#day five: pawn to player

[joelsgoldrush]

“never is a promise” | 12.4k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ mentions of drinking. angst. some fluff. old man!logan x caregiver!reader. implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties). miscommunication. slow burn. pining. reader is shorter than logan and has long hair. charles in his cupid era. petnames. minor injuries. wound tending. mentions of blood. virgin!reader. dirty talk. cum shots. fingering. handjobs. oral sex (m receiving). loving sex. sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?). unprotected p in v.

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will be CHANGED) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces. 

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet.” He hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” He reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them.” He relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn.” You blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. “That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy.”

“Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though.” You stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he says, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize.

Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices it, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on.

The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place.

Whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. Still, the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere.

In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Alright. You don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life.

But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that.” You squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different.” You place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” You rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support.

You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe.” You glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” His voice falters, overcome by his own emotions. 

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I.” You stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him.

You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat. Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread.

Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming.

“You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you?  “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line.

Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers.

As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present.

Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips.

Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you.

One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby.” He pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order.

While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest.

Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation.

Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” He inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot.

As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine.

Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant.

There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince.

The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs.

The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos. 

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was The Wolverine.

The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow.

Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself.

The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. Warmth crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?” 

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life.

The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence.

Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your humid breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night.

The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto.

On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite.

But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it��s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides.

All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door.

He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower.

Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were followin’ me. Had been doin’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?” you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—” your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—”

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t—”

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks.

Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time. 

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—”

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface.

Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind.

Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds. 

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored.

You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes. 

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you struggle to put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you.

You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming.

Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented.

Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively.

Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee.

“Was it a nightmare?” you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.” 

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early.” You stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” You prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it.

Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” You decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” You pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected.

Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know.

“When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” He gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him.

Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist.

It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“I asked you something.” His teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down.” You obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side.

He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips.

“So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” He edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt.

Logan’s on the verge of drooling all over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath.

A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm.

The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples.

“It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” One of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” You can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this.

Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?” 

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God.” He slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute.” He begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to swell in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I can tell.” He curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, sweetheart. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax.

Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily.

You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest.

He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?” 

“Like you want to see right through me.” He adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t. 

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers. 

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good.” He looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog.

Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation. 

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs. 

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him.

“That lie’s older than me.” He slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. Gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite all that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise, and you hate how determined he is. 

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off. 

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” You trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” He laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” It’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him.

You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” Your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you.

Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization. “He looks happier, doesn’t he?” he asks says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you. 

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are. 

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school.

You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to. 

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home.

He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head.

Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent.

You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up.

But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever.

He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps.

You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, though the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts.

It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—”

Before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake.

His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” It’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm.

Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “Think I asked you somethin’. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘Hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of this man.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?”

You search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all these layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine.” You rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” You edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surround your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place.

Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” You retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best.” He presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually.

The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip. 

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to.” You cup his cheek, guiding his lips into yours one more time. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room.

Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you.” He trails his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine.” His tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you.

You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open. 

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughin’?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always l-love you. Forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts.

He feels like a madman, his eyes fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length. 

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge.

“That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound.

You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while. 

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like.” His voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing, baby. Just thinkin’ aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not now. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And God, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[azen13]

I’ve never been to a Starlight Pawnshop before…just look at all this stuff. Too bad I can’t buy everything in this store.

Wait a minute, who left this Chess Piece out by itself? No matter, I’ll gladly take it, even if I’ve never played a single game before in my life!

A Losing Game

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Chess Pawn: A finely-carved chess pawn. If life is a chessboard, then so too are people pawns in other's games. Based on this pawn’s pristine condition, whoever controlled it loved it quite dearly.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CW: Yandere Themes, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Gaslighting

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Jing Yuan is an accomplished man. As the General of the Xianzhou Luofu, he has accumulated a list of titles and achievements that could fill a thousand archives: master of foresight; skilled with a glaive; voted “Most Attractive Bachelor” of the Xianzhou Luofu five years in a row. And, of course, his prowess at Starchess.

Yes, Jing Yuan is very, very good at Starchess. One of the best in the entirety of the Xianzhou Alliance, if not in the entire galaxy. While his knowledge of opening lines could be considered weak for his level of gameplay, after he gets settled, he excels at slowly cutting off his opponent’s options, until reaching the endgame. 

In Starchess, the endgame is extremely important. A poorly-played endgame can lead to a crushing defeat, while quick thinking and clever maneuvering of pieces can allow a pawn to be promoted to a queen, which can then help propel a player to victory.

While Jing Yuan is good at Starchess, he is almost undefeatable in the endgame.

Until today.

The ring was perfect and understated, a band of solid gold engraved with delicate patterns. He knew everything about you from years of dismantling every thread of your being apart, and knew you didn’t care for things that were too gaudy and outwardly luxurious. The night was perfectly planned: a picnic beneath the starlit sky, constellations framing your face like a crown. He had hidden the ring at the bottom of the basket, beneath a beautiful meal of the finest the Luofu had to offer. And you were going to be there, boundless in beauty and grace, sharp as a sword and sweet as sugar.

Tonight, though, Jing Yuan tastes the sea on his lips.

How long has it been since he has cried? Centuries, he thinks, standing in the foyer of his home, the front door slightly ajar. A biting wind snaps its jaws at Jing Yuan through the opening, but he cannot feel it. He can hardly feel anything. 

The numbness spreads from his heart outwards as he moves, first forwards to shut the door. A brief glance outside, and he can still imagine you standing there. In better circumstances, you and him would have gone to Fyxestroll Gardens, and enjoyed a quiet night. He would have proposed. You would have accepted. Everything would be right in the world. But when Jing Yuan opened the door, what greeted him was the greatest misfortune he had ever faced.

You stood outside, jagged shadows stretching like scars across your face, your posture guarded, your face unreadable. At first, Jing Yuan assumed you just had a terrible day, perhaps because of your job, perhaps because of something else. But then you began to speak, poison spilling from your lips, killing both you and him. He knows this is a grave mistake, but you have already drowned in these lies.

As you walk away from him, Jing Yuan makes a vow to himself: he will not let you leave. No, not like this.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Without you by his side, safe and secure in his loving embrace, the General’s night is restless; as he tosses and turns, he replays the memories of hurt again and again in his mind, trying to wrap his head around your reasoning so he can dismantle it when he has you again. He may have unknowingly made a blunder, but he will still win this game, the most important game of his life.

Maybe a stop by the Alchemy Commission–your workplace–is necessary, no? Last time he heard, investigators are still clearing out spies from the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus hiding amongst its members. 

Jing Yuan takes a moment to check his schedule, a relaxed smile falling on his face. He still has several hours before his first meeting of the day. Enough time to bring you back home, where you belong. A brief flash of uncertainty courses through his body, like a chess player second-guessing their plan, before he steadies himself. This is for your benefit, he tells himself. With all the dangers on the Luofu, someone like you cannot simply remain unprotected. 

With a calm and patient gait, the General of the Luofu makes his way to the Alchemy Commission.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

He scrutinizes the cramped halls of the building you work in carefully, noting a pawn here, a bishop there. All people, yet all pieces in the game of love, and the inevitable, complete conquering of your heart. Perhaps they are playing their own games, but they do not matter. In this game, they are Jing Yuan’s pieces to move. Before today, they may have been your pieces. But while the game of life and the game of chess share many similarities, they are not one in the same. Life’s board flips and moves, expands and shrinks. Pieces change allegiances, or disappear and reappear entirely.

The board is not on your side today. You don’t even notice Jing Yuan watching you from the hall, preparing your doom. Within moments, he strides in the room, his lazy gait and relaxed expression taking control over the room and its occupants–including you–in mere seconds. Shocked faces spread like lightning, from healer to healer, before striking yours. You stand in complete terror, as Jing Yuan claims you with a simple glance, before speaking in an authoritative tone, booming like thunder.

“Mx. L/N, you are hereby arrested.” Eyes that once melted with fondness when simply seeing your face now bore into you with frigid disgust.

You can’t help but flinch from the words, mouth agape and mind blank. After a moment, you manage to collect yourself, disregarding the stares of those around you. “Excuse me? What for?” You demand. 

Jing Yuan tilts his head, looking down at you. “Sedition against the Xianzhou Luofu through serving the Plagues Author and the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus,” he cites, taking a stride forward, arms snapping to lock your limbs behind your back like shackles. “You will be taken to the Seat of Divine Foresight and given a proper sentencing for your crimes.”

Try as you may, your shouts and screams of vehement denial do you no good as Jing Yuan walks you out. Streets pass you by like snapshots of a past life. You can see the tea shop where you and Jing Yuan went on your first date. His favorite restaurant to order takeout from. The balcony overlooking the Ambrosial Arbor where he first kissed you. Thousands upon thousands of moves, each and every one thought out to perfection. Countless gambits taken, small victories celebrated, and little defeats mourned. You had nearly defeated him. Or so you thought.

Eventually, you make it to the Seat of Divine Foresight, Jing Yuan’s arms still vice like in their hold, yet not tight enough to hurt. You try to follow the turns the General takes–a right, a left, another left, up a flight of stairs, right again–but your focus wanes.

You are not guilty of any crime.

At least, so you think. Because you committed a grave offense: breaking the weak, feeble heart of your lover.

A lifelong sentence is only fair, no?

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“My dearest, why must you struggle?” Jing Yuan murmurs as he pulls you into a small room with only a table and two chairs. Pulling you away from the door, the General gently places you on the ground, and remains by the exit, cutting off any chance of escape you may have.

“Why must you falsely accuse me?” You retort, voice flickering with fire and burning bright, even amongst all the encroaching darkness.

Jing Yuan’s soft smile slowly dissipates into a frown, the shine in his eyes dimming away into nothingness. “Y/N, I have been nothing but patient with you. I have explained why I must protect you. You understood then. Why can’t you understand now?” Slowly, like he’s trying to comfort a skittish animal, Jing Yuan inches towards you, arms outstretched inviting you into his embrace. 

“Because you’re a psycho!” You hiss, stepping backwards. Despite your insult, the General does not anger. Instead, disappointment flashes across his face. He takes another step forward, effectively cornering you.

With a quiet, hushed tone that echoes in the room like a hollow breeze, Jing Yuan’s arms find their way around your torso, pulling you tightly against him. Regardless of how much you struggle, you cannot escape Jing Yuan. “You don’t think that, love. You’re afraid. That’s okay. That’s why I’m here. To care for you. To protect you. To love you. Don’t you want that?” He asks quietly, letting you wear yourself out until you melt in his hands like putty, exhausted in every sense. A few moments of utter silence pass, before he speaks up again. “Why don’t we go home now? I have a surprise waiting for you.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The moment you return home, Jing Yuan locks the door. To protect you from yourself, he says. Though that’s a condensed version of his actual words, which are far more persuasive, spinning you around in a whirlwind of logic and reasoning you can’t seem to keep up with.

