of which were busy the same weekend you were home.

Everything felt terrible.

It was like you were crashing from a months-long high, unsettled by old surroundings and the quiet. So, you did what you always did when you felt lonely, tired, and overall miserable. Slowly, you got up from the couch and moved to your room, opening the drawer on the right side of your desk. You grabbed your notebook, a faded gray color with your first initial embroidered on the top right side. Taking a pen from your desk, you began to write incoherent sentences, different thoughts strung together in a way that didn’t make sense. It was strange to be back at your desk. Oftentimes, you wrote there whenever you were home from tours. It felt nostalgic to you. As your mind began to focus on one subject, you wrote pages and pages, completely unaware of time passing you.

The night in the bus kept replaying in your head, and Alessia’s words to you, and Shawn’s face looking at you onstage. It was like all you could think of was him. Every time you tried to change the subject you wrote about, it rooted back to him. Frustrated, you squinted your eyes and rubbed them. It was dark in your room. You hadn’t even noticed that three hours had passed.

A forceful sigh left your lips. You got up from the chair, legs stiff and your head pounding. Moving to the bathroom connected to your room, you stepped into the shower, making the water scalding hot until it felt like your back was being burned.

You sat and curled your knees to your body, crouching down to the floor of the shower, head hung in between your legs. Your hair blocked all light from entering, and it was like you were sucked into a trance of the endless beating of water on your back. All that was left was the steady rhythm of your breath. None of the day’s -correction- month’s stresses came to mind, and for once, your head was clear.

Shawn’s condo was really nice. It was spacious and open, with modern accents here and there in every room. You liked more of a cozy vibe, but each space still looked pleasing to the eye. There were too many people to count: some familiar faces and most unfamiliar. Bodies clashed together, music blasting, and some people chatted in corners with drinks in their hands. Not one for drinking all too much, you spotted a cooler that had soda in it near the door to the balcony. Popping the can open, you looked out the glass door. From there you could see the skyline, stars twinkling in the familiar pattern you had memorized long ago.

Your eyes scanned the room for Alessia. She didn’t text you yet, which means she was probably caught in traffic. Being completely honest with yourself, you questioned why you even came to the party in the first place. It wasn’t cool for Shawn to see your face and you to blow him off again. You knew you shouldn’t string him along, but something beckoned you in the back of your mind that told you you should stay.

It seemed like every two seconds you bumped into someone as you arrived at the edge of the balcony, a glass fence keeping you from tripping over the edge. There were laughs and screams and singing, and bass reverberated through the floor, rattling in your feet. Your stomach clenched as you drank the sweet soda; it did not agree with your already nervous stomach. Setting it down on the ground, you returned to looking at the skyline, not bothering to search for anyone you knew.

“You made it.”

Looking at him just made your chest hurt even more. He was tipsy, you could tell from his blush and glazed-over eyes. Swallowing, you said softly, “Yeah.”

“Uh, d-you like the party?” His hair flopped in curls around his forehead as he gestured around himself.

You nodded, “Mm, yeah. It’s great.” You cleared your throat, an awkward pause ensuing.

“You know what? Okay, I’m just gonna tell you what’s on my mind because I’m a shitty person and a terrible bandmate and a whatever-other-adjective that connotes horrible friend,” Shawn stared at you, confused by your sudden flurry of words. “Continue?” You asked.

“Yeah, go ahead.” He gripped his drink in one hand and the other settled onto the ledge of the fence.

“Alright. So, I shouldn’t have let you kiss me on the bus.” Shawn opened his mouth, then closed it as you stared him down, “That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to. Like, really bad. It’s just that I told myself after I dated a band member a long time ago that I would never do it again because it was the worst heartbreak of my life. And I can’t really talk about it right now.

“But then you were so nice to me and one of the best friends I’ve ever had and I hated ignoring you and avoiding you and doing all those things to keep myself from falling in love with you-” Your breath hitched as you realized what you just said. It didn’t imply you were falling in love with him, though. Shawn’s jaw clenched, but you further explained, “And you helped me on planes, and let me dump all my stresses onto you in the five months that we’ve known each other, and I feel like we can tell each other everything!

“And I’ve been writing songs! God, that’s one thing I’ve really done in my life. But it’s the only way to settle my thoughts and it keeps me from going insane. Because you, you make me go insane, Shawn.” You let out a deep breath, scared to see his face.

He was smiling, and it felt like you were on that stage with him again, or in the bus with him, watching Spider-Man while everyone groaned that it was the tenth time you did, or listening to music on the plane, or sharing a chocolate chip cookie that you had snuck onto the bus without Kit seeing. It was like the five months you had shared together had been encapsulated into one look on his face.

Suddenly, Shawn grabbed your hand, “Come with me, right now.” He pulled you through crowds of people, and you wondered where he could possibly be taking you. A tug gripped your stomach, unwilling to stop, your blood pumping to your ears. You didn’t know where the hallways of his place led to. Finally, he went through the kitchen and to the hallway, down to the last door in the dark space. His hand was warm in your cold one, chapped knuckles being smoothed down by his touch. He smelled like alcohol and the outside but you didn’t mind.

When he opened the door it was still dark, but as he shut it, he turned on the light inside, and you were mesmerized by his own tiny studio. A grand piano sat in the corner with mics hooked up next to it, and guitars lined the walls. A set of drums was close to you in the left corner. A desk on the right side held a computer and a soundboard. On a little wooden extension next to the desk lay a pile of notebooks, and Shawn led you to them, standing close to you as he handed you the second one under the pile of three. It was brown, with frayed edges and yellow pages on the inside. “Open to where the bookmark is,” He instructed. You pulled it out, it being the same color as the journal.

There, on the page was a messy script, cursive and so recognizable to you. You could read it, even through the rough erase marks and crossing outs on the page. Slowly, you started to read what the words said, formed into a song.

she’s here with me, and it’s like i can’t move

she’s next to me, and it’s like i can’t speak

she takes my hand, and i’ve awoken

but then when she leaves i feel broken

and i love the way she talks

and hate the way that she doesn’t want me to hear it

avoiding me and i have no idea why

because i just want to love her more than any other guy

drowning, drowning in everything she does

drowning, reaching just for her touch

and if she says one word

i’ll be breathing again

but without her, i question if i’ll feel this way about someone else again, and i know i can’t

“There’s a lot more,” Shawn said, and he was behind you now, watching you read his words from your shoulder. “You don’t have to read it all, though.”

You turned to him, inches away, his nose level with your eyes. “Why would you write this about me?” You set the book down on the table, looking back up from your shoes.

“Because,” He said, pushing a piece of your hair behind your ear, “I’m in love with you. We’re not even anything, and here I am, telling you that I can’t stop writing about you either because I’m in love with you, and I feel like I have since that first night of tour.”

You were so close at this point, you could feel his breath when he sighed, moving his hands to your waist, unsure of his touch as they faltered along the hem of your jeans. It was like staring at him for eternity, looking into his amber eyes and feeling the hair on the nape of his neck. “Shawn, you’re not saying this all ‘cause you’ve drank, right?”

He laughed, surprised, “No, I’ve felt this forever. I think this was the catalyst, though,” He leaned his forehead against yours and shut his eyes. His eyelashes curled perfectly against his flushed face, dark brown on pink.

“Okay, good, because I think I want this.”

“You think?”

You nodded, “I know I do.”

That was enough for him to tighten his hold around you, pulling you in for a sweet, slow kiss. He tasted bitter, beer on his lips, but all you were focused on was the fact that he was here with you. He was here with you, and a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, and suddenly you weren’t so afraid anymore. You weren’t scared that he would break your heart. Because if he did, it would be mutual, in the most sadistic way of thinking of it. But you didn’t concern yourself with those thoughts for any longer as he parted from you, lips swollen already.

“Shawn?” You said again.

“Yeah?” He repeated.

“Happy birthday.”

“Shawn!” You giggled as he pushed you into his hotel room, shutting the door behind him. His face was flushed, yours too as he kept one arm hooked around his waist, kissing a line up your neck to your lips, “Shawn, hey, we can’t do this right now, we have to go to dinner!” Another chorus of giggles followed as he began to kiss a spot that made you ticklish. You had gone back on the road and a few days had passed since Shawn’s birthday.

“Dinner can wait,” He said, his lips on your skin muffling his voice. He had changed into some sweats and a black hoodie quickly after the concert, but his hair still smelled salty from the show. You, on the other hand, hadn’t even changed. Your jacket and black boots were thrown on the floor, but you still wore the dark green tank top you had on and black flannel pants.

Shawn began to pull your ponytail loose, letting your hair cascade around you, and he brought his eyes to yours, moving you to the wall. “When will we tell them?” You asked Shawn, his pupils blown so much you could barely see his irises. The pause let you push a curl back off his forehead, your hand settling on his neck.

“I dunno, when do you feel like it?” He asked, “Because I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Let’s not take it too fast. Maybe another week?” You questioned, and he settled his hand on your waist, another on the wall behind you.

Shawn sighed, moving his mouth to your ear, whispering, “So we’re gonna sneak around? It’ll be our secret?” His breath was hot on your neck. You shivered.

“If you want it to be.”

“How exciting,” You could practically hear him smirk as he settled his lips back onto yours hotly. He groaned and you pushed him closer to you, almost tearing at his curls. Your face was burning now, and you could feel him push up against you painfully. In protest, he moved his face away from yours.

Your senses came back to you, overstimulated, “I should shower.”

Shawn nodded, “Okay. Let’s go.”

You rolled your eyes, moving your hand to his, “A little too eager, huh?”

He didn’t answer you and just wrapped his arm around the small of your back, bringing you to the wall adjacent to the bathroom, settling himself between your legs. You got lost in him, consumed by the salty scent and mint shampoo and the burning tongues and icy touches on your skin.

You heard the lock on his door begin to beep, and you jumped, his hand covering your mouth. It would’ve been attractive to you if you hadn’t considered the situation. “Hey!” Kit called from outside. “Can I come in?” The door began to crack open, and Shawn stretched his other hand to it, shutting it while one stayed on your lips.

“Um, no, I-I’m naked!” He replied, and your eyes widened at what he just implied.

“Oh, um, sorry man, didn’t mean to interrupt your momen-”

Shawn shook his head, ears turning pink, “Not like that! I’m gonna go into the shower!” His words came out of his mouth all at once, panicked.

Kit nervously laughed, “Ohh! Alright, well, we’re leaving for dinner in ten.”

“M’kay,” His hand moved off your mouth, and you pushed yourself off the wall, “I’ll be down soon.”

“Alright, I’ll go tell Sticks,” You could hear his footsteps sounding down the hall.

Your eyes widened, and you frantically thought of how you were gonna get there in time. You’d just go up the stairs, but it had to be fast. Shawn turned to you, “We’re not done with this,” He grinned, “‘Kay?”

You nodded, “I’ll make it up to you, promise,” and you felt a smile tug at your lips as you pecked his lips, grabbing your jacket and boots off the floor. You heard him laugh as you ran out the door in your socks, close to the stairway. Before you opened the door to the stairway, you saw him peeking his head out of his room.

“Fuck off.” You chuckled.

“What? I like looking at your backside.”

You rolled your eyes, flipping him off as you started to run up the stairway.

“You and Shawn seem good,” Alessia called from above you. You were in your bunk below her, a sleeping Simon and Kit opposite you. Both of you didn’t sleep well on the bus and often ended up talking. Shawn was in the back in his room, probably waiting for him to text you.

You moved on your back so you could see her peeking head in the blue-lighted darkness. “Yeah, um, we’ve settled our feelings.” You weren’t sure if you should tell her, even though you knew she wouldn’t say a word to anyone else.

“‘Settled your feelings?’ Is that a codeword for something?” You could hear her shift on her side and watched as she propped her head up on her hand.

Your breath hitched, but you fought against the tension in your chest. Fear. “Keep it to yourself for the time being, A, but we’re yes, we’re together.”

“Yes! Ooh, how sneaky, keeping it a secret!” She sounded exactly like Shawn.

“It’s not like that, we just don’t want to cause drama, but we’ll probably tell everyone soon. We wanted one week at least.” You put your arms behind your head, covering yourself with your blanket.

“To not tell anyone?” She asked.

“Yeah.”

It was silent, but Alessia broke it, “I’ve never seen him happier. You’re good for him, and he’s good for you.”

“How is he good for me?” You ask, curious. Your phone buzzed at that moment, and you grabbed it, reading the message. Can you come here please? It was from Shawn.

“You calm each other. You think the same way and know how to comfort whatever you’re stressing about, I mean, I saw it before you were together. I just got the feeling it was more than that now. And when you talk about anything creative it’s like no one’s around.” She responded. You began to smile, and tore the sheets off your bed. “Where are you going?” You could see her face now, her hair tied back and a big sweater covering her.

“I’ll be back,” you stated, and she just wiggled her eyebrows at you. “What?”

She laughed softly, “Don’t come back too soon.”

“Shut up.” You replied, unable to keep the grin off your face. Tiptoeing down the bus hallway, you made it to the back where Shawn was. His room wasn’t big, and mostly was just a bed with a tiny space to walk next to. Opening the door, you walked in, the room only illuminated by the passing streetlights. They flashed yellow, so you could occasionally see Shawn’s form laying in the bed, back to you.

Moving to him, you carefully edged your way to the side, scared to fall from the moving bus. “Hi,” You said, and he turned around, eyes opening. They looked worried, and continued to as he moved to the wall next to the bed, letting you crawl in beside him.

You propped your head on the pillow, staring at his face, illuminated yellow every few seconds. His eyes and messy hair glittered with the lights, but soon you hit a stretch of darkness from your surroundings outside. “Hey,” He replied as you felt his leg wrap around yours.

“What’s wrong?” You asked. You moved your hand to the halo of curls around his head, smoothing them back. He shut his eyes, breathing softly out of his mouth.

“I’m scared,” He said, “I feel like a fraud sometimes. Like I’m not good enough to have the life I have, and I feel like I can’t breathe when I think about it too hard.” You could see his eyes watering and see the restraint he held when trying not to cry.

You shook your head, “I’ve felt that way too many times to count. I believe that you’re here, on this earth, for a reason. If you weren’t good enough to have the life you have, you wouldn’t bring so much joy to the people who love you and look up to you,” You calmly moved your hand to his cheek, wiping the tear pooled at his eye, “Whenever you feel that anxiety come in, take a deep breath and say, ‘I’m here for a reason. I matter.’”

He repeated after you, “I’m here for a reason. I matter.” You nodded, pulling him close to you and letting his head lie in the crook of your neck. You ran circles along his back, feeling him clutch onto your waist. “Where did you learn how to do that?” He asked, voice muffled.

A tug came to your lips, “My dad said the same thing to me when I had my shows.”

“He sounds amazing,” He whispered, “I want to meet him. Your mom, too.”

You chuckled softly, “Give it a few more weeks, rock star.”

He kissed your shoulder, bodies intertwined. Eventually, his breathing slowed and became more even, and you heard Alessia’s voice in your head; You calm each other. Somehow you got the feeling that no matter what happened you would always be there for him, and he would always be there for you. With those thoughts, your mind settled and you felt the warmth of sleep take you in gently.

Two Months Later

Everyone on tour knew about you and Shawn now, and nobody ever protested it. They all were happy for you both. Life had become easier as you adjusted your already similar schedules: waking up next to him was a dream, though the two of you hadn’t taken things farther than that. It never came up now that you were moving across countries and continents each day, exhausted and sleeping as soon as you got in the hotel room.

Alessia was gone, and it felt not completely whole on tour without her. You totally loved Dan and Shay, but the two of you created such a bond that you often found yourself turning to your side to tell her something or laugh with her when she wasn’t even there. Missy had come, making Shawn’s life much easier with her incredible organization skills.

Today was going to be a fantastic day, you thought to yourself as you stared at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was Halloween, and you didn’t think there was another better celebration than having a Halloween show in Melbourne. The fans in the Oceania part of the tour were like something out of a movie. The crowd felt unreal there.

Pulling the towel from your head, your hair fell down around your shoulders. Tonight everyone was going in costume, wearing 80s clothes, and you were delighted. The frantic colors and patterns were fun to wear, so you already began to change into your mom jeans, multi-colored striped top, and yellow bomber jacket.

In less than twenty minutes, your hair was away from your face, in a crimped ponytail with a scrunchie and you wore yellow eyeshadow that rimmed your eyes with heavy mascara. Halloween was so exciting to you, and you honestly missed getting dressed up.

“You ready, love?” You could hear Shawn open the door to your room, and he walked into the bathroom, grinning when he saw your face. “I love it. You look totally rad! That’s what they said, right? Rad?”

You laughed, watching him at the door in the reflection of the mirror. He wore a multi-colored bomber jacket and some cargo pants with a neon headband, and he looked so happy. His lips were rosy, and you replied, “I’m pretty sure, don’t ask me though, I’m not that old.”

“You’re older than me.” He added.

You stuck your tongue out at him, “By one year.” You began to put your makeup brushes away, and paused, “Do you want to wear some eyeliner? It might look cool.” You held the black pen in front of your face.

“Sure, let’s try it,” He moved to the counter and stood in front of the sink, facing you. You held his chin in one palm while your steady hand brushed along the rim of his eye. “It feels weird,” he said in discomfort.

“You get used to it.”

“You look so concentrated, it’s really cute.” He moved away from the eyeliner as you finished, setting it down on the counter. Snaking his arms around you, you settled your head against his sternum, feeling the solid-ness of him. “Let’s get going before Missy accuses us of ‘fooling around.’”

You felt a smile tug at your lips. “That woman talks like an old lady, I swear.”

He let go of you, “Don’t tell her that.”

Shawn’s leg kicks during Jesse’s Girl were absolutely adorable, you thought as the concert wrapped up. You, Kit, and Simon had thought up a dramatic introduction for him to come out of the stage on and it fit really well with the performance.

