A Little Bit Of Everything

Some writing, some art, and some random thoughts

[aliceisnothere]

Context: The party is traveling through the mountains and encounters a group of harpies. My character, a tiefling bard with a penchant for bad pick-up lines, has repeated failed the wisdom saving throws and has been charmed by the matriarch for the entire encounter.

DM: Alright, Arienne (my bard) it’s your turn

Me: I approach the matriarch and say “You may fall from a tree, you may fall from the sky, but you will definitely fall in love with me.”

DM: ......

DM: Roll a d4

Me (thinking that I somehow seduced the matriarch): Ooh yay!

Me: *rolls a 1*

DM: You take 1 point of psychic damage. You’re pick-up line was so terrible that you hurt yourself.

Needless to say I have now started searching for better pick-up lines.

[aliceisnothere]

Me: *waxes on about how metal boomwhackers would be perfect for my character ( a chaotic neutral bard)

The DM: ...no

[aliceisnothere]

It’s late and I can’t sleep so I’m going to unload this cursed monstrosity of an idea that has been bouncing around my head for a couple of days.

Picture this: an intense battle between an adventuring party and evil monsters is taking place. Death and destruction have overtaken the once peaceful village. All hope seems to be lost as the vile creatures push the party deeper and deeper into a corner. “This is it,” they think. “This is the end.” Suddenly, the bard sinks to the ground, whether out of despair or exhaustion no one knows. But then the bard lays out a couple of metal tubes of varying lengths. Some as long as the arms of an orc. Some as short as the patience of a drunken dwarf when denied their next cup of ale. The party casts the bard confused glances. “Surely they have lost it,” the party thinks. But then the bard does something even stranger. They pick up two of the tubes and bang them on the ground. An eerie sound echoes across the land. Both the monsters and party alike freeze in shock. The bard keeps on playing, picking up and tapping the different tubes on the ground as if their life depended on it. It was then that the party realized what the bard was doing. They were playing a song- a song of death. Unaware of the destruction the song heralded, one of the monsters lunged towards the bard with their teeth bared and ready to shred the bard to pieces. The party rushed forward in an attempt to save their distracted friend only to stumble back in shock as a single high note rang out and the monster dropped dead at the bard’s feet. The bard looked away from the monster and towards their friend, one of the strange metal tubes, now bloodied, in their hands. “Huh,” the bard chuckles. “I guess the sound of death is a C sharp.”

[aliceisnothere]

Things I thought I would learn in my Psychology of Learning class: The intricacies of operant conditioning

Things I actually learned: Lick your rats if you want them to be calm

[aliceisnothere]

Random Person: What’s your sexuality?

Me: Oh, I lost it.

[aliceisnothere]

You’re Not My Favorite

(NSFW? Kind of? I’m not quite sure but I’m putting that just in case)

She leaned back against the wall, the rough brick scraping through the thin wool of her sweater. She closed her eyes as she tilted her head back and sighed.

“Rough day?”

She opened one eye to stare at the source of the baritone voice. She scoffed and closed her eye again. “You know the answer to that.”

The man walked closer to her. He stuck a hand out to brace himself as he leaned against the wall, a mere couple of breaths between them.

“Go away, Jeremy,” the girl groaned as she let her head fall to the side, away from the annoying boy to her left.

Jeremy’s throat tightened at the sight of the smooth, creamy skin. A red mark at the junction where her neck and shoulder met was the only flaw. She should know how dangerous it was to expose her neck to someone like him, yet she did it anyway.

He licked his lips. “I think it would be best if you start wearing scarves, Marissa.”

Marissa snorted and turned to look at the man beside her. “Or,” she drawled. “You and your friends could practice some self control,” she said as she pulled up the collar of her sweater.

Jeremy smirked. “Ah,” he said as he put his other hand against the wall, caging Marissa in. “But what would you do if your most favorite dish was presented right in front of you, but you couldn’t touch it.”

It was Marissa’s turn to smirk. “Simple.” She darted underneath Jeremy’s arm and quickly turned to push him against the wall, her body pressing him against the rough stone. “I wouldn’t touch it.”

Marissa lifted up on her toes so that she could have better access to Jeremy’s neck. She ran her tongue across the junction of his shoulders and up the tall expanse of his neck, stopping only when she couldn’t reach.

“Well you're touching it now,” Jeremy grunted, his heart thundering in his chest at the unusual feeling of actually being the prey.

Marissa sighed. “Mm, well that’s where you’ve got it wrong.” She stepped back, releasing Jeremy from her hold. He turned around to see her smirk and tilt her head. He couldn’t slow his breathing as he stared at the tiny woman in front of him. Couldn’t stop his body from believing her to be a predator and he the prey.

“Ohh, and just how am I wrong?”

Her smirk deepened to a devilish grin. “You’re not my favorite.”

[aliceisnothere]

One of my untitled pieces. Every now and then I like to do some digital art for fun and as a way to relax. It’s almost always something abstract because I can’t really draw *insert laughing emoji*

[aliceisnothere]

Fake Cherry Chapstick

It was supposed to be a game. A fun, simple little game where everybody was happy, and no one got hurt.

Well I got hurt.

I stood in the dark closet, the rough cotton of the bandana we fashioned into a makeshift blindfold harsh against the delicate skin around my eyes. I was both excited and nervous about what could happen. The game was a simple one. We would roll a pair of dice and the person with the lowest number went into the closet with a blindfold. Everyone else would roll the dice again and whoever got the lowest number would have to go in the closet with the first person, and without talking, kiss them then leave. After that, the person in the closet would wait until they were told to come out. Once they came out, they would have to guess the person that kissed them. If they guessed right, then the person who kissed them would have to go in the closet. If they guessed wrong, then they would have to go back into the closet and try again.

I didn’t really want to play the game, but this was the first party my friend and I had ever been invited too, and I didn’t want to ruin it for her.

After all, there probably wouldn’t anymore parties till we graduated high school in a couple months.

So here I was in the closet, waiting for my turn to be over.

My breath hitched as I heard the closet door open and someone step inside. I felt smooth, small hands gentle press my shoulders back until my back hit the smooth wall of the closet. 

My skin felt sparks as those wonderful hands glided up my neck and cupped my face. My pulse skyrocketed as I felt a warm breath caress the sensitive skin of my lips. 

All I could smell was lavender laundry detergent, and a hint of that fake cherry flavored chapstick. My brain froze at the realization, but it was too late to say stop as soft lips descended upon mine, effectively blocking any form of protest.

Not that I would ever protest.

I wish I could remember more. I wish I could remember the feel of those soft lips as they molded my rough ones into a gentle kiss. I wish I could remember how gentle, how beautiful it was.

But I can’t. All I can remember is the taste of that disgustingly fake cherry chapstick. 

It was over before I realized it had even begun. Those soft lips left with those smooth hands. Light footsteps pattered out of the closet and the hinges squeaked as the door closed. 

I stood there, the wall behind me the only thing holding me up. I didn’t know what to do. Thousands of thoughts flashed through my head but the same thoughts kept coming back over and over again.

I liked it. I really liked it. And I wanted more.

My chest tightened in shame. Good little girls don’t have those thoughts. Good little girls don’t like the taste of fake cherry chapstick when they are being kissed. Good little girls don’t want it.

A knock on the door tore me from my spiraling thoughts. A large, rough hand pulled me out of the closet and led me to the center of the room.

“So Vanessa,” a shrill voice giggled, “Who do you think kissed you?”

I didn’t dare look to my right. Where I knew my best friend sat. I didn’t think about the renewed scent of fake cherry chapstick that only grew stronger as she applied a new coat. I didn’t think about how her new boyfriend of two weeks sat next to her.

“Was it James?”

Laughter sounded around me as the teens in the circle found pleasure in my pain. 

“Nope. Looks like you’ll be going back into the closet.” The same shrill voiced trilled.

I didn’t say anything as I was led back into the closet to await my fate.

It took three more tries for me to guess correctly. And to my shame, all I could think about was how I wanted nothing more in the world than to taste that fake cherry chapstick once more.

(Not a prompt)