Only a second later, the General is down on one knee, a ring in hand and a glint of fire in his eyes. For a moment, you think the look is a soft, gentle thing. But then you see it for what it is: a love so warped it cannot simply be called love anymore.

As much as you want to reject his proposal, to slap him across the face and attempt to spark another uprising against his smothering love, you know it would do you no good. He would only force the ring on your finger and crown you his spouse, whether you liked it or not.

Checkmate.

[sansastarkmonth2024]

Hello again! This is your reminder that Sansa Week is upon us, less than a month away! 

Our prompts are:

Day One: Little Dove

Day Two: Court Life

Day Three: Friends & Foes

Day Four: Love/Marriage

Day Five: Pawn to player

Day Six: Heritage

Day Seven: Future

Remember to use the #sansaweek2024 tag for your fan-work so that it reaches us and a wider audience. We'll see you on May 15 sharp 😊❤️

[justhereforxreaders]

The Prince and the Dragon Rider - Part Seven: The Rift

Jacaerys Velaryon x dragon rider!reader

Summary: while still reeling from your first day in King’s Landing, you must come to terms with the command given during your private conversation with Princess Rhaenyra.

Warnings: angst, anxiety/panic attacks

part one: the oath

part two: tempest

part three: the dawn

part four: the test

part five: precipice

part six: pieces and players

soundtrack - listening recommendations:

• triassic love song by Paris Paloma • I’d Have to Think About It by Leith Ross • putting a spin on good luck, babe! by Egg • Call Your Mom by Noah Kahan •

After making your way through the endless maze of The Red Keep, and finally finding your newly assigned chambers within the palace, you sat in the stillness trying to calm yourself. Though you’d have likely found more rest if you had continued to wander. The opulence of the vast, unfamiliar space only made you feel more isolated and out of place.

With no other anchor to cling to as you try to soothe your heartache, your mind drifts to your mother.

Six short years of life by her side gave you little insight into the kind of person she was, or the kind of person she hoped you’d be. She was likely kind, and certainly clever, but what you knew without question was that she was incomparably fierce. In your bleakest moments on your journey with Tempest, you’d holdfast to the memory of her strength, using it endure whatever challenges you faced.

Surviving life’s hardships was your way to honor her sacrifices. And though, you told yourself that she’d be proud of who you’d become, you’d always pondered what kind of life she’d have wished for you if survival hadn’t been her primary driving force. If she’d been given the opportunity to be carefree and gentle, what kind of person would that have made you. Surely she wanted more than mere survival for you, but was the life you sold yourself to what she’d have wanted for you? Were you still honoring her memory?

Which was why, as fierce as you had made yourself and as hard as you fought to prove your worth within a realm of dragonlords, you also strived to preserve some of the softness within you that she was denied. If there was hope that you’d be able to find a peaceful life, you wanted your heart to be able to receive it.

However, as you sit alone with an ache so powerful it feels as though your chest has been set alight, you begin to despise your effort to protect that tenderness. If all you were meant to do was simply become a pawn in someone else’s game, what use was there for softness? What need was there for love?

You are so consumed by your thoughts that you do not hear the soft knock at your door or the quiet footsteps that tiptoe across the room as you lie motionless on top of your bedding. When Jace whispers your name from the foot of the bed, it takes you a moment to realize it is not in your head.

“Are you alright?” he whispers slightly louder, voice laced with concern. “I returned to the godswood and you had already gone.”

You sit up slowly, avoiding his eyes, and fold your legs beneath you, keeping your gaze fixed on the fabric below. After a beat and no response from you, you hear him shuffle around to the side of the bed.

“What did my mother speak to you about?” He asks quietly and your breath hitches.

He takes notice and moves to sit at the edge of the bed. Unable to bring yourself to voice the Princess’s command, you force yourself to look up and find his gaze in the dark. His eyes widen at your disheveled state and he darts a hand out to grasp yours.

“What happened?” He asks in a frantic whisper. “What’s wrong?”

You close your eyes and take your hand from his, steadying yourself with a shaky breath before finding your voice.

“I have been instructed to keep my distance from you,” your voice cracks, hoarse from hours of silence following your onslaught of tears.

“By who?” He moves closer to your face to see you clearly, “My mother?”

You sigh deeply and nod your head, he stands from the bed suddenly and you watch as he begins to pace the floor.

“She believes the nature of our companionship could be called into question, thus, jeopardizing your prospects for alliances through marriage.” You mutter.

“I fail to see why anyone would concern themselves with such speculation. You are my friend. Where is the fault in that?” He huffs and continues to pace back and forth.

“Jacaerys,” you say softly, “look at us. The closeness of our friendship is no secret to anyone, but what if you were to be discovered here? Alone in my chambers in the dead of night?” He stops in his tracks, as if this is the first he’s considered this, “Accusations and assumptions would not be difficult to form.”

“Why should it matter what they say, if it isn’t true?” He mumbles, staring intently at the floor.

“It doesn’t matter what they say or what they think,” You stand, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to contain the sorrow building within, “but I cannot allow them to turn me into a weapon to be used against you.”

His head snaps up in your direction, the confusion plain on his face as you continue.

“Look at why we’ve travel all this way in the first place. There are always going to be those looking to undermine and discredit someone in your position. Whether you admit it or not, you know our friendship could harm you and your standing. I will not risk being complicit in your pain.”

“And what of the pain that your absence would inflict? Why must we be forced to choose between happiness and duty?” He pleads and steps toward you.

“Your mother tried to have both, did she not?” You say plainly and he finds your eyes before placing his hands on your arms.

“Yes but this is different, there has to be a way,” there is a desperation in his voice that you have not heard before that breaks your heart even further, “Why must her mistakes determine our future? We can find our own path.”

You step closer and unfold your arms, taking hold of his hands as he makes to pull them away.

“The moment I took my oath, I knew I was giving up my right to my own path, Jace. For a time, it was easy to forget the larger roles we would be called to play. It felt like we could have both…” your voice trails off as you absentmindedly run your thumbs across the backs of his hands, “But the pieces are moving. And we must take our place.” Your voice wavers, if there were any tears left in your body they would be flowing freely.

He looks down at your clasped hands, gripping them tighter.

“But I can’t lose you.” He utters before returning his gaze back to yours, tears beginning to form in his deep brown eyes, “If I am to walk this horrid path then I only wish to do it with you by my side.”

You both stand quietly in the darkness, searching each other’s eyes, letting his words hang in the air around the two of you.

A hushed gasp leaves his lips and he takes a step back. Eyes wide and hands trembling as they leave yours. You cross your arms over your chest, taking a ragged breath which causes Jacaerys to take half step forward. Raising a palm in protest, you step away.

“Please go,” you sob softly.

He opens his mouth slightly, a question forming on his lips.

“Please, Jace,” you interrupt as sternly as you can manage, “I can’t.”

He closes his mouth and stares at you for a moment, unmoving, eyes locked on your face. Involuntarily, he begins to walk towards the door, still watching you intently, conflict and confusion becoming clearer upon his face with every step away from you. You nod silently once he reaches the door and with one last pained glance he exits your chambers, once again leaving you in solitude.

You retreat back to the bed and collapse into the fabric, curling up on your side as the tearless sobs begin to rack your body once more. Cursing the tenderness you have allowed to blossom there. As you desperately will the pain into numbness, you are at last given some relief as you are mercifully pulled into a dreamless sleep.

You awake with the dawn in a daze, taking a moment to remember where you are as you look about your unfamiliar surroundings. Once your mind is fully pulled from the fog of sleep, you stand from the bed and make your way across the room, trying to stretch your tired muscles as you pull fresh clothes from your bag.

As you rummage through your belongings, the red cloak you were gifted when you were sworn into service comes to the surface. You look upon it quietly for a moment before retrieving your other items of clothing and rushing back to the bed to dress yourself, doing your best to stomp out the sparks of anguish that its appearance brings forth.

Dressing yourself slowly and deliberately, you keep your mind focused on each step, trying to avoid inciting any further emotional responses. However, the red of the cloak makes that task all the more difficult as it lingers in the periphery of your vision. After fully dressing you dart back to the bag, intent on burying the cloak deep within, but a knock on the door stays your hand for the moment.

A handmaiden enters and offers you a bow.

“The Lady Baela,” she announces and backs out through the door as Baela steps forward.

“Good morrow, y/n,” she says with a bright smile.

“Good morrow, my Lady,” you bow stiffly, “how can I be of service?”

She walks forward, looking over your chambers until she spies a small table then turns back to you.

“I thought we might break fast together before we make our way to the throne room for the petitions,” she grimaces slightly at the mention of today’s events, “I imagined my cousins would be occupied with other affairs and didn’t want you to be left behind.”

The thought of the Princes causes a twisting pain in your chest but you do your best to smile politely.

“Thank you,” you mutter, “that’s very kind of you.”

She makes her way across the floor to stand next to you, a mischievous glimmer in her eye.

“I wondered if you might tell me about your travels as well,” she quirks a brow inquisitively, “Rhaena has already told me so much but I’d love to hear them from you if you’re willing to share?”

“Rhaena has told you about me?” Your brow furrows as you register her words.

“She has,” she chuckles lightly at your expression, “in letters and through most of the night, in fact.”

“That is surprising,” you say, taken aback by this revelation, “I thought she despised me.”

“She may,” she shrugs, rolling her eyes at her twin,“but more than anything she hates what she was denied. When we lived in Pentos, we had heard rumors of the wild sea dragon that lurked in the waters. For a time, Rhaena had plans to find it and claim it for herself before our mother died.”

You reel back in disbelief.

“I was unaware I had such a reputation,” you breath a laugh, a genuine smile growing at the corner of your lips.

Baela smirks and nods her head.

“You and your dragon have made quite a name for yourselves,” she takes you by the crook of the arm, “I look forward to testing mine and Moondancer’s mettle against yours one day.”

“I look forward to that as well, my Lady,” you nod in agreement.

Another knock rings out and more servants enter with platters of warm food.

“Shall we?” She asks and gestures towards the table where the meal has been placed.

“Yes please,” you say with a grateful sigh.

Conversation with Baela flowed effortlessly, bringing an ease to your soul as the two of you swapped stories over the meal. The relief was much too short lived however, as once the servants had cleared the table, Baela’s handmaiden steps forward.

“It’s time, my Lady,” she informs the two of you and you freeze in place.

Baela sees the change in your demeanor and thanks her handmaiden before she stands and moves to offer her hand to pull you from your seat.

“We’ll be along shortly.” She calls with a nod before returning her attention to you.

Her eyes soften and she sighs quietly.

“My mother used to say that The Red Keep was poisonous, but that poison could not harm a dragon.”

You take her hand and she pulls you to your feet.

“You may not be the blood of the dragon. But you certainly have the heart of one,” she smiles softly meeting your eyes to ensure you understand, “Don’t let them take that from you.”

You take a deep breath and stand at attention.

“Are you ready?” She asks calmly.

“Yes,” you pause, looking back to your belongings, “just give me one moment.”

You step over to your bag pull the cloak free, swinging it over your shoulders in one swift motion before affixing it with a black dragon clasp. Returning to Baela’s side, she beams proudly and links her arm through yours.

“Onwards, Dragon Rider.”

• @freefallthoughts @eywas-heir

[westerosiladies]

Sansa Stark Appreciation Week Day Five - Pawn to Player

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

IOTA Reviews: Collusion and Revolution

Well, the final confrontation with Lila was a bust, but maybe Chloe's swan song will be bett----HAHAHAHAHAHA! Sorry, I couldn't even finish that sentence without laughing.

Let's get into the twenty-second and twenty-third episodes of Miraculous Ladybug's fifth season: Collusion and Revolution

“Collusion” starts off with... oh, for God's sake... Gabriel monologuing to Emilie's body for the umpteenth time, only now, we see just how bad his Cataclysm wound has gotten, now making his entire hand black.

Marinette and Adrien wake up and we get a pretty cute scene of them talking on the phone while getting ready for their respective days. Afterwards, Gabriel talks with Adrien about being sent to London, and is somehow aware that Adrien hasn't told Marinette yet. Even when Gabriel tries to use his ring to keep Adrien under his control, Adrien still shows signs of resistance.

Later at school, Chloe walks up to insult Marinette and Adrien as usual, but Marinette has a little rebuttal of her own.

Marinette: Be mean while you still can, Chloe. I'm gonna let you in on a secret. Remember your friend Lila who used to hurt everyone with her lies? See her anywhere in this classroom? No, because I put a stop to her nastiness and I'll do the same with you!

Yeah, and you were only able to do so because one of Lila's minions decided they didn't like being evil, and had no plan of your own prior to that.

It's revealed that not only is Lila (I'm not calling her Cerise to make things easier for myself) still in contact with Chloe through their Alliance rings, she also somehow got her own supervillain lair. How did she set up here, much less find the resources to do so? You guessed it, never explained!

And yeah, let's just get this out of the way. I hate what they're doing with Lila here. For reasons I'll get to in a later review, it's clear that there had to be some changes made so Lila remains a key player, even after the events of “Confrontation”, so they decided to make Lila manipulate Chloe as part of her plans. For a pair of episodes that are meant to show Chloe at her absolute worst, it devalues her status as a villain if she's just going to be used as a glorified attack dog for bigger threats like Lila. Remember, we've seen Chloe come up with her own plans before (Mr. Pigeon, Dark Cupid, Darkblade, Kung Food, Antibug, Despair Bear, Zombizou, Frightningale, Queen Wasp, Queen Banana, Gabriel Agreste, Penalteam, Determination, Derision), and we know she's not a complete idiot. She doesn't need Lila to hold her hand and tell her what to do to get what she wants. I get that it's supposed to be ironic that Chloe, for all her bluster, is ultimately a pawn in a larger scheme, but it just doesn't gel with the whole ���irredeemable monster” stuff the show has been going with whenever Chloe has been on screen for the past two seasons. You could easily take Lila out of these episodes and not much would really change.

During class, Chloe makes a scene by blasting some music and dancing on her desk, and we get what has to be the most unrealistic thing this entire show has done for the past five seasons: Assuming kids still care about school when the year is almost over.

Rose: Chloe, quit it! We wanna hear the lesson, we care!

When Ms. Bustier tries to send Chloe to the principal's office, Chloe calls Ms. Mendeleiev (who is the new principal after Mr. Damocles resigned), and essentially forces her to change the rules to music is allowed. After Chloe taunts Ivan, just as Marinette tries to stop Ivan from hurting her, she uses the opportunity to frame Marinette for hitting her. Oh, sorry. I mean Lila uses the opportunity to tell Chloe to frame Marinette for hitting her.

In the principal's office, Ms. Bustier tries to reason with Chloe by showing her the present she got her all the way back in Season 2's “Zombizou”.

Ms. Bustier: Chloe, do you remember this gift you gave me on my birthday? To me, that is proof that you're a fragile teenager who doesn't know love and is simply looking for attention. And... we all tried to help you. So, please, whatever it is you want, ask yourself if it's worth all the suffering you're causing.

Chloe: Did you hear that? A homeroom teacher using a student's feelings to blackmail her. This is inappropriate, utterly inappropriate! My father, the mayor, would never tolerate this in a school.

Remember kids, FUCK showing compassion to your enemies! Everyone knows Gandhi was a loser anyway.

The negative emotions attract an Akuma to Ms. Bustier, but she manages to resist Monarch's influence for now. Monarch transforms back into Gabriel, who has a meeting with Tomoe and Andre to discuss the state of Paris' law enforcement.

Tomoe: Your policemen mostly get paid for doing nothing. It seems that Ladybug and Cat Noir are the ones who have been enforcing the law in Paris the last few months, wouldn't you agree?

Because I guess Ladybug and Cat Noir have also been stopping drug rings off-screen or something.

Chloe storms into the office, and even though Lila has no idea what's going on, she tells Chloe to record the conversation. Once again, Lila has to tell Chloe just how to be mean and selfish while she chews out Andre, and that if she was the mayor, she'd ban superheroes, right before Chloe learns Adrien is going to London next year.

After a scene that's only there to remind the audience that Adrien hasn't told Marinette about London yet, we see Gabriel talking with Andre about replacing Paris' police force with robots... even though this should really be more a discussion for the commissioner. I guess the writers didn't have enough money for a commissioner model because they had to allocate resources for Ms. Bustier's baby bump.

Andre: Seriously, Gabriel, what's this whole police robot idea all about?

Gabriel: Have I ever offered a single bad idea to you, Andre? We've always helped each other, haven't we?

Andre: Remember when we were young and penniless? When Emilie, you and I would make the world right from our little attic room? You made me my very first suit so I'd feel confident and Audrey, whom I'd fallen in love with, would finally notice me? Don't you think we were much happier back then? That our lives were more beautiful, more fair?

Gabriel: Come on, you have everything to be happy, Andre. Your wife, your daughter, Paris City Hall...

Andre: A woman who barely respects me, a selfish, heartless daughter, and a City Hall that I never wanted. I only got into politics like dad to impress Audrey, you know that.

Gabriel: I have no idea what you're talking about.

Andre: Look at me, Gabe. All my life I've lied, I've cheated and I've abused my power. I used to be a dreamer, an artist, I wanted to make movies! Now I've become a tyrant in servitude to my family and friends...

Aw, poor baby. Did someone condition their daughter to develop an entitlement complex while refusing to divorce your abusive wife?

I'm sorry, but I don't feel bad for Andre at all here. While I'm happy to see that the show is trying to teach kids that male mental health is important too, it doesn't really earn him a lot of sympathy considering a lot of this is his own fault. Sure, we don't know what Audrey was like when they were younger, and she could have gotten worse as time went on, but considering how rich he is coupled with the fact that Audrey spends most of her time in New York, he doesn't really have much of an excuse to not divorce her. As for Chloe, he has even less of an excuse, since he was responsible for her upbringing. He spoiled her rotten, he refused to properly discipline her, and he failed to teach her the slightest bit of humility. I'm willing to accept that Chloe is a lost cause by the show's standards, but I can't accept the fact that Andre had nothing to do with how she turned out. He's as much of a failure as a parent as Gabriel is.

As Lila somehow finds where the two are talking so she can overhear their conversation, Gabriel secretly records Andre, altering what he says to make him look bad. While I can't exactly describe it through text, this clip from The Simpsons should summarize it.

Ms. Bustier sees the video of Andre, and this time, she fails to resist an Akuma, turning into Wonder Woman—I mean, Miss Sans-Culotte.

Miss Sans-Culotte has a okay design. I like how it's meant to have a more patriotic theme with the color scheme, and the fact that it's based off some of the people in the French Revolution, aptly named the Sans-Culotte, is a nice way to teach kids about history. The problems I have are the golden armor, which goes against the fact that was previously mentioned in this very episode that the Sans-Culotte wore more simple clothing. That, and the guillotine blade for a weapon, which gives off some uncomfortable implications. The Miraculous power this time involves the Pig Miraculous' Gift, which somehow allows her to transform anyone her blade touches into balloons... even though the Pig never had that ability, and we saw what it really did just earlier this season (Jubilation).

Right when it seems like Adrien is about to tell Marinette about London, the two learn about Miss Sans-Culotte, and split up to transform into Cat Noir and Ladybug respectively. Meanwhile, Chloe hears the news about Andre before getting a call from Gabriel, who offers to “give her Andre's power”. Even though Chloe always uses her dad's power to get what she wants, she literally has to be told to accept the offer from Lila because she didn't think of the political ramifications. You see what I mean about Lila adding nothing to this episode? It'd be like if Thanos kept in contact with someone who had to tell him how to get the Infinity Stones at every step. As for Gabriel, I'll talk about his plan next episode.

Ladybug and Cat Noir confront Miss Sans-Culotte, demanding to know what she's doing.

Ladybug: Terror isn't a solution!

Cat Noir: There are elections to make your voice heard.

Miss Sans-Culotte: Or a revolution when everyone is corrupt. Nothing can stop freedom!

Because it's not like the video of Andre confessing to abusing his power, tampered or not, is an open and shut impeachment case, right?

Ladybug summons her Lucky Charm and gets a crown. After focusing on Miss Sans-Culotte and City Hall, she gets an idea.

Ladybug: Mayor Bourgeois is acting like the king of Paris, and maybe he should be removed from office after all.

Cat Noir: Are you saying we should give this villain free reign?

Ladybug: I don't know... I feel like that's what the Lucky Charm means. You're right, it's not up to us to decide who gets to be the mayor and who doesn't. An akumatized villain just needs to be deakumatized.

Yeah, remember how Ladybug said it was too risky to forge a temporary alliance with Matagi Gozen in order to stop the person who stole almost every Miraculous she had last season? Well now, she's saying they should essentially let this Akuma force the sitting Mayor of Paris out of power, which is all kinds of illegal. Now this might just be because I'm not French, and don't understand how politics work over there, but here in America, the last time some people stormed a major government establishment to protest a fair election, they were seen as fucking lunatics.

Zoe tries to reason with Miss Sans-Culotte, but she's still in favor of using that guillotine blade in ways that don't involve balloons. They try to reason with her and convince her to reason with Andre... right as Andre is about to resign himself, so this whole conflict was pointless. Still glad to know Ladybug and Cat Noir are now willing to let Akumas use their powers to get what they want when that was almost always seen as taboo.

Miss Sans-Culotte once again rejects the Akuma with ease, Ladybug uses Miraculous Ladybug to fix the damage... only to be cornered by several police robots, and ones that look really stupid at that.

Remember, Gabriel and Tomoe wanted taxpayers to pay for these.

Yeah, somehow, the Lucky Charm was actually meant for Chloe, because, well...

Cat Noir: A crown for the queen of brats, of course!

What, did calling her the literal Antichrist not do well with test audiences?

Yeah, this makes no goddamn sense. Why was the Lucky Charm prioritizing Chloe of all people instead of the Akuma as usual? What was Ladybug even supposed to do here? Yeah, she really should have stopped Miss Sans-Culotte, but was she expected to know about the police robots or something?

Chloe tells the press that Ladybug and Cat Noir helped an Akuma force the current mayor out of office. This is all part of Gabriel and Tomoe's plan, but once again, she's not wrong. The two still helped a dangerous supervillain force a major political shift, and the resulting power vacuum that allowed Chloe to rise to power is really their fault. After Cat Noir uses his Cataclysm to free himself and Ladybug from the nets the robots used to trap them with, we get the start of a running gag where Chloe struggles to say the word “democratic”, because remember, she's blonde, and therefore stupid. This happens several times across both episodes, and none of them are actually funny.

The episode ends with Chloe unlawfully taking control of Paris as the new mayor, which is totally different from Miss Sans-Culotte unlawfully forcing Andre to resign. The last time I saw double standards this blatant, I was watching RWBY.

THE BIGGEST IDIOT OF THE EPISODE IS... CHLOE

If there's one thing I love about my irredeemable villains, it's that they're so stupid, it's impossible to take them seriously. Not only did Chloe need Lila to hold her hand through every major decision she made throughout this episode (and by extension, the next), she failed to understand her dad's political career falling apart and needed to be told to take an opportunity to own an army of advanced robots, and couldn't even say the word “democratic”, which isn't that hard of a word to say even if you're borderline illiterate.

“Revolution” starts off with Chloe essentially declaring martial law in Paris for the time being. Once again, Cat Noir says the sane thing for once and suggests they go and beat up Chloe themselves. Well, I say that, but somehow, Cat Noir contradicts himself in his very next line.

Cat Noir: We can't let Chloe make up the rules.

Ladybug: If she were akumatized, it'd be easy. Find the object, break it, de-evilize her.

Cat Noir: But there is no object, and we can't attack someone who isn't akumatized, or we'd look like the supervillains.

I think you forgot something, guys...

THE ENTIRE FUCKING REASON SHE'S MAKING THE RULES IN THE FIRST PLACE IS BECAUSE YOU HELPED A SUPERVILLAIN IN THE LAST EPISODE! HOW DID YOU FORGET THIS VITAL INFORMATION?!

What the hell is with the sudden change of pace? They were willing to let Miss Sans-Culotte have her way by making Andre resign, so why can't they stop Chloe when she's already taken over Paris by force? I don't think you'd really look like supervillains if you stopped a tyrant instead of a democratically elected mayor. All you need to do is stop Chloe from controlling the robots, and you're golden.

In fact, where the hell is the rest of the Parisian government during all this, much less the French government? Why aren't they doing anything about this? We don't even get a throwaway line that explains it like Chloe bribed some politicians to keep quiet about the whole thing. Instead, despite an obvious violation of democratic rights, nobody outside of Paris is even bothering to stop this.

After a brief scene where some citizens are interviewed about Chloe, we see Adrien once again angsting about going to London. Like what Lila did with Chloe last episode, Plagg has to outright tell Adrien to talk to Marinette about this, because I guess this show has a really low opinion on the intelligence of people with blond hair. Also, good to know that even though Chloe is currently ruling over the city with an iron fist, she's still allowing air traffic to flow normally. Good thing too, as it's almost tourist season. Adrien tries to tell Marinette through a call, but she talks to him about Chloe, and how they can protest her regime.

Meanwhile, at City Hall, Chloe has already gone mad with power, as she orders her new box robots around, while Gabriel calls her to praise her for how she's been doing. Afterwards, Gabriel transforms into Monarch and absorbs the powers from a few Kwamis before Voyaging to City Hall. Chloe orders her robots to arrest Monarch, unaware than Tomoe is the one actually controlling them, only for Monarch to offer a deal... which Lila once again has to tell Chloe to listen to even though Chloe has worked with him in the past. Monarch offers to akumatize Chloe in a way that makes it look like she's not working for him. She accepts, and becomes Queen Mayor.

Queen Mayor's design is pretty simple, but I guess it works for the plan. It's just Chloe in an admittedly nice-looking jacket. Not sure if she can actually take it off like her other clothes or not, though. As for the Miraculous powers, Monarch transfers five of them to her robots, the Turtle Miraculous' Shelter, the Horse Miraculous' Voyage, the Ox Miraculous' Resistance, the Bee Miraculous' Venom, and the Rooster Miraculous' Sublimation, which gives her an unclear power. Given what she subjects her victims to later on, I guess it's the torture chamber she creates? I also don't get how the robots are capable of using the Miraculous powers when earlier episodes established you needed to have multiple Alliance rings to use them (Transmission, Pretension).

But now's as good a time as any to discuss Gabriel and Tomoe's plan, and why is makes absolutely no sense. In case you got confused, here's a quick summary: Tomoe created an army of robots designed to replace the police, and when Andre refused to use them, Gabriel recorded a private conversation so he could edit it, then transform into Monarch to akumatize someone and hope Ladybug and Cat Noir would let her force Andre to resign, then talk to Chloe about taking over as mayor, hope she says yes while Ladybug and Cat Noir do nothing to stop her, then pretend to give her control over Tomoe's robots before akumatizing Chloe so she can actually control the robots, all while praying that Chloe doesn't find out the truth, much the government doesn't get involved with this.

Gabriel and Tomoe did all of this instead of just, you know, akumatizing Chloe like usual. If the plan was to akumatize her all along while making it look like she's not akumatized, why didn't Gabriel just do that from the start as soon as Andre resigned and Miss Sans-Culotte rejected her Akuma? Also, why the hell is Chloe so crucial to the plan anyway? Yeah, they plan to throw her under the bus once they win, but wouldn't it make more sense if Tomoe, the one whose company made the robots, was the one who took over as Mayor?

It feels like the show is trying to recreate the plan from “Miracle Queen” where Chloe teams up with Monarch, but that plan at least made sense, as Chloe was crucial because of her connection to Ladybug. Here, it just feels like the writers needed an excuse to actually make Chloe a threat, but just like when Felix gave Gabriel all of the other Miraculous last season, it's forced. I'm not really seeing Chloe as a threat when she needed Gabriel to hand her the keys to an army of robots, and I don't care if that's the point. If the show wants us to take Chloe seriously as a villain, it needs her actions to speak for themselves instead of turning her into a glorified attack dog for Gabriel, Tomoe, and even Lila to an extent.

But here's my biggest problem with this plan. Consider the fact that Gabriel put Chloe in a major political position, presumably in order to bank on the fact that Ladybug and Cat Noir wouldn't use their powers to beat up a civilian. Gabriel then transformed into Monarch and akumatized Chloe into a form that would make it look like nobody would even tell she was akumatized in the first place. So let me ask this: If Gabriel's plan involves making it look like Chloe isn't akumatized, how is this going to actually attract Ladybug and Cat Noir so you can get their Miraculous?!

Yeah, Ladybug and Cat Noir eventually decide to fight Chloe anyway, but they don't learn she's akumatized until she blurts it out, and that's well into their fight. The plan is to turn the local government against Ladybug and Cat Noir and discredit in a way that prevents them from taking action against an obvious threat, but that just doesn't gel with Monarch's goal of getting their Miraculous. Did Gabriel and Tomoe assume that Ladybug and Cat Noir would just have no qualms with presumably beating up a civilian? If so, why even bother hiding the fact that Chloe was akumatized? This is a problem the plan faces no matter who the mayor is. Hell, if anything, it would be better if Chloe was akumatized from the start, as no matter how long she hides it for, she still has control over an army of robots armed with Miraculous powers, which wouldn't decrease the threat she poses in the slightest. This isn't even the first time an Akuma has hijacked the position of mayor (Rogercop), so it's even less excusable!

The next day, the students stage a protest at their school to get Ms. Bustier her job back, where Chloe (I'm calling her that instead because nobody else calls her Queen Mayor) questions why they're using their right to protest. She also plans to tell Marinette that Adrien is moving to London (something Gabriel told her earlier), but once again, Lila tells her not to. Also, you want to know how stupid the whole “Chloe can't say the word 'democracy' right” gag is? In the same scene where she struggles to say the D-word, Chloe uses the words “Libertarian”, “negative”, and “influence” correctly. It's hard to really buy Chloe as this illiterate moron while you still have her use words like this.

We get what can barely be considered a montage of Chloe abusing her power, but it's only like, three scenes before the plot kicks back in. We get a scene of Chloe screwing around in a private one-on-one class, an admittedly funny bit where she had a golden statue of herself commissioned to rest on the Arc de Triomphe, and then a scene where she shows Andre the ice cream man just how unfair her rule is.

Chloe: Did you pay the permit fee to sell your ice cream?!

Ice Cream Man Andre: I don't need a permit to sell love in Paris!

Chloe: Well, now you do! Otherwise, you'll end up in detention!

I mean, she reasonably calls out Andre for not having a permit to sell ice cream. How... evil of her?

Marinette goes back to her place, only to learn Chloe abducted her parents and placed them in “detention”, before doing the same to her thanks to one of her robots using a combination of Venom and Voyage. We do get an admittedly decent scene of Chloe threatening to tell Marinette about Adrien moving if Adrien doesn't become her deputy mayor, only for Adrien to vow to tell Marinette himself... even though he kept trying to tell her earlier in the episode, so this moment feels a little hollow. But hey, it's not like the finale will make this scene seem even worse in retrospect, right?

Adrien is sent to detention, a torture chamber where footage of Chloe mentally conditions the prisoners into believing that they're ridiculous or that they can always count on her, all while the prisoners are told to find a chair in an endless maze. Again, another decent visual I'll give the episode credit for. After Adrien, Marinette, and Alya escape detention, the former two transform into Cat Noir and Ladybug respectively and get ready to finally do something about Chloe.

Ladybug summons her Lucky Charm, a bikini bottom, and gets ready to stop Chloe alongside Cat Noir. Okay, Chloe has an army of robots on her side alongside the public's favor, so they'll need to come up with a really clever plan in order to—they're just going in guns blazing even though that's a terrible plan in a situation like this. Unsurprisingly, the two heroes immediately get trapped by a combination of Shelter and Resistance, nullifying the Lucky Charm and Cataclysm. Only now do they figure out Monarch is behind this, even though both of them saw the robots use Venom and Voyage to send them to detention, yet when Chloe actually says it, Ladybug is still shocked by this.

As Ladybug and Cat Noir start to detransform, they encourage the public to take action once they lose their Miraculous, even though Monarch will have won by then. As they do this, somehow, they stop detransforming until they manage to recharge their Miraculous by the power of because the plot says so. How did they do this?

Gabriel: I am an adult! Not transforming back is a power belonging to grown-ups!

Nooroo: I guess they must have grown up, Master.

Yes. Seriously. Even though there's been nothing else to signify that Ladybug and Cat Noir have matured this season, they now have the full power of their Miraculous at their disposal because now, they're adults. If you have to tell the audience that your characters have developed, then you've done a poor job at writing character development. Ms. Bustier takes the sash containing Chloe's Akuma while Cat Noir uses multiple Cataclysms to destroy the rest of her robots.

Ladybug de-evilizes the Akuma, oddly enough, doesn't use Miraculous Ladybug to fix the damage, doesn't give Chloe a useless Magical Charm because Andre says he's going to “correct his own errors”, and after being convinced by her students, Ms. Bustier decides to run for mayor.

We then cut to a private jet where Audrey is chewing her daughter out for failing, even though she supported her earlier when she was mayor. Yeah, you know how it seemed like Andre was finally going to properly discipline his daughter. Dream on! Instead, he just decided to send her away with Audrey, someone who he knows is a terrible person, and lets her deal with Chloe in a way that heavily implies she's going to put Chloe through hell when she isn't at school.

Audrey: Because of you, we've lost face! You've ruined our name and our reputation! You had all the powers in your hands and you foolishly lost them! Bourgeois do not raise losers. You think you're going to London on vacation? Dream on! I'm going to take control of your life again, starting with your education.

This is seriously meant to be an appropriate punishment for Chloe while Andre gets absolutely no consequences for being responsible for his daughter turning out the way she did. I have only one thing to ask.

WHAT THE FUCK, ASTRUC?!

How the fuck did anyone involved with this show think any of this was okay?! How did Andre think this was okay when in the previous episode, he pointed out how awful Audrey was?! Why the fuckare both Andre and Audrey, the two people who helped make Chloe the person she is, getting away scot-free while Chloe gets condemned for everything?! Why the fuck are we supposed to be happy Audrey is diciplining Chloe when we know she's worse than she is?! WHO THE FUCK THOUGHT THIS WOULD BE OKAY TO GREENLIGHT?!

I can either interpret this scene in two ways.

The first way is that, like he's said for a few years now, Astruc still doesn't see this as child abuse, and that Chloe is being punished like any other misbehaving child is.

THIS IS WHAT THOMAS ASTRUC ACTUALLY BELIEVES.

The second way, and I consider this to be the worse option, is that Astruc's team is fully aware that this now qualifies as child abuse, and that Chloe deserves this treatment. Put aside the fact that a common mentality of abusive parents is that they believe they're helping their children by “toughing them up”, this is still a demented way to punish any character, no matter how bad they are.

“But IOTA! Chloe needs to be punished for what she did!” Yeah, she does, but not like this. Hell, you don't need to do a lot to change the ending and avoid the harmful implications. Just have Andre be the one to move out of Paris with Chloe with the intent to send her to boarding school. Also, rather than say he's “going to take control of Chloe's life again”, have him explain that while he still loves Chloe, he isn't mayor anymore, so she can't use his name to get out of trouble, meaning that like it or not, Chloe will have to grow out of her bratty attitude or else she'll get in even more trouble. That way, we see Andre actually taking responsibility for how bad of a parent he was, Chloe realizes her old tricks won't work anymore while the door is open for a redemption should you choose to bring her back next season, and most importantly, there's no implications of child abuse here.

But believe it or not, things were even worse for these episodes initially. As detailed in the Season 5 scripts, there was originally a scene in “Collusion” where Andre used his powers as mayor to divorce Audrey and steal custody of Zoe while leaving her to deal with Chloe herself, officially joining Jagged Stone in the Rich Deadbeat Dads Club.

And Astruc wasn't even aware it was taken out, not being told this until he found out on Twitter.

Because somehow, he considered Andre walking out on his family and leaving his biological daughter in the hands of an abusive bitch crucial to the story.

And do you want to know the worst part? No matter how you view this scene, either way, it's portrayed as Chloe getting punished, but the next scene plays Gabriel abusing Adrien straight, ordering him to pack his things as he'll be heading to London that night. The show literally can't make up its mind on whether child abuse is bad or not. Why is it okay for Chloe to be mistreated by her parents while we're supposed to sympathize with Adrien? No matter who the victim is, CHILD ABUSE IS STILL CHILD ABUSE.

I don't care how bad Chloe is, child abuse is NEVER justifiable, and it's disgusting that the show seems to take that stance, whether they intended to or not.

Let's just get the last few minutes out of the way so I can end this. Adrien is forced to pack for London, Nathalie does nothing to stop Gabriel from doing this, Lila steals one of Tomoe's computers, Gabriel tells Tomoe about keeping Adrien and Kagami safe in London while they execute “Operation: Perfect Alliance”, Marinette and Adrien have their first kiss for the third time in five seasons, Chloe calls Marinette to tell her about Adrien, but Marinette tells her to piss off, and Chloe ends the episode crying because Astruc thinks she deserves to suffer. THERE. I'M DONE.

THE BIGGEST IDIOT OF THE EPISODE IS... GABRIEL

Gabriel joins Marinette in earning the Biggest Idiot Award for the third time this season. He had no reason to include Chloe in his stupid plan, he was essentially banking on Ladybug and Cat Noir choosing to do nothing, and tried to create a scenario were Ladybug and Cat Noir wouldn't be able to lose their Miraculous. At least you could argue that Ladybug and Cat Noir needed to stay on the down low at first. Gabriel doesn't get that excuse.

These episodes sucked, but I honestly thought they were slightly better than the last two.

Yeah, all joking aside, I thought these episodes had more positives to them than “Revelation” and “Confrontation”. Where those two episodes were insulting and confusing respectively, these two episodes were the kind of bad I've come to expect from the show. There's plotholes, bad morals, and characters acting like idiots, but it's par for the course. I was far from a fan of these two episodes, but other than the ending of “Revolution”, I was nowhere near as angry I was with “Revelation” and “Confrontation”.

Surprisingly, I was more upset rewatching “Collusion” than I did “Revolution”. Yeah, “Revolution” was bad, but at least Chloe was supposed to be a bad example of how lead a city, unlike what Andre and Ms. Bustier were doing. Those characters both taught bad morals, intentional or not, and just like Ladybug and Cat Noir, were never called out for unintentionally leading to Chloe's rise to power. With Andre, we were supposed to just be expected to be okay with all the times he abused his power as mayor while cheering when he quit with no negative repercussions, and with Ms. Bustier, we were supposed to be okay with her attempting to stage a violent coup against Andre, the character the episode is already trying to make us sympathize with.

Between these two characters, along with Sabrina and Felix, the show really loves operating on the “There's Always a Bigger Fish” rule. It doesn't matter how many bad things you do, if someone else is pulling the strings, you won't get in trouble at all... unless you're Chloe, so, in that case, BURN IN HELL. Like I mentioned earlier, you can acknowledge someone only did bad things because they were pressured to while saying they should at least be held accountable for their actions in some way that doesn't involve kicking them out of the country.

The moral of when it's okay to use violence was pretty confusing, and not just because this is a superhero show where almost every problem is solved by fighting it. Ladybug tries to convince Miss Sans-Culotte that political conflicts shouldn't be solved with violence, but even if she didn't convince her to change her mind, Andre was already ready to resign as mayor, and Miss Sans-Culotte still angrily demanded he resign in a way that sounded like a violent threat. There's also the fact that despite saying that violence isn't always the answer, the conflict that was sort of resolved with no violence ended up making things worse as Chloe was able to seize power once Andre resigned.

Also, it's pretty funny how absolutely nobody ever tried to reason with Chloe after she became mayor, not even Ms. Bustier. In that case, violence was obviously the answer, but the show never really tells us what makes Miss Sans-Culotte better than Chloe. You can't teach an anti-violence moral in one episode and then lead into an episode where violence solves the problem instead of diplomacy. And I'm not one of those saints who believes that every conflict should be handled nonviolently. Sometimes, people won't listen to words, but will at least hear you out if you use your fists. I'd personally argue the conflict of “Revolution” would have worked if had this kind of lesson. Just have Ladybug and Cat Noir tried to solve things with Chloe diplomatically during the first act, only to realize that Chloe won't budge, so they have no choice but to take her out of power themselves. It'd make a hell of a lot more sense than having Marinette and Adrien do nothing while Chloe makes everyone's life miserable because the writers need to pad the runtime.

I already mentioned this, but for an episode that tries to show how awful Chloe is, she barely does anything on her own. She needs Lila to tell her to go along with Gabriel's plan, she needs Gabriel and Tomoe to pretend to give her an army of robots, and she needs Monarch to akumatize her to make the robots even more dangerous. If you need another character to do something to make Chloe a threat, why should we only see Chloe as the threat? These two episodes keep going back and forth on whether Chloe is the worst or not. When they're not showing her taking control of Paris on her own like should be doing, the writers take the time to remind the audience that Lila and Gabriel are pulling Chloe around by telling her what to do, all while they each muse about how this is all going according to keikaku. If you want to make Chloe a threat and have her live up to her reputation as a terrible human being, she should actually have agency and should be cunning enough to be a dangerous villain in her own right.

Unlike with “Confrontation”, which gave more focus to side characters for some reason, “Revolution” actually focused on the main characters and their conflict with Chloe, like we should have gotten with Lila. Yeah, Ladybug and Cat Noir wait far too long to stop her, but unlike with Lila last episode, they at least had a semblance of a reason for hesitating to beat up a civilian. Either way, it felt like an obstacle that Ladybug and Cat Noir actually overcame together instead of someone else helping them out at the last second. Yeah, the Miraculous boost was a glorified deus ex machina, but it was at least a thing established in the show since Season 3.

Even the stuff with Chloe actually felt like stuff she would do, unlike in Season 4, which tried to give her an interest in bananas and soccer for the sake of giving her screentime as a villain (Queen Banana, Penalteam). When Chloe had free reign of the city, she actually did stuff on her own that was clever, like the detention setup. We really needed more of this Chloe for the past two seasons if the writers wanted to make her work as a villain, yet they waited until the end of the fifth season to actually do something interesting, and that was after she was told what to do for most of the episode.

And then there's how the conflict was resolved. It's really hard to buy Ladybug and Cat Noir “growing up” and unlocking the full power of their Miraculous, because just like when it was first established in Season 3, it's such a vague term, and only leaves you asking more questions. Neither Marinette or Adrien really had a big moment of personal growth this episode. Yeah, Adrien wanted to tell Marinette about London, but he had been trying to do that since Chloe first took over as mayor. While it's a decent piece of character development after keeping it secret for the past few episodes, it doesn't really do a lot to justify Adrien “growing up”.

Then again, at least Adrien actually got a moment to show his growth compared to Marinette. All she did before she “grew up” was tell the citizens of Paris to keep fighting, but it was such a vague speech and doesn't really scream becoming an adult. If she was going to sacrifice her identity or do something dangerous in order to stop Chloe, that could have worked. Instead, what I can assume was her big moment came after she defeated Chloe, the call at the end, and even then, it was just her telling Chloe how much she sucks, something she's never been afraid to say since the show started. Once again, if you need to tell the audience your show has character development, you're not good at writing character development.

Overall, while these episodes were both really bad, I still think they're at least more tolerable than the previous two.

And with that, I am officially done with the poorly written Chloe episodes. Sure, I still have three more episodes until I finish Season 5, but least this means Astruc will hopefully stop using her in the show, or at least ranting about her on Twitter. Maybe I'll make a character analysis post about her or talk about her during the overview post, but for now...

[alaynasansa]

Sansa watched him walk off, his body swaying heavily from side to side with every step, like something from a grotesquerie. He speaks more gently than Joffrey, she thought, but the queen spoke to me gently too. He's still a Lannister, her brother and Joff's uncle, and no friend. Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again

“I...” Sansa did not know what to say. Is it a trick ? Will he punish me if I tell the truth ? She stared at the dwarf's brutal bulging brow, the hard black eye and the shrewd green one, the crooked teeth and wiry beard. “I only want to be loyal.”

“Loyal,” the dwarf mused, “and far from any Lannisters. I can scarce blame you for that. When I was your age, I wanted the same thing.” He smiled. “They tell me you visit the godswood every day. What do you pray for, Sansa ?”

I pray for Robb's victory and Joffrey's death... and for home. For Winterfell. “I pray for an end to the fighting.”

“We'll have that soon enough. There will be another battle, between your brother Robb and my lord father, and that will settle this issue.”

Robb will beat him, Sansa thought. He beat your uncle and your brother Jaime, he'll beat your father too.

It was as if her face were an open book, so easily did the dwarf read her hopes. “Do not take Oxcross too much to heart, my lady,” he told her, not unkindly. “A battle is not a war, and my lord father is assuredly not my uncle Stafford. The next time you visit the godswood, pray that your brother has the wisdom to bend the knee. Once the north returns to the king's peace, I mean to send you home.” He hopped down off the window seat and said, “You may sleep here tonight. I'll give you some of my own men as a guard, some Stone Crows perhaps—”

“No,” Sansa blurted out, aghast. If she was locked in the Tower of the Hand, guarded by the dwarf's men, how would Ser Dontos ever spirit her away from freedom ?

“Would you prefer Black Ears ? I'll give you Chella if a woman would make you more at ease.”

“Please, no, my lord, the wildlings frighten me.”

He grinned. “Me as well. But more to the point, they frighten Joffrey and that nest of sly vipers and lickspittle dogs he calls a Kingsguard. With Chella or Timett by your side, no one would dare offer you harm.”

“I would sooner return to my own bead.” A lie came to her suddenly, but it seemed so right that she blurted it out at once. “This tower was where my father's men were slain. Their ghosts would give me terrible dreams, and I would see their blood wherever I looked.”

Tyrion Lannister studied her face. “I am no stranger to nightmares, Sansa. Perhaps you are wiser than I knew. Permit me at least to escort you safely back to your own chambers”

Sansa Week 2024 : day five — pawn to player

[daidonzo]

Chapter 1 - Prologue [Chishiya x FemOC!King of Spades]

TW: Swearing, violence

But you need your rotten heart Your dazzling pain like diamond rings You need to go to war to find material to sing I am no mother, I am no bride, I am King

I need my golden crown of sorrow My bloody sword to swing My empty halls to echo with grand self-mythology I am no mother, I am no bride, I am King

Savine Laine wiped the blood on her face with the back of her hands, despectively, little droplets of the crimson red liquid falling to the ground. Tap, tap, tap.

'Game cleared.'

Oh, fucking finally. I thought the bastard wouldn't die. She licked her lips, and looked at what was in front of her. A monster of a man, the top half of his body covered in cheap, tacky tattoos. He had cuts literally everywhere, was missing an eye, a couple of fingers, a few teeth here and there. Me, on the contrary… Savine examined her face with the tip of her fingers. Auch. Bruises were starting to form, but it wasn't that bad.

You're too huge to be actually fast, big boy. He hadn't been able to catch her, not even once, no matter how hard he had tried. She had been able to dodge him with quick, last-second movements he hadn't seen coming. She smiled condescendingly, looking down. Now he was nothing but a corpse.

She had also… Maybe cheated a little bit.

Now, now, they said you couldn't use weapons. How is a wine opener a weapon? It is something every ridiculous, bored-out-of-her-mind housewife should have with her at all times. The object was sticking out of the man's throat. Whatever, if they haven't lasered me yet, it's because they approved. At the very least, they found it funny. She giggled to herself, pushing back her blonde locks.

And now what?

Fireworks.

Charming.

'Now all surviving players will be given a choice. Please select whether you will accept permanent residence in this land or if you will not accept it.'

She raised both eyebrows, the ghost of the smile still on her lips. She hadn't considered this possibility. She rubbed her chin, thoughtfully.

Do I want to go back to the real world? Can I even go back to the real world after the person I have become? She had always been ruthless, both in life and business. She had never been considered a good person. She always had everything she desired. And what I didn't have, I still took.

Men loved her. Loved to fuck her, loved to have her on their arm and show her around. Long legs, perfect figure maintained by training in the gym twice a day five days a week, blonde wavy hair that reached the middle of her back, brown, haunting eyes, full lips and a round, small nose. She was a dream. Men loved her, and women envied her, being nice to her face but talking shit behind her back. As if I cared.

The only thing I care about, is me. Savine was the perfect description of self-obsession. As far as she recalled, she hadn't cared about anybody's feelings for a long time, now. She worked hard on herself, and only herself. And it pays off. She went off to university when she was fourteen years old and had her degree by the time she was seventeen. She was a portent, working for one of the biggest companies in the world. Not because I really care, they just pay well.

Regarding everyone else… The people in Savine's life were pawns. Or better yet, chess figures, not all of them of equal unimportance, that she could arrange and play with as she desired. That she could use to score points. There was nobody permanent in her life, and anybody who dared enter it, she made sure they understood one thing - You are disposable. You all are.

I was already like this in the real world.

It has only gotten worse.

Savine's stay at the Borderlands had left a trail of corpses behind her. People she had manipulated, coerced and used at her will. Little, useless marionettes she held the strings to. Since she had arrived, she, in herself, had become natural disaster, leaving only destruction behind her. Her being the sole survivor.

I'd say I wasn't proud of it, but I'd be lying. I just don't care.

Why am I like this?

She pressed her lips together, ready to give her answer.

'I accept it.'

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'You, my dear, are the perfect Queen of Spades.'

Savine sprang to her feet, throwing the chair she had been sitting in to the floor without ceremony. She hit the table with her hand, furious, pointing a finger at the woman that had spoken.

'Who the fuck do you think you are!? I'm not the fucking Queen of anything!' She hissed. She got closer to her. Was Mira her name? 'I will not be given a second place. I have never been second at anything. I could beat that man you just appointed King of Spades with my eyes closed.'

The woman studied her for a few minutes.

'Prove it.' She said simply.

Savine just walked towards the bald, ugly, scarred man that had just taken the title she so deeply desired. He was already leaving the room. He had a gun strapped to his chest and back. Before he could react, she took the latter, and pointed it to the back of his face.

This man, however, was a trained soldier. He turned around, quick, and grabbed her by the arm.

'What do you think you are doing?' He was stronger than her. And also, much quicker than she had thought. But ah, he likes to play fair. I don't.

She spit at his eyes, butted him in the face, and stabbed him in the stomach with her free hand, now holding a pocket knife. She didn't get the knife out of him, but slashed his skin in a wide, sweeping movement.

The man tried to hit her, howling in pain, but she was faster, and kneed him on the crotch.

Then, once he was on his knees, she pulled the trigger, blood splashing her face and clothes. Fuck, again.

'I really hope whatever fantastic idea you had with him didn't involve any kind of physical combat.'

'It didn't. He was a sniper.' Mira answered, uninterested.

Emphasis on was.

Savine turned towards her, showing her teeth in a smile that didn't reach the eyes.

'So, about me becoming the King of Spades…'

She stood up, towering over the woman. She refused to sit down, to bow down.

She was above everything, above everyone else.

If other people were nothing but chess pieces in her board, she was the greatest of them all.

She was the King.

[nitrosodiumfmp]

Thoughts on technological feasibility

I often make posts like this during the Doubt. Curiously, on this project, it's less of a "this idea or that idea" Doubt and more of a "how the hell will this work?" sort of Doubt. Because my idea this time is so open-ended, a spooky adventure through a big city where exploration and mystery-solving come before a coherent environment, it is less about deciding what game I want to make. The first thing I thought about is how the player will interact with the world. My first idea was something akin to how Morrowind does levels; interact with the door and get moved into a building, but it would just be a new map. Then I thought about how Unreal player starts aren't really fluid like that - I can only assume the engine isn't designed for that more antiquated way of level-making.

My next thought was to do one large map - doors would be operated by Timelines; press up to them and press E, and it runs a timeline which slides it away into the wall, before sliding back after five seconds or something. Like a Doom door. That sort of thing is really simple when you think about it, and I could even do more complex versions where the door actually rotates and opens outward. Then I could do key-locked doors where grabbing the key (press up and press E, same method) changes some GotKey bool which then allows you to trigger the Timeline. You could have buttons to trigger custom events and activate things in different parts of the map. And then of course, we have the notes. The story will be told through notes, written by citizens of the City about day-to-day life, or secret messages left for someone in particular. I'm pretty good at telling a story, so as long as it can prop the game up, I'm golden.

One thing I entertained was the idea of enemies. They don't have to be particularly advanced, just "look at you and charge" enemies like Overdeath. I thought up strange lanky beings, the effective police force of the City, gliding along like shadowy spectres. They'd have big Spot Lights in their faces and their Pawn Sensing would be the same size, so if you're caught in their light, you're dead. They wouldn't be in all of the city, just restricted areas. To make it so players could get in but enemies couldn't, they'd probably be accessed only by platforming or Elevators, which would run on timelines and would be activated by buttons.

[hasbr0mniverse]

HasbrOmniverse Comic Of The Day! Devil’s Due Publications - G.I. Joe A Real American Hero! #32 - Cover Date July 2004 - Storylines/Events: Players & Pawns Part Five

[shadowpuppet-mochi]

KING ME [ MULTI-FANDOM VAMPIRE ROLE-PLAY SERVER]

[ 18+ ・┇ ・ multi-fandom・┇ ・ realistic fc ]

𝑵𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑽𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓. Comfort of modern day was a fickle memory of the past and Vampires harnessed the world for themselves. Damascus — The King of Vampires set the stage for a battle that no one was prepared for. As the world crumbled, control fell into his hands. Each member of his court playing a vital role to a game of 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄. Each of the vampires held positions of Bishops, Knights, Rooks and Pawns — each piece being utilized in triumph. As the humans fell to a new world, they found themselves living behind impenetrable gates, now another piece to be used for the Vampires.

꒰ ♘ ˚ . ♚ ⊹ 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒆𝒕, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈.

In the midst of chaos, the humans took his most valuable piece: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧. They were able to use the Queen to create something much more — Sham Sacrifices. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎. With the remaining shams divided, finding them is key to assure victory. But in a world where the Supernatural is revealing themselves, there may be more than 𝐨𝐧𝐞 card left to play. Five districts divided along the Schengen region play a valuable part in coming together, all equipped with their own strategies.

Now in the year 2275, the board is once again set and new players begin their moves. Who would be able to say 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄?

꒰ ♘ ˚ . ♚ ⊹ some series we offer: acotar, devil may cry, game of thrones, harry potter, hunger games, the last kingdom, the originals, resident evil, shadow & bone, stranger things, supernatural, teen wolf, twilight, vampire diaries, vikings, wednesday, the witcher along with many more ~!

╭・・♕ ‧ ₊˚・♟️ ・𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒆 𝒐𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓. . . ┇・🏳️‍🌈・LGBTQ+ accepting community! ┇・☕・Friendly & punctual staff, attentively active admins. ┇・✒️・Semi-Lit to Literate Role-play! ┇・🍷・A level system to help gauge tolerance and possible triggers. ┇・🎻・Original and Canon characters are welcomed ! [ No server cap for original characters & up to 15 canon characters allowed]. ┇・📜・Expansive and in depth lore with creative potential. ┇・🏛️・Five diverse districts fitting to a variety of muses ! ┇・✒️・Additional races to choose from ! [Vampires, Faes, Sirens, Angels, etc ~] ┇・⚰️・Dark Academia aesthetic & cute horror/halloween themed emotes ~ ! ┇・🕯️・Self roles for convenience of personalization. ┇・🪶・Tupperbox bot as a proxy for multi-muses. ╰・・♕ ‧ ₊˚・♟️ We have MANY roles still open from our popular verses like Acotar, Harry Potter, Shadow & Bone, Stranger Things, Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Twilight, Vampire Diaries, The Originals & The Witcher ~! Come check us out. We have many options for those who wish for original characters too.

[sofiamantegafan110]

NEW X-MEN SEASON 2 EPISODE 3

EPISODE 3- CURSED WORDS (INSPIRED BY A FUN DOOM PATROL FANFIC I FOUND)

WE OPEN UP ON A RAINY DAY AT XAVIER’S. A HURRICANE HAS BLOWN THROUGH AND THE POWER IS OUT, SUSPENDING ALL CLASSES. CLARICE CAN BE FOUND IN EMMA FROST’S ROOM, MAKING A COLOSSAL MESS AS SHE TRIES TO LOOK FOR SOMETHING. JAY WALKS IN AND SAYS HE ALREADY WENT THROUGH ALL THAT STUFF. NOTHING BUT BEAUTY PRODUCTS AND CONDOMS. NO LEADS ABOUT THE HELLFIRE CLUB. CALLING HIM DAPHNE, CLARICE SAYS THAT SHE’S NOT LOOKING FOR CLUES. SHE THEN THROWS A SMALL PORCELAIN VASE OVER HER SHOULDER AND WHEN JAY CATCHES IT, IT SHATTERS IN HIS HANDS DUE TO THE DELICACY.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: THUS, THE FINAL PATHWAY TO SHANGRI-LA CLOSED FOREVER)

SANTO THEN WALKS IN, SAYING THAT THERE’S NO WAY JAY IS THE DAPHNE. HE’S A VELMA THROUGH AND THROUGH. JAY PROTESTS THAT HE’S NOT, BUT SANTO INSISTS THAT HE’S THE VELMA, SOFIA’S THE DAPHNE, AND HE’S THE FRED. JUST THEN, CESSILY ENTERS, SAYING THAT SHE WANTS TO HOLD A TEAM MEETING SO THAT SHE CAN TALK ABOUT HER NEW THEORY ABOUT THE HELLFIRE CLUB. CLARICE AND SANTO LOOK AT EACH OTHER.

SANTO: SO, REESE, ARE WE GONNA FLIP FOR SHAGGY, OR…

CLARICE: SHUT UP, SCOOBY.

CLARICE THEN ANNOUNCES THAT SHE FOUND WHAT SHE WAS LOOKING FOR AND LIFTS A SHORT STACK OF BOXES ONTO EMMA’S QUEEN-SIZE BED.

CLARICE: WHO WANTS TO GET OWNED AT MONOPOLY, BITCHES?

SOFIA ENTERS AND INSISTS AGAINST IT. NOT AFTER WHAT HAPPENED ON THANKSGIVING. SANTO TELLS HER THAT SHE’S JUST SORE THAT SHE GOT CREAMED. CESSILY BACKS UP SOFIA, SAYING THAT WHILE PLAYING BOARD GAMES ARE A GOOD IDEA, SHE’S AGAINST MONOPOLY. THE TURN-BY-TURN MECHANICS LEAVE LITTLE DECISION SPACE, THE AUCTIONING IS BASIC AT BEST AND SCRIPTED AT WORST, AND THE COUNTERPLAY FOR LOSING PLAYERS ONLY EXTENDS THE GAME WITHOUT EFFECTING THE EVENTUAL WINNER. THERE’S A DEAD SILENCE IN THE ROOM AS CESSILY ASKS IF SHE’S ALLOWED TO HAVE A HOBBY.

SOFIA: HOW ABOUT TWISTER?

EVERYONE: NO!

JAY: POKER?

SANTO: I’M GAME.

CLARICE: DUDE, I HAVE A MENTAL BLOCK AGAINST POKER.

EVENTUALLY, CESSILY NOTICES A DUSTY BOX ON THE SHELF. CLARICE PICKS IT UP AND BLOWS SOME DUST OFF TO REVEAL THE TITLE.

JAY: CURSED WORDS? DOESN’T SOUND LIKE THE WHITE QUEEN’S KINDA GAME.

SANTO: WHO FUCKING CARES? IT’S A GAME WHERE I CAN WIN BY CURSING Y’ALL OUT. I’M IN.

CESSILY AGREES, SAYING THAT SHE’S NEVER SEEN THIS ON THE BOARD GAME FORUMS, AND CLARICE HERDS THEM ALL TO THE LIVING ROOM, ANNOUNCING THAT IT’S TIME TO FUCK THEM ALL UP. AS THEY LEAVE, JAY SAYS THAT THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED IN ‘UNCANNY ANNIE’ AND THEY ALL KNOW HOW THAT TURNED OUT. HE THEN NOTICES A PIECE OF PAPER STUCK TO HIS FOOT AND THROWS IT AWAY WITHOUT READING ITS CONTENTS WHICH ARE AS FOLLOWS:

ARTIFACT #18204

BOARD GAME

REPORTED BY DANIELLE MOONSTAR

CREATOR UNKNOWN

POSSIBLE CONNECTION TO INCIDENTS IN CHATTANOOGA (1995), POUGHKEEPSIE (1996), AND SARATOGA (2002). CONFIRMED CONNECTION TO INCIDENT IN PALM SPRINGS (2007).

FURTHER STUDY DEEMED TOO DANGEROUS TO ATTEMPT. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES SHOULD THIS GAME EVER BE PLAYED AGAIN.

SIGNED- SCOTT SUMMERS.

CUE INTRO AND CREDITS

AS MUSIC PLAYS, THE FIVE GATHER IN THE LIVING ROOM, WHICH THEY SURROUND WITH CANDLES. SANTO IMMEDIATELY COMMENTS THAT THERE’S ONLY ONE PIECE AS HE PICKS UP A TOKEN THAT LOOKS LIKE A PAWN. CESSILY TELLS HIM THAT IT’S A COLLABORATIVE GAME. THEY EITHER ALL WIN OR THEY ALL LOSE. FRUSTRATED, CLARICE ASKS WHAT THE FUCK THE POINT IS AND CESSILY SAYS THAT SOME OF THE MOST CREATIVE AND ENGAGING BOARD GAMES ARE COLLABORATIVE. SHE UNFOLDS THE BOARD WHICH LOOKS A BIT LIKE CANDYLAND WITH A MEANDERING SERIES OF SQUARES LEADING TO ‘SUCCESS!’ ON ONE END, AND AT THE OTHER…

JAY: UM, WHAT’S ‘THE PIT’?

CESSILY: IT’S A GAME MECHANIC. THE COLLECTIVE PIECE STARTS THE GAME THE SAME NUMBER OF SQUARES AHEAD OF THE PIT AS THERE ARE PLAYER, WHICH IS FIVE SINCE JULIAN AND LAURA ARE ON AN INDOOR DATE. EACH PLAYER TAKES TURNS READING A CARD WITH A RIDDLE AND THEN WE GUESS ITS ANSWER. IF WE WIN, WE MOVE UP 1, 3, OR 5 SPACES DEPENDING ON THE RIDDLE DIFFICULTY RATING. BUT AFTER EACH OF US HAS HAD A TURN, THE PIT ADVANCES BY THE NUMBER OF PLAYERS. IF IT OVERTAKES US…

CESSILY SQUINTS AT THE INSTRUCTIONS AND SANTO ASKS IF THEY LOSE OR IF THEY HAVE TO DO SOME KIND OF BONUS HARD RIDDLE. CESSILY TELLS HIM THAT THE GAME JUST SAYS ‘DON’T LET THE PIT OVERTAKE YOU’. WHILE CLARICE COMMENTS THAT THE GAME IS NOT LIVING UP TO ITS TITLE, CESSILY SAYS THAT SHE’S NOT DONE. EVERY RIDDLE HAS A ONE-WORD CORRECT ANSWER. IF THEY GET IT WRONG, THE CORRECT ANSWER BECOMES A ‘CURSED WORD’. FOR THE REST OF THE GAME, IF ANY OF THEM SAY THAT WORD OR ANY WORD THAT RHYMES WITH IT, THE PIECE MOVES BACKWARDS A SQUARE. SOFIA THEN AGREES WITH JAY, SAYING THAT THIS DOES SOUND LIKE WHAT HAPPENED TO THOSE KIDS IN ‘UNCANNY ANNIE’, WHICH SHE SHUDDERS AT.

SANTO THEN SETS THE PIECE DOWN FIVE SPACES AWAY FROM THE PIT, BUT IT SNAPS TO THE CENTER OF THE SQUARE AS SOON AS HE LETS IT GO. CESSILY GUESSES THE BOARD MUST BE MAGNETIC, BUT IT SEEMS A BIT THIN FOR THAT. CLARICE JUST SHRUGS AND SAYS THAT SHE’S GOING FIRST BEFORE REACHING FOR THE BOX OF RIDDLE CARDS AND PULLING OUT A RED CARD. CESSILY COMMENTS THAT RED MEANS THAT IT’S A HIGH-DIFFICULTY 5-SQUARE CARD, SUGGESTING THAT SHE SHOULD START WITH A GREEN ONE-SQUARE WHILE THEY GET THE HANG OF IT, BUT CLARICE TELLS HER TO SHUT UP AND PLAY THE STUPID GAME, BEFORE TURNING OVER THE ONE-MINUTE HOURGLASS AND READING THE RIDDLE ALOUD.

A DOLLAR, A DEER AND A VAULT,

AND ALSO PERHAPS THEN A FAULT,

THAT IS PASSED AROUND,

OR KICKS YOU TO THE GROUND,

BUT THE WHITE HOUSE IS WHERE IT WILL HALT.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: PAUSE. BEFORE YOU CONTINUE TO READ THE EPISODE, FIRST, TRY TO GUESS WHAT THE RIDDLE IS. IF YOU DON’T KNOW, THAT’S OKAY, BUT AT LEAST TRY TO MAKE AN EFFORT INSTEAD OF BEING LAZY.)

CONFUSED, CESSILY ASKS CLARICE TO READ IT AGAIN, AND WHEN CLARICE GIVES HER THE CARD, CESSILY TELLS HER THAT IT’S BLANK. SANTO ASKS IF MAYBE THERE ARE ANSWER CARDS SOMEWHERE, AND CLARICE IMMEDIATELY GIVES UP. JUST AS THE LAST OF THE SAND RUNS OUT OF THE TIMER, CESSILY TELLS HER THAT THE GAME LITERALLY JUST STARTED, BUT CLARICE SAYS TO FUCK IT. THE GAME IS TERRIBLE.

SUDDENLY, A SOUND LIKE THE LOUDEST GONG IN THE WORLD GOES OFF, CAUSING EVERYONE TO DROP TO THE FLOOR, HANDS ON THEIR EARS. SANTO IMMEDIATELY ASKS WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON, AND IT HAPPENS AGAIN, ONLY SOMEHOW MUCH WORSE. SOFIA FORCES HERSELF UP TO LOOK AT THE BOARD AND BEFORE CESSILY CAN OPEN HER MOUTH, SHE SHUSHES HER, POINTING OVER TO WHERE THEIR GAME PIECE HAS SLID BACK TWO SQUARES BY ITSELF. THEN, AT THE BOTTOM RIGHT HAND CORNER OF THE BOARD, THE WORD BUCK MATERIALIZES IN DELICATE SCRIPT. THEY ALL LOOK AT IT IN CONCERN.

A FEW MINUTES LATER, JAY RETURNS FROM CYCLOPS’ STUDY, HOLDING A THICK TOME. HE SAYS THAT PROFESSOR XAVIER MANAGED TO PIECE TOGETHER THAT CURSED WORDS WAS RESPONSIBLE FOR SOMETHING THAT HE DOESN’T SAY, ONLY THAT THERE’S A LOT OF BLOOD INVOLVED. SANTO SAYS THAT THAT’S JUST FUCKING GREAT, AND JUST WHEN THEY ALL GLARE AT HIM AND BRACE THEMSELVES FOR IMPACT, NOTHING HAPPENS. SOFIA GUESSES THAT MAYBE IF YOU ADD AN -ING TO THE END, IT DOESN’T RHYME WITH THE CURSED WORD. BUT IF THEY JUST SAY-

THEY ALL IMMEDIATELY SHUSH HER, BUT SHE TELLS THEM THAT SHE WAS JUST GOING TO SAY ‘THE FOUR LETTER WORD’. SANTO ASKS WHY THEY CAN’T JUST DESTROY THE THING, AND CESSILY READS RULE 19 FROM THE RULEBOOK; ANY ATTEMPT TO DESTROY A GAME PIECE IS CONSIDERED CHEATING AND SENDS IT DIRECTLY TO THE PIT. SANTO THEN SUGGESTS NOT PLAYING, BUT CESSILY READS RULE 3; THE GAME CONTINUES UNTIL THE GAME PIECE REACHES SUCCESS OR THE PIT, MEANING THEY COULD STOP, BUT THEY’D HAVE TO SPEND THE REST OF THEIR LIVES NOT SAYING ANYTHING THAT RHYMES WITH… THE WORD.

SANTO: FU-DGE THAT! C’MON! AIN’T NO F… -ING ON THE END MAKES IT OKAY, RIGHT? RIGHT. AIN’T NO FUCKING BOARD GAME GONNA TAKE MY FUCKING F-BOMBS AWAY FROM ME! LET’S JUST ANSWER SOME RIDDLES AND SHOW THIS GAME WHO’S BOSS!

CLARICE THEN SUGGESTS MAYBE GETTING SOME OTHER STUDENTS TO HELP, BUT CESSILY TELLS HER THAT THE GAME IS LIMITED TO 7 PLAYERS. THEY THEN CIRCLE THE BOARD AND CESSILY RECOMMENDS MAYBE DECIDING TOGETHER WHAT KIND OF… BUT THEN SOFIA PICKS UP A RANDOM CARD AGAIN.

SOFIA: NOT RANDOM. AN EASY ONE. MY MOTHER USED TO SAY ‘WHEN YOU’VE HAD A SETBACK, BUILD ON SMALL SUCCESSES’.

SANTO: YEAH, YEAH, YOUR MOM IS MAHATMA GANDHI. NOW WHAT DOES IT SAY?

SOFIA FLIPS OVER THE TIMER AND READS THE RIDDLE.

AS I WAS PASSING DOWN THE STREET,

A SCARLET FLOWER DID I MEET,

ITS EIGHT PETALS WERE BONNY AND GAY,

BUT WHAT DID ITS MILKY WHITE CENTER SAY?

(NOTE: SAME AS BEFORE, TRY TO GUESS THE RIDDLE.)

CLARICE IMMEDIATELY ASKS IF IT’S A TALKING FLOWER, AND CESSILY ASSUMES IT’S PROBABLY A METAPHOR. JAY GUESSES COMPASS ROSE BUT CESSILY TELLS HIM THAT THE ANSWER NEEDS TO BE ONE WORD. CLARICE ANXIOUSLY TELLS THEM THAT THE TIME’S ALMOST UP, AND SOFIA GUESSES TULIP, ROSE, POPPY, AND GERBER DAISY BEFORE SOMEONE YELLS AT THEM TO STOP.

MONET ENTERS THE ROOM, SAYING THAT OF ALL THE GAMES, THEY HAD TO CHOOSE THIS ONE. SHE THEN ASKS IF THEY HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THEY’VE GOTTEN THEMSELVES INTO. CESSILY TELLS HER THAT THE ONLY WAY OUT IS THROUGH, BUT MONET SNAPS AT HER, SAYING THAT THIS GAME HAS NEVER BEEN BEATEN IN THE ENTIRE HISTORY IT’S BEEN PLAYED. SHE THEN TELLS THEM THAT SHE DOESN’T CARE HOW MANY CURSED WORDS THEY’VE RACKED UP SO FAR, BUT THEY NEED TO ERASE THEM AND ALL WORDS THAT RHYME WITH THEM FROM THEIR VOCABULARY AND TUCK THE GAME AWAY.

CLARICE: WE CAN’T-

MONET: YES, YOU CAN. TOUGH LUCK.

SOMEHOW, THE SOUND IS WORSE THIS TIME, AND SANTO TELLS THEM ALL THAT SOMETHING’S WRONG. THE PIECE ISN’T IN THE RIGHT SPOT. JAY THEN ASKS WHERE THE NEW CURSED WORD IS, AND CESSILY STARTS TO REMEMBER SOMETHING. WE THEN FLASHBACK TO A FEW SECONDS AGO.

PAST SOFIA: UMMM… TULIP! ROSE! POPPY! GERBER DAISY!

PAST MONET: STOP! STOP PLAYING THE-

WE THEN REWIND AND THE FLASHBACK PLAYS AGAIN IN SLOW MOTION.

PAST MONET: SSSTTOOOPPP!

AS SHE SPEAKS, CESSILY REMEMBERS SEEING THE GAME PIECE MOVE FORWARD TWO SQUARES, AND SHE SAYS THAT IT WAS ONLY A ONE-SQUARE RIDDLE AND MONET JUST TRIGGERED A CURSED WORD. THE GAME PIECE STARTS AHEAD OF THE PIT THE SAME NUMBER OF SQUARES AS PLAYERS, SO…

MONET: NO! OH GOD NO!

CLARICE: WELCOME TO THE SHITSHOW, ST. CROIX.

MONET GRABS THE RIDDLE CARD, READS IT OVER, AND THEN STATES HER DISBELIEF THAT SHE’S BEEN ROPED INTO THIS GAME BECAUSE THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT A STOP SIGN IS. JAY THEN ASKS THAT IF MONET WAS PLAYING FROM THE MOMENT SHE SAID ‘STOP’, WHY DID THEY NOT SLIDE BACK A SQUARE WHEN SHE TOLD THEM TO ‘T-U-C-K’ THE GAME AWAY?

MONET: WAIT. WHY ARE YOU SPELLING… OH NO.

JAY: RIGHT. NO MORE F-BOMBS UNTIL WE FINISH. BUT APPARENTLY ‘TUCK’ IS-

WHEN EVERYONE COMES TO, MONET ASKS THEM IF THEY ACTUALLY STARTED PLAYING THE GAME WITHOUT READING THE RULES FIRST, AND CESSILY SAYS THAT SHE DID. IF A PLAYER ANSWERS A RIDDLE CORRECTLY, THEY GET ONE FREE PASS ON A CURSED WORD, WHICH IS WHY MONET’S T-WORD WAS FINE BUT JAY’S GOT THEM CURSED AGAIN. JAY SNAPS THAT IT WOULD’VE BEEN NICE TO KNOW ABOUT 45 SECONDS AGO, AND CESSILY ARGUES THAT SHE FIGURED SHE’D GET TO IT WHEN IT CAME UP, WHICH IT DID AND SHE DID.

MONET: I’M GONNA DIE. I’M GONNA DIE AND IT WON’T BE ANTI-MUTANT RADICALS OR DOCTOR DOOM OR EVEN MY FAMILY’S WEIRD CURSED BLOODLINE THAT KILLS ME. IT’LL BE A FUCKING BOARD GAME WITH A RIDDLE ABOUT A STOP SIGN.

WITH THAT, SHE SITS DOWN AND PICKS UP A RED CARD. BEFORE JAY CAN SAY ANYTHING, MONET SAYS THAT THEY’RE TWO SQUARES IN THE HOLE AND THEY NEED TO MAKE THEM UP IF THEY’RE GONNA SURVIVE. CLARICE IS JUST ABOUT TO SAY SOMETHING, BUT MONET SAYS THAT SHE’S REACHED HER QUOTA ON STUPID QUESTIONS TODAY AND SHE’S READING THE