Several hours later, you were on the plane, moving to the tour’s next location. Your flight anxiety was worse this time around, bad turbulence making you nauseous. Shawn had pressed your palms into his and rubbed your neck soothingly for what seemed like forever, and it wasn’t until the last two hours of the flight that he fell asleep. You felt bad for keeping him awake, but welcomed his sleepy head on your shoulder and the arm that fell across from you gladly.

With your free arm (his arm kept your left one pinned down) you wrote some lyrics down in a notebook Alessia had given you on her last day of tour. It was a simple, black leather bound notebook, with yellow-ish lined pages. All you could write about were the same few themes: a feeling of falling, and then getting pulled back into someone’s grasp, or feeling so happy you were unsure it would last, lastly your main theme, of course; so many of the lyrics had been for the boy sleeping on you at the exact same time. Alessia told you to write down those feelings and keep them recorded so that one day you could look back on them, and smile at what you’d done and accomplished in your life.

Shawn had begun to stir from his sleep, mumbling incoherent words as he gripped the blanket on the both of you. You moved your hand, running it along his scalp calmly, “I love you,” you said, surprising yourself with what you just whispered to him. You had kept it in for so many months, terrified of coming to terms with it. Your lips trembled, scared to see his facial expression.

His face was still unmoving with sleep, and you felt a breath come out of you. He didn’t hear you. But was that what you wanted? For him not to know how much you loved him?

December

Your apartment looked much less lonely now that Christmas decor had been almost bombarded on every surface; there were twinkly lights across your windows and on your kitchen counters, holiday pillows swapped for regular ones, and a white, red, and gold tree shining next to your couch. The cold time of year always made you the happiest, and you felt this elation course through your body almost every day.

A soft blanket and a mug of coffee kept you warm while you watched old cartoons on your tv, feeling nostalgic. Shawn was cooking in the kitchen while you rested. Lately, it seemed like the two of you barely spent a day apart, and it was hard for you to get anything done around him when all you wanted to do was be next to him. That’s what the holidays were for, you reminded yourself. It was easy to get swept up in a world of productivity.

A smell of something savory wafted into the living area, and you turned your head away from the television to look at your boyfriend. He domestically had a rag on his shoulder while the sizzle of something sauteing in a pan and the chopping of a knife made you ask, “What’re you making?”

“It’s a secret,” You could see him grin as he moved to the fridge.

“You didn’t need to make anything,” You added.

He shrugged, turning his head to you, “I wanted to have a nice dinner with you tonight, and plus, you said we could watch Harry Potter, so this is my thank you.” You giggled, turning back to the screen to watch Charlie Brown having a snowball fight with his dog.

In a half-hour, plates were set on your seasonally-decorated dining table, and glasses of wine were filled for the two of you. Putting the utensils down next to each of your plates, Shawn sauntered up to the table and dramatically set down the serving plate, steaming with food. “Roasted chicken, sauteed with onions and vegetables,” Shawn grinned, looking at you expectantly as if he were on a cooking competition show. “Dessert is also a surprise.”

It tasted delicious; he really knew his way around the kitchen. Shawn blushed every single time you complemented the food, quite adorably, and soon enough the both of you had changed the subject to the Harry Potter movie you were going to watch.

“Okay, but the third is such a classic! It has the Marauders stuff happening and Lupin and it’s my favorite!” Shawn argued while the two of you gathered up your plates, walking to the sink.

You shrugged, “Yes, but the fourth has the Triwizard Tournament, and we can’t forget about Cedric Diggory!”

Shawn snorted, “That’s because you have a weird obsession with Robert Pattinson, and you know it!” You laughed along with Shawn, unable to make a retort because you knew he was completely correct.

You gave in, opening the dishwasher, “Alright, alright, but we’re watching the fourth one soon.”

“M’kay, Bella Swan.”

You scoffed, slapping him with a dishrag, “How dare you compare me to her! She has the personality of a piece of paper!” He doesn’t reply, and just watches as you try to hide your giggles. There’s a strange silence and you can almost hear the ambience of the holidays in your ears.

Shaking his head, Shawn blurts, “I love you,” he said affectionately, almost as if he didn’t hear it, continuing to wash off the plates. He pauses, looking at you and coming to his senses, realizing what he said.

He hadn’t said it since his birthday. You hadn’t said it at all, save for that night on the plane, but he wasn’t even awake. But somehow you felt an overwhelming feeling come over you, and on instinct you replied, “I love you too.”

Shawn takes his hands away from the sink. “You do?” His face looks vulnerable, and a hand reaches out to stabilize himself on the counter. All you can do is nod. “Yeah?” He questions again, and you set your rag down on the counter, taking his face in your palms and kissing him as passionately as you can.

The two of you part, “Yeah, I do. ‘Guess I was too scared to say it ‘till now.” You reply as his arms loop around your waist.

“Why would you be scared?” He brings your body closer to him.

“When I love people, I’m scared of losing them,” You mutter under your breath, but he heard you anyway.

He pushes a piece of hair behind your ear, “You’re never going to lose me,” His eyes darken, almost looking pained as he brings his lips to yours again, and you get lost in the taste of him, the smell of him. You can feel his arms slide from your waist to your thighs, and he hikes you up onto the counter. Your fingers rake across his scalp, feeling the heat coming off of his neck, coursing through his body. “I promise.” He says, a pause between kissing you.

The smell of cinnamon and linen welcomes you as he carries you into your bedroom, the curtains shut and the city lights streaming through the bedroom. There’s a lamp on your bedside table, emanating a warm glow. You feel his frame crawl over you, and it’s like the two of you are in a movie. Perfect, cold-weathered lighting, the smell of Christmas, and the hot-and-cold prickly feeling that comes when you pull off your sweater. His face is flushed, rosy cheeks and lashes feathering his cheekbones. He looks at you carefully, almost lost in thought.

You bring your face to his, meticulously playing at the seams of his shirt, kissing him slowly and softly. You can hear a soft moan come from his lips, setting you on your back as he touches what seems like every nerve in your body. “I love you.” He repeats for what seems like forever, almost like he wants you to believe it absolutely.

And you want him to believe it, too, trading the same three words over and over again until you fall asleep holding each other. Strangely, when sleep comes and you’re in your dreams, an old Greek myth that your father told you comes to mind. When pairs of people were one, they didn’t need any other person. They were attached to each other. But when Zeus, King of the Gods separated them, those people, the human race, spent their entire lives looking for their other half. They needed to be with each other so they could be complete.

When you wake up for a moment, lost in the thought of the myth, you look up and see Shawn, curly hair messy and his head in the crook of your neck. You think of the pairs, needing each other to survive. He never lets go.

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tigerkirby215 · 4 years ago

Text

5e Ekko, the Boy who Shattered Time build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Riot Games)

Ekko is a character who’s way better in the lore than in-game. An orphan with a heart of gold doesn’t translate well into this immortal bastard who bursts your entire team before pressing one button to instantly get all his health back. Regardless Ekko has a simple kit that makes him easy to adapt into the meta and very fun to play! And who doesn’t want to time travel?

GOALS

Don't blink! - Shattering time means that you can zip around in the blink of an eye.

I'll help you this time: duck - Batter up! Time stuns coming your way!

If you can’t make the most out of any given moment... - Then you don’t deserve a single extra second. Thankfully we’ll have a lot of chances to make the most out of every single second.

RACE

Ekko is a human but he’s very different from all the other kids in Zaun, making him a Variant Human. As a Variant Human you get a +1 increase to two skills of your choice: choose Dexterity and Wisdom to keep on your feet with your wits about you. You also learn a language and a skill of your choice: your language doesn’t matter much but for skills pick Perception to notice exactly how you can defeat your foe without too many rewinds.

But of course the main appeal of Variant Humans is the ability to get a Feat at level 1, and when it’s time to rewind look no further than the Lucky feat. You have 3 Luck points (or as I like to call them Rewind Die) that you can spend to roll an extra d20 on an attack roll, ability check, or saving throw. You can choose which d20 result you want to use after rolling your Rewind Die.

The best part about Lucky? You can use it against enemies too! If an enemy attacks you you can also roll to potentially make them miss! Remember that you only have 3 rewinds which only come back on a Long Rest, so use them wisely!

ABILITY SCORES

15; DEXTERITY - Shattering time means you can zip around at the blink of an eye.

14; INTELLIGENCE - Ekko created a time travel machine, as well as many other inventions that would put the Pilties to shame.

13; WISDOM - Ekko stays in Zaun because he cares about the people.

12; CHARISMA - Ekko’s a good kid, as evidenced by how many skins he has.

10; CONSTITUTION - You can take a hit but you’re still primarily an assassin.

8; STRENGTH - You’re a kid who fights with nothing more than a bat. A magic clock bat, but not a heavy bat.

Feel free to swap Charisma and Constitution if you want more health but weaker RP.

BACKGROUND

Ekko is an Urchin but he doesn’t really fit the typical description (he has parents, for one), so I’m going to suggest changing it up some. Swap your proficiencies out for Acrobatics and Investigation to puzzle your way though defeating your foes, and your tools for Tinkerer’s Tools and Smith’s Tools to make your gadgets.

But your feature City Secrets still fits you perfectly, allowing you to easily make your way around the streets of Zaun without getting lost. I mean, you probably do get lost sometimes but your party doesn’t need to know that.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - WIZARD 1

Oh boy my favorite class that I have to spend way too long explaining! Regardless Wizard is the perfectly class for smart kids who use magical time-warping devices. You get proficiency in two skills from the Wizard list and I’d opt for Arcana for knowledge of your Z-Drive and History for knowledge of what happened. Because you were there!

As a Wizard you also get access to Spellcasting. You learn 3 cantrips from the Wizard list: Ray of Frost lets you toss out a Timewinder to slow and damage your foes, Mending will let you reverse any small damage an object may have received, and Message will let you coordinate in team chat. You also learn 6 spells at level 1 with Wizard, but you can prepare a number of spells equal to your Intelligence modifier plus your Wizard level:

Absorb Elements will let you resist some incoming magic before returning it with Z-Drive Resonance.

Alarm will let you know that someone’s coming, or rather reverse time when they do arrive to give you time to prepare.

Detect Magic will help you figure out what any Hextech might do.

False Life can give you a Parallel Convergence shield.

Both Mage Armor and Shield will help you defend yourself and dodge attacks you wouldn’t otherwise be able to avoid.

Need a break from all that time warping? Arcane Recovery lets you recover spell slots equal to half your Wizard level, rounded up. Confused how it works? Read it yourself because I’m bad at explaining it.

LEVEL 2 - WIZARD 2

At level 2 you can choose your Arcane Tradition. Oh man if only there was a tradition dedicated specifically to time manipulation... oh wait Chronurgy Magic, which is automatically one of the better ones because it isn’t a school! Regardless Chronurgy Wizards get Temporal Awareness, letting them add their Intelligence modifier to Initiative rolls.

They can also turn back time with Chronal Shift! As a reaction you can force yourself or another creature to reroll an attack roll, ability check, or saving throw. The target must use the result of the second roll, and you can choose to use the ability after knowing the original result. You can rewind twice per Long Rest but that should be more than enough to find the perfect way around a problem! (Especially with Lucky helping you as well!)

You can also add two more spells to your spell list: Gift of Alacrity is a Chronurgy-specific spell that lets you prepare to add a d8 to a creature’s initiative check, so you can make sure your initiator is the first in the fight! If you want to slow everyone down however Earth Tremor will force enemies in an area to make a Dexterity saving throw or be knocked prone, and regardless of if they succeed or fail they’ll still be slowed by difficult terrain!

LEVEL 3 - RANGER 1

What? You didn’t think this was just a pure book nerd build, did you? Nah Ekko’s a special kid who knows Zaun like the back of his hand: sounds like a proper city Ranger! You get proficiency in one skill from the Ranger list when you multiclass, so grab Insight to know what people are going to do after they did it... before they did it!

Class Feature Variants is an Unearthed Arcana that’s soon going to be made official so I’m going to use Ranger features from that PDF instead. Deft Explorer lets you choose from one of three benefits: Roving lets you speed yourself up by 5 feet and also gives you a climbing speed to climb clock towers and a swimming speed to... swim. Favored Foe meanwhile lets you cast Hunter’s Mark a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier without using Concentration, for some more Z-Drive Resonance!

LEVEL 4 - RANGER 2

Second level Rangers get a Fighting Style and I figure now would be a good time to talk about Ekko’s weapon: he uses the clock needle of his as a bat most of the time but a club is a simple weapon that uses Strength and does very little damage. As a Ranger you have proficiency in martial weapons so I’m pretty sure that needle could be passed off as a short sword. Fight the short sword in your main hand and nothing in the other, or grab a shield just for the sake of the AC: regardless Dueling will make your sword do +2 damage.

You also get access to Spellcasting! Again! Check chapter 6 of the Player’s Handbook for information on how multiclassing between full casters and half casters works, but you get two first level Ranger spells: to dash in and strike an important target Zephyr Strike will let you avoid opportunity attacks and do an extra d8 damage on hit, letting you ride Z-Drive Resonance out with 30 more movement speed. If you want to stun a target for a beat down Ensnaring Strike will restrain them with vines. Time vines! Yeah...

LEVEL 5 - RANGER 3

Third level Rangers can choose their Ranger Conclave (or subclass as its otherwise known.) Time to up the Z-Drive with Horizon Walker! Horizon Walkers can Detect Portals within 1 mile of them but that’s not important. What’s important is that they have Planar Warrior, letting them use their Bonus Action to make their weapon do magic (Force) damage and deliver an extra d8 damage thanks to Z-Drive Resonance! (I’ve been mentioning that a lot, haven’t I?)

You also get Primal Awareness from the Class Feature Variants UA for the ability to cast Detect Magic and Speak with Animals once per Long Rest without using a spell slot. Think you’ve got enough magic? Well Horizon Walker Spells give you Protection from Evil and Good as a Ranger spell, and you can add one more spell to your list like Jump to Phase Dive across leaps and bounds... look level 1 Ranger spells suck give me a break! Take Cure Wounds if you want something more useful!

(Artwork by Riot Games)

LEVEL 6 - RANGER 4

4th level Rangers get their first Ability Score Improvement: to keep elusive and hit hard with your bat shortsword get more Dexterity.

LEVEL 7 - RANGER 5

5th level Rangers get an Extra Attack, letting them attack twice when they use the Attack action. It should be mentioned that Planar Warrior will only make your first attack forceful while your second attack will do regular damage.

You can also learn second level Ranger spells like Pass Without a Trace. You’ve got all the time in the world to sneak around, and you’ve also got all the time in the world to figure out why the Ranger spell list sucks so much where you refuse to take Healing spells. At least you get access to Beast Sense and Locate Animals or Plants thanks to Primal Awareness, and Flash (I mean Misty Step) from your Horizon Walker Spells!

LEVEL 8 - RANGER 6

At 6th level you get another ability from Deft Explorer: Canny lets you learn one skill of your choice from a given list, and get Expertise in any of those skills that you know. (That isn’t quite how it works but that’s how I make it work for convenience's sake.) Expertise in Perception will let you spot any valuable junk in the Zaun trash heaps, and Stealth proficiency will help you get away with your loot! You also learn two languages which uhhh... just pick whatever really. You’ve got plenty of time to talk to people.

LEVEL 9 - RANGER 7

7th level Horizon Walkers can phase out of time with Ethereal Step, letting them cast Eternalness for a turn once per short or long rest. Not something that Ekko can normally do but you can accomplish a lot while messing with time.

Speaking of accomplishing a lot you get another spell: Darkvision will help your regular human eyes see why kids love the taste of Cinnamon Toast Crunch! Wait...

LEVEL 10 - RANGER 8

8th level Rangers get another Ability Score Improvement: max out your Dexterity to be as quick as you can when striking down your foes. You also get Land’s Stride to move through difficult terrain without using extra movement, avoid taking damage from nonmagical plants, and have advantage against magical plants. How does a kid from Zaun know his way around dangerous plants? Well you had plenty of time to read up on botany.

(Artwork by Jason Chan, Senior Concept Artist at Riot Games)

LEVEL 11 - RANGER 9

9th level Rangers get access to third level spells. With Primal Awareness you learn Speak with Plants (look, I can’t justify everything in this build. D&D isn’t Runeterra), and as a Horizon Walker you get access to Haste! You can also find your ways around the dark streets of Zaun more easily thanks to the spell Daylight.

LEVEL 12 - RANGER 10

10th level Rangers can get the last feature from Deft Explorer: Tireless lets you spend an action to give yourself temporary hit points equal to 1d10 + your Wisdom modifier. You can do this a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier, and you regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest. Additionally your Exhaustion goes down by 1 every time you finish a Short or Long rest.

And while Hide in Plain Sight may make more sense for Ekko, Fade Away is just so much better. You can use your Bonus Action to turn invisible for a turn! Maybe you turned back time to the DOTA days when Shadow Blade was an item you build buy? Yeah I know DOTA.

LEVEL 13 - RANGER 11

11th level Horizon Walkers can finally Phase Dive with Distant Strike! When you take the Attack action, you can teleport up to 10 feet before each attack to an unoccupied space you can see. Additionally, if you attack at least two different creatures with the action, you can make a three hit combo against a third creature!

You can also learn another spell at this level, and while there are a lot of options to choose from I’d personally suggest some magic resistance. Protection from Energy will let you put on an Adaptive Helm to resist a certain type of elemental damage.

LEVEL 14 - RANGER 12

12th level Rangers get an Ability Score Improvement and since your Dexterity is maxed out now would be a good time to hit the books and increase your Intelligence!

(Artwork by Riot Games)

LEVEL 15 - WIZARD 3

Hey remember when we took levels in Wizard way back at levels 1 and 2? Well third level Wizards can learn 2nd level Wizard spells! Blur will make it harder for an enemy to hit you unless they can sense where you really are, and if you want even more chances to turn back time Fortune’s Favor is a spell reserved to Chronurgy Wizards (and Graviturgy Wizards) that lets them give themselves or an ally some more time with an extra d20 to roll in case they’re in danger!

LEVEL 16 - WIZARD 4

4th level Wizards get another Ability Score Improvement: more Intelligence will help with all the time manipulation.

You can also add another 2 spells to your spellbook, and you learn another cantrip! Sapping Sting is a Dunamancy-specific cantrip and it can make your opponent trip! If you want to be even harder to hit Mirror Image will let your time doubles do some distracting for you, and if you want to shake off the time police Nystul’s Magic Aura will make it easy to fool the Pilties.

LEVEL 17 - WIZARD 5

5th level Wizards can learn third level spells: you can already speed up time with Haste but Slow will let you do the opposite to your foes! But if you want to Phase Dive around the battle field some more at risk of glitching out time Blink is the spell for you! "The timeline was already this broken when I found it. I swear."

LEVEL 18 - WIZARD 6

Isn’t it funny how it took this long to get Parallel Convergence’s stun? Momentary Stasis takes an action to force a large or smaller creature to make a Constitution save or be unable to move. The effect ends if they take damage or at the end of your next turn, but that should be plenty of time to either set up or run. You can do this a number of times equal to your Intelligence modifier and regain all uses at the end of a Long Rest.

Speaking of stuns: Hold Person from second level will let you stun an enemy for quite awhile, and you can still hit them! But if you want to turn back your opponent’s spells? Good ol’ Counterspell.

LEVEL 19 - WIZARD 7

7th level Wizards can learn 4th level spells: to travel far and get out of danger Dimension Door will let you warp out of the way. If you want some protection from time warping around you Intellect Fortress is an Unearthed Arcana spell that gives resistance to psychic damage, as well as advantage on Intelligence, Wisdom, and Charisma saving throws.

LEVEL 20 - WIZARD 8

Our capstone is the 8th level of Wizard for your last Ability Score Improvement: if you want to maximize the effectiveness of your time manipulation increase your Intelligence, but if you want more combat features from Ranger Wisdom will give you more charges for those abilities.

And you can grab your last two free Wizard spells. After this you’ll have to (gasp!) read! For some retributive damage Fire Shield will make you foes think twice about hitting you. But if you want to bring your foes back to the future look no further than Polymorph, to turn people into dinosaurs!

WHAT I DIDN’T USE

Just a quick mention of some of the options I didn’t use for this build, since I think that a lot of questions will be asked about them:

Echo Knight - Sort of the first thing you think of because... you know... Ekko Knight? But truth is that while Ekko gets a time clone for some of his abilities he doesn’t really use the clone to fight? If you want a time fighter that uses clones however I would suggest my Isaac build (Skullgirls)

Divination Wizard - Some people (especially those without Wildemount) might ask why I picked Chronurgy Wizard over Divination. I mean other than the fact that Chronurgy is literally the time Wizard? Well other than that it’s because while you can reverse time you don’t know the outcome of all fights. Adding intelligence to your Initiative also works to simulate Ekko’s speed.

Artificer - Ekko builds his own stuff but put bluntly none of the Artificers really fit his abilities. He doesn’t make potions, doesn’t have a robot dog, definitely doesn’t have a gun, and certainly doesn’t have an Iron Man suit. (That’s on Viktor!)

FINAL BUILD

PROS

This is how we say “hello” in Zaun - You aren’t exactly the most damaging combatant, but you have tons of tricks to up your DPS, all while keeping safe yourself.

Show me something new! - Investing in both mental stats means you’ve got some really good skills. 24 passive perception, anyone?

One more time! - Who would’ve guessed the ability to rewind time would be a lifesaver? Five rerolls per day, three of which you can pick the result from means that you should never be rolling bad. And you aren’t even a Halfling!

CONS

Good a time as any to act reckless - Double the spellcasters means that you can’t get the best of both stats. While it isn’t a big deal since most of your spells are buffs your low Wisdom score means that you won’t be able to use your Ranger features very often.

That worked in another timeline - Wizard levels and a neutral Constitution score means that your health is subpar to say the least. Rewinding won’t save you from Power Word Kill.

I need to rethink a couple things - In order to get Momentary Stasis we had to skip over Spectral Defense from Horizon Walker level 15. Truthfully while Momentary Stasis is nice for a stun you would’ve been far better off further honing your combat skills: the extra Rewinds from Chronurgy 2 was already more than enough of a boost.

But Zaunites know how to work with what they’ve got. Make the best out of a bad situation and use your wit to outsmart any foe! And maybe chat with the Rogues and the Fighters to see if they’d like some time to be Bards? If you move too fast it’ll be like moving in slow-mo.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

#DnD 5e #dnd #dnd build #dnd guide #dnd ranger #dnd wizard #League of Legends #League of Legends Ekko #time travel

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gem-quest · 5 years ago

Text

[ O P H E L I A ... ]

“There is no life I know to compare with pure imagination. Living there, you’ll be free, if you truly wish to be.”  - Pure Imagination

Real Name: Catriona “Cat” Walsh Age: 20 FC: Saoirse Ronan Species & Class: Specter Bard Guild: Moonstone   Description of In-Game Powers: Specters are Gem Quest’s non-corporeal undead player race. They’re notable for only having 9 stats instead of 10, with Strength being omitted from their stat lineup because they literally have no physical bodies. Instead, their Willpower stat serves as their Strength equivalent. This means they have a rechargeable meter of how much they can possibly interact with physical objects before taking a rest or recharging with a spell or potion. Beyond that, Specters are distinguished by their inability to be damaged by non-magical weapons, increased susceptibility to light magic, and inability to be healed via healing potions or traditional physical healing spells (only a period of rest or spells/potions aimed at restoring mental wellness can heal them). The non-magical weapon immunity is amazing lower levels, but it’s not long before everything thrown at you seems to be enchanted or blessed or cursed or whatever. Weirdly enough, as far as the whole “incorporeal being” conceit is taken in other aspects, Specters can indeed take potions, as well as eat and drink. They get decreased buffs from some potions and foods, though. To balance this out, spells that provide small buffs and aren’t explicitly light-aligned are extra effective on them.

There’s a lot of frustration with the class because of its “fake” weapon resistance, since any old dagger with any mild enchantment or magical effect at all on it can hit them. They can’t viably hit physical things in combat without specifically taking Knight, Rogue, Rider, or Mage-Knight as their class. And even then, they’re arguably the weakest race choice in the game for non-magical melee combat. Meanwhile, a lot of physical things and all magic can still hit them very hard very easily.

All of this said, there ARE skills to really like here, too - namely, superb mobility. Specters can pass through physical materials five feet thick or thinner as long as those materials aren’t specifically enchanted to prevent phasing. They float slightly by default and have a rechargeable flight ability that allows them to lift much further off the ground in short bursts. They also have a rechargeable ability (with more uses per charge than flight) that allows them to teleport from where they stand to any spot they can see within 20 feet without a spell as long as they haven’t been hit with an attack in the past 5 seconds. This gives them excellent mobility even in the heat of battle and allows them to have a lot of control over their position and angle. It also means that it’s often smarter for them to worry less about defense than about being hard to hit in the first place.

Place of Birth: Dublin, Ireland

Appearance: Ophelia has a Specter’s signature slightly translucent skin, under-saturated color palette, and skirt hem/legs that trail off into mist. Her eyes are a stormy gray, and her wardrobe is almost exclusively black and white. When it comes to fashion, she prefers some of the more dark Victorian-inspired looks in the game as opposed to the high fantasy, renaissance, or medieval looks that a lot of other characters favor. That said, she’s got a pretty extensive and well-curated wardrobe behind her. She considers it highly important that she have at least one appropriate black and white ensemble to wear in each and every level in order to fit in with the theme. That said, she also has her own signature look that she uses as her “default” (the outfit she’s wearing in her pic at the top of her audition - full-body edit to be shared later!). Oh, and she loves gloves and capes. LOVES THEM. And kind of hoards them, tbh.

Places Most Likely to be Found In-Game: Ophelia’s favorite haunt at the moment is the City of Magic in Level 11. It’s the logical home base for a character who’s both a crafting/magical class AND a ghost. There’s a high enough concentration of both useful items and ingredients AND sufficiently gothic-flavored areas and NPCs to suit all her needs, both practical and aesthetic. She’s set up her own little shop in one of the many background spooky haunted house locations within the shadier-looking part of the city, and her Aesthetic demands she sometimes hangs out at the city’s main graveyard.

Beyond that, she can sometimes be found in various libraries and shops across the levels she can access, looking for interesting bits of crafting knowledge, hints of new items she could try cobbling together, and items that she could modify or combine with something to make can even more useful item. She’s also been known to turn up in random wilderness or roadway portions of levels in the first half of the game, foraging for crafting components that grow or randomly generate within those environments.

Current Inventory:

Screaming Lute (x1): Ophelia is very, exceedingly proud of her combat lute. She crafted it herself out of her bardic starter instrument. Specter Bards begin the game with an instrument they are capable of interacting with consistently. Cat has decided that, within Ophelia’s story, this was Ophelia’s lute in life, and it was destroyed shortly before her death as a way of intimidating her. Anyhow, Ophelia has heavily modified her starting weapon to the point that she thinks of it as an entirely new item. It’s covered in strange etched carvings and shifts between glowing with an eerie red light from the inside and constantly trailing wisps of white smoke. She uses it as her primary weapon in the game, as strumming specific notes and chords on the lute lights up some of the etchings and fires off various spells and magical effects and spells Ophelia has been able to learn. The lute downright shrieks whenever she uses it to cast a spell. How does it work, you might ask? That is a very long story, and one I’m saving for another post XD Most of the spells Ophelia has at her disposal are cast through her rune-covered lute and will be catalogued in her lute info.

Whispering Flute (x1): Ophelia likes rhymes and the aesthetics of symmetry. A secondary combat and utility weapon of hers, this is a flute enchanted to fire off up to three charges of Ventium per day, and one charge of Murmurationium per day. A good insurance weapon to sneak into a dangerous social situation, as it’s a perfectly normal and usable flute until she uses it to unleash the fury of the cold cruel winds of death upon you XD

Empty Unbreakable Bottle (x5): Ophelia favors magical items strongly because Specters can interact with non-martial ones automatically, without having to expend any extra effort or have at least X amount of Willpower to do so. Unbreakable Bottles are the cheapest magical container commonly for sale in game that’s capable of reliably holding liquids, so Ophelia likes to store all liquids important to her in them. And she likes to have at least a couple of empty ones on her at all times in case she wants to take a sample of something or otherwise just needs one.

Unbreakable Bottle of Rune Ink (x5): Rune Ink is an item that can be used as permanent and unfading ink that’s nigh impossible to remove or cover up. More importantly, though, it allows a PC with knowledge of the game’s runes, basically a language of magic that appears in a level or two and on some items, to write runic symbols that absorb nearby magical energy and store it within the object with runes written on it.

Enchanted Carving Tools (x1): Basic carving tools, enchanted to be able to create magical items and inscriptions. Ophelia uses them for crafting both magical and non-magical items, since any given item needs to be enchanted for her to be able to actively use it for long stretches of time anyway.

Enchanted Mending Kit (x1): Enchanted mending/tinker’s tools able to repair magical items without damaging their magical properties. Ophelia uses these to repair any repairable item sent her way, for the same reason she also uses enchanted carving tools for everything.

Paxanimi Potion (x3): A potion that mitigates psychic damage or corruption and provides a temporary boost to a player’s Psyche stat. For Ophelia, as a Specter, this is the closest thing she gets to a reliably available health potion.

Psychometry Scroll (x1): Allows caster to make one inquiry about the past of an object or place, then projects a scene or quote from the object’s or place’s history that provides a relevant answer to that question into the caster’s mind. Without crafting very specific questions, the results can often be vague and unhelpful, as the game will take the path of least resistance in providing a vision that meets the requirements of the inquiry.

Ictuium Scroll (x1)

Second Sight Scroll (x1) (Learning)

Assorted Random Crafting Bits and Scraps

She actually has more inventory kept hidden away within her home base rather than coming with her everywhere. Most of it is just more tools and materials and many, many changes of clothes.

“How much does it weigh? Can I touch, smell, and taste it? Can I put it in my inventory? Is it magical? Is it combustible? How many knowledge checks can I roll on it? Does it match my outfit? Can I keep it?” - Catriona, literally every time she sees any new item in D&D

Strongest character trait: Imagination

Strengths: Ophelia is an immensely imaginative and resourceful person who comes to Gem Quest from a background of extensive fiction reading and making famously effective TTRPG characters. It helps that she researched Gem Quest *extensively* before starting and continued to be active in forums and the GQ Wiki right up through getting stuck, along with getting early advice and support from a beta tester acquaintance. Her ideas are typically wildly innovative and a bit risky, but to her credit, they pay off more often than not. She’s slow to trust others with much critical personal information, but pretty open to giving others a chance and to judging people based on her own experience rather than on gossip. Thinking on her feet is second nature to her, and she’s rarely at a loss for ideas. Her devotion to her character and planned story arc have helped her to maintain a degree of focus and stability that’s thus far proven to be her most valuable coping mechanism.

She’s generally friendly and pleasant despite her spooky aesthetic, story, and demeanor, and she will genuinely try to help anyone who asks her for it. In business and in social encounters, Ophelia is considerate, well-mannered, and often downright chatty, though she usually knows to take a hint when people make it clear that they don’t want to talk. She makes and offers a selection of odd but useful items at very fair prices because she’s not here to make a profit - she just needs enough resources to keep going. She’s earned a bit of good will based on that. Her skill in puzzle and strategy-based quests and willingness to dispense hints on the above, along with her crafting, has garnered her a good reputation as a support player and PC shopkeeper within her guild.

Weaknesses: Even knowing that the game is now a matter of life and death, Ophelia still seems to care more about her in-game narrative and goals than practicality, survivability, or winning. A vibrant creative type who wishes no irl harm to anybody, she has a hard time conceiving that even the most blatantly destructive PCs would truly do harm to anyone outside the narrative. She catches most of the references you make and then obnoxiously, steadfastly denies that she has caught them if you inquire, because Star Wars doesn’t exist in the world of Gem Quest and of Ophelia, dammit! While her coping methods might be working for her internally for now, her devotion to staying in-character makes her a bit of an acquired taste. She is very, very particular about sticking to character, even when it’d be more practical and less annoying for her to drop it. She’s been known to make important decisions that risk her safety (and sometimes, indirectly, that of others) in the name of “authenticity” to her character and story plans.

Far, far too curious and adventurous for someone with a Defense stat of 2. She has lots and lots of interesting ideas, all of which she gives equal chance to, plenty of which aren’t good. Just because her creative ideas pay off more often than not doesn’t mean that there aren’t times when they don’t pay off. And when they don’t pay off, they tend to not pay off SPECTACULARLY. Reasonably likely to get herself killed enacting some inventive and exceedingly high-risk scheme to take out a dangerous boss before it can do damage.

For some folks, the mix of creepy aesthetics and backstory and acting choices with effusive goodwill and pleasantness is more off-putting than inviting. Arguably talks too much, especially when she’s nervous or upset. Has a weakness for getting emotionally involved with NPCs, particularly minor NPCs with chains of side quests or that can serve as temporary companions, despite theoretically knowing that they’re just chunks of code. Seems physically incapable of just sitting back and relaxing for a few without having to start some new project or come up with some new big subplot or plan.

Plenty of folks are happy to buy her crafted items, but she has a bad reputation as an active combatant due to a few infamous Incidents. At this point, only the truly uninformed, the truly desperate, the truly experimental, or the truly crazy in Moonstone would willingly party up with her XD

“Death has made me less than kind. And very, very creative with a broken lute, who knew?” - Ophelia

Player Stats: Ophelia’s defensive strategy in combat is just to not be hit at all. Her Defense stat is dangerously low, with any points that could buff it up as she’s gained levels and experience instead going to Agility and Luck. She prefers to draw her “defense” from stats that she can get more versatile use out of. She’s unusually low in Charisma for a Bard and has only enough Willpower to allow her to craft with physical items. She can’t wield non-magical weapons at all. However, she opted to invest a bit more in Psyche than a lot of other players did since a lot of a Specter’s durability lies in their emotional stability. She also has uncommonly high Intelligence, which combines with her Psyche and Luck to equip her well for puzzle-based and strategy-based challenges.

STRENGTH: X

DEFENSE: 2

CHARISMA: 6

PSYCHE: 7

WILLPOWER: 7

CAUTIOUSNESS: 4

AGILITY: 8

ENDURANCE: 5

INTELLIGENCE: 9

LUCK: 8 

Personality: (A lot of this is already in her strengths and weaknesses, so I’m putting a bit of a summary and some extra detail in here.)

She eats fictional media for breakfast, means well, talks a lot and talks often, has an overall spooky quirky nice one vibe (you know the type), fancies herself an actress regardless of the feedback she might receive, will (un)live and die in-character out of a fruity cocktail of artistic integrity and spite, is the Bard equivalent of a TV mad scientist who tends to cause the problem at the start of the episode with an experiment and then solve it in the last 2 minutes with a crazy genius plan that’s then shown to have not *totally* worked in a post-episode stinger, and is too smart for anyone’s good.

Building a clear narrative here helps her bring some degree of organization and order to the wild creative whirlpool that is her brain. She’d never considered herself much of an escapist until she discovered GQ, where she hasn’t escaped from responsibilities and work and struggle so much as she’s found an intoxicating degree of control over what her responsibilities and work and struggle are. She can write a meaningful story here, be its central driving force, have the impact she increasingly feels like she’ll just never be able to have in real life, and stick her epic quest out to a glorious conclusion. Ironically, she’s a weird mix of always needing an outline and a sense of narrative while ALSO constantly bursting with new ideas and clever but risky plans that she takes quite seriously. Cat harbors perpetual mild guilt for feeling so restless and unhappy - after all, she’s lived comfortable life and has a family who loves, and it’s not like people have to like anything she makes or does or says in order for her to have a high quality of life.

“Think you're escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home.” - James Joyce

Biography: Catriona Walsh was born in Dublin, Ireland to an Irish mother and an American father of Irish descent. The family moved to New York City for her father’s job when she was just 5, but she and her mom remain close with her mom’s side of the family back in Ireland. After 3 years in New York, the family moved to Columbus, Ohio, where Cat spent the rest of her young life, except for summers. Most summers since she was 13, she’s stayed a couple months with an aunt and uncle who own a small tour company in Dublin. From 16 on, she’s been helping with business while there. Now she’s at college in Dublin and working at the company on the weekends, in exchange for staying with her relatives. She’s studying business for her parents and literature for herself.

Cat has always had a great fondness for the tour company, though mostly for the actual tour guide end of it. She’s a natural storyteller and explorer who delights in going off the beaten trail and sharing all she knows about xyz subject with anyone who seems interested. Unfortunately, her improvisational bent has landed her in trouble with her aunt and uncle more than once. There are schedules to keep and itineraries people pay to be taken through, after all. This landed her behind the front desk of the office answering phone calls and administering group ticket sales, which she very nearly hates.

School is hard, especially with her true interest pushed to the side by necessity. Feeling like none of her ideas ever get taken seriously is hard. Making friends that last beyond one semester sharing a class is hard, and as she gets further into her college career, her future looks increasingly stifled and bleak to her. Attempts to get some poetry and original music off the ground haven’t gone anywhere, ending in some spikes of faceless nastiness that prompted her to delete her one YouTube account and take a step back from social media about a year and a half ago. Sure, she knows she’s supposed to have a thicker skin than that if she wants to go anywhere, and she *does* want to go somewhere. But she can’t seem to make her skin much thicker. She wants to argue with her uncle and aunt a bit more, as she increasingly disagrees with them on quite a few things, but they’re both extremely conflict averse, and she can be extremely lacking in tact about things she’s suitably worked up over.

Through it all, she knows full well that so so many people have it worse, and that she has no reason to feel restless and dissatisfied and unhappy. It’s just that she has a hard time connecting with people and feeling heard. She’s not alone, so why is she lonely? Cat takes refuge in being the zany, intensely individualistic artist who’s sometimes worth inviting to a party for the interest value and who surely has friends somewhere - you just haven’t ever met them.

For the past year or so, all the time Cat has for herself and an increasing amount of time that used to go into schoolwork has been split between her long-time refuge in tabletop roleplaying and her new favorite place: Gem Quest. She’s part of two Dungeons & Dragons games currently being run on Roll20 (well, was a part of them, anyway), both of which she plays as a multiclassed build with some degree of casting put together for a mix of strong utility and intricate storytelling. Gem Quest continues a years-long trend of being in love with exactly one fantasy video game at a time and playing it as much as possible, though it’s her first MMORPG.

Catriona researched Gem Quest *extensively* before ever getting it or creating her character. She heard about it from a fellow member of one of her online D&D groups, an avid gamer happened to be a beta tester. Cat was drawn in by the idea of being able to entirely occupy the space of a created hero within a sprawling fantasy setting and be a version of herself designed as a protagonist in a world designed to be impacted by her. She had a cousin who had a VR headset but decided it just wasn’t really his thing, so it wasn’t hard to convince him to let her use it for this. After waiting to see more setting and story info during the early general release and researching everything there was to know about GQ thus far, including via discussion with her beta tester acquaintance, she entered into the game a short while after launch. She’s had time to level up, mostly in being an item crafter and utility character with a surprising capacity to serve as a highly mobile glass canon blaster (and inexhaustible source of very creative and very insane plans) in combat.

She also has a whole, novella-length backstory for her character - a summary of which I will post later! - that she treats as her character bible and guide for all in-game interactions. It’s based on a single image of a skeleton in a black and white dress in some official art of one of the higher levels where there are a lot of scenic skeletons lying around. This is the sort of brain Cat has XD  

Ophelia, as a character, is the ghost of a minor noblewoman and court musician who was betrayed when she starting poking around into the disappearance of her older brother at court. Her desires to find her brother and for vengeance brought her back as a Specter, but she came back a world away from the place she died and has to go on a quest to make it back and finish her story. Cat built the character to be tied to a mid-to-late game puzzle-heavy level so she could have a big climatic Moment there. Then, she’d continue to the end in search of her fictional brother. Ophelia wields a spectral lute as a spellcasting focus and spends a lot of time pursuing leads about both her brother and her murderer (aka quests Cat finds thematically/aesthetically good for Ophelia).

Cat is VERY set on seeing this plot through and being the hero of her story, from start to finish, despite what’s happening with the game now. She does her part to provide puzzle guides and crafting support for those working to beat the game, but she’s not going to rush through her story and suddenly snap back to being poor little ungrateful and inexplicably depressed Cat who has no place in anything and can’t do anyone much good with what she’s got. While she’s in the game, she’s going to be Ophelia. At least Ophelia has a *reason* to be unhappy and restless, a wildly creative and wildly striving brain tied to the world with a few wisps of smoke. And at least Ophelia is good at what she does.

Never mind how much she adored aggressive exploration and creative combat at first. She’s learned well enough that she’s just a liability there, she’s bad at being in a group, and, not so different from real life, she’s at her best when she’s just at the shop counter being support. She’s already been booted from a couple of parties over her crazy plans, play style, and general personality. And there have been more than enough incidents with her pulling something crazy because it was in-character and genuinely seemed like a good solution with the resources given, usually with at least decent results but always with high risk, that no one in the know is willing to party up with her anymore.

She’s kind of stuck either in her shop or going solo. At least she makes good things, though, right? And she’s just taking her plot slow because of she’s savoring and developing her story, not because people don’t really like conquering life beside her out here either, right?

Right?

Relationships: I’m very much open to some plotting and planning with anyone who’d like to try working something out!

In regards to side characters or such of my own, I have some ideas already for this. I’ll fill these in as I finalize my ideas a bit more!

Char 1 -

Char 2 -

Char 3 -

Playlist: TBF Pinterest: TBF Extra: TBF

#ophelia #catriona #cat #moonstone #character info

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chaos-burst · 6 years ago

Text

Five times Molly wears a dress and one time Caleb helps him to take one off.

[ ao3 ]

"But what if—"

“No.”

“But it would be—”

“It’s out of the question!”

Fjord sighed and massaged his temple. Molly was rather amused about his exasperation.

“Beau, it’s not that big of a problem. Yasha looks too Xhorhassian, Jester is Jester and we need someone on the inside to charm the ambassador!”

Beau looked at him, her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed in front of her chest. Molly wondered about her past and why she was so adamant to not wear a dress. Ever. It’s not like he was about to ask her, but he did remember the little talk they had on the cemetery where Beau declared that her childhood had been meant for someone else.

“You know me! I can’t do shit that requires charm! Also, I will not squeeze myself into this horrible dress! Dresses are out of the question!”

Molly could see that Fjord tried very hard not to sigh again, but he barely managed. He decided to take pity on him when he saw the rebellious look on Beau’s face.

“I think you’re both missing the obvious”, Molly chimed in, a wide grin on his face that showed his fangs in all their glory. Fjord raised a brow. As far as he was concerned it was probably rarely a good thing when this kind of grin appeared on Mollymauk’s face.

“I look fabulous in dresses and I am very charming”, Molly said and bowed dramatically in Fjord’s direction.

Beau gestured towards Molly.

“See? Now that’s all cleared up I can go and do something meaningful with my time”, she declared, turned around and left Fjord and Molly behind. Fjord didn’t look convinced.

“You sure you’re up for this?”, he asked. Molly couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Sure, Fjord hadn’t seen him in a dress so far, but Molly would’ve thought that Fjord had a little more faith in Molly’s ability to adapt.

“Don’t worry, my friend. Just leave the dress here and I’ll get ready to charm the ambassador’s wits away”, he assured Fjord and took the dress from his arms, looking at it while he hummed a small tune under his breath. As soon as Fjord had left, Molly took off his clothes and started to squeeze himself into the rather tight, black dress. The thought of Beau wearing this made him grin gleefully while he looked at his reflection and pondered whether or not to use his disguise kit for cleavage.

The plan was easy enough: Break into the ambassador’s office while he was attending the ball, steal the scroll with delicate information about troop movements and Xhorhassian spies and maybe, subtly make the ambassador fear for his life—but only after the scroll was successfully obtained.

To make sure that the ambassador wouldn’t leave the party early, they had to make sure that he was otherwise occupied. The reason why Fjord had asked Beau in the first place probably had been her privileged background and the knowledge she brought to the table. But Beau had been right—when it came to charming someone, she was the wrong choice.

Molly actually applauded her for the fitting self evaluation while putting his hair up, carefully placing the strands of dark purple hair around his horns and putting some colorful pins in them to hold them in place.

He went through his bag to search for some color to put on his lips and took a step back to the mirror when a voice made him turn around.

“You look… good. Really good.”

The words had been so quietly uttered that Molly almost missed them. He turned around to see Caleb stand in the doorway, his blue eyes pinned to a point above Molly’s waist.

Molly thought about saying “Oh, I know, darling” and wink to make Caleb blush even more than he was already. But strangely enough his insides were buzzing pleasantly at the look on Caleb’s face and he found a soft, pleasant warmth spreading through his body.

“Thank you, Caleb”, he answered and made way for a genuine smile on his face.

Caleb looked rather dashing himself. He had put his shabby coat aside for an elegant, black cloak rimmed with gold. His hair was carefully put into a ponytail, his face freshly shaven and washed and a rather soft looking scarf was placed around his neck.

Molly’s eyes wandered over Caleb’s body and finally came to a halt on his face.

“Ah… well. I–uh. I came to tell you that we are ready to go”, Caleb said, his eyes darting around without holding Molly’s gaze for more than a split second.

“I’ll be down in a second. I need to make my lips a bit more kissable”, Molly answered and now he did wink. It had the desired effect of making Caleb blush some more and for a heartbeat Molly thought Caleb wanted to comment on the kissability of Molly’s lips, but he just nodded stiffly and rushed off, leaving Molly behind with butterflies in his stomach.

This thing between them had been going on for quite some time now. The careful flirting, the glances and smiles, casual gifts—if it wasn’t Caleb, Molly would talk about the most reserved wooing he ever heard about. But as far as he was concerned, it could all be a misunderstanding. Caleb never seemed interested in anything concerning romance, relationships or even casual sex.

Usually Molly would simply ask. But asking Caleb whether or not he wanted Molly might scare him to death and stop everything. And the one thing Molly didn’t want was for it—whatever it was—to stop.

When Molly finally came downstairs he earned a whistle from Beau and an impressed nod from Fjord. Caleb’s face was beet red and he looked everywhere except at Molly but Molly thought that he could live with it since Caleb had told him he looked good before.

“Let’s go and charm an ambassador”, Molly said with a wide grin and made a small curtsey. Fjord snorted and Beau laughed, but Molly’s eyes rested on Caleb, who seemed to breathe in a very concentrated manner. Then he put out his arm to Molly and Molly felt his heart stumble.

He took the arm.

“Auf geht’s”, Caleb muttered.

Molly considered for the hundredth time to learn Zemnian.

II.

“Fjord, why are you being all gloomy?”, Nott wanted to know while she gingerly counted all her new crossbow-bolts. Fjord’s usually carefully guarded face was an almost painful grimace while he watched Jester try on several dresses.

When Jester went shopping, everyone was involved. Molly loved it because he loved it when Jester was happy and excited and he enjoyed fashion—but Fjord usually looked as if he was trying to give birth to a baby beholder.

“I just don’t like shopping that much”, Fjord said. Molly rolled his eyes at Fjord and grinned.

“You know what would be great? If I tried on some dresses as well”, he prompted, making Fjord groan and Jester cheer.

“Do you think Caleb and Beau are ok?”, he heard Nott’s voice outside the dressing room. He simply grabbed the first dress that was close to him and didn’t look like a total atrocity—this was mostly to annoy Fjord, after all.

“Why wouldn’t they be?”, Fjord answered. Molly heard Jester fuss about some lace in the room next to him while one of the merchants fussed over her, telling her how the dress she chose made her look wonderfully slim.

“Why would I want to look slimmer, though?”, Jester asked, the confusion in her voice so genuine that Molly couldn’t help smiling. He wondered if a red dress wouldn’t be a bit much, but it did have a nice slit revealing his left leg and Molly could’ve sworn that it fit the red of his eyes perfectly.

When he exited the dressing room, Jester let out an excited “Ohh, Molly!” but Molly didn’t have time to gush about the dress with Jester, because only a heartbeat later a loud rustling and a dull thud came from the door and when Molly’s head turned he saw Caleb, holding only a few scrolls of parchment while two books and even more scrolls lay scattered on the floor around him.

“Come on, Caleb. Pull yourself together, man”, Beau groaned and started to pick up some of the parchment scrolls. Molly’s eyes caught Caleb’s and there it was again, that wonderful shade of red in the face of Molly wearing dresses. Once is chance, Molly thought, twice might be a coincident, but three. Three might make a pattern.

While Caleb got on his knees to pick up his books, Molly turned around to Jester.

“Hey Jester, do you think I should buy this one?”

III.

The next chance Molly got to wear a dress was not the red one he had actually bought after Jester’s enthusiastic “Yes!”, but one of Jester’s dresses. They were too big for him and he didn’t care much for pink—not because of the color per se but the color on him specifically. In Molly’s opinion it clashed horribly with his eyes.

But after a particular nasty incident with a kind of monster that had been insistent to vomit black, acidic slime everywhere, most of Molly’s clothes had been destroyed. His coat was fine, thanks to Jester’s mending, but he had no pants left and since he had been carrying his bag with him… well.

Molly wouldn’t worry so much about having no pants, but being a Tiefling drew enough attention and most of the time they didn’t need more attention.

Now he sat on Jester’s bed in a light blue dress that was all frilly and hanging from one of his shoulders because he was way skinnier than Jester. Jester seemed content, though.

“Light blue is very nice on your skin, Molly”, Jester said and tied a ribbon with a matching color to one of his horns.

“I could’ve worn my red one”, Molly said with a grin while Jester arranged his jewelry around the ribbon. “Thankfully that’s in your bag.”

“Oh, you know, I really like sharing my stuff. The red one is way too tight to be comfortable. And Beau never wants to wear any of my dresses, so this is really nice.”

“Hey”, came Beau’s voice from a few feet away, “your dresses are awesome, they’re just not for me.”

Molly snorted at the thought of Beau in a frilly dress with lace and little bows.

“Do you think Fjord and Caleb got all the slime off by now?”, Jester mused and sat down beside Molly before curling up on the bed and putting her head on one of his thighs. Molly put his hands into Jester’s curls immediately. He was glad that he found someone who was able to put up with his tactile behavior—because touching people was like breathing to him.

Yasha got used to it after a while at the carnival, but she was gone quite often. So now Molly had Jester to cuddle with. If he was being perfectly honest with himself he would love to touch Caleb all the time as well. But Caleb wasn’t into physical affection as far as Molly knew—usually he shrank into himself when someone got too close. So Molly kept his distance most of the time.

He remembered the first time Caleb saw him in a dress and the ball they had attended together. When the ambassador had gotten a bit too touchy even for Molly’s tastes—especially with someone who wasn’t his type at all—Caleb had seemed offended, angry. Angry enough to blast a hole into the ballroom floor to get the ambassador away from Molly and burn off the guy’s eyebrows in the process.

Molly sighed.

All this behavior pointed to—well. Maybe not.

There was a knock on the door.

“Yes, come in, nobody is naked!”, Jester called.

The door opened and Fjord and Caleb entered the room. Fjord was wearing some of his usual clothes but Caleb looked as if he borrowed something as well. Since the clothes he wore were too big for him Molly guessed that they belonged to Fjord. Maybe there was a hint of jealousy, a little jab inside his ribcage.

It was rendered neutral the moment Caleb laid eyes on Molly in Jester’s dress.

Three is a pattern, Molly thought to himself while grinning up at Caleb. He stuck his tongue out.

“Like my outfit?”, he teased. Caleb’s cheeks looked as if someone ignited firecrackers on them and he averted his eyes so fast, Molly almost believed Caleb hadn’t looked at him at all. Jester got up from his thigh to giggle about Caleb basically drowning in Fjord’s clothes.

Molly’s heart stumbled in his chest and he groaned internally. Feelings were a mess. He might have to drink himself into a stupor later to get a hold of himself and forget about the way Caleb’s hands turned into fists and his face lit up when he looked at Mollymauk, as if he had a hard time not reaching out and touching him as well.

IV.

When the vengeful nobleman from Nicodranas came to hunt Jester down, Molly volunteered as decoy. It was the logical thing to do—he was also a Tiefling and with a bit of help from his disguise kit he could turn his skin blue. He was a melee-fighter other than Jester, so it made sense that she would be kept out of harm’s way.

This also meant that Molly got to wear a dress again.

“I don’t think this is a good idea”, Caleb had murmured. Molly had chosen to ignore him.

Now they were in a battle with quite a few mercenaries and of course—of course they had a mage.

“Bring that mage down!”, Fjord shouted across the battlefield while Jester’s colorful lollipop floated across the forest clearing to punch one of the mercenaries into the ground.

“And take those shackles off of Molly!”, Yasha shouted back while she was locked in combat with three mercenaries at once. Molly could hear Nott scramble behind him to get his hands free but the mage kept throwing spells at them. Molly couldn’t see Caleb.

“Where is Caleb?”

“He’s over there with Jester”, Nott answered hastily and then Molly’s hands were finally free. Nott threw his swords in Molly’s lap and ran off again, firing one of her bolts into the back of one of Yasha’s attackers.

Molly rushed past Beau who screamed obscenities at one of the enemy fighters as if her words could actually hurt him as much as her punches. Molly almost forgot that he was still wearing one of Jester’s dresses as he ducked under spells and arrows and then swirled around with his swords to decapitate one of the enemies surrounding Fjord.

Nott’s scream made Molly turn around and almost fall over his own feet as he saw her being thrown back, flying through the air and crashing into one of the trees nearby. The enemy mage had his hands outstretched in her direction and Molly cursed under his breath, but he had no chance of getting to the mage to make him stop hurting Nott.

At the sound of Nott screaming Caleb stepped forward from behind the tree and the mage turned around instinctively, as if he was able to feel the presence of one of his own as Caleb made a few complicated gestures with his hand—but the other man was faster.

The scorching ray of magical fire flew towards Caleb and Molly saw his blue eyes widen.

With as much force as he could manage Molly threw himself between Caleb and the flames to bridge the distance in time, causing Jester’s dress on his body to light up immediately as the spell hit him. Molly knew that he was resistant to fire, but it still hurt as he stretched his arms out wide to shield Caleb from the flaming heat.

“YOUR DICK IS THE SMALLEST MY MOM HAS EVER SEEN”, Jester screamed in Infernal, causing the mage to blink in confusion and pain. Molly could barely breathe. He went down on his knees and almost lost one of his swords in the same moment Caleb’s spell flew past him and hit the mage in the middle of his chest. Then Fjord’s falchion pierced him from behind.

“Mollymauk, you foolish, mad—“

Molly gasped for air and held onto his swords as Caleb helped him up, his fingers touching a patch of burned skin. Molly bit his lips to stop himself from shouting out in pain.

“Sorry for the dress, Jester”, he croaked as she rushed past.

“I’ll buy some new ones, don’t worry about it, Molly”, she called and threw her hands out to him to heal some of his wounds before running over to where Nott had fallen.

“Mollymauk, are you ok?”

Soft fingers touched Molly’s naked shoulder. The dress was almost completely burned off, leaving Molly mostly naked in the clearing.

“I will be. Fire is mostly fine for me. DUCK!”

Molly grabbed Caleb and pulled him down.

“It was a very pretty dress though.”

Molly almost missed the words uttered by Caleb as their wizard threw a scorching ray out, hitting three of the men at the same time. Molly couldn’t stop himself, he put his hands over Caleb’s eyes to shield him from the sight of burning people while Yasha and Beau felled the last mercenaries.

“What are you doing?”, Caleb asked softly.

“Not sure, to be honest”, Molly said, Caleb’s skin warm and wonderfully unhurt under his fingers. All he wanted was for Caleb to not go to that dark place he sometimes went to when he saw people burn. Adrenaline was coursing through Molly’s blood after being lit on fire and from the thrill of the fight. But there was also the very hasty thumping of his heartbeat and Molly was pretty sure that it was caused by a certain shabby someone complimenting his dress.

The others found them like that—Molly kneeling in front of Caleb, his hands covering Caleb’s eyes and with patches of Molly’s skin burned and full of blisters. Caleb did not move or ask Molly to take his hands away and honestly, Molly just wanted to touch Caleb for a bit longer.

“Is something wrong with Caleb’s eyes?”, Nott shrieked as soon as she reached them.

“No. His eyes are—“

Beautiful as ever.

“Fine.”

Finally—finally Molly took his hands away and revealed Caleb’s face, a little dirty and sweaty from the fighting and a little red, but otherwise unharmed.

“That was a very brave thing you did, Molly. Thank you”, Nott said quietly. Molly managed a grin despite his exhaustion.

“Can’t let my favorite wizard get turned to charcoal now, can I?”, he answered, his eyes never leaving Caleb’s face. Caleb stared back at him, surprisingly steady and almost a little too intense for Molly’s tastes, because it made his heart stutter in his chest and his hands feel clammy from all the nervous energy.

Fjord put Molly’s coat around his shoulders to cover him up. Molly sighed and slumped down.

“I don’t think I want to walk back”, he said, looking at his unfamiliarly blue skin. But this is worth it, he thought. Because Jester is safe now and Caleb didn’t burn to death. It’s all fine.

“I can carry you to the cart”, Yasha offered, not even waiting for Molly’s answer. She simply picked him up as if he weighed nothing, tucked him into his own coat and looked down on him with a searching look as if to check if Molly was really fine.

“I’m ok”, he said. She nodded.

“I’m glad”, she answered and started walking. “And so is Caleb.”

Molly wondered how obvious he was when even Yasha realized he had a massive crush on their wizard.

Being in love was exhausting.

Molly had never been in love before—as far as he knew. He wasn’t particularly interested in Lucien’s love life—as far as Molly was concerned Lucien could’ve been married to the love of his life and Molly wouldn’t ever want to see that person again.

Sex and casual flirting were different, something Molly found fun. Feelings, on the other hand, not so much.

His heart seemed to be in hyperactive mode whenever he so much as looked at Caleb. Whoever invented the process and symptoms of falling in love clearly didn’t know what they were doing. If it were any other person Molly liked, he might have flirted harder, he might even proposition all those dirty things that came to his mind when he lay awake at night and thought about Caleb.

But alas, Caleb was pretty much like a panicked deer when it came to flirting and being touched.

So Molly was left the pining idiot he was, following Caleb with his eyes wherever he went, volunteering for second watches—which were always the worst ones—just to spend time with him. He even got around to inquire about Caleb’s magic just to see his face light up and listen to him go on and on about spell components and casting times and Molly only understood half of it but just hearing Caleb talk made him so happy that he wanted to puke his guts out.

Being in love was definitely the worst.

“You’re almost as grumpy as Beau these days”, Nott remarked and looked at Molly curiously. Molly, of course, had been watching Caleb again.

“Say that again and I might turn you inside out”, he warned. Nott didn’t seem fazed at all. She took a big swig from her flask and followed his gaze to where Caleb was reading a book. There wasn’t much to see per se, but Molly was pretty sure that he had never seen anything more alluring than Caleb feeling safe and unguarded with a mug of steaming tea and a book.

Ugh.

“Give me some of your booze”, he demanded and held out his glass to Nott who narrowed her eyes at him but complied, filling his glass to the brim. Molly chugged it down in one go.

“One more.”

“Why are you grumpy?”, Nott wanted to know.

“Give me more booze and I might tell you”, he lied.

Nott snorted and filled his glass again.

“It doesn’t matter anyway”, she said and watched him chugging the second drink as well, “I know that you’re in love with Caleb.”

Molly almost choked on his drink while Nott kept watching him with a knowing look. This was not a conversation Molly wanted to have. With Nott of all people.

“Why would you think that?”

Nott raised her brow. For someone so small she was surprisingly good at looking down on people—a skill she had developed over time. Molly found this disapproving look way too powerful. He didn’t have a childhood or a mother, not that he knew, but this was how it must be like to come home after curfew and try to lie about it.

“He’s my boy. I know when people look at him. I mean, look. And you’ve been staring holes into his coat for weeks now. I’m not stupid, you know?”

Molly looked at her and considered deflecting, changing the topic, hell, he would even make up an attraction to Jester if it would keep Nott off his heels. But Molly hadn’t talked about his crush with anyone yet and it was as if he was bursting at the seams with all those terrible emotions bottled up inside him.

“Fine, you’re right. But it’s not like I can bloody do anything about it”, he hissed und held his glass in her direction again.

Nott filled it a third time.

“I don’t want him hurt, but I see the way he looks at you, too. And don’t get me started on that whole cross dressing thing you have going on”, Nott said.

Molly snorted.

“Is it cross dressing when you wear dresses and are not a guy in the traditional sense?”

Nott sighed.

“Whatever. I know he likes it when you wear dresses, cross or not cross”, Nott said and took some more swigs from her flasks. She left her mask off almost all the time now, showing her jagged teeth and huge yellow eyes wherever they went. With a certain reputation came fear and people recognized them as the Mighty Nein more often than not—a group they didn’t want to pick fights with.

“I thought so”, Molly muttered and threw Caleb another look.

Nott stayed quiet for some time, taking a few more swigs and filling Molly’s glass with her never ending alcohol supply.

“You could put on that red dress and I can get the others out of here”, Nott suggested while Molly drank his fifth glass of bad whiskey. He could feel a buzz at the back of his head already.

“Why? You want me to seduce him? He’s probably going to run away as soon as he figures out we’re alone in the room”, Molly answered. Nott rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be an idiot, Molly. Put on that fucking dress. And if you hurt my boy, I’ll shoot you in your sleep”, she said and ushered away, surprisingly steady on her feet.

Molly was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be as steady as Nott when he got up but at the thought of everyone leaving and—this was a horrible idea.

He had to do it.

Molly knew he was hammered as soon as he stepped onto the stairs to their rooms and needed three tries to take the first two steps. It was a small wonder that he even managed to get to his room unscathed, let alone find the dress among his things. Usually putting on a dress would take him half a minute and after almost falling over himself two times he managed to get the dress on.

He knew that Caleb liked him in dresses. Nott told him that Caleb liked him in dresses. So what Molly wanted to do now was make Caleb get this fucking dress off him as fast as possible, which seemed weirdly doable after Nott’s pep talk.

Molly considered putting on lipstick but he decided against it. If he wanted to snog the fuck out of Caleb lipstick would simply make them both look like clowns.

Molly didn’t like clowns.

He liked Caleb. And sex. And ideally both things together at the same time.

Damn, he was drunk.

There was a small knock on the door that made Molly spin around. And there was Caleb, looking slightly concerned.

“Nott told me you wanted to—why are you wearing a dress?”

Molly opened his mouth to explain but his words escaped him. All his smooth talking and swindling and his bullshitting in the face of stressful situations didn’t prepare him for falling in love with the human equivalent of a mimosa.

“I like dresses”, he slurred and felt stupid. Caleb definitely made him stupid. And gods, he was so fucking smart and Molly was a babbling mess of pining and unrequited horniness.

Why did his life lead to this?

“I ah—I noticed. Ja”, Caleb murmured, his eyes now darting away from Molly’s face. Molly considered to just go for it, just kiss him right on the lips, push him up against the wall and draw sweet little noises out of Caleb, but Molly had seen Caleb’s panic and his discomfort when people touched him.

“I am very drunk right now”, Molly informed Caleb. “And you can’t hold this against me, if I say anything really dumb you should just forget it and pretend I never said it.”

Caleb’s eyes flickered back to his face and Molly watched as Caleb slowly closed the door behind him.

“Ok, we can do that, ja”, Caleb answered. His hands were fidgeting and he looked agitated. Molly felt miserable.

“Listen, I just. Ok, fuck it, this is all Nott’s fault, yeah? She made me come up here and I nearly fell down the stairs two times and she said I should—Ugh. Fuck. Ok, here’s the thing. I might have feelings. Weird, inappropriate and very much unwelcome feelings. And I know that you’re not into this. Or me. Or people, in general. I just. I’m making a fool of myself right now, and usually that doesn’t bother me but I—“

Molly stopped and sat down on the bed.

For the longest, most terrible time nothing happened. Then Molly heard hesitant steps and finally the bed dipped down beside him and Caleb sat down. Their shoulders almost touched and Molly suddenly wished he would have just left his coat on.

“Feelings”, Caleb said very softly.

“Oh, fuck off”, Molly said.

“I don’t burn ambassadors’ eyebrows off for just anyone, Mollymauk.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t throw myself between flames and just anyone either.”

There was a long moment of silence and then Caleb spoke again.

“You are very drunk.”

“Yeah”, Molly answered.

“So… how about—what if you go to sleep now. And then we talk a bit more in the morning, when you’re sober again.”

“To be honest that sounds like a terrible idea”, Molly said frankly and he heard a small laugh beside him. Maybe this wasn’t so terrible. It had been horrible at first, then it had been a bit less horrifying—even though there hadn’t been any kisses and way too many clothes for anything Molly might have hoped for.

“What about calculated risks?”, he wanted to know. Caleb smiled at him and Molly thought that if he were still standing his legs might’ve given out from under him.

Damn.

“Every moment with you is a calculated risk, Mollymauk Tealeaf.”

Molly groaned and simply flopped down on the bed, curling around Caleb’s backside like a cat and giving him a slap on the shoulder with his tail.

“I’ll just sleep and hope my dignity grows back over night”, he murmured and pushed his face into the pillow. He basically admitted his feelings. While being drunk and wearing a dress. The original plan to seduce Caleb masterfully in this rather marvelous piece of clothing had gone awry after only two seconds but Molly should have seen it coming.

Drunk Molly was a chaotic force of nature and nothing could be planned when too much alcohol was involved.

“Gute Nacht, Mollymauk”, Caleb uttered under his breath and a blanket was placed over his shoulders in such a gentle manner that Molly almost felt like crying.

V + I

When Molly woke up, the first thing he noticed was that his hangover wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. The second thing he noticed was that he was still wearing the dress—which made sense because he never got around to compel Caleb to take it off of him.

And then there was Frumpkin.

The cat lay beside him on the bed, sleeping soundly on Molly’s pillow. Molly’s heart went into overdrive immediately which wasn’t exactly the gentlest way to wake up. Frumpkin wasn’t impressed when Molly sat up abruptly and scrambled off the bed to find the washing room.

Kissing someone when the inside of your mouth tasted as if a small animal had died inside there was a bad idea, so Molly spent the better part of half an hour in the bathroom to make himself as presentable as possible. Maybe he should just take the damn dress off and behave like a normal person for once.

But then again, Molly was very bad at behaving like normal people.

Before he could talk himself out of it he knocked on Caleb’s door and to his surprise Caleb opened after only a few seconds, looking as if he’d been awake for hours. Nott was nowhere to be seen.

“Caleb, I swear to Bahamut, if I don’t get to kiss you right now I might—“

He had no opportunity to finish his sentence.

Caleb’s lips were on his and Molly made a sound somewhere between a moan and a surprised yelp. He pushed one of his hands into Caleb’s hair and grabbed his shirt collar with the other one to pull Caleb closer, to kiss him harder.

Molly couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t even think.

Caleb made a small sound in the back of his throat and Molly pushed him backwards to kick the door shut behind them, his body pressing against Caleb’s, trying to bring them impossibly closer together. Damn, he had wanted to feel Caleb under his fingers for so long, he was dizzy with the actual sensation of it.

“Didn’t you want to talk about feelings?”, Caleb panted, his hands shaking so hard that Molly was afraid he might faint at any moment.

“Feelings, yeah. Sure. I have those. For you”, Molly said while peppering Caleb’s face with kisses. “Can we please keep making out now?”

Caleb’s eyes were dark, his mouth slightly open and his lips already swollen—as if he hadn’t kissed anyone in a very long time. I did this to him, Molly thought in a haze of arousal and a heat wave of want. His insides felt as if they had been set on fire.

“I am afraid I am rather hopelessly in love with you, Mollymauk Tealeaf”, Caleb rasped, his eyes closed and his cheeks the darkest shade of red Molly had yet seen on him. Molly’s insides dissolved into a swarm of butterflies and he swallowed heavily as he leaned forward and kissed Caleb’s cheeks, the tip of his nose, his closed eyelids and his forehead.

“Fuck you, Mr. Caleb”, he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m terribly in love with you too.”

Caleb’s eyes opened, his pupils blown wide and from where Molly’s hand now rested on Caleb’s neck he could feel his pulse racing. Molly wanted to make it race even faster.

“Please tell me I can touch you more”, Molly croaked, helplessly pressing himself closer to Caleb. He was already half hard in his dress that seemed like the most foolish fashion choice right now because it was tight and limited his movements.

“Yes, please.”

Caleb’s voice was barely more than a whisper but it was enough for Molly. He pulled his dress up as far as he could manage and threw Caleb a pointed look. Caleb blinked at him, dazed and a little confused until he realized what Molly was asking of him. He helped Molly lift the dress over his head and onto the floor it went.

“Will you wear dresses for me more often?”, Caleb asked hoarsely and his eyes raked over Molly’s naked body as if he was drinking it in.

“Darling, I’ll wear whatever you like”, Molly purred before taking Caleb’s face in his hands, pressing his lips to Caleb’s once more. Caleb’s back hit the wall behind him and Molly pressed his body against Caleb’s, pushing his thigh between Caleb’s skinny legs and forcing them open. He bit Caleb’s bottom lip and got a desperate, needy moan that went straight between his legs.

Fuck.

Molly knew he wouldn’t last. He’d had sex with so many different people but never like this, never with his heart beating so fast that he was almost afraid it might break his ribcage. He kept kissing Caleb, again and again and Caleb opened up for him, let Molly’s tongue in and moaned helplessly every time Molly bit his lips and grabbed his hair a little harder than necessary.

Molly wanted to ruin him.

But right now all he could do was press his crotch against Caleb’s thigh, rutting against him like a desperate and inexperienced teenager while Caleb held onto him and panted his name in between kisses, his shaking hands holding onto Mollymauk like a drowning man in the open sea.

“Don’t stop”, Caleb whispered and his voice was so needy, so desperate—it sent Molly right over the edge and he came all over Caleb’s pants untouched. Caleb followed just seconds after him, his knees giving out as his orgasm hit him, so Molly had to hold him upright while still breathing heavily.

“Will you ever wear a dress for me?”, Molly croaked and pressed a few soft kisses to Caleb’s throat. Caleb didn’t answer for a few heartbeats and Molly was afraid he might pass out. But then his blue eyes opened, still a little unfocused and he smiled blurrily at Molly.

“For you that is a risk I would probably take, Mr. Mollymauk.”

#widomauk #critical role #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #mollymauk #caleb #screeching into the void #text #fanfiction #since so many asked for more molly in dresses there you go #it starts with the two prompts i already posted on here but it picks up after that :)#i wrote this all in one day pls be kind #it's very late :'D

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leonraan · 6 years ago

Text

awakening

Sweat built on his forehead, the backs of his gloved hands wiping it away on a consistent basis, fingers fidgeting over tools and heat, broken wires. “Vera, what time is it?” He said out loud after what must have been hours of vocal silence. A voice responded, crackling from a nearby speaker, ringing out in the room left sweltering with heat. “It is 2:36 AM, Gael.” The voice said, sounding tired with its slight crackle, it’s age evident. “Thank you, Vera.” He responded immediately, brain running over how many hours he had already spent on the project and how many more it would take to complete. A deadline rang in his head, a household pleasure android needed its legs replaced in order to do its job. Gael had qualms about it, about fixing the machine, its age near crippling, its parts difficult to find, but perhaps his biggest issue had been with the fact that the legs had been broken by its owner’s own hands in a fit of rage, intentional. If it had been up to Gael himself he would have refused service, but his father had a contract, which meant all the man’s machines were insured and it forced his hands.

Of course, he had his own inflated sense of advocacy, he was rather liberal in beliefs, considering protos as much sentient as himself, but it didn’t take his level radicalism to think destroying the machines, something slaved and salvaged over, was immoral. Even if you didn’t believe protos were anything more than robotics, it was equivalent to spitting in the creator's face yourself, cracking his hard work. Not at all unlike the way Gael had to spend days rebuilding legs that would surely be shattered again in a matter of weeks. In five hours she was due to be shipped back to her owner, and it would likely take just that to finish her entirely. She had been in terrible shape, even beyond the crippling injuries. Her mechanisms filled with dust and dirt, joints unoiled and skin very unfortunately… tacky. Visually, of course, she was immaculate, hair brushed, and face painted. It was never difficult to see the owner’s priorities caked inside their androids, the lack of care. Even Vera, who was old and not much more than a speaker, was carefully well-kept by his hands.

He stepped back a moment, eyeing the plug to her internal battery as it flashed green; fully charged and functional. He still had work to do on her cosmetics, rebuilding the silicon of the skin and tying and tucking wires, but other than that she was good to go. “Someone needs to save that man’s wife.” He heard Vera crackle across the room and he shivered, his stomach rolling in his body as he processed what she said. He made the quick decision not to think about it.

“Should I turn her on?” He asked, not entirely sure of himself, not positive he would want to hear what she has to say. He was never very good at small talk.

“I’m sure it’ll be the first time anyone’s tried to do that.” He was sure Vera was making joke, but her voice only was created with one tone – rather dull and indifferent. He made a mental note to see if he could implement some lightness to her at some point, and maybe more appropriate humor while he was at it. “But go ahead, let’s see what she’s got.” Gael nodded distractedly, hands fidgeting again before reaching over and pressing the button to pull her out of hibernation. It took a moment, the muted noise of a smooth boot-up as her limbs twitched once each, regaining movement, and her eyes flickered open in a flash of sharp green.

Her eyelids batted as her vision kicked in, gaze shifting around the room before landing on Gael himself, focused. He smiled, it showed the exhaustion on his face, weary, but welcoming. He was pleased she rebooted, seemingly without flaw. She smiled back at him the way that only protos do, all teeth and cheeks that do not meet her eyes, empty, before she looked down at herself, body open and wires exposed, blinking slowly. “Am I broken?” She asked him, head tilted and voice curious, gentle.

He shook his head, smile falling at the edges as he turned to find his skin kit, to smooth over and heal any signs of breakage. When he was done, she would look brand new; a specialty he was proud of. “Well, not for long, anyways. A few more patches and you’ll be better than ever.” He said, tone carefully reassuring, as if he could possibly upset her. His eyes shifted back to her, long dark hair framing her face and cheeks artificially blushed under the surface, eyes green and eyelashes long, of course, she was beautiful. She sighed, head nodding.

“Yes, I feel much smoother than my last reboot.” She affirmed, and he gave her another small smile, his dimples flashing as he pulled the edges of the open skin together slowly and sunk his flat tool into the thick mixture, applying and smoothing it along the seam as he did. He tried to ignore her eyes boring into him, silent for what felt to be far too long, and he wondered what made him decide to pull her from hibernation before she finally spoke again.

“You are also part proto.”

Gael looked back up suddenly, surprised. It wasn’t common for androids to make such comments, to address other’s appearances or personalities, especially ones designed like her; to be nonjudgmental and unassuming. However, he didn’t flinch away from it, didn’t become unsettled. He held up his robotic arm, almost unrecognizable for what it was when he hid it, but now revealed in a shell of hard metal, the skin casing removed as to not be damaged while he worked. His eye that matched it on the opposite side, fluorescent blue as opposed to his human brown, looking back into her own pair of green. “I suppose that’s a way to look at it, yeah.” He nodded slowly, dropping his hand back down. “I needed to fix myself a few times in the past, replace a few parts.” He laughed, albeit a little bit awkwardly, but still brightly, his face becoming more awake for a the briefest moment. “It’s kind of cool though, don’t you think? The chance of improvement for you and my arm are a lot higher than that of the rest of my body. Humans are stunted, but you have immeasurable room for growth.”

She listened to him, her eyes trailing between her own ripped skin and his face slowly, expression blank. It was moments like that were he could see how old her technology was, how placid she was in his presence. It didn’t make him squirm, he was too used to the machines for that, but it made him feel oddly sympathetic. There was something about the ones that looked perfectly human but acted just a little too robotic that gave him a sense of empathy, almost as if there were so close but just off mark. Androids like her would never be seen remotely equal to human, not passable nor treatable. Her face did not show her wires, but it showed her synthetic fiber, her lack of humanity.

“When am I returning to mister Gordon?” Was her only reply, and “Soon,” was all he could say in return before they lapsed back into silence. Vera didn’t speak again, and he wondered if she turned herself off, if she hated this robot as much as she hated all the others he fixed. He wondered if he should change her settings, stop her from being able doing that. Gael didn’t create her with jealousy, but she seemed to have developed it on her own and there was something almost amusing about it.

“What’s your name?” He asked, if not just to break the silence then just to stop referring to her as nothing more than her programming as he finished closing her wounds, turning on the overhead light that would dry the mending. “Blue.” She said, and he gave her another smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Blue, I’m Gael.” He responded, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms, eyes shifting down her body to ensure he didn’t miss anything, looking for cuts in her skin or exposed pieces.

“Gael.” She repeated his name, almost like she was testing it in her mouth, and he nodded distractedly, wiping the sweat from his forehead once again. “Okay, I have to check and see if you have any more breaks, just to be sure. I’m going to have to move you around a little, hope that’s okay.” He moved back in her direction, turning her limbs and shifting her body over to do a more thorough look over, an action she seemed entirely unaffected by. “If you’ve have any other problems recently let me know and I can check it out for you, we have about three more hours so…” He trailed off with a shrug.

Blue continued to stare at him without reply, and he continued to try to ignore it. He was about to conclude, tell her she’s fine, when her voice broke through the silence, quiet like a whisper and his whole body froze.

“Don’t send me back.”

He stood with her arm in his hand, every muscle in his body seized as he tried to process what she said, tried to think of an explanation for the words that passed her lips and he came up blank. It took him far too long to put down her limb, to work up the courage for his eyes to meet her face again and suddenly all his past assessments of her were void. He looked at her, and for a moment, she was human. Her emotion still didn’t reach her eyes because they were made too long ago, not capable of such a feat, but her expression was pained and dark and so unbelievably real. He stared at her, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, brain whirring, refusing to accept he had heard her correctly.

“Please, you’re my last chance, my only chance.”

He continued staring at her, his shocked expression, his mind struggling to catch up. Protos don’t beg, protos don’t ask for freedom, they don’t show signs of disdain towards their owners, and they don’t ask about robotic parts. Even though he had just seen her hardware, he found himself wondering if she were flesh and blood, despite having opened her skull thinking she might have a human brain. It took approximately sixty seconds for Gael to regain his own functionality, for his mouth to close, then open, then close again before finally gathering a response.

“I-I don’t know, I can’t not send you back, I don’t--” He cut himself off, sliding his chair back, still not breaking their eye contact, confused, hands fidgeting again but more spastically, almost violently, tugging on his fingers and twisting into fists.

“What are you?” He asked, his face paled and upset, almost scared, but not for the reasons that were expected. He wasn’t scared because she was capable of begging but instead because she had to. He wasn’t scared of her ability to fear, but instead of her fear itself. He was upset over her broken legs and dusty part, her sticky skin and pulled plugs. His fear mirrored hers and suddenly neither of them were human nor proto, but equally half of both. His chest and head both ached, a sharp pain from overuse and a lack of sleep, like a wire short-circuiting in his brain, his chest burning from what he had to say, from what he knew.

He had to send her back, he didn’t have a choice, no other options. If he didn’t he could be charged with stealing, abduction, or worse, and as for her? He swallowed a lump in his throat, body panicking. They would do worse than disable her, they would send her out of the city, they would release her to the desert, make her a proto for the wasteland, and he’d heard stories of what happened to them, of what was possible.

This was something he was not, in any form, ready for. It was not something he could handle.

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t help you, it’s... it’s not possible. I just…. I-I can’t.”

And she looked as if she had expected those words but was disappointed by them nonetheless, expression falling, hands clenching by her sides. He was close enough that he could hear her moving, her joints and pieces. His thoughts from earlier resurfaced, anguished and harsh, ‘Androids like her would never be seen remotely close to human, not passable nor treatable.’ He felt sick as she stared at him, almost as if he’d been the one to shatter her pieces, like he was the villain, and something inside him told him that maybe he was; a bystander, if nothing else, there to crack her bones back into place before shipping her back to the slaughter house.

“I’m not going back.” She said before moving, her arm shooting out to her side and grabbing one of his tools off the table, sharp and dangerous, and he jolted back, moving backwards so quickly he slammed into the wall, eyes not leaving hers. “I’m not.” She said again, and barely a second after her words left, hardly enough time for them to linger and echo, to meet his ears more than once, she jammed the sharp end directly into the back of her neck, shattering her kill switch. There was a thump as her head fell back on the table and the room went silent once again, the only noise left being the whirring of his computer, the electricity running through everything in the room.

Gael stood a lone vigil, mouth open and eyes widened, his vision went blurry and limbs weak before he leaned over and wretched onto the floor, hands shaking. He pulled his arms to his chest, sliding down the wall, knees to his stomach as he looked at the limp mechanical body on his work table. She looked exactly as she had before he’d turned her back on, she looked like the same robot that came to his workplace in a fucking brown box, the same one he’d spent hours meticulously cleaning, but now something was different.

Gael shook again as he placed it, skin pale and eyes still wide with confusion, a loss for what had happened as tears broke free from his left eye, his human eye.

“Vera?” He said out loud, voice choked and shaking, hands vibrating, clenched into loose fists as she didn’t reply, speaker mute, turned off.

“Vera… please...” He said again, trying to hold in a sob, terrified as his chest ached and stomach lurched.

When he worked on her she was a system in hibernation, but now she was a human.

She was Blue.

And she was dead.

#|| the will of one ( solo ) ||#awakening #{ consider this an introduction to him of sorts!!! this takes place in the past #{ its the first time he really encountered a Conscious Proto #suicide //

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theashemarie · 7 years ago

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Resistance Personal Items Log (Sonic Forces Fic)

[sonuckles, part of my sonic forces series. go here to read the first pieces]

[[Once moved in, every member of the resistance must catalogue their private belongings.]]

RESISTANCE PERSONAL ITEMS LOG

BUNKER #267, MYSTIC RUINS/STATION SQUARE BRANCH

RESISTANCE MEMBER: Knuckles, #2671

ROOM #136

TRANSLATOR (from Echidnian): Tails, #2672

PERSONAL ITEMS, AS REPORTED BY RESISTENCE MEMBER #2671

Smuggled from: TAILS’S WORKSHOP in the early evening thru the early morning of August 21, 20XX via tunnels. STATUS OF THE WORKSHOP UNKNOWN

1.0: one (1) pair of shoes, sneakers, yellow and red, no laces

1.0.1: origin unclear; construction unlike anything found on the surface, found amongst rubble as a child and grown into at around age 13.

1.1: socks, green, five (5) pair, large thread

1.1.1: hand sewn with store bought thread, a wooden needle, at night by firelight; some of the stitches are uneven and crooked, but they are sturdy and will not need replacing unless they are burned.

2.0: gloves, two (2) pair, large thread

2.0.1: origin unclear; large, antique thread, fitted and tailored by firelight to fit tight around fists and spikes; an extension of the wearer; have never ripped and will not need replacing unless burned.

3.0: one (1) windbreaker, red, pink, blue, orange, yellow, in a geometric print

3.0.1: originally Sonic’s, stolen from his bedroom in order to work as a sling to carry canned goods (now found in the kitchens)

3.0.1.1: bought at a thrift store in Empire City; tried on and ripped on hedgehog quills in excitement; when the clerk saw, her expression made it all worth it; laughed so hard we both cried.

3.0.1.2: Sonic said, “You break it you buy it” as he shoved some money across the counter.

3.0.1.3: the only reply I could come up with, “You didn’t break it, you ripped it.”

3.0.1.4: that night, sewed up by lamplight, modified to fit hedgehog quills; he thanked me and it felt like it was for more than the jacket. (Translator’s note: no real mobian translation exists for this.)

3.1: torn zipper, needs to be mended; Sonic said it gave it character

4.0: one (1) leather jacket, black, buttons and zippers, well-worn

4.0.1: stolen from Sonic’s room, called it his “flying jacket.”

4.0.1.2: only saw him wear it once, when he found his way to the Island on a Wednesday afternoon (as he informed me).

4.0.1.2.1: time doesn’t exist on the Island, not the way surface dwellers see it; there is no sunrise and sunset when you move above the planet, under the atmosphere; days do not exist so much as pass unnoticed.

4.0.1.3: we spent the afternoon together, picking the ripe fruit in Marble Garden, munching on apples and plums

4.0.1.4: he packed lemons into his pockets, “for lemonade,” and I pretended not to notice when they spilled out and thudded to the ground when he moved too fast

4.0.1.5: he paid his respects to the Master Emerald, bowed so that his forehead could touch it, hands spread over its surface, whispering so fast that I couldn’t understand the language

4.0.1.6: the jacket spread under us as we looked at the stars, arguing over constellations

4.0.1.6.1: “the warrior protects us from invasion”

4.0.1.6.2: “no, the guardian protects the planet from Chaos.”

4.0.1.6.3: “oh, so I’m in the sky?”

4.0.1.6.4: “if anything, that’s me up there.”

4.0.1.6.5: “really Knuckles? You? What have you ever done that deserves astronomical remembering?”

4.0.1.6.6: “deal with you, for one.”

5.0: one (1) polaroid camera, bumped and bruised, strap tied into knots

5.0.1: rescued from Tails’s full hands in the tunnels; originally from Sonic’s room; probably grabbed by the fox in a panic, with the hope that Sonic will use it again

5.1: two (2) rolls of film, still in the boxes, thrown into the windbreaker sling amongst the canned food; unopened but perhaps useful

5.2: photo album, thirty-two (32) photos, four (4) to a page; at least five (5) years

5.2.1: a few of a creature I’ve never seen before, of a species that I don’t recognize: magenta, with a large green bauble about his neck

5.2.2: the last photo, the most important, Sonic, days before he went missing, kissing someone we can’t quite see, from the back; six (6) head quills, two (2) back quills, small fly-aways that always need to be set back into place

5.3: green bauble (1), knotted into the strap

6.0: a mug, ceramic, white with a child’s painting of multi-colors

6.0.1: “World’s Best Dad” it says, an eternal joke between Sonic and Tails

6.0.1.1: he served me coffee in it once, an early morning when neither of us could sleep

6.0.1.2: sky sun-lit, pale and clear

6.0.1.3: cold winter, snow on the ground, making it brighter still

6.0.1.4: a set of Tails’s gloves, ripped from the workshop, in desperate need of attention, splayed on the table like a child’s dissection in science class; a needle, metal in my hands

6.0.1.5: busy energy in the air as Sonic makes coffee, leverages all of his weight into the push pedal on the trash can to throw out the grounds; jittery hands trying to sew, not always the best but it worked out

6.0.1.6: “I apparently don’t know what the word dad means,” I said as I spun the mug around.

6.0.1.7: “would you have a framework for that?” Sonic said. “You living alone and all?”

6.0.1.7: there’s a certain smartness that follows Sonic around; it’s easy to forget about, but then he says things like that and you’re struck by how he sees the world a bit sideways from everyone else, approaches things from different angles

6.0.1.8: “That’s none of my business,” Sonic cut across before I could answer, probably taking my silence as offense. “A dad is a male parental figure, but the mug is a joke.”

6.0.1.9: an imperceptible cock of my head, a blink, nostrils flared in thought

6.0.1.10: “Everyone says I’m a father figure for Tails. He made me that mug a few months ago. Turn it.”

6.0.1.11: I spun it again, squinted, and there, small and bleeding together, a date, and under that, a blue, spiky figure and a red, rounded one, holding hands.

7.0: one (1) guitar, acoustic, strings perfectly tuned

7.0.1: retrieved on a secret trip, after the bunker doors had been locked closed for the fallout; tunneled under everything, came up in the Workshop, plaster falling from the ceiling, walls rattling, pictures falling, electricity flickering

7.0.2: ducked through the house, kept low to the ground, crawled up the stairs, coughed on dust and ash, punched through Sonic’s bedroom door, gathered guitar, binder of sheet music, case

7.1: binder of sheet music, black, drawn all over with white paint marker: music notes, time signatures, music notation things, small hearts and stars

7.2: guitar case, covered with bumper stickers from all over the world, bent in the middle, leather peeling off, gray under all those stickers

7.2.1: Central City, Sonic on a charity bender, feeling guilty and wanting to help everyone; set up near the main park on a bench, guitar case open in front of him, strumming and humming in warm up

7.2.2: case already confetti’d with bills, both high and low; the money is for sick kids, he told people as they stopped by, asked for autographs, asked for pictures

7.2.2.1: they trusted him like Santa Claus; they left their money with him, trusting that he would take it to where he said he would; trusted him differently from how I did: I trusted him to watch my back, to share a bed, to have his head near my heart; they trusted like he was a mythical creature.

7.2.3: when asked about me: “this is Knuckles, my boy—best friend.”

7.2.4: no one ever noticed the slip

8.0: three (3) Chaos Emeralds, green, yellow, red, kept in a locked box in a locked safe under the bed

8.1: the green, found in a Special Zone in Mystic Ruins by Tails, two months before the bombing

8.2: the yellow, found for sale in Shamar in a caravan; Sonic spent far too much on it, but declared it was worth it when he saw Tails nearly breathe fire

8.3: the red, presented to me as “a ruby,” with a gentle, small smile, late at night; I had been asleep on the couch and woke up to Sonic on one knee before me, holding the Emerald out

8.3.1: it cast a strange glow on the room, made his face seem warm and familiar, his teeth brighter, smile true and genuine

8.3.2: “I found this for you,” he whispered. “A ruby.”

8.3.3: “That’s an Emerald.”

8.3.4: “No, it’s ruby like you.”

8.3.5: sat up, took the Emerald, noticed Sonic’s position on the floor, said, “Are you trying to be romantic again?”

8.3.6: his grin only widened. “Is it working?”

8.3.7: I’ve never trusted that smile, but something about the glow, the moment, the sound of the wind outside, made me drop my guard. “If it is, what’s your goal?”

8.3.8: no verbal reply; he leaned forward, so close that I could see the individual furs on his face, looked into my eyes, waiting for permission or encouragement

8.3.8.1: I haven’t lived on the surface for long, but I knew this: Sonic’s love of words, words from vocal chords, tone and emotion, positive or negative; no assumption from him, only things verbalized before he moved.

8.3.9: “Yes, kiss me already.”

9.0: one (1) rugged, “field” sewing kit, for mending:

9.0.1: socks,

9.0.2: gloves,

9.0.3: jackets,

9.0.4: hearts.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic forces #sonuckles #knuckles #sonic #tumblr ate all my fancy indents but i'm too lazy to fix it pfffff #the shipping continues #ashe writes #ashe talks #forces fic

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swanqueeneverafter · 7 years ago

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14. The Stable Boy, Pt.3

Storybrooke. Mr. Gold’s Shop. (Regina and Mr. Gold are in Mr. Gold’s Pawn Shop.) Regina: “Well I’d say Ms. Blanchard just dug her own grave with that interview. I think now would be the ideal time for Kathryn’s body to turn up, wouldn’t you?” Mr. Gold: “Body? I’m not sure I follow?” Regina: “Kathryn’s body. Go and uncover it from wherever you’ve hidden it and we can end this once and for all.” Mr. Gold: “You didn’t say ‘kill her’. We agreed that something tragic should happen to her. Now, abduction is tragic.” Regina: “The intent was perfectly clear. Kathryn was supposed to die, and Mary Margaret was to get the blame.” Mr. Gold: “Yeah, murder seems so much worse here, though, doesn’t it? You can’t just turn someone into a snail and then step on them, can you?” Regina: “You broke our deal.” Mr. Gold: “I broke one deal in my life, dear. And it certainly wasn’t this one.” Regina: “So she’s still out there somewhere, for anyone to find? This is going to raise all kinds of questions about where she was.” Mr. Gold: “Oh, yes. And, um… And who put the key in Ms. Blanchard’s cell.” Regina: “It’s all going to lead to me, isn’t it? You bastard. This doesn’t make any sense. You and I – we’ve been in this, together, from the start.” Mr. Gold: “Oh, have we?” Regina: “You created the curse for me. The curse that brought us here, and built all this.” Mr. Gold: “Yes, it’s about time you said thank you.” Regina: “Why did you do it?” Mr. Gold: “Well, you’re a smart woman, Your Majesty. Figure it out.” Storybrooke Pier. (At the pier, Emma is sitting on a bench and reading through Henry’s book as August walks up to her.) August: “What you doing?” Emma: (Sees him and closes the book, putting it away:) “Grasping at straws.” August: “Still trying to find a way to prove your friend’s been framed?” Emma: “Every time I go down a path I think leads somewhere, it ends up being a dead end. I used to think I had these great instincts… Superpower. Ah, I don’t know.” August: (Taking a seat next to her:) “It sounds like you got a case of writer’s block. Only without the whole writing part.” Emma: “Maybe.” August: “You know, when I get struck by a block, I usually re-read what I’ve done, rather than plow ahead blindly. Sometimes, I find there’ll be a little nugget of inspiration left behind.” Emma: “You mean start over?” August: “I mean, when I start writing, I usually have one idea. And then, in the middle, I may get another idea, and things are different.” Emma: “So, your perspective changes.” August: “Exactly. When you started this investigation, what was it about?” Emma: “A missing person. Then, it became a cover-up.” August: “If you knew that then, maybe you would have approached things differently. (Emma gets up:) Where you going?” Emma: “Scene of the crime.” August: “I’ll drive.” (August follows her.) Emma: “No, I’m fine.” August: “No, you’re not. You haven’t slept in days. And, let’s be honest – it was my idea.”

(August and Emma drive on August’s motorcycle to the Toll Bridge. The two of them walk down an incline to the spot under the bridge where the box was found.) Emma: “Ruby found the box right over here, just by the shore. (August grimaces in pain:) What’s wrong?” August: “Nothing.” Emma: “It doesn’t seem like nothing. Here, let me look.” August: “No, it’s okay. It’s just a shin splint. Just… let me walk it off. (August turns and walks as Emma surveys the area:) Sorry. I know this must be hard on you.” Emma: “Yeah, that’s an understatement.” (Emma begins to clear rocks away from the box site.) August: “I don’t know you that well, but, it seems to me, that aside from Henry, Mary Margaret’s the closest thing to family you’ve got. It’s okay to admit it.” Emma: “August, look.” (Emma pulls a piece of metal out of the sand where the box was buried.) August: “What is it?” Emma: “It’s a shard. From a shovel.” August: “Must’ve broken off when it hit a rock. If we can find the shovel that it broke off of, we can prove that Mary Margaret didn’t bury the box. (Emma looks unsure:) What’s the matter?” Emma: “This area has been thoroughly swept, I ordered it myself. There’s no way something like this would’ve been missed.” August: “Stranger things have happened. Emma, don’t you get it? We can prove that she’s innocent.” Emma: “Yeah, if we can find out who the shovel belongs to.” August: “Well I’ve got a pretty good guess. And I think you do too.” (Unbeknownst to Emma and August, we see Sidney Glass watching them from the bridge. His eyes darting from left to right, he pulls up the collar of his coat and turns to leave.) Enchanted Forest. Past. (In a small village, Baelfire and several kids are playing with a ball outside. The ball is knocked in the path of a donkey cart, driven by a man. When Baelfire goes to retrieve it, he trips and scrapes his knee.) Man: “Hey. Hey! What are you doing in the middle of the road, boy?” Baelfire: “I’m sorry. I-I…” Man: “Hey, I know you. It’s fine. It’s fine. It was the donkey’s fault. You want a chicken? Or some eggs?” Baelfire: “It’s alright, no. I should probably just…” (Rumpelstiltskin appears.) Rumpelstiltskin: “What’s going on?” Man: “It’s nothing. It was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. But, he says he’s fine!” Baelfire: “I’m fine, Papa. Really.” Rumpelstiltskin: “Are you sure, Bae?” Baelfire: “Yes. I’m fine.” Rumpelstiltskin: “Well, I suppose it won’t happen again.” Baelfire: “It won’t.” Man: “No. No.” Rumpelstiltskin: “What’s that?” (Rumpelstiltskin points down, and everyone’s attention is drawn to Baelfire’s bloody knee.) Baelfire: “It’s nothing.” Man: “It’s nothing!” Rumpelstiltskin: “Don’t. Bother.” (In a puff of purple smoke, Rumpelstiltskin magically transforms the man into a snail. Balefire and the rest of the villagers watch as Rumpelstiltskin goes to crush the snail.) Baelfire: “No, Papa. No. Please, Papa, don’t. No, Papa! Papa!” (Rumpelstiltskin crushes the snail under his foot.)

Storybrooke. Present. Night. (At Regina’s house, Regina checks on Henry, who is pretending to be asleep. When she gets in the shower, Henry grabs the walkie talkie from under his pillow. Emma and August are outside the house awaiting instructions.) Henry: “The eagle is in the nest, and the package is secure.” Emma: “Henry. I left the code book at home.” Henry: “She’s getting in the shower and the keys are under the mat.” (Emma takes the key from under the mat and the two of them enter the garage.) Emma: “Don’t touch a thing. (Emma and August search Regina’s garage with flashlights. Emma comes to several shovels, one of which is missing a piece in the corner. Emma calls August over:) Hey.” (Emma tests the shard they found, and it ends up being a perfect fit.) August: “We got her.”

Enchanted Forest. Past. (Rumpelstiltskin and Baelfire arrive back at their house. Inside, their maid is cleaning up.) Rumpelstiltskin: “Thank you, Onora. You can fetch our supper now, dearie.” Baelfire: “You killed that man.” Rumpelstiltskin: “Well, you were hurt. Speaking of which…” (Rumpelstiltskin begins to heal Baelfire’s knee, but Baelfire stops him.) Baelfire: “No. I don’t want magic. It’s just a scrape.” Rumpelstiltskin: “This will heal it.” Baelfire: “So will this.” (Baelfire gets a first aid kit from a cupboard. Rumpelstiltskin sets to mend the knee.) Rumpelstiltskin: “As you wish.” Baelfire: “You’re different now. You see it, don’t you? You hurt people all the time.” Rumpelstiltskin: “I created a truce in the Ogres War, Bae. I walked into the field of battle, and I made it stop. I led the children home. Surely, a man who’s saved a thousand lives-” Baelfire: “Is done. A man who’s saved a thousand lives can be done with it. You can stop doing things.” Rumpelstiltskin: “I can’t. I need more power so I can protect you.” Baelfire: “I wouldn’t need protecting if you didn’t have power.” Rumpelstiltskin: “Well, I can’t get rid of it.” Baelfire: “Have you tried?” (Rumpelstiltskin pulls out the dagger of the Dark One.) Rumpelstiltskin: “Tried? If someone kills me with this, then they gain the power. Now, you know that, Bae. Is that what you want?” Baelfire: “That’s not what I want. I just think there might be other ways to get rid of the power. Have you looked for…” (The maid returns and sees the two of them discussing the dagger.) Rumpelstiltskin: “Well, you look for other ways, Bae. But don’t get your hopes up.” Baelfire: “Papa… If I find a way for you to get rid of the power… A way that doesn’t kill you or hurt me… Would you do it?” Rumpelstiltskin: “It’s not possible.” Baelfire: “If it was, would you do it? Don’t you miss how it was?” Rumpelstiltskin: “Are you really that unhappy, Bae? I can conjure anything you desire. Name it. What do you want?” Baelfire: “I want my father.” Rumpelstiltskin: “All I want is your happiness, Bae. If you find a way, I’ll do it.” Baelfire: “Good. (Baelfire extends his hand. The two then shake on it:) The deal is struck.” Rumpelstiltskin: “Struck.” Storybrooke. Present. (Mr. Gold picks the lock to August’s room at the inn. Inside, he finds August’s typewriter on his desk, along with stacks of papers and a donkey shaped paperweight. He moves aside a paper, revealing a drawing of Rumpelstiltskin’s dagger.)

Enchanted Forest. Past. (Snow White is staring at the flowers in the castle. She reaches out to touch one, but is stopped by Cora.) Cora: “Careful, sweetheart. A flower is a delicate thing. Be gentle. You want it to grow and not pluck it before its time.” Snow White: “Sorry.” Cora: “It’s alright. You needn’t fear me. I’m only trying to help. Perhaps, you can be the flower girl at the wedding. I can already see how close you and Regina have become. She’s going to make a fine mother for you.” (Cora leads the two of them to a couch to sit.) Snow White: “She is kind to me.” Cora: “Indeed. It warms my heart how you two share everything… Already. Perhaps, you could share something with me. Why has she pulled away from me?” Snow White: “What do you mean?” Cora: “A mother knows her daughter. Regina’s pulled away. I love her so much, but she’s not letting me help her. And I… I know she’s unhappy. Has she said something? I’d do anything to make her happy.” Snow White: “You’d do anything?” Cora: “Of course, dear. You know, I talked to the King about your mother. He told me how much she loved you. Losing her must’ve been so hard.” Snow White: “It was.” Cora: “Hearing him, I realized he might as well have been talking about me and Regina. I don’t want us to lose each other. If only I could show her how I feel. That, no matter what, all I want is her happiness.” (Snow White abruptly stands up.) Snow White: “Then, don’t make her get married.” Cora: “I’m sorry?” Snow White: “She doesn’t love my father. She loves someone else. She made me promise not to tell… But she’ll lose you. She can’t lose her mother. No one should.” Cora: “Oh, sweet Snow. It’s alright. She won’t lose me. You can tell me. You must tell me.” Storybrooke. Present. Sheriff’s Station. (Mary Margaret is sitting in her cell with her head in her hands. Regina enters.) Regina: “Having a bad day?” Mary Margaret: “What are you doing here?” Regina: “I wanted to see you while I can.” Mary Margaret: “What does that mean?” Regina: “Simply, that the trial starts tomorrow, and it be won’t a long one. And, you’ll be sent out of Storybrooke for good, and I will never have to see you again. Oh, I want to enjoy this while I still can.” Mary Margaret: “Enjoy what?” Regina: “Justice.” Mary Margaret: “Justice? Watching an innocent suffer?” Regina: “You’ve always seen yourself that way, haven’t you? Innocent.” Mary Margaret: “I am innocent! I don’t know what this is about! I don’t know what I ever did to you, but whatever it was, Regina… I’m sorry. I truly am.” Regina: “Apology not accepted.” Mary Margaret: “Please. Don’t do this to me. I don’t deserve this. I did not do anything to Kathryn.” Regina: “Oh, I know. (Regina reaches through the bars to stroke the side of Mary Margaret’s face, and then grabs her chin:) But you do deserve this.” Storybrooke. Inn. (Emma walks August back to his room at the inn. August turns and looks at her.) August: "Hey, this is a good thing." Emma: "Is it? I mean even if Regina confesses, Kathryn is still missing and Mary Margaret is the lead suspect." August: "Whoa. Slow down. First things first remember? You need to do this right and get a warrant for Regina's garage." Emma: "Right. Listen, you're the only other person who knows about this and I need you to keep it that way. That means no telling Henry." August: "I would hope that you would have enough faith to know that I would never betray you. (As Emma turns to leave:) Emma? (She turns to look at him:) You've got this, I believe in you." Emma: (Ironically:) “Yeah, well I’m the savior, right? Off to defeat the Evil Queen. (Sighs:) Well, g’night.” (Emma leaves as August shakes his head, wishing that Emma truly believed her words to be true.)

#Swan Queen #sq #swanqueen

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wendynerdwrites · 7 years ago

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Hi! I really love your Jonsa fics! Thank you for sharing your work. So...I can't get enough of Sansa sewing Jon's clothing fics. If you're still taking prompts, I was wondering if you could write a fluffy show verse Sansa sewing Jon's "wight hunter" outfit?

I’ll never forgive myself for this, she thinks to herself as she pulls the thread through the dove-grey wool. I’m enabling him. He shouldn’t be going out there… As if I could stop him.

And that’s it, isn’t it? She can’t stop him. Ever since they reunited, she’s been trying and trying to stop him, to protect him, to save him from himself. From his own courage, his honor, his forthrightness. She tried to warn him about Ramsay, she tried to stop him from treating with Cersei, she tried to stop him from drawing Littlefinger’s focus. She’s never stopped him. It’s only ever been through her safety nets that she’s been able to save him — the knights of the Vale, Brienne, her cache of Littlefinger’s files…

She’s not going to stop him from marching out beyond the Wall to draw out the wights. He’ll go regardless of what she does. The only idea she’s come up with to keep him home is to break his legs. But if she does that, she may as well break his soul as well.

Not that she’s above a little betrayal and subterfuge. She hasn’t been above that since King’s Landing. Jon has no idea that there are two Red Priests among his rangers, or that she’s enlisted Beric Dondarrion and some of his brothers, including Thoros of Myr, to tail them.

Sandor and Arya haven’t spoken to her for days. Arya will forgive her soon enough. It’s for Jon, after all. Sandor, though… There’s something broken, now. Something broken in the way he looks at her.

But she’ll enlist an army of Red Priests and march into a pyre herself if it means protecting her own from these creatures. She can’t be the woman her parents raised her to be. They raised her to be a sweet, gentle lady. Sweet, gentle ladies perish in times like these and protect no one.

Even her contingencies might not work perfectly. She hates that. She hates uncertainty. Uncertainty is the only thing she can be certain of anymore.

So she does whatever else she can. Even little things, like this cloak, and the doublet, hose, tunic, and jerkin she’s made to go with it. Mixed hues of grey, blue, white, and brown, modeled on the typical costume of a wildling raider, with a few modifications. Designed for warmth, mobility, and camouflage.

Jon will be marching out into a frozen wasteland to face wights and white walkers. And he shall be dressed for it.

She doesn’t want to help him fight these battles. She wants to tell him that he’s fought enough, that the North needs him alive, that he has no sons, that he is king, that he should rule.

She has told him this. His response is always that he has her. He has no sons, he has her. That he is king in name, but she is king in practice. That the North needs to see their king out in the fields with them. He speaks of himself as expendable.

Nothing hurts her more than to hear him speak in such a way. Jon is not expendable. Jon is everything. Jon is the last hero.

Sansa is aware of the contradiction in her thinking. He can’t be a hero and stick to the sidelines, after all. His willingness to put himself at risk is what makes him one.

That doesn’t make things any easier.

She sits in her solar and sews as Podrick reads her the evening reports. He’s a better scribe than a squire, thanks to his time with Tyrion. The young man is awkward but very quick, with a memory like a steel trap.

There’s a knock on the door, and Sansa can already guess who it is. She doesn’t rise when the king enters. She doesn’t so much as lift her head or lower her needle. Podrick stops reading and drops into a deep bow, however. “Your Grace.”

Jon smiles and assures Podrick, for the thousandth time, that such formality is unnecessary in private. He’s wasting his time. The squire is almost as much a stickler for etiquette as Sansa.

She sighs, thanks the squire for his time, and dismisses him. Jon smirks at her when the door shuts.

“You know, people have begun to talk about his visits,” the king says, “Apparently he had quite the reputation in King’s Landing. Should I be worried?”

“You should be worried about many things,” she replies, “Can you bring that candle over? I don’t have enough light.”

He does as bid, and Sansa finishes up the final stitches. He stays kneeling by her as she completes the garment, ready to adjust the position of the lights to suit her needs.

“I’m worried you’ll go blind before long, abusing your poor eyes like that.”

“Don’t try to lecture me on self-care, Jon Snow,” she answers as she knots the ends, “You really don’t want to go there.”

She rises and gestures toward the bedchamber door. “To the mirror, then.”

She gets him down to his tunic and leggings, atop the fitting platform, in front of her full length mirror. “Now, let’s see how these work.”

The king dons his new gear, and begins to stretch and march in place.

“How are you moving? Nothing feeling tight?”

He winks at her through the reflection. “No, it’s all like a second skin.”

Sansa retrieves some brushes, combs, vials, and jewelry from her dressing table and begins stuffing them in the pockets of his clothing. “See how you move carrying all this.”

The pockets are specially stitched and laced, and when Jon begins to skip in place, nothing falls out.

“Satisfied?” He asks her.

“With the fit? Yes.” She helps him out of them and goes to fold them and put them away, but is surprised to find him helping her. He arranges the hose and cloak carefully, then goes to open the wardrobe door for her. He leans toward her and presses his forehead to hers.

“I want you to know how much this means to me. That you… That you would make things for me, work so hard, care so much. I wish I could make something for you.”

Sansa’s heart melts. “Come back in one piece, Jon, that’s all you have to do.”

“It’s not all I want to do, though,” he says, pulling her into a gentle embrace, “I want to take care of you, the way you take care of me.”

“What do you mean?” Sansa replies, “You’ve protected me—”

“—We’ve protected each other, and we both know it. You’ve saved my bloody life. But I mean more. I want to make you things that keep you warm, I want to dry your hair when you come in from the rain, I want to soothe you when your nightmares come, and stitch up your wounds, and have a fire and a hot meal waiting for you when you come home. I want to make sure your horse is shod, your socks are mended, and your papers are organized. All the things you do for me. I want to make things for you. I mean, even Gendry can craft Arya a helmet or a blade. I wish I could, I don’t know… write you a poem, or carve something for you, I don’t know… I can’t do anything except fight.”

“That’s not true,” she says, “You make me feel safe and warm during moments like these, when you hold me like this. Not when you’re waving that bloody sword around. And when you say things like what you just said… It’s better than any poem or song. You make me feel like I’m worth something, and the world around us is worth saving. You make me feel strong.”

She burrows her face in his chest.

“I want to leave you with something, though,” he says, “Something from me, for when I’m away. Whenever I leave, I’m still wrapped in you, all the time. But what do I leave you? Responsibilities. It’s not fair.”

Sansa looks up at him. “The world isn’t fair, Jon, and there’s only so much one can do about it. But… I’ll tell you what…”

She pulls away and goes to get her sewing kit. Specifically, her little silver scissors. She reaches up and cuts a curly lock from behind his ear, then goes to tie it with a ribbon. “I’ll keep this close to my heart,” she promises him, “And touch it whenever I need to feel strong again.”

“Not good enough. I want to really make something for you, not grow something!”

She thinks. And the answer comes. “Make me memories then, Jon. Make memories for me to keep me warm at night.”

#jonsa #jon x sansa #prompt fill #sewing #fluff

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oxfordeliterp · 7 years ago

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CONGRATULATIONS, KITSON!

You have been accepted to play the role of ARIA BELLEFONTE with the faceclaim of PHOEBE TONKIN. Please create your account and send it to the main in the next 24 hours. From the ‘pinot noir painted lips’ to her thriving under bright lights, it’s clear in every line of your application just how much you understand Aria. It’s clear you know just how much important Elizabeth was to Aria and just how much of an impact her death has had, as beautifully shown in your sample. You managed to turn a sophisticated writing style into something so fluent and so cursive that every fancy word and every letter you picked for your application complete a complex feeling that represents Aria wholly. Your writing brings her to life in such vivid detail, capturing her magnetism and her grief in a wonderful balance. To quote what you wrote and adapt it to the context, damn this application for making us feel. We need to meet straightaway.

OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION

Name and pronouns:

Kitson &/or Kit

Age:

Time-zone:

I’m currently residing in the CST tz but once college starts back up again in the fall I’ll be switching to the EST tz.

Activity level:

Since it’s summer and I don’t have too much on my plate, my activity should be about a 7/10. I do babysit quite often but I still have a lot of free time on my hands

Triggers:

Whether my stomach of steel is a blessing or a curse is a question still unknown to myself. It takes a lot for something to truly unsettle me. So, with that being said I personally don’t have any triggers, but will take careful precautions to be mindful of others!

IN CHARACTER INFORMATION

Desired character:

Synonymous with BLACK. She is slanted. All pinot noir smeared lips and little baggies of cocaine spilling from a jeweled bustier. Cheap. The broken starlet, the tortured little princess, the whore.Spoilt, spoilt, spoilt and now she’s rotten. Decaying. A false god, Dionysus personified. Perhaps it had begun years ago, the decomposition. Perhaps it had been inherent. This anger within her thick, black, and pulsating. SHE HAD LOVED THE NIGHT SO MUCH , SHE BECAME IT. All fishnet stockings, ripped and glistening diamonds choking her perfumed neck. The degenerate and strange old hollywood starlet with porcelain flesh and eyes like death, cigarette ashes and slinky lingerie and cocaine powdered noses. A tragedy in its truest form of an angel fallen. A primordial being, dirtied, sullied. She is the void. Emptiness, darkness, loneliness personified. But she doesn’t mind. Not anymore.

You are a GIRL and you are a WOLF. A beast, they deemed you, ravenous, they said. Terrifyingly so, you agreed as you cut another line of cocaine. But once upon a time, you had been PUERILE & PURE, an unbroken doll composed of eager eyes and painted cheeks. Now, you thrive beneath BRIGHT LIGHTS and hot hands, solace found beneath a heavy touch against turning hips and nicotine sullied breaths mingling against your liquored lips. Perhaps you have lost yourself in the neon jungle, painted a doll-like exterior visceral shades of melancholic blue,

BUT YOUR NAME IS STILL ARIA BELLEFONTE AND YOU ARE A HAZY FEVER DREAM OF A GIRL.

( THAT IS ALL YOU HAVE EVER KNOWN TO BE TRUE. )

Gender and pronouns of the character:

Female. Uses she/her pronouns.

Changes:

If you’d accept it, I’d like to use Phoebe Tonkin as Aria’s faceclaim.

Traits:

( - J E A L O U S ) she sees others with their seemingly perfect family and their put together lives and yearns to drown cities with her tears. instead she laughs, mocks the malleable and obedient children, and tosses back another flute or two of champagne, snorts another line or two of pretty white party favors off her mother’s collection of vogue magazines or the bible she keeps hidden in a mahogany drawn from her brief religious stint her freshman year and thanks the lord above that she hadn’t become her parents. but all aria wanted was to be admired for more than her look, more than her last name, and she often wonders how different her life might’ve been had she continued murmuring her Hail Mary’s and Glory Be’s in the front pew of the church. Whether her parents could have loved her in the way she wanted them to love her, been proud of her accomplishments, no matter how small, like other parents were. She knew no family was perfect and that every one percenter had familial problems, but seeing them chatting casually over brunch made her blood boil. Watching the pretty and perfectly moulded girls introduce their gilded boyfriends of three years to their seemingly doting mothers made her want to scream.

( - O B S E S S I V E ) there is something so terrifying about an addictive woman with an addictive personality. & aria bellefonte is just that. she latches onto anything, whether it be drugs or booze or exploiting her sexuality, to keep herself from drowning in her thoughts. she obsesses to the point of it being hazardous, drinks herself into a drunken stupor all to forget the lack of parental adoration and approval. with no love from mommy, and all money and material belongings from daddy, aria had been spat out unto a man eats man world with nothing but ignorance and a need for fleeting bliss. almost childish and almost mature she’s stuck in between two conflicting personalities. she is both the addictive drug and the addicted.

( + P A S S I O N A T E ) aria was all late nights spent dancing across penthouse floors, body swaying to white noise and the deafening silence. far too glamorous, far too beautiful, far too free for anyone to truly tame. she wasn’t like the others, and preferred red rimmed eyes and distant recollections of nights spent with various different men and women to a traditional relationship. yet that didn’t stop her yearning. she is wild and fiercely independent. a beacon of passion dulled by prescription pills and excessive amounts of alcohol.

( + M A G N E T I C ) there is something so naturally compelling about aria. something so different. she’s exotic almost, yet entirely mundane. in a world of opulence, she is the woman across the room sipping beer from a champagne flute, puffing plumes of smoke from her father’s cigar into the air. she is the woman eating a cheeseburger amidst a crowd of calorie counters. she is late nights spent riding backseat in a cab, cigarette between pinot noir painted lips and a blunt tucked into her back pocket. there is something about her that draws you in and spits you out after a night of neon lights and adventure, dank bars and dirty sex. she had never been pristine nor pretty in the traditional sense, she is raw and unconventional— an enthralling enigma.

Extras:

It was so, so hard trying to decide on a major for Aria, and I’m still debating a bit between Sociology or Psychology. Both seem to fit her to a degree, I just can’t decide at this moment which is the more suitable option.

i. Aria has always associated flowers with death for reasons unknown. Maybe it was the pungent scent of yesterday’s plethora of floral harvests bringing to mind nothing but funeral parlors, adorned with already wilting flowers, their lives ending before their time for the sole reason of capturing their beauty. Or perhaps the affiliation had been made due to the lethal nature of countless plants. Belladonnas, lustrous and plump, yet waxed in fatal poison. Roses armored in thorns eager to impale wandering fingertips. There was something dangerous about flowers. Pretty and poisonous, much like herself. Perhaps that was what had roused the link between the two.

ii. Aria has a nasty habit of fingernail biting. Having developed it at a younger age, she is constantly going through spurts of recovery from her grotesque desire to gnaw at her thumbnail when under pressure to spiraling out of control and chewing off each and every nail when partaking in an especially enthralling conversation or viewing a particular intriguing movie.

iii. Aria drinks coffee like she breathes air. Excessively.

v. Perhaps a lifestyle of obedience had never been in the cards for the hardened shell of the already hardened exterior. Born unto the biting air and falling temperatures, Aria hadn’t been birthed to be warm and amicable. She had been meant to be a force of nature. Dangerous, sardonic, blatant, and honest. Yet she yearned to love and be loved in return. But a hurricane of a girl drowning past selves to make room for the newer, better, improved Aria’s could never truly be loved in the way she wanted to be. Yet she continued on in an attempt to please two expectant parents. A form of self destruction, natural selection at its finest as the girl shed skins to fit into certain habitations until the incessant adaptions had grown tiring. It hadn’t ever required new identities to disguise a broken past, and Aria had desired to become a simpler version of the intricate entanglements she had woven. Simply herself. Perhaps brazen, perhaps rash, but entirely true to the soul she had become. Never the beauteous woman draped over the hero’s arm nor the hero himself. Sutton the cunning villain, the serpent in the garden of Eden. For she deceived. She broke. She burned. She singed all those who treaded too close. She destroyed all good that came her way. Matured at such a young age, deprived, depraved, broken and mended and broken again. A work in progress, a listener but never willing to open herself up in return, a friend but never deeming many her own, an enigma in every sense of the word. The only connection she has to her parents and past is her last name. Nothing else.

vii. Elizabeth Pemberly. The girl she sought hard to forget. Yet she is lingering in nightmares, a stitch in her side. Inescapable. All the prescription pills popped, and champagne bottles chugged, and blunts rolled and each broken boy and girl made a home out of for the night and she still couldn’t forget. Damn her. Damn that Elizabeth Pemberly for making her feel.

vi. Born November 13, Aria is a Scorpio. “The Scorpio woman should never be taken lightly. They aren’t flaky, fluffy, or helpless creatures by any stretch of the imagination. Direct, and brilliantly sharp, Scorpio women only focus on the fundamental essence of any issue and disregard the superfluous. They like clear endings and beginnings, with no grey areas in between. A Scorpio woman wants her certainties to remain just so - absolutely rock steady and assured. She wants to understand everything and knows how to craft just the right question to obtain the answers she seeks. Scorpios are intuitive, controlling, and sometimes self-destructive, but in all this they have a certain deadly beauty to their personalities. They are fearless and stubborn and even when life gets a little tricky they merely take it on the chin and keep going. Self-confident, resourceful, and strong, Scorpios are driven to succeed; they work hard and are willing to sacrifice anything to get to their goals. They are also complex and secretive, choosing who they divulge their secrets to carefully.” [x]

vii. Aria’s alignment is chaotic neutral.

( I have bolded what I feel pertains especially to Aria’s personality and beliefs. )

A chaotic neutral character follows his whims. He is an individualist first and last. He values his own liberty but doesn’t strive to protect others’ freedom. He avoids authority, resents restrictions, and challenges traditions. A chaotic neutral character does not intentionally disrupt organizations as part of a campaign of anarchy. To do so, he would have to be motivated either by good (and a desire to liberate others) or evil (and a desire to make those different from himself suffer). A chaotic neutral character may be unpredictable, but his behavior is not totally random. He is not as likely to jump off a bridge as to cross it. Chaotic neutral is the best alignment you can be because it represents true freedom from both society’s restrictions and a do-gooder’s zeal. Chaotic neutral can be a dangerous alignment when it seeks to eliminate all authority, harmony, and order in society.

This type of character will at least consider doing anything if they can find enjoyment or amusement. Life has meaning, but theirs has the greatest meaning. According to chaotic neutrals, laws and rules infringe on personal freedom and were meant to be broken. This character is always looking for the best deal, and will work with good, neutral, or evil to get it; as long as he comes out of the situation on top. The chaotic neutral is constantly teetering between good and evil, rebelling, and bending the law to fit his needs. (3)Chaotic neutrals can also be completely random and unpredictable.

They may shift allegiances at a moment’s notice, or remain with a leader for years. The chaotic neutral character feels that there is no plan at all for the universe. Things just happen. They tend to believe in luck and chance, rather than fate or destiny. They don’t care what happens to others, yet will not necessarily go out of their way to harm others. If someone stands in the way of their happiness, they may kill that individual or move on to something else. Their priorities tend to change as they experience new things in life. They may even appear to adhere to another alignment for some length of time, only to switch at an inappropriate moment. They can be the worst tricksters, conning people, not for gain, but for sheer amusement. The chaotic neutral may not be driven by fame or wealth, but may only take actions just to see what happens.

A chaotic neutral character will keep his word if it serves his interests. He may attack an unarmed foe if he feels it necessary. He will not kill, but may harm an innocent. He may use torture to extract information, but never for pleasure. He may kill for pleasure, but is not likely to do so. A chaotic neutral character may use poison. He may help those in need and he prefers to work alone, as he values his freedom. He does not respond well to higher authority, is distrustful of organizations, and will disregard the law in pursuing his self-interest. He may betray a family member, comrade, or friend, but only in the most dire of situations. Chaotic neutral characters do not respect the concepts of self-discipline and honor, because they believe such concepts limit freedom to advance their self-interest.

PARA SAMPLE

The world didn’t stop for her broken heart— the clock kept on with its routine ticking and the earth didn’t cease to revolve. The erratic pulsating of jaded hearts incarcerated within uncompromising ribs sustained until one day its seemingly everlasting palpitations eventually ceased. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, and wake up. Tha-thump. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, and wake up. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, wake up. Again and again and again. Over and over again. Repeat. Until the perpetuity of existence no longer seemed so daunting anymore.

The world didn’t stop for her broken heart— people moved on and the earth didn’t cease to revolve. Yet she defied the consensus and took a cursory hiatus from her quotidian procedures to mourn the unforeseen death of the girl who had settled in her heart.

Inhale,

Exhale,

The air hung static and bore the lethal scent of melancholy and death like an intoxicatingly bitter fragrance. Hushed was the erratic surging of one stone heart intermingling with the motionless atmosphere. Silenced was the volatile screaming of her. Befallen was a certain sense of placidity. Submerged was the room as Aria Bellefonte with her white powdered nose listened impassively as the story had been told. Tongue swollen, lips bruised from keeping it all in. Although her battle wounds were inconsequential in comparison to the traumatic injuries that had been inflicted upon her Elizabeth, she was weakened. Paralyzed by apprehension.

The inferno, the fervor that momentarily raged within had gone compliant. The vitality and perseverance to keep herself ignited had been usurped by sorrow. It was tragic, truly, witnessing the happiness stone-cold Aria had momentarily possessed being expelled from her body like air from lungs the very moment she heard that Elizabeth Pemberly had breathed her final breath.

Inhale,

Exhale,

Forget and forgive.

But after such an unexpected tragedy, how could she truly be capable of overcoming her need to blame others and begin to do so?

Life became dull cycle that the bitter girl forcibly underwent everyday. Biting remarks and glassy gazes throughout the daylight hours and a typhoon of emotions in the dead of night. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, and wake up. Do it over again. Wake up, breathe, eat, party and sleep. Breathe, eat, party, sleep, and wake up. Again and again. Repetition was key to overcoming, right?

Of course it was.

Seconds passed with a certain lethargy. Minutes. Hours. Days. It was common knowledge that the world didn’t stop for her broken heart— the clock kept on with it’s routine ticking and the earth didn’t cease to revolve.

And maybe the world would never cease it’s incessant rotation for one measly broken heart, but Aria Bellefonte would. For she ceased to exist without the faulty tha-thump resonating within the hollow of her chest. Aria Bellefonte ceased to exist without the unbearable pain of her lover’s demise on her delicate shoulders.

Hazel hues swept throughout the room, fleeting from object to object before landing on the mirror. The facade had been eradicated long ago, she knew that now. Concealing the sorrow lurking within seemed futile. But she had spent the entirety of her life donning a caustic personality and a cold stare to match. She couldn’t stop now. She wouldn’t. And so Aria continued to spend her nights painting a bitter frown bright shades of red before slipping out into the night. Dead, like usual. But broken this time. For once upon a time, she had felt alive.

#aria bellefonte #accepted

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