#and of course she’d be conveniently hidden from frame in the final cuts

[agathasblackheart]

Has anyone mentioned the fact that in the assembled ep Aubrey said that Rio was in the background eating flowers sometimes? My sister in christ…were you eating the flowers in the background of some shots?

[chocoluckchipz]

Not a Spying, Not a Fake Date

The day Marinette met Adrien Agreste—the hottest supermodel alive, an only son of fashion icon Gabriel Agreste, and her long-time, embarrassing celebrity crush—was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Instead, not only did she present herself as a total klutz, but his friend Nino had stolen Alya only two weeks later.

On a Saturday afternoon, no less!

Don’t get her wrong. Marinette was happy that Alya finally was interested in a guy more than the latest scoop. And she absolutely didn't mind skipping one of their weekly get-togethers in favour of her BFF going on a coffee date with their new classmate. Marinette wouldn’t be bored. She could work on one of her projects or play video games… if the day wouldn't be so perfectly gorgeous and sunny. Wasting it inside would’ve been a crime. A walk around a local farmer’s market, on the other hand, sounded just about right. And if said market happened to be across the street from where her friend was meeting Nino, that was a pure coincidence.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Marinette was absolutely not spying on anyone, and if she glanced the couples’ way once or twice, it was only to appease her morbid curiosity. No harm done. She wasn’t interfering. She couldn’t even hear what the two of them were talking about. Surely not about Adrien. Or her. Or her and Adrien. Nope. No way. Impossible. She wasn’t curious at all.

“You know you aren’t very subtle?”

Marinette froze, her blood running cold. She knew that voice. It was ingrained in her memory by now. But there was no way Adrien Agreste was standing right behind her, whispering in her ear. It must be nothing but a product of her imagination. Yes! A hallucination of a post-pubescent girl with a crush of irrational proportions.

Still, she spun around just to check if it was time to make an appointment with a therapi—  

Her jaw hit the floor, eyes widening. The man in front of her sounded like Adrien, yet he barely looked the part. Most of his hair was hidden under a beanie, a pair of glasses framed his face. Baggy, black clothes covered his body. His chiselled jaw sported a light stubble, and a hippy backpack was slung over his shoulders. Not a shred of his classy self left, replaced by a sexy, casual chic version of the man.

“Adrien?”

He winked. “Looking beautiful as always, Princess.”

Her cheeks flamed despite her knowing better. He’d given her that nickname only because she was a clumsy mess, not because he was trying to flirt. Princess, aka "damsel in distress", someone in need of being saved. In her case, frequently being caught before she hit the ground as she kept tripping around him. Stupid Agreste and his stupidly handsome face.

A movement in the cafe caught her eye, and Marinette nervously grinned. Adrien was Nino’s best friend. There was no way he wouldn't know where Nino was taking Alya for their first date, which meant Marinette better be very careful in her words and actions, or else she wouldn’t be the damsel for much longer. The title of a “Creepy Stalker” didn't sound the bit least appealing to her.

“You look nice too,” she said, looking her best innocent self. “Different. I barely recognized you. I like the glasses. And stubble. Stubble is nice. Little of it. Not too much. Too much would look shabby. But yours looks good. Perfect. Not shabby at all.”

He chuckled, a corner of his lips curling into a smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should. It was one. A compliment.”

“Why, thank you.”

Another couple left the cafe, catching both of their attention. Marinette quickly shifted her gaze to the apples at the stall she was standing by. As long as she acted natural, Adrien wouldn't suspect a thing.

“So, what are you doing here today?”

She inwardly groaned and stashed a few apples in a paper bag. “Apples. I’m here for the apples.”

“What a coincidence.” Adrien picked one of the red ones and twirled it in his hand. “I’m here for the apples too. By the way… Nino just asked for the bill, so if you were planning to do more shopping in other places, I’d say that’s our cue to pay for these and get ready to leave.”

Marinette glared his way, her whole face burning up. That cocky smile, that glint in his eyes. Of course, he’d catch her. But she wouldn’t give up so easily or she wasn’t Marinette Dupain-Cheng: her papa’s pumpkin, her mother’s sweetheart, the future of Paris’ fashion! “I’m not spying on anyone if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I wouldn't dare to accuse you of such a thing.” He grinned, putting the apple back. “But… may I suggest a few tweaks to your disguise? You know, in case you’re still up for some non-spying activities today.”

“I don’t need any tweaks. I’ve been here for an hour, and they haven’t noticed me. I could tail them all day if I wanted to, and they would not notice me.”

She froze, the last of her hopes to escape this unscathed vanishing right before her eyes. Curse this man! It was his fault her brain was shutting down around him.

The corner of Adrien’s lips curled in a smile as he leaned closer. “You might be well hidden amongst the rainbow of produce here, but, believe me, as soon as you step outside, that bright red hoodie of yours will give you away instantly.”

“In your dreams,” Marinette huffed, folding her arms over her chest. “This hoodie is the only thing in my closet Alya hasn't seen yet. My sunglasses cover half of my face, and I let my hair down instead of my usual ponytails. They would never recognize me.”

“Well, I did, didn’t I?”

“That’s because you came close. They are at a distance.”

“Nino will notice someone trailing them in a bright red hoodie. Believe me, that man lets no detail escape him. But give me five minutes, and your own parents won’t recognize you even up close.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “What for? The date is over.”

“Far from it. Nino planned coffee, a walk around the city, and a movie. He bought the tickets this morning.”

Adrien seemed to be confident in what he was saying, but Marinette couldn’t trust someone she’d recently met over her best friend, even if she was in love with him. “I don’t believe you.”

“There is only one way to find out if I’m lying.” He stretched his hand towards her. “Shall we?”

Shall they what? Why was he even here? She had to get out of the house for physical rest and mental health. What was his excuse?

“And what are you doing here, M Agreste?”

“I told you already.” The corners of his lips curled up in a sly grin. “Apples.”

“Right. And you went all out on a disguise for that?”

“Precisely.” He grinned wider. “I also knew Nino was having a date nearby, and being the great friend I am, I didn’t want them to see me and think I’m spying on them.”

She wanted to smack that shit-eating grin off his face. But Nino and Alya were exiting the cafe, and Adrien tilted his head to the side, his hand still outstretched toward her. “So? Want to not spy on them some more, or do you have other plans for the day?”

No, she didn’t, and perhaps she should be smarter, but something inside her was melting by the second, Adrien’s smile slowly massacring any scraps of reason she still had. “If you tell anyone, I’ll deny every word.”

“No one shall ever know.” He grinned. “Now, may I suggest a few tweaks to your disguise? To minimize our chances of being discovered.”

“Fine, but be quick. They are walking away.”

Adrien nodded and pointed to her hoodie. “Take this off.”

There was no time for questions, so she silently obeyed. The moment Marinette removed the garment, Adrien was already pulling his black sweater over her head.

“Wait! What are you—“

“Black is less conspicuous.”

“But what about you? It’s chilly, and your shirt doesn’t look very warm.”

“I’ll be fine. I wore that sweater for fashion, not because I was cold.” Stuffing her hoodie in his backpack, he looked her over once more. His face suddenly brightened. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out to the street in the direction of the nearest convenience store.

“We don’t have time for this,” Marinette protested as they neared the door of said establishment. “We’ve already lost them.”

“No, we didn't. We might not see them, but I know where they are.”

“I know that, too,” she grumbled. “In Paris. Where else? Europe, Eurasia. Planet Earth, Solar system. Hard to miss if you fly toward the Sun. ”

Adrien laughed. Long and heartfelt, the sound of his laughter brightened the space around them. There was still a glint of joy in his eye and a hint of mischief in his voice when he recomposed himself. “Nino spent hours planning their route yesterday, and yours truly was helping him. I know where they are headed. We’ll catch up.”

Hesitantly relenting, she followed him in the store, and once inside, Adrien disappeared somewhere between the rows. When he walked out, he was carrying a hairbrush, a couple of pins and hair ties, a small mirror, a plastic tablecloth, and a can of temporary hair dye. Quickly paid for, Adrien pulled her into the nearby alley. "Do you trust me enough for a blind makeover?"

A loaded question. She hardly knew anything about the man behind the carefully crafted image of his public persona. But Marinette loved surprises, and it wasn’t like Adrien even had anything that could potentially cause serious damage to her appearance in his hands.

“You aren’t going to cut my hair, are you?”

“Wouldn’t dare to even think about it.”

“Strangle me with that tablecloth?”

“It’s to protect your clothes from the dye. And before you freak out, it’s a temporary one. It’ll wash out with the first shower.”

At least it was pink—her favourite colour. "Don't make me regret this, Agreste."

“I promise, you won’t.”

She sent a glare his way. “If I do, you’re dead.”

Adrien laughed and slightly bowed. “Your trust means the world to me, Princess. Now, if you’ll allow me, I shall start.”

Marinette nodded, removing the sunglasses from her face. Adrien quickly draped the plastic tablecloth around her shoulders. The moment his hands ran through her hair, her brain short-circuited. It felt like heaven. Pleasant tingles cascaded down her skin at every touch as he brushed, tied, and clipped for what felt like an eternity yet was way too short of a period before he whispered in her ear, “Close your eyes and hold your breath for me for a moment.”

That would not be a problem; Marinette wasn’t sure she was breathing for the last few minutes anyway. He was too close. She could feel the heat of his body, the warmth of his breath, and that was doing things to her she’d rather not experience in a random alley off a busy street in the middle of Paris.

Oblivious to her internal turmoil, Adrien sprayed her hair with the temporary hair dye and proudly pronounced his job finished. The plastic tablecloth off her shoulders, he pushed a small mirror in her hands. “You can open your eyes and look now.”

Her speech was gone the moment her eyes caught her reflection. Most of her bangs were pinned back in the middle, only some of the hair framing her face on either side. The rest was gathered in two cute, messy buns on top of her head that had pink highlights all over them, something the tips of her bangs sported as well. It was a look she’d never thought of doing herself, yet somehow found herself loving more with each passing moment.

“Not bad,” she said, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Are you secretly a stylist by any chance?”

Adrien chuckled, putting her sunglasses back on her nose. “Nope. But I did grow up in a fashion tycoon’s house watching makeup artists transform people to an unrecognizable degree with simple tricks.”

“Well, you have a talent, M Agreste. I really like this.”

"Why, thank you." Adrien grinned. "I do like the outcome, too. You were always cute, but now you're straight-up adorable. Like a little mouse. An extremely lovely little mouse. ”

Marinette looked away, taking a step towards a street. He wasn’t flirting. He was just complimenting his own work. He wasn’t flirting. “As long as Alya doesn’t recognize me.”

“She won’t.” Adrien followed her. “Hey! Maybe we should hold hands and pretend to be on a date? They’ll never figure us out if we do that.”

Her eyes widened as he offered her his hand. “Are you… are you asking me on a fake date?”

“Do you want me to ask you on a fake date?”

“I’ve never liked anything fake,” she huffed. “Says a lot about one’s character.”

Adrien chuckled. “Then it’s good that all I’m asking is to hold hands. For a better disguise, of course. Not faking. Real hand-holding.”

An earnest smile on his lips, he stepped closer, silently waiting for her reply.

Marinette swallowed, her eyes falling to his outstretched hand, one that looked more and more appealing to hold by the second. How would it feel to have her palm in his? If she chickened out now, she might not get another chance to find out. “Only for the purpose of a disguise.”

"Only for that," Adrien assured, entwining their fingers together, his gaze on her soft and gentle. "Allow me to be your guide on this non-spying, not-a-fake-date mission, Princess."

His words fell on deaf ears as Marinette struggled to keep her composure. Big, strong, and very warm. Somehow safe and secure. Like a lover’s embrace. Holding Adrien’s hand was everything Marinette didn’t know she needed up until now.

He must have noticed something was amiss, cracking a dumb joke to break the awkwardness as they started their walk. Marinette tried her best not to laugh, but Adrien kept going, each joke worse than the preceding one. Ten minutes in, and she couldn't believe she ever had a crush on this… man-child. Adrien was the dorkiest dork she'd ever met. A dork who asked too many questions. So many it felt like he wanted to know everything there was to Marinette. She didn't mind. There were quite a few things she wanted to know about Adrien, as well, and what better way to ask if not as a retaliation to his inquiries?

About an hour later, they spotted Nino and Alya on a promenade by the Seine, walking hand in hand just like them. Her friend beamed, laughing so hard, Marinette could swear there were tears in Alya’s eyes. Nino looked no less happy, grinning at Alya with a satisfied look on his face. A smile found its way onto Marinette’s face. Adrien watched them mesmerized, slightly tightening his grip on her hand.

“Everything looks good,” he said, turning to her. “Their next stop should be a music shop a few blocks away, and there are a few cafes just across the street. Want to get a headstart and have an early lunch?”

Marinette nodded. She could use a drink or two right now. A nice large glass of the cold water because Adrien seemed to take their… whatever-this-was way too seriously, being all attentive and gentlemanly and extra charming, and if not for his assurance they were not on a date, Marinette would’ve surely thought otherwise. Just as she suspected, her silly crush on this man seemed to slowly be turning into something more than a simple attraction. Something different. Something deeper and more profound.

“Awesome!” Adrien grinned, turning back to the town. “I’ll buy us movie tickets once we’re there. Where do you want to sit? I prefer the middle, but I’m pretty sure Nino got the middle row seats, so that’s a bit risky. Shall we try for the back row?”

A pinch of guilt nagged at Marinette. Another glance at their friends in the distance and she stopped, slowly pulling her hand from Adrien’s grasp, mourning the loss with every inch lost. “Perhaps, we should stop here.”

He halted his steps, looking down. Seemed like she wasn't the only one feeling guilty about this. “You’re right. This wasn't a good idea.”

“They deserve more than two stalkers for friends.”

“They do. I was just too curious. This is the first time Nino’s been so crazy about someone.”

“So you decided to secretly third wheel them?”

He gave her an unimpressed look. “You don’t get to judge me. We’re in the same boat in this. Apples and all.”

Marinette couldn't hold back a snicker.

Adrien interlocked his fingers behind his head, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I was really looking forward to that movie, though.”  

“You’ll live.”

“Will I?”

“Absolutely, you big baby. Just go watch it by yourself if you want it so much.”

“But that’s not fun.”

“Better than stalking your friend on his date.”

“Then perhaps I should get my own. A date, I mean. For the movies.”

Marinette fell silent, her chest tightening. A guy like Adrien could have any girl he wished. And while she didn't think herself to be worse than anyone else, what were the chances he’d want her when girls like Kagami Tsurugi openly confessed their love to him?

“I guess you could,” she said, pulling out her cellphone to get an Uber.

“Then will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Go to the movies with me? Lunch and movies. A date. A real one. Nothing fake about it.” He was looking straight at her, a trembling smile on his lips, a soft glint in his eyes.

She blinked once. Twice. Her ears must be deceiving her. “Me?”

He nodded. “You.”

“But… Why?”

“Because I like you.” He stepped closer. “Because ever since you fell into my arms that first day, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Excuse me, but I did not fall into your arms!” Marinette huffed. Amazing or not, she wouldn't allow him to trample her reputation like that. “I just tripped, and you happened to stand in the trajectory of my fall. Or rather, you moved into it because, if my memory isn’t failing me—and my memory never fails me—you almost ran across the room to catch me.”

Adrien laughed. “Guilty as charged, but can you blame me? You’re amazing, Marinette. You’re smart and brave and confident and so very beautiful. A guy like me could only dream of being worthy of your attention.”

“You kidding me, right? A guy like you can have any girl he wants.”

“But there is only one I need,” he purred, leaning closer. “Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and I’d be the happiest man alive if she’d give me a chance. I’m prepared to beg on my knees if that’s what it’ll take.”

Somehow, her hand was in his. He brought it to his lips and laid a lingering kiss on her knuckles. How could she say no to those eyes and that confident smoulder with a hint of childish worry behind it? The way she felt about him, she wouldn't want to say no even if her life depended on it. Marinette kept her eyes on Adrien's when she shifted her hand in his grasp, entwining their fingers together. "Only if we go to a different movie theatre. I don't want to run into Alya and have to explain things."

“Sounds good to me.”

“And we’re getting soulmate ice cream at Andre’s before that. I want to check if we’re meant to be before I commit to anything.”

Adrien laughed, pulling Marinette into a hug. “I’m pretty sure I won’t even have to bribe the man to get the result I want.”

“You’re way too confident, M Agreste, you know that, right?”

“Only when it really matters.”

“And is this one of those situations?”

His gaze soft and loving, Adrien leaned down, his lips gently brushing against the flustered skin of her cheek. “You’re at the top of my ‘Really Matters’ list, Mlle Dupain-Cheng.”

Another kiss to her nose, he lingered for a moment before whispering, “May I kiss you the way I know you want me to kiss you now? Or shall I wait until the end of our date?”

There was only one answer Marinette could give him. “Right now would be perfect.”

***

This is a reworked chapter from my upcoming "Dreams of You" story. If you're planning on reading it, don't be surprised to see part of this as one of the chapters. Hope you'll enjoy both of them!

[castlevania-afterdark-imagines]

Fem s/o soft-doms Isaac (pt. 2)

Click here for pt1!

It was going to happen. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but Isaac was certain of the fact he was going to kill Godbrand. 

After he had patiently waited for so long, his beloved was going to give him exactly what she'd promised. She, already bare before him, hadn't even managed to remove his outer layers before that neanderthal had kicked open the door. He was blathering on about Isaac's presence being needed and he figured this was the place to check since the forge was empty. Isaac didn't know if the vampire had seen anything before the forgemaster managed to bolt to the door and slam it shut, to the very satisfying thud of the old oak colliding with the vampire's face. 

He was ready to go out and stake the bastard right then, but a twittering of laughter behind him brought his eyes back. She was covering her mouth, giggling. Of course she would find this entertaining. Her thighs were still damp from her release. Isaac however, felt as though his insides were being clenched tight between two gears. 

To his mild horror she stood and started to assemble her underclothes back onto her body. He didn't realize his palms were still pressing against the door until she glanced up and smiled, giving the gentle order of, "Stay there for a moment.” After taking inventory of his stance, he immediately felt a wave of revulsion. The position reminded him of darker times, cruel punishments, cold hands. But he did not have to think on it longer than a few breaths before she appeared, slipped under his arms to put herself between him and the door. Her hands went to hold his face and he sighed, relief flooding his veins.

"Beloved-"

She shushed him, standing on her toes to kiss both corners of his mouth. "It's alright. Go take care of whatever it is, and I'll wait here for you."

He snorted in frustration but nodded. Yes, if they were going to have any peace this night he'd have to go see what exactly was so important to warrant the intrusion. And make it very clear that no one else was going to want to demand his attention again, unless they wanted a blade in their gut. 

"Maybe I'll go find some wine, while I wait," she offered, slipping back out under his other arm, trailing her fingers across his torso as she went. "We could have dinner here, just the two of us. What do you think?"

Isaac chuckled, looking at his palms still placed on the wood. Funny, he did not mind this position so much when he could still feel the heat from her palms on his cheeks. He straightened his back, looking over his shoulder at her. "That sounds perfect."

- - - - -

It had been a trivial matter, because of course it would be. Hector was already doing a fine job of wrangling in the bickering between the generals, it was the addition of a partially blinded gaibon coming through a third story window that made things exciting. Isaac left the calming of the beast to Hector, while he made quick work of silencing the vampires back to their rooms until their Lord Dracula returned to settle the current debate. Hector made to thank the other forgemaster but one sharp look was enough to tell him that gratitudes could be given later. However, that didn’t ease the knowing smirk from his face, giving a quick perk of his eyebrows before turning to guide the struggling creature to his quarters.

Isaac didn’t mind Hector knowing of his affairs, not the details perhaps but it had been at his suggestion that he could both juggle his obligations to the war while entertaining the company of the woman he was so suddenly smitten by. Also, Isaac was in no place to snipe at Hector for that knowing look when he’d already caught him hilted between his lady’s legs in a previously unoccupied corridor. 

Twice.

But he would have time to check in with Hector later. Right now, his focus was rapidly narrowing to finding the fastest route back to her chambers and a hopefully occupied bed. He left the great hall in a flourish, ignoring the dirty looks from the vampire guards. His heels clicked on the stone and announced his advancement down the halls, though he could barely hear it over the rushing of blood in his ears. It was only by the gracing of his robes that he’d managed to conceal his arousal upon entering the hall earlier, and while the tension had subsided quite a bit he could still feel the press of her hands on his cheeks, the brush of her slipper against his crotch. Would he be jumped upon his return? Or would she taunt him further over his supper? 

As he tried to quell the onslaught of mental noise he glanced upon one of the many potted urns that decorated this particular wing of the castle. It was one of the few wings with windows left uncovered, a convenient deterrent to any vampires who might otherwise wander this way, but it also made for a convenient way to grow medicinal herbs in an ever moving structure. His eyes glimpsed a patch of aconite, fully in bloom, their purple color almost blended into the dark stonework behind them. His lips pursed into a small smirk. It might be a bit off color for him, but this whole evening was… experimental. He crossed to the flowers, flicking his knife from it’s casing, and cut three stalks long enough to be held in one of the water decanters he kept in his chamber. She had done a thorough job of courting him this week, he could return the favor.

When he finally arrived at the door he noted a slight gap, the latch carefully balanced to be only a breath from falling open. He took a moment to lament that this likely meant he was not going to find her strewn naked on her bed, they were more careful than that, but he all the same took the grace to rap softly on the door. 

“Come in, Isaac.” He huffed a laugh, pushing open the door and carefully hiding the blossoms behind his back. “How did you know it was me?” he teased, gazing up to find her perched on the edge of her armchair in a brilliant burgundy robe, a small table of assorted meats and breads nearby along with a very elegant bottle of what he presumed to be wine. “I could have been a starved beast, prowling for his next victim.”

“Beasts do not knock,” she quipped back, standing and tightening the sash around her middle. “Especially when they are approaching their 'victims'.” She let him close the door and lock it, smiling at him fondly until he began to cross the floor towards her. Then she picked up on his carefully hidden arm and bit her lip to hold back a laugh, halting his progress with a held up palm. “What have you got?”

Isaac simply shrugged, giving her a beat to roll her eyes and cross her arms in an entirely over dramatic display of popped hip and tossed hair. Then he broke, chuckling at her and holding out the flowers. Immediately she clapped her hands to her chest, cooing in approval before reaching to carefully take them from his outstretched palm. “Perhaps it is a bit unusual to bring gifts so late in our courtship, but I thought you would approve nonetheless.” He felt his chest puff a bit in pride as she made a show of smelling them, canting her head in mock shyness behind the blooms. What caught him off guard was when she then stepped right up to him, pulled his face down by the back of his neck, and positively stole any remaining thoughts from his mind with her lips on his own. 

Much like earlier she was slow but deliberate, purring her contentment across their mixed breaths and using her grip on him to guide his position to her liking. Just when he remembered how to make use of his arms and made to touch her waist it was over and she was flitting away to put the flowers in a spare glass with water. “They’re lovely Isaac, thank you.” 

His hands flexed for a moment in the empty air before he shook his head, it seemed the game was still on then. “Much as you are, beloved. I apologise for leaving you to wait for so long.” With a small flick of her wrist she didn't pay mind to his apology, just settled the blooms into the glass. He wasn't quite sure if it was on purpose,  but he felt the embers in his gut spark back to life as he admired the way the thin fabric clung to her frame. The drapes clinging to her hips in particular…

"Yes, Isaac?" Her purr snapped his eyes back to her face. Oh yes, she was doing this on purpose now. Both of her hands placed delicately on the table in front of her, rump pressed back just enough to exaggerate the pose.

"Do I not have your permission to admire such a pristine display?" He smirked, glowing under the tittering of giggles that fell from her lips. 

"You do. But," she paused, lengthening her spine and stretching her arms over her head, the sleeves falling back to reveal the soft skin of her forearms while the waterfall of fabric from her waist down fell away to hide her form again. "You also have permission to ask for more."

That word again. Empty in specifics, and yet it sent a thrill through him. "I always want more when it comes to you. It seems nothing in this world can satisfy me as long as you are present." She smirked over her shoulder at him, lowering her arms and trailing her fingers over the fringe of the robe that was slowly parting across her collarbones. When her hands stopped again she hummed, raising her eyebrow at him. Isaac remembered to breathe, but was still unsure of how to play this game. He flipped through the mental pages of the evening. Right, he was supposed to be asking for things. And praying it would be in her interest to provide them. "May I see more of you?"

She grinned, tugging carefully to loosen the collar of the robe around her neck. Isaac wet his lips absently as she carefully drew the fabric down over one shoulder. She gave it an exaggerated roll accompanied with a toss of her hair and he found himself spiraling even faster into admiration for her jovial antics. She never let him dwell, never made things too serious. Always a game, never an obligation. He laughed when she turned and shimmied her shoulders, the tops of her breasts bouncing out from behind the fabric without fully revealing themselves. The mirth left him grinning and he ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes to steal against the borderline ludacris (lewdacris) display. "Please, beloved, you have tempted me for weeks already. You know I desire you, mind, body, and soul. Will you ask me to be so deliberate with my words even now, in the state that I am?"

"And what state is that?" Her voice was much closer than anticipated, and his eyes opened to see her standing before him. At the present angle he could look directly down the part of her robe, over her chest, which he did before meeting her sparkling gaze.

"Hungry."

She quirked an eyebrow, gesturing at the tray of food nearby with an open palm. He puffed a breath of annoyance through his nose, the air ruffling the delicate fabric catching on her nipples.

"You know what I hunger for."

"I do," she purred, hands dropping to her waist and loosening the sash to let the robe fall open. The forgemaster felt his heart jump to his eyes, she was completely bare beneath and the faintest waft of her perfume graced him upon the reveal. "I will do my best to satisfy you Isaac, you have done everything I asked. I did not think it was possible for you to leave me so…" She hummed softly, stretching up on her toes to wrap her arms around his shoulders. Carefully she pressed against him, he could feel her warmth through his layers and groaned when she placed a small kiss on his earlobe. "Enthralled."

Isaac groaned through pursed lips, fighting to keep his arms pinned at his sides even as she laved kisses down his neck, purring and cooing her satisfaction as she felt him harden against her thighs. He prayed to every nameless god that she wouldn't bring him to climax this way, he had not waited this long to ruin his pants and his pride over provocative writhing. Finally she took mercy on him. "Carry me to the bed, Isaac."

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he growled, barely finishing his sentence before her hands were on his face and directing him into another breath stealing kiss. She ground her body against his and his hands remembered their purpose in life, grabbing greedily at her ass and lifting her into his arms. She moaned into his mouth, gasping breaths escaping between their lips as he crossed the floor to her bed. Once he set her down he meant to push her down, but she resisted and remained sitting up as she broke their kiss with a careful drag of teeth across his lower lip.

"Will you perform this last task for me?" she asked softly, running her fingers down his cheeks to follow the collar of his tunic. 

"Yes," he hissed immediately, not caring what it was going to be. He would wrangle the sun out of the sky if it would allow him into her bed at this moment. 

She scooted back to sit at the headboard propping herself up among the pillows. Deliberately she spread her legs as she let the robe fall from her shoulders, pooling around her hips like an oasis of silk. Isaac felt himself quiver as he watched her trace one hand down her sternum, over her belly, pausing just as her index finger brushed her lips. He heard her shudder a breath free hand jumping up to her mouth. She moaned softly, dragging her fingers over the already wet folds, but not yet parting them.

"Undress," she murmured, the phrase forcing his eyes up from the display she was putting on for him. It took another moment for the command to parse, his hands balancing on the edge of the bed, his breathing already laborious. When it finally caught fire he immediately straightened up, grabbing at the hem of his outer layers before he heard a small tutting from her. “S-slowly,” she ordered, pausing in her ministrations. Isaac pursed his lips, taking a slow inhale while he forced his body to still. As he stopped she slowly started pleasuring herself again, reclining back among the pillows and splaying her legs wide for him to watch. He felt a thrill tremor through his torso as he started again to remove his clothing at an agonizing pace. When she didn’t stop he tried just a little faster, only to lament when he watched her pause again. Though admittedly, she did not look thrilled about stopping either. “You enjoy this,” he mused softly, returning to the horrible pace that made the pull of cloth on his skin feel like grains of sand. She chuckled a little, rolling her shoulders and moaning softly as she carefully pressed a finger inside herself. “As do you,” she cooed back, breath hitching a little as she fought to keep composure. Isaac felt himself laugh, but he was more focused on trying to get his tunic over his head fast enough to not miss a simple movement of hers but slow enough that she wouldn’t stop again. She seemed to give him mercy when he tossed it off over his head and froze again, letting a beat hang in the air before his hands went to his trousers. 

The game continued for what felt like ages, with her sometimes stopping just to see if he was still paying attention. By the time he was blissfully naked she had nearly worked herself flat on the bed, writhing and panting softly as she worked herself over. The blood was rushing in his ears and he nearly broke composure. Surely she wouldn’t object if the game could be considered completed, if he could hilt himself inside her as fast as his mortal body would allow. But something kept him rooted, the pleasant buzzing in his skull as he watched her, eyes half lidded as she held his gaze. Spellbound he waited, cock very proudly displaying his interest until she finally removed her hand from herself, fingers glistening and he heard himself groan softly. Finally she smirked and gestured lazily with the slick digits for him to approach. “Are you ready for your reward, my love?”

“Yes,” he hissed, crawling onto the bed, all other words faded from his mind. Her legs parted further to allow him to kneel between them and he took her raised hand between both of his. Her scent reached him and he sighed blissfully, bending his head to kiss her knuckles but pausing to catch her eyes. She gave a little nod and he continued, pressing careful kisses from her knuckles down to her carefully groomed fingernails. It took a present mind to not lick his lips as her juices stained them, but then when he’d reached the end of each finger he caved, sucking the tips of her index and middle fingers and pressing his tongue to the soft skin. He heard her moan, felt her legs shake against his thighs and continued. Any other evening he might be bothered by how depraved he might look, cleaning her fingers like a dog might try to remove the sinew from a bone, but each fluttering of her breath kept him enraptured with his task. 

Too soon she pulled her hand away, which he regretfully released, but he couldn’t dwell long on the disappointment when she sat up, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Take me, Isaac, you’ve earned it.” 

Any other night Isaac knew he would have behaved one hair short of a feral beast and leapt at the opportunity, but something kept him tethered, laboriously slow. At her words he moaned, pressing his face into her neck, lowering the two of them down to the strewn pillows, wrapping one arm around her middle while the other reached between their grinding bodies to position himself. He was acutely aware of the kisses she left on his brow, the whimpering cry she tried to stifle by his ear when he pressed in, but every other modicum of thought was preoccupied with her warmth and the burning trails it left on his skin. When he was fully buried inside her he gasped, legs flexing and back tensing with the effort it took to not climax immediately. Everything bled away into the press of skin on skin, her neck finding its way between his teeth, their arms wrapped around each other like leather bindings. Nothing but friction, heat, and the satisfaction he felt in his core with each thrust that made her cry his name. When he quickly reached his breaking point he could barely speak, only a fumbling of “please” and “I can’t” spilled from his lips. By some cosmic grace she only replied with a flurry of “yes” and “hurry”. He was sure his heart stopped when he came, body trembling and hands gripping her body like he might shatter without a frame to hold onto. The squeeze of her legs around his hips and shaking of her body beneath him told him everything, her satisfaction, her release, his purpose.

When his mind finally pieced back together he was vaguely aware they had simply collapsed, he was still inside her, and she was running her fingers down his spine. When he made to move, grunting as his arms refused to obey orders, she shushed him, squeezing a little around his shaft which made him quiver. “Not yet,” she purred.

He chuckled, testing his motor functions in his legs by flexing his muscles and curling his toes. “At least let me adjust so that I am no longer crushing you.” He heard her hum in contemplation, clearly unconvinced that was a better option than the current position she was in, which forced a laugh from him. He scooted his arm underneath her mid back lower, giving the top of her butt a light pinch. She yelped, lightly slapping his back with her hands before shimmying to roll him off her. The cool shock of air to his dick from the sudden withdrawal made him shiver, but he continued to chortle as she fussed and rubbed the spot he’d pinched. He laid back and tugged an edge of the duvet over his lower half, still pleasurably pliant as he relaxed among the pillows. When she settled again, curling up against his chest he positioned his arm behind her head to use as a pillow, the two of them murmuring in pleasure at the warmth of the other’s skin. “Was that alright?” she asked softly, tracing patterns over his chest with her index finger. “I hope you were not frustrated with me.” Isaac rolled his eyes, nudging his hip against her. “I was frustrated, but that does not mean it was an unpleasant experience.” He felt her tilt her head on his chest to look at him, but he was still enjoying the blissfully limp sensation pulsing through his body. “It was nice to not think, to not have to contemplate my next move. I did not think I would enjoy it as much as I did.” He felt her purr of satisfaction on his chest and bent his arm to wrap better around her shoulders, brush his fingertips along her arm.

“Soooo, tomorrow?” He sighed, using his free arm to reach up and grab a pillow. She sensed the attack before he could drop it on her face and rolled away, eyes lit up with playful energy. Isaac smirked at her, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his fist. “Tomorrow, beloved, I repay you for your incessant teasing.” She bit her lip at that, sitting back on her heels and cocking her head to the tone of ‘Is that so?’. “Oh yes, I think I will render you boneless by the time I’m through with you. It is only fair.” 

In his mind it was a promise, even if that meant locking every vampire in their coffin the next night to guarantee it came to fruition. -Mod Soviet

[shipmistress9]

FTLOAP: Chapter 48,5: Interlude 6: Traitors

For The Love Of A Princess Masterpost

Alpha/Co-author: @athingofvikings​

Taglist: @drchee5e @hey-its-laura-again @thepixiedustfactory​ (If you want me to add you to this list, just let me know. ^^)

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If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

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AN: As promised, here’s an interlude, and a slightly quicker update, too. It’s a tough one but also one I’ve been waiting for for a long time now. It will shed some light onto a character… that’s been simultaneously over- and under-estimated so far. And I’m incredibly curious for how you’re all going to react.

Also, this chapter comes entirely unbetaed. I’m sorry if there are more mistakes than usual. ^^“

***Shoutouts***

Again, thank you all for your lovely comments! They mean the world to me, especially now where the fandom seems to shrink with every week and the responses overall become fewer and fewer. To everyone who still comments, you are my heroes! ^^

. o O o .

With his eyes on the immaculately-kept garden outside, Thuggory stood at the large window in his study, with a disdainful look on his face. “So, tell me,” he sneered in his usual bored tone and without turning around. “Did anything worth mentioning happen today?”

Behind him, the servant nervously shuffled from one foot to the other. “No, your Grace. It was just the same as yesterday. The fighting grounds were filled with men practising their skills, but aside from one slight injury and a few cuts, nothing happened.”

“Idiots, all of them…” Thuggory huffed under his breath. For two days now, all these stupid men were preparing for the King’s ridiculous Dragon Hunt. As if that was anything but a complete waste of time. “Who got injured?” Maybe he was lucky. Maybe it had hit the right man again.

“Erm…” The servant took a moment to think. “Nobody important, I think. It was a man named Gregor, the firstborn son of the Baron of Greenbridge. But it was just a shallow flesh wound on his shoulder, nothing fatal.”

Grunting, Thuggory nodded. For a moment, he’d hoped that Eret had conveniently taken himself out of the game after all. But of course, he wasn’t that lucky. Besides, he surely would have heard about that already.

“So what did the ducal heirs do?”

“Sir Snotloud is still indisposed. Rumours have it that he won’t participate in the Hunt at all.” Thuggory nodded for his servant to speak on. The Westhill boy wasn’t of much interest to him anyway. “The Sirs Dagur and Eret were again practising in the fighting grounds, but just like yesterday, they were going at it lightly. It is assumed that they will only participate in the Hunt for show and all their training now is just so Sir Eret can regain his strength after the attack. Some even jokingly commented that his squire was working out harder than his master.”

Thuggory snorted but didn’t comment. Of course, the highborn heirs wouldn’t get their hands dirty and crawl through the forest for this pointless Hunt. Why would they? They had no use for a measly county somewhere far off their hometown. The same was true for Thuggory, of course, but in opposition to them, he at least had the decency to not even pretend that he would take part in this Hunt.

Although, they probably had no choice in the matter, he mused, grimacing. They held no power of their own, after all, always had to do what their fathers wanted. They had to participate in the King’s charade, if only to give it more significance.

Besides, if the latest rumours were true then the two Sirs were going to use this time away from the public eye in other ways anyway. Just thinking about that brought an angry sneer to Thuggory’s face. If that horse-loving fool really preferred men over women, then he deserved her even less.

Not that Eret should have any right to her in the first place…

“Was the Princess there, too?” he asked through gritted teeth. He already knew the answer, but he had to ask.

“Yes, your Grace. She arrived shortly before noon, joined the ducal heirs for lunch, and then stayed for a couple of hours to watch her betro– uhm… I mean, her soon-to-be betroth–”

Growling angrily, Thuggory whirled around, interrupting the man.

“She’s mine!”

With one furious motion, he wiped a sideboard nearby clear off everything, a carafe of wine and some glasses lading on the ground. They shattered with loud clangour, shards scattering everywhere and wine seeping into the carpet.

The servant winced but didn’t move. “Y-your Grace?”

But Thuggory didn’t reply. He just stared at his fist, anger making it tremble. Astrid was supposed to be his, always had been! Thuggory had known that since the day she was born, drummed into his head by his otherwise useless father. Sure, rumours had it that the King had made arrangements for her to marry one of the ducal heirs. But the grand dukedoms already were close allies of the crown, where was the point in handing the crown’s most valuable possession over to one of them? No, the only logical, only sensible, only possible option was to give her to him, to a powerful rival to buy his support.

Oh, yes, Astrid had been his since her very first breath. But she and everyone else refused to acknowledge that. All she’d ever done was mock him, during their youth and now as well. But, oh, she would learn her place! As soon as she was his wife and he could finally teach her some manners, she would never forget it again.

Thuggory took a deep breath to calm down again, just as the door opened and another servant poked their head in. They hesitated, probably taking in the mess on the ground, but were smart enough not to comment.

“Your Grace? Your… erm… your guest arrived. Where should I lead her?”

He smirked. Now, wasn’t that perfect timing? “Send her into the garden,” he ordered. “And clean the floor again in the meantime.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, instead turned on the spot and walked outside. It was an unusually warm night for this time of year; maybe he would just stay here after his guest was gone. Although, it surely would rain later that night, judging by the clouds and humidity.

“Good evening, my Lord,” came a pleasant and familiar voice from the darkness behind him.

One side of his mouth tipped up into a lazy smirk. “Come here.”

The woman obeyed, came closer and bowed deeply before him. She was an Ástir, the same one he asked for every time. She was not from the main Temple that Fyrir Mala supervised but from one of the smaller district temples at the edge of the city. It was a temple that was specialised in a certain… taste. Thuggory wasn’t allowed to hurt her for real and if she put a stop to his actions, he had to abide immediately. Sometimes, like today, he loathed these rules, but he had to stick to them nonetheless. For now…

The Ástir not coming from the main temple also meant that she didn’t officially play a specific role. But she knew what he expected of her and had prepared herself according to his usual requests. She had some braids woven into her blond hair, and with her slim frame and grey-blue eyes, she was sufficient enough. His imagination could fill in the rest.

“Undress for me,” he ordered, and watched transfixed as she slowly slid off her elegant blue dress. He never looked at her face; that would have ruined the illusion. Instead, his eyes clung to every bit of bare skin she revealed, her shoulders, her breasts, her shapely backside, and he wondered whether Astrid’s curves would be equally appealing once she was his.

What followed was the same fantasy he always acted out when he summoned this Ástir. He made her kneel between his legs and worship his cock until it was hard and leaking. Then he grabbed her head and pushed her down. Tonight, he particularly enjoyed making her choke. The way her body seized, the lovely sounds she made, and the sporadic tears his actions inadvertently drew from her eyes – it all helped to curb and calm his anger. He wanted to come across her face, but that would only remind him that she wasn’t really Astrid. Instead, he made her swallow him down, her face hidden against his abdomen. After that, it was his turn to give her some attention. He made her get down on all four and slap her backside until it was glowing and his hand stung. Then he knelt behind her, fucked into her with his fist in her hair to keep her in place, and pumped her full of his seed, groaning in satisfaction.

Oh, he couldn’t wait until he could do this to Astrid.

Until she was his!

The woman’s legs were wobbly when she got up and got dressed again. He liked to watch her as he enjoyed a fresh drink, liked to see his come slide down her legs and soil that pretty dress.

“Aren’t you tired of this game yet?”

The Ástir threw a curious look at the newcomer, but upon Thuggory’s gesture, she quickly left the two noblemen alone.

“Jake,” Thuggory greeted the other man with an unnerved sigh. “Can’t you wait until after my entertainment is over?”

Lord Jake of Blackshire laughed and lounged down into another chair on Thuggory’s ample terrasse. “Why? Isn’t it always the same anyway? Although, I understand your frustration. It doesn’t seem like your plan is working. Your precious princess is about to marry Sir Eret,” he sneered, “and after that first failed attempt, they won’t risk him getting killed again.”

“I know,” Thuggory growled. “But he promised I would get her as my bride if I fulfil my end of the bargain. And I have! The riots are spreading over the entire kingdom. Soon, the King will be too busy with an open civil war to care about any other threats.”

Jake snorted, audibly rolling his eyes. “Oh, the mysterious man in the shadows. Seriously, who is he that he can make such promises?”

“That’s none of your concern. You can’t betray information you don’t have; the less you know the better. All you need to know is your part.”

Jake leaned forward, his brows furrowed. “And I did my part,” he hissed. “Your old man is gone and you took his place.”

“And you got your promotion, didn’t you? Captain?”

Jake growled. “That was only half of the bargain. What about my father?”

Thuggory waved him off. “All in good time. And don’t you forget your place, son of a baron.”

He could hear how Jake gritted his teeth and swallowed his pride. “You’re right, Milord. Please forgive my impertinence.”

Nodding, Thuggory accepted the apology. Jake was one of his most loyal supporters, maybe even someone he would call a friend. He just had to make sure the man didn’t forget his place from time to time.

“Anyway. He said he would take over the Kingdom when the time is right. And that I can have her then.” He snorted. “Not that she’ll be of any political worth then anymore, that stuck-up bitch! She should be betrothed to me now! Seriously, what are they even thinking up there in the castle? It’s so obvious, their downfall will be their own fault!”

His hand tightened around his drink, the glass nearly breaking again. How could the King reject his marriage proposal for Astrid? As Duke of Meathead, he was one of the most powerful men in the entire Kingdom, with his Dukedom of not small influence and so close to the capitol. The King couldn’t afford to not have him as his ally! Oh yes, all the riots and problems in the Kingdom were the King’s own fault. If only he’d agreed to give his daughter’s hand to him, then the peace could have been maintained.

Oh, but she would pay for her father’s mistakes! With the Ástir, he was bound by law to abide by these boring rules. But once it was Astrid as his wife in his bed? Then nothing would keep him from using her like he longed to. Oh, he couldn’t wait to make her scream.

“If only that loser had managed to kill Eret during the tournament,” he grumbled, downing the rest of his drink. “Then they might come to their senses after all.”

Jake chuckled. “Were you able to find out why he tried that attempt by now? Do you know who instructed him or whether his family got an unexpected payment? Or did he really just do that on his own?”

“I don’t know.” Thuggory shook his head. “Him doing that just on his own makes little sense, but I wasn’t able to find any connections, no-one who could have ordered him to try that attempt. Were you more successful in finding out anything about that rumour about Eret and Dagur?”

Jake leaned back in his seat and grimaced. “No, I wasn’t. I couldn’t find out who started it; in fact, it seems like it started at more than one place at once. Some leads point toward the servants’ market, others to a tavern that’s popular with soldiers, and some even hint that they started at some tea party one of the higher noble ladies held. So, whoever really is behind it, they are good. And as for whether the rumour is true… Well, there’s no proof, obviously. But either way, the princess doesn’t seem to care whether her future husband prefers playing the flute over the violin.” He accompanied his words by outlining a distinct curvy form into the air.

Thuggory snorted. “Too bad. But then she wouldn’t even have a clue about what it means. It was a long shot anyway.”

“I could try to get proof,” Jake offered. “Officially, Eret and Dagur are participating in the Hunt, but that’s just a front, obviously. What would they need that county for? So, if these rumours are true, then they will spend the days in some inn and fuck each other senseless. And if some of my men accidentally storm the room when they hear screaming…” He grinned menacingly.

Thuggory laughed, once. He knew why he kept Jake around. But then he shook his head. “Tempting. But he ordered me to keep my hands off the ducal heirs. He must have plans for them, though he wouldn’t tell me what they are.”

Jake snickered. “So his high and mighty Grace, the Duke of Meathead, doesn’t know everything, either?”

“Oh, shut up,” Thuggory muttered. “I might not know everything – for the same reasons that I won’t tell you more too – but I still know enough. I know that this summer is going to see a lot of changes and that for the next Midwinter Nights, the Gods will witness another kind of sacrifice .”

“Let me guess. Will it be a more… royal sacrifice? Oh, I’d love to see the Prince bleed out. He overlooked me a few too many time and–”

“Quiet!”

Thuggory’s voice was sharp, silencing Jake in an instant. He held up a hand to keep him from asking any questions, as his eyes focused on a bit of shrubbery in his garden. It had moved just now, and he could swear that there’d been a noise, too. Something of a gasp.

He gave Jake a sign who nodded and they both stood up.

“Yes, it really was a shame how you’ve been ignored for all this time,” Thuggory lamented. He walked around and rummaged about with a new drink, covering up any noises Jake might make. “And all that just because you misbehaved a few times here and there. It really wasn’t your fault that this tavern got destroyed now, was it?”

It happened with a swiftness and accuracy Thuggory couldn’t help but silently salute. Within only seconds, Jake had reached into the shrubbery and dragged out the cretin who’d dared to spy on them. “Ha! Got him!”

“Very good,” Thuggory sneered as he came closer. “The Prince was indeed a fool to disregard your talents.”

Jake grinned.

“But now, who do we have here…” Thuggory let his eyes roam over the young man. In the dim light of the night, he wasn’t able to see much, only an untidy mob of dark hair, clothes too simple for a nobleman, and a face that seemed vaguely familiar. “I know you, don’t I?”

The man pressed his lips together and glared at him in a useless attempt to look threatening, despite the knife at his throat. It was almost cute. No, this was no man; calling him a boy was more fitting.

“You certainly have,” Jake snorted. “He’s a squire of one of our beloved ducal heirs.”

A dark grin spread over Thuggory’s face. “Oh right. Now, what are you doing in my private garden? You wouldn’t be here to spy on me, would you?”

The boy was trembling now. Though Thuggory couldn’t blame him; Jake was pressing his knife against the skin at his throat now so he wouldn’t get any ideas and yell for help. Everyone with at least a little bit of sense would be scared.

“I-I heard what you said about Prince Daniel,” he squeaked, terror in his thin voice. “But you won’t get away with that! Not now that I know about what you’re up to! I’ll go straight to the King and…”

Thuggory gave a bored sigh and nodded at Jake who hurled the boy around back into the shrubbery. A moment later, the gurgling sound of a cut throat could be heard, then a body slumping to the ground.

“I know it’s too late now,” Jake commented casually as he wiped off his blade in the grass. The coming rain would wash away all traces of blood. “But I thought you were supposed to keep your hands away from the ducal heirs.”

“The heirs, yes. Nobody ever said anything about their squires.”

Jake snorted but otherwise didn’t seem to be concerned in the slightest. “So, what shall we do with him?” he instead asked, nodding at the shrubbery.

“Just get rid of the body, I don’t have any use for it. Although…” Thuggory paused, then stepped to where the dead boy lay. He kneeled down and after a quick inspection took a heavy ring off the boy’s finger, a decorated knife from his belt, and a handful of coins from his pocket. The fact that he’d had these things in the first place revealed his simple clothes to only be a charade. “Make sure the body won’t get found right away, but also don’t make it too complicated. Let it look like someone was running out of time.”

Jake nodded, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “I know just what to do. And what’s this for?” He gestured at the boy’s belongings in Thuggory’s hand.

“Oh, this.” Now, it was Thuggory’s turn to smile cruelly. “I’ll use these things to cause a little chaos. I might not be allowed to harm Eret directly, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun.“

. o O o .

AN: So…Thuggory really is an asshole! Abusive, violent, deluded, and just Evil.

But! He didn’t plan the attack on Eret and neither did he spread the rumour about Eret and Dagur. In fact… he’s not that much of an evil mastermind at all…

So… where does that leave us?

…

On a side note. Many of you guessed that Daniel would die in this chapter or that it would be revealed that he’d died some while ago already. And I just want to say… I don’t consider Daniel to be a minor character at all.

And last but not least: There’s a phrase I used in this interlude that I’m very fond of… but that sadly isn’t my own creation. It’s the part about "him preferring to play the flute over the violin.” I can’t say for sure where it comes from, but I know that I read it in the “Die Legende von Askir” series by Richard Schwarz.

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If you want to support me you can buy me a coffee. I love coffee 😊 (Ko-Fi)

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Next chapter

[supremeuppityone]

Written for @kcfanficweek Klaroline Fanfiction Week Day 1- All Human Fanfic Day. 

This is a follow-up to my work in A Beautiful Symmetry, Chapter 83: Part 10 - Klarosummer Bingo. Thanks for all of the asks and encouragement to write more from this world. Enjoy!

Please review here.

Part 2: Newsflash — seashell bras give me hives

         The fake pine scent coupled with musk overwhelmed her senses and made her gag. She blinked rapidly, realizing she was waking face-first on the couch. Fuck. It smelled like Damon had rubbed his Paco Rabanne-soaked ass all over it. “Easy sweetheart,” Klaus murmured unexpectedly from above.

           She looked up, wincing at the bruises she could feel along the base of her skull. Klaus’ concerned face was a bit fuzzy as she tried to focus, but once she took in the severity of his own injuries, she snapped back to reality. At least one black eye, cuts along his cheeks and forehead that looked suspiciously like the gaudy rings that bore the Salvatores’ family crest. “Klaus? Oh, my god — what did those bastards do to you?!”

           “Nothing I don’t intend to return in kind,” he answered, the coldness of his voice making her shiver.

           The Salvatores had first introduced Klaus as ‘new money business’, which Caroline had assumed meant that he was a high-level dealer, or maybe even a drug lord. She’d been careful around him, doing her best to check her curiosity whenever she saw him at the club, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he had information she could use. Especially now that it seemed the badge lying on the coffee table belonged to him.

           She was pissed at him for keeping secrets, but realized she was being a hypocrite. After all, she’d weaseled her way into Salvatore Sirens, the mermaid-themed burlesque club, under false pretenses too. It was all Bonnie’s stupid fault — her loser boyfriend got in too deep with the Salvatores and couldn’t pay them back — so she begged Caroline to get a job there and spy on the Salvatores and get evidence of their drug trafficking.

           All this time, she’d felt conflicted about her growing feelings for Klaus, worried about how to keep him out of this mess when she finally had evidence to take to the police. And it turned out that Klaus was the police. She nodded to his badge, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, “Of all the things I would’ve guessed about you, this was not one of them.”

           “You wondered about me,” he asked in an oddly hopeful tone. “I wasn’t sure how much of what you’d shown me was real.” At her affronted expression, he hastily explained, “Not that I assumed anything untoward about you or your...assets. They’re lovely.” Gray eyes widened in horror as he quickly corrected his wandering gaze, adding, “I meant that you’re lovely! All of you, that is.”

           She raised an eyebrow, not really sure what to say. Klaus rambled when he was nervous. And he wasn’t nearly as smooth as his drug lord persona he’d adopted for his undercover work. She liked this Klaus better. “You’re lovely as well.” With a teasing wink, she added, “All of you.” The throbbing of her head reminded her that this definitely was the wrong time to flirt. “Tell me you have a plan,” she muttered, careful to keep her voice low in case the Salvatores were watching them.

           “Everything will be fine, Caroline. I promise.”  

           “Well, this is just awkward. Because I’m pretty sure nothing will be fine for either of you ever again,” Damon sneered, straddling a chair off to the side while Stefan creepily sat so close to Caroline he almost was in her lap. Both brothers had dark eyes, but it was Stefan’s that she found the most disturbing. They were perfectly blank — devoid of emotion — but yet they glittered with an eerie awareness. And right now, it was directed at her.

           When Stefan began running his fingers along the top of her hand, she immediately tried to jerk it away, her flesh crawling from his touch. However, his grip was iron and she had no choice but to let him continue his silent exploration.

           “Let go of her,” Klaus snarled, struggling to break free of his bonds.

           Damon watched him struggle, an amused grin on his pale face as he said, “We’re going to play a game. I’ll ask you questions, and each time you lie, my brother with touch another part of Caroline. And she has so many pretty parts.” He cocked his dark head, his voice little more than a sleazy purr. “And just so you know, Stefan has had his eye on her for awhile. Normally, there’s a strict a hands-off policy with our girls — since it’s just not worth the payoffs or the inevitable body dumps — but your little crush on her is too convenient not to exploit.”

           Caroline sucked in a gasp, looking away from Stefan’s blank stare as he continued to weirdly massage her knuckles. Fuck — why was he licking his lips?

           Clearly noticing Stefan’s disconcerting behavior, Klaus ground out through clenched teeth, “What do you want to know?”    

           “Your badge says ‘narcotics’. So, what are you? Cop? DEA?”

           “Narcotics agent. With the DEA,” He replied tersely. His steely gaze flicked over to Stefan, who paid him no mind as he continued to toy with Caroline’s hand, running a blunt nail across her cuticles. “I answered your question — let go of her,” he seethed.

           Damon shook his head, dark eyes full of mirth as he taunted, “You answered one question. And Stefan is still only touching one of Caroline’s parts. We need to give him a freebie — trust me, you don’t want Stefan to have idle hands.”

           She hated that she shivered at Damon’s threatening words, the weight of Stefan’s empty stare making her want to scream. Her thoughts raced at what Klaus had revealed. He wasn’t a local police officer — he worked at the federal level. This meant he was even more useful to her cause than she’d realized. Plus, it meant the Feds already were onto the Salvatores’ drug operation. With a start, she remembered the tiny camera hidden among the gaudy pearls of her ridiculous seashell bra. She needed to make sure everything that happened here was caught on camera.

           She subtly shifted, arching her back to get the best possible angle. She sat very still as she focused on Damon to ensure several frames were captured before moving onto Klaus, hoping she properly catalogued all of his injuries. It was when she turned her attention to Stefan that Damon called her out with a sharp laugh, “What’s with you pointing your tits at my brother? Yeah, your rack’s pretty awesome, but you’re one crazy bitch if you think it’s going to save you.”

           “Leave her alone,” Klaus demanded, mercifully pulling focus away from her for the moment.

           His face cleared as he nodded in agreement. “Right — back to my questions. So how long have the Feds been onto us and what evidence do you guys have?”

           Stefan briefly looked away from her, seemingly interested in Klaus’ response, and she quickly considered her options. What could she use as a weapon? She couldn’t risk damaging the camera in her ridiculous bra and the sequins of her mermaid costume only would scrape skin, not break it. Her Salvatore Sirens’ outfit was just as useless as it was uncomfortable. As she shifted her hips, she jumped slightly at the press of the steel boning that was poking its way through a hole in the lining. Of course! She’d accidentally ripped a seam climbing out of the giant clamshell during her act, and there hadn’t been time to see the stage manager before she was expected to mingle with the crowd.

           With a slight nudge of her free hand, she caressed the sharp tip of the metal, slowly inching it out of the small tear in the fabric. Once it was out, she hugged it tightly between her palm and her thigh, weighing her options. While she wished she could use it to cut through Klaus’ bonds, Stefan or Damon would stop her first. She had no choice — she’d need to injure Stefan before doing anything else. Feeling slightly queasy, she sucked in a breath and then took advantage of Stefan’s uncomfortably close proximity to lean into him just enough to hide her weapon. Her unexpected move distracted him and she managed to put all of her weight behind the first blow, jamming the rigid piece of metal into his neck. He immediately bellowed, instinctively grabbing at it to yank it out, spraying blood while Damon cursed and reached for her.

           She barely avoided Damon’s clutches, shoving a still-screaming Stefan away from her to get to Klaus. However, Klaus surprised her by leaping to his feet, hands already free. He’d silently freed himself and had been biding his time. In a blinding burst of speed, he’d managed to strike down Damon with some sort of downward-slashing movement with his elbow, and delivered a powerful punch to Stefan’s jaw, causing him to crumple to the ground with a pitiful moan, his neck wound continuing to bleed.  

           A fine spray of blood had splattered across them both and the air stank of sweat; however, Caroline was certain she’d never been more turned on in her life as she stared in wonder at Klaus. Returning her heated gaze, he told her, “You jumped the gun a bit, but I do enjoy a woman who takes charge, love.”

           Before she could reply, the room suddenly swarmed with agents who secured the Salvatores and began checking Caroline and Klaus’ injuries. He grimaced a bit when one of the agents poked a bit too hard at his ribs, but continued his debriefing, glancing over at Caroline to say, “While the Salvatores destroyed the bugs I’d planted in here, at least you’ll be able to corroborate what happened.”

           Caroline nodded, blue eyes lighting up excitedly as she answered, “Plus, there’s my boob camera!”

           From the quirk of his brow and flash of his dimples, it seemed Klaus was anxious to give her evidence a thorough examination.

[choicesaddictionwriting]

Breaking Point (Damien x MC)

SUMMARY: Eros torture Damien with the footage of his friends and love of his life seemingly moving on without him in attempt to break him for more information while being held captive Damien uncovers why he was chosen to be taken and replaced as well as how Eros really plan on getting Steve and Hayden back.

(A/N: Hope you enjoy this. I tried to explain some plot points and this is just what I think might be going on with some added drama) 

The Breaking Point (Damien x Emmy) 

“Uh Damien…the view is that way.” Emmy chuckled, with a sweeping hand gesturing to the view of Paris at night from the Eiffel tower.

“The views pretty nice this way, too” He responded, an all to familiar but lovestruck smirk on his face reflecting in Emmy’s eyes.

Damien adverted his gaze at that point. He knew where this was going. He’d seen the video too many times by now. Hell, he could recite it to you if you wanted him too. At first, he didn’t understand why they kept on replaying the same videos, did it hurt to see everyone is so easily tricked into thinking some machine was him? Perhaps, at the start but how could he blame than them?

Everything it said, everything it did, were things that he would do. Why would they not believe it was him? But he was past that now, he knew he couldn’t blame them or focus on it. Eros tactic was smart, break him by forcing him to watch his friends and the woman he loved by happy and spend time with a replacement version of him. In all honesty, it almost did, watching Emmy do all the things with that machine that he had waited and wanted to do with her for so long, almost broke him.

In reality, all it did was making him angry.

He raged at the sight of her being manipulated, taken advantage of by someone who looked just like him. And he could only imagine how Emmy would react too. She’d shut everyone else out, she’d blame herself, torture herself with guilt for not figuring it all sooner. For not knowing straight away that person she was talking to, kissing, planning a future with wasn’t really him, wasn’t really a person at all. She’d question, agonise over whether he would forgive her. Damien could hope for a chance to tell her that there was nothing to forgive.

He let Cecelie and all her minions at Eros believe that the videos were getting to him, wearing him down, letting them think he thought that his friends had moved on and weren’t coming for him. That watching the same video of everyone being happy, thinking that were free and clear even just for a little while was waiting for him. That Emmy had moved on and would forget about him because she had a better version.

But all Damien was really focused on was the tapes and getting what he could out of them.

They always replayed the same five days. Starting after the battle at the Eros headquarters, on the helicopters escaping the facility and ending at the Louvre, suspiciously mid-sentence. Emmy and whatever machine that was posing as him were discussing the future. His and Emmy’s future. Then they stop and look at paintings and the video is always stopped at the same moment just as Emmy was about say something.

After attending dozens of art shows to support Nadia, he and Emmy had a little game they would play. They would go round and imitate the artsy types they were surrounded by and take turns discussing the paintings. Asking each other stupid questions like what do you think of the grey oak frame selected in contrast with the blue of the painting, what do you think of the primrose colour selection, how does that painting make you feel?

He could only guess that the only thing that separated humans and the matches, the inability to describe the abstract, had given fake Damien away and they had realised that it wasn’t him. He could only hope. But he was sure that was what happened as it was the only reason why they always cut the video at that point and why they hadn’t shown him anything from fake Damien post that day. Assuming that they had shown him the video the day it happened, it had been three days since. Not that he could track days exactly inside wherever he was but based on what he guess at the times shown in the video. They went to the Louvre on Friday 18th and today was either Sunday 20th or Monday 21st. He guessed that Eros wanted him to think that they still thought that robotic Damien was the real thing.

His suspicions were eventually confirmed. Another day, another interrogation and another viewing but this time Cecile was unexpectedly pulled away in the middle of Thursday the day before the trip to the Louvre. She let the video keep playing, most likely assuming that whatever was playing her away wasn’t going to take long but it did. And finally, on Damien got to see what happens after what he had seen before.

“What did you just say?” He watched Emmy ask, the look of horror creeping over her face as she dropped it’s hand and turned to face fake Damien, looking right into the camera hidden in it’s eyes.

Damien watched the panic continue as fake Damien struggled, tried to come up with words. Making the same sounds of frustration as he would. Snapping at Emmy as he tried to come up with something anything.

He finally saw the panic rise in Emmy but she still let it hold her hand, the grip evidently strong as Emmy winced slightly. And then it was confirmed.

“I can’t Emmy. I can’t,” It said, his eyes or cameras still fixated on Emmy.

Emmy’s breathing quickened instantaneously, she began to shake wordlessly, her eyes starting to blur with tears but remaining focused on the fake version of Damien starting back at her, clearing reflecting her predominate emotion.

Panic.

Damien saw exactly what he feared to come to fruition. She was panicking, He knew the signs. It was like he knew exactly what she was thinking and none of it was good. She screaming at herself for not knowing and then the questions over his wellbeing sank in. He could see it in the flicker of her eyes.

Both Damien and Emmy prided themselves in knowing the most about the other and Damien was sure he knew Emmy the best out of anyone and yet he continued to surprise him. Damien knew what he expected her to do at that point. But instead, he watched Emmy do something else. He knew she wanted to do those things but instead with tears in her eyes he watched her comfort the distressed machine and tell him it was going to be okay. He saw her run away but not in fear but to get help for him, to tell others. She even promised to come back.

Eros had made mistake. Their tactic of wearing him down maybe would have worked if had been forced to watch that scene multiple times. What was worse than seeing the person you love with someone else? Seeing the person you love in pain.

For once Damien was thankful when Cecile came back in and turned off the video, he expected her to say something but she apparently had something more important in mind. She switched off the video as a camera was brought in, positioned accordingly so both of them were clearly in the frame.

She began speaking, talking to Emmy and the others. Elbowing him in the face halfway through because Damien couldn’t help but take back. Damien licked the blood off his lips as Cecile continued to speak into the camera.

“…this spying and messing around has gone on long enough, Emmy. This is your chance to wipe the slate clean with us,” Cecile stated poignantly to the camera, “I’ve attached coordinates in Paris convenient for your posse to meet us. The deal is simple. Damien in exchange for Hayden and Steve. I expect a discussion will ensure as to who you would prefer. And by then, we’ll have had our fun…Won’t we, Damien?”

She glanced over at him, flashing him a sicking smile that made him thrash against the bindings containing him to the chair. She then quickly walked over and grabbed his chin only for him to quickly shake it out of her grasp.

“Looking forward to it,” He spat, furiously.

“I’ll see you soon,” Cecile grinned before motioning for the camera to be switched off and removed.

“That’s a pretty stupid plan,” Damien commented strategically and all-knowingly, watching her intently as she turned her back watching the camera be taken away, “You think their stupid enough to believe you’ll simply exchange me for them?”

“No, well at least not at first,” Cecile responded calmly taking a seat across from Damien, a deviously grin playing on her lips, “In fact I’m sure they’ll start devising a way to save you and keep hold of Match 109 and 103 as soon as they see the message and then well if what I expect to happen happens then I’m sure they’ll be exactly where we want them,”

“And what’s that?” Damien persisted.

Cecile eyebrow cocked up suspiciously in response, as well as disbelief at the question.

“Why not enlighten me?” Damien continued, “It’s not like I can stop them or you from here,”

“That is true,” Cecile agreed, drumming her fingers on the surface of the table.

“Bored?” Damien questioned.

“I’m waiting,” She smirked, “And don’t ask me for what,”

“Alright,” Damien began, knowing that if he was going to get anywhere that he was going to switch tactics, “Tell me this. How did you get that thing to act like so much like me because I’m telling you I’ve watched the tapes a couple times now and you guys have me believing that it’s me there. How did you do it?”

Damien watched Cecile eyes brighten up in what he could only assume was excitement. This was clearly her pet project and people like her treated their work like their children. They were proud of them and loved to talk about them.

“Well, it helped that we already had a lot of your information from when you tried to join our service,” She began, “We’re not in the business of making versions of actual people. So we couldn’t do it for just anyone, well not yet at least. Of course, due to the speed of which we needed it, your double we’ll call him, isn’t as advance as our matches but convincing none the less. There are things missing, like small habits, ticks, things that we couldn’t found out through research but in essence, it doesn’t matter because they can be explained away by human error. Humans aren’t consistent by nature so not having those things in a way make them more realistic. More human, matches are much easier as there is nothing to compare or base them off.”

“But they still figured it out,” Damien said.  

“We anticipated that they would figure it out eventually. Like I said he isn’t perfect and his purpose was only to keep track and make them think they had the upper hand,” She elaborated.

“So you knew they would figure it out?” He pointed out, expertly knowing that it would suggest he wasn’t listening.

“Didn’t I just say that?”  She snapped, clearly and visually annoyed, “Of course. No self respecting artist would go to Paris and not go to the worlds most famous art museum. It was only a matter of time before Nadia forced them all their which perhaps is the worse place for the current version of our machines,”

“What was the point? Dramatic effect?” Damien asked.

“Damien haven’t you figured out why we replaced you and not say Emmy or even Nadia for that matter?” Cecile questioned, genuinely surprised given what she knew that he hadn’t.
 “I don’t know, my dazzling personality?” Damien offered with a cheeky grin.

“It’s because you’re her weakness,”

“Whose?” Damien demanded

“You’re darling Emmy’s of course,” She smirked evilly.

“What do you mean?” Damien argued.

“There is a reason why Miss Emmeline Park is my favourite client,” She stated.

“Oh yeah and why’s that?” Damien probed.

“She is constantly defying expectation.” Cecile stated launching into an explanation, “Given her past perhaps I should have anticipated it. She is the only client that hasn’t fallen for their match. We created her perfect match, a match that would take away her biggest fear of being alone and unlovable and yet the more time she spent with her match. The more she realised that the sort of person she’d always imaged spending her life with isn't the person she actually wants to spend her life with. We gave her the best friend she wanted and all it did was make her realise that she was in love with you. It was surprise because we usually pick up on things like we did with you. But she surprised us and proved our algorithm wrong by loving you. A man who definitely not her type,���

“No offence taken,” Damien smirked, unfazed.

“But anyway our mistake has only played to our advantage in the end,” Cecile commented.

“Oh?” Damien prompted, confused.

“Her realising her feelings for you and subsequently acting on them makes her vulnerable, susceptible to emotional outbursts and decisions. Emmy historically very controlled, her moral compass unwavering. She acts based on said compass and doesn’t act against it. Which is why before she would do anything to protect matches 103 and 109 because despite knowing they are machines she sees them as people,” Cecile explained, getting carried away, playing right into Damien’s scheme.

“They are,” Damien snapped.

“Regardless of what you all believe, now that we have you as leverage I suspect that those morals she uses to guide her are being challenged. Balancing what she knows to be right with wanting you back,”

“You don’t know Emmy if you think…” Damien began, furious at the suggestion.

“Neither do you. Well, at least not in this condition. With the man, she loves life in the balance. Who knows what she’ll do, what she’ll give up in order to save you,”

“Even if your plan does work. You might have convinced Emmy but what about the others. You think Nadia and Sloane are going willing give up Hayden and Steve?” Damien countered, unconvinced.

“Yes, if Emmy convinces them which she can and will,” Cecile elaborated, impenitently.


“I don’t…” Damien began to say before bing cut off.


“Do you still not understand?” Cecile interrupted, before continuing without thinking in frustration,  “Emmy is the glue that holds all of your little group together. Every member has strong ties to Emmy which makes her the most influential. Nadia is her family. You are the love of her life. Hayden is her perfect match, he programmed to make her love him and he will give himself if he thinks that will do it. Miss Washington has feelings for her. Steve will do whatever Nadia says. Even your ex Miss Kasuma will do what she says. Because Emmy has that magnetic quality that we could only ever try to replicate with our matches. Do you understand?”

“I do,” Damien nodded, taking a deep breath as for the first time his belief and his confidence were starting to waver, he began to doubt and question what he knew, “If Emmy breaks so does everyone else and they’ll give you exactly what you want and the only way to make her break was to take me,”

“Because Mr Nazario, Love is the most powerful emotion of all,”  

[beacon-of-chaos]

Defenders of Aura - A Battle Century G Campaign Diary

Session 4

We pick up where we left off, outside the research facility and ready to investigate. First of all, we check the remains of Jericho's mech for info. The mech is on fire and Fiona gets some burns for her trouble, but she is able to recover a black box. The information from it is... unusual. Jericho was an expert pilot, but according to this, whoever was controlling the mech had no idea what they were doing, with random button presses and a complete lack of finesse. Seems like Jericho wasn't the pilot after all. But then who was it?

We enter the facility (after checking for traps and defence systems, naturally) and start poking around. Fiona notes that this lab belongs to the Sendai Corporation, who ran her family out of business. She is not pleased about this (I'll spare you the long rant we received). Most of the doors we find are locked, but one leads us to a computer lab. Inside we find the all of the computers have been wiped clean recently. We also find the remains of some noodle dinners (that Ax decides to sample, against the advice of the others), and a petri dish of some unknown chemicals. Spectre is unable to analyse the chemical (note: his player was unable to make this session so the GM ran his character) so we take it with us. We also find, locked in a drawer, schematics for the mech we just fought.

After more searching the group finds a computer that hasn't been fully wiped and is, in fact, still logged in. We check it out and find exactly the evidence we need. Communication records between the Alpha Team leader, David Washington, and several co-conspirators high up in the Neovara government, detailing the attack on the president and the comms blackout in the city. Fiona immediately calls up Nina to tell her the news and send her the files. Nina is horrified by this information and orders the team to get back on the double while she starts an investigation. It's at this point that Sinclair realises something.

Sinclair: Isn't this all just a bit... convenient? We just happen to find the one computer that hasn't been wiped and it just happens to have exactly the evidence we need, including a huge list of suspects that just happen to be powerful people in our own government. Fiona: ...A list that shouldn't existed in the first place. They CC'd in every single traitor? Who does that!? Dammit, we've been had!

We decide to book it back to the dropship as quickly as possible. We get into our mechs and use our jet boosters to travel back to the landing pad as quickly as possible. It isn't until we are in the air at a fair distance that we suddenly get warning lights all over our cockpits. Our jets are suddenly switching off! We're in trouble! Thinking fast, we all drop our jet packs as they're heavy and filled with jet fuel, not something you want to hang on to in a crash. All except Ax, who decides to use his explosive guitar hammer thing to create a shockwave to cushion his fall. Because, y'know, that makes sense. But it's anime and metal as hell so the GM allows it. Sinclair uses his mech's shielding aura to further protect the team from harm.

Ax manages to survive the landing, though his weapon is now in ruins and his reactor is damaged, meaning his mech is dangerously close to shutting down completely. Fiona's mech is also heavily damaged, with most of her systems failing. Sinclair gets lucky and sticks the landing (two for two!) with the use of his shields and Spectre lands in a lake, losing his primary weapon.

We're stuck in the middle of nowhere, our mechs and have sabotaged and- oh, would you look at that: Those enemy drones are returning and they have weapons armed. We're in a bad position here, but we have a minute or so to quickly organise ourselves before we're under attack.

Sinclair moves to repair Fiona's mech first; with her weapons and targeting systems down she'd be a sitting duck otherwise. She thanks him and takes up a defensive position around the others. Without his assault rifle, Spectre is limited to using his beam sword so he too defends. Ax uses his sniper rifle to take potshots at the drones, managing to hit one and send it off course.

Then, they're on top of us. They hit us with a few missiles, but the damage we sustain is minimal. Fiona and Spectre rush into melee while Sinclair attempts to fix Ax's reactor and keep him in the fight. When they're about to be rushed down, Sinclair notes something odd: The drones have been avoiding him. They've had plently of chances to shoot him but have always veered away. He has a bad feeling about all this. In an attempt to aid his allies, he reveals a hidden weapon on his mech: a giant electrified steel net, which he tosses over some of the drones, trapping them for long enough for Ax to pick them off.

Fiona finally gets pissed off and reveals a new trick of her own: Her mech's eyes glow red, steam rises from vents, and her giant wrench transforms into a modified cutting laser that slices through one of the drones like a hot knife through butter.

Only two drones left, but they're getting away. They're too far for us to chase and it looks like they're almost out of range, until the last second, when powerful sniper blasts from nowhere tear through the drones. Three new mechs appear. A quick scan reveals that it's Alpha Team. They destroyed the last of the drones, but they still have weapons raised at us.

There's a tense stand-off as we get each other on comms and try to decide if we are allies or enemies. The leader, Washington, tells us that there's a conspiracy out to frame Alpha Team and the Neovaran government for the attack and that it came from Novak. We decide to share the information we've learned. Everything seems to match up with what they tell us. We ask about Jericho and Washington tells us he went missing days ago. The drones we fought were unmarked, but it seems likely, given that our mechs were sabotaged, that the drones had Neovaran technology in them. Sinclair notes that he can think of one person who had access to all their mechs, is an accomplished mechanic, and would want to avoid hurting him: Sara Wong.

We ask what to do next. Washington invites us to stay at the Alpha Team temporary base they've set up in order to plan our next mission: Invading Novak.

And that's the end of session 4. Our GM noted afterwards that this arc wasn't supposed to last this long (we're doing the episodic thing) but we all agreed that it's awesome so far. Fiona's player also came up with a great idea:

Fiona: What does any mech pilot do after they've been betrayed by their country and need to make a dramatic return? Paint their mech black and wear a mask!

Next session is gonna be good.

Any feedback so far?

Bonus quotes: http://www.giantitp.com/forums/shows...postcount=1166

[talkingsquidphd]

Review: Boston Comic Con

Cosplaying at a fan convention has been on my bucket list since I was about 12 and binging Bleach under the covers way past lights out. While such an endeavor once seemed as far-fetched as other big-ticket bucket items like stepping foot in Venice, living in Boston – a bastion of East-coast fan culture which boasts not one, not two, but three major cons – made it not only possible but as easy as a T ride to tick that box at Boston Comic Con this weekend.

The cosplay itself was years in the making – specifically, assembled fully for an all-in Halloween costume three years ago and then stuffed in a box in my closet for the intervening period. I played Levi Ackerman, humanity’s deadliest (and shortest) soldier from postapocalyptic anime Attack on Titan. While I have not an iota of Levi’s athleticism and coordination, we’re both neat freaks and my hair looks a bit like his, and that was enough for me. Compared to my costume of several years ago, I scaled down somewhat and went for a lighter “Summer Corps” version of Levi’s outfit, figuring if I wore full-length white skinny jeans, full military harness, and knee-high leather boots, I’d keel over from heat stroke the minute I walked out my front door.

[LTR: Full harness, Levi himself, and my most recent summerfied cosplay.]

Like a tourist craning their neck to take in their first real eyeful of New York skyscrapers, I took a simple, naïve pleasure in quiet spectacles of the con that more veteran attendees have no doubt long outgrown. I couldn’t help but crack a grin at the old-hat dissonance between the guests’ fantastical exteriors and the inescapable mundane – Link withdrawing cash from an ATM, Batman reading a monograph on Russian farming techniques in line for a panel, a fully armored Master Chief munching on a tray of nachos in the food court. I reveled in the unapologetic oddity of the wares – demonic contact lenses, Invisalign-esque vampire fangs, elf ears – and the seriousness with which folks debated their investments. An overheard retort from a husband to a wife clutching a replica Anduril: “yes, but how often are you going to use it?” Let naïve first experiences like this never be undervalued – it brought me such unique joy to see this con through a newbie’s eyes.

Thrilling and nervewracking in equal parts was the perpetual anticipation of fan interactions as I walked the halls and aisles. Characters in Attack on Titan, the show I was cosplaying from, often exchange a simple, iconic salute:

Like a freemason itching to share a secret handshake, I at first looked to other Attack on Titan-clad cosplayers to initiate it, but it came most often from the unlikeliest of places. As I passed the metal detectors on Saturday, an ultrafemme Princess Peach suddenly snapped to attention and did it; on Sunday, a bouncer on the main floor saluted as I showed him my wristband. Though I mildly botched these left-field salutations, I always felt a small rush of confidence and pride at having allies all around me, hidden in plain sight via another fandom’s cosplay.

Judging by the crowds – or lack thereof – my panel choices were a bit unconventional (no pun intended). While I peeked my head in an exit to the Main Theater to hear Charlie Cox answering questions in his disarming British accent and John Barrowman strutting up and down the stage in a fetching Tardis dress, I elected to skip many of the ‘big’ names in favor of smaller panels I wasn’t so confident would be back next year – mostly voice actors responsible for some of my favorite genre performances in recent years.

First up was Jennifer Hale, the iconic voice actress who brought to life the female version of Mass Effect protagonist Commander Shepard. While Shepard was far from the first strong female protagonist to grace video games, let alone the genre of sf, getting to roleplay a female RPG protagonist for whom (just like her male counterpart) saving the galaxy is just another Tuesday contributed hugely to making Mass Effect my favorite video game series of all time. Hale was a relentlessly positive guest, and even the most mundane questions afforded cute answers. Hale’s dream role? “Something where I get to sing, ride a horse, and be Commander Adama at the same time.” Hale’s opinion on the somewhat controversial term ‘FemShep’? “With female characters in gaming, we’re cutting through a lot of stuff, making the trail as we go. If ‘FemShep’ is an axe to cut through that, then I think we need it – I’m all for it.” It was particularly cool to hear Hale talk about the process of recording for voice acting – how she managed the performance she gave line-by-line, with little context and almost no retakes, is beyond me. True or not, it helped me recoup some of my dignity to hear Hale claim she had just as hard a time keeping dry eyes while recording some of the final scenes between Shepard and Garrus as I did watching them. And of course, as with any voice acting panel, Hale graciously obliged requests to say famous lines as Shepard.

[”I should go.”]

Sunday brought a double whammy of panels. I scooted into line just in time to catch Attack on Titan’s English voice actors Bryce Papenbrook (Eren Jaeger) and Trina Nishimura (Mikasa) doodling AoT-themed pictures on an overhead projector and taking questions from a gratifyingly packed room. The two had easy, goofy chemistry that made the panel a real pleasure. I was particularly tickled when, after admitting they’d almost never cosplayed their characters, they gave a kudos to the dedicated cosplayers in the audience who’d spent (on average!) an hour or two struggling their way into the show’s complex but inescapably characteristic military harnesses.

[Color coded for your convenience.]

I will say that for a brutal, anyone-can-die show which more than earns its TV-MA rating with frequent depictions of people being eaten alive in graphic slow motion, there were a disturbing number of relatively young kids in the audience. Still, they somehow consistently asked the best questions and never seemed hampered by starstruckness. A boy no older than seven or eight got up and asked what their favorite part being voice actors was, which the two ran with for some time. When asked to choose a favorite – a show, a ship, a scene – all the celebrity guests were predictably and diplomatically deferential, often turning the question back on its asker, but my favorite such response came from Papenbrook when asked to choose a favorite role. “Don’t make me choose!” he pleaded. “My roles are like my children, and my children are all screamy and angsty and live inside my head – I don’t want to make them mad.”

[I can’t blame him.]

Finally, I queued up for the Main Theater to sit in on a Q&A with Eliza Dushku, a Whedonverse actress primarily of Buffy and Dollhouse fame. While most of the questions referenced Dushku’s tenure as Faith, a pointed question about female representation in Dollhouse led her to acknowledge the show is in part “about human trafficking,” which both affirms and complicates the thrust of my research on the subject up to now. More than anything, Dushku played on being native to Boston, throwing out restaurant recommendations and referencing local stores where she’d assembled her audition costumes for characters like Faith. And, as always, you learn a new thing every day: Dushku’s family hails from Albania, where she is considered somewhat of a national hero for bringing attention to the small nation via her acting.

Having never attended a con before and therefore having few frames of reference for how most things were handled, the only real criticism I can level against the con this year was that the merch seemed strangely disconnected from the guest lineup which drew me to the con in the first place. No doubt taking cues from a spring and summer lineup of Marvel and DC blockbusters, vendors were stocked to the gills with superheroic souvenirs… despite the fact that the con’s biggest panels and most popular fan experiences drew more often from live-action TV, anime, and cosplay. Despite three midsize events organized around Attack on Titan, merch for the show was thin on the ground; though Jennifer Hale was billed first and foremost as the voice actress for FemShep, Mass Effect merch was nowhere to be found. I might chalk this up to an attempt by the con to differentiate itself from Anime Boston and Pax East (Boston’s video gaming convention), but nonetheless it left this fan a little bummed and almost emptyhanded after three or four full circuits of the vendor floor.

Still, Boston Comic Con was on the whole a great introduction to the world of fan gatherings for an enthusiastic first-timer. I’m already scheming a new cosplay for round two next year – or, at the very least, a visit to one of Boston’s other bustling cons in the intervening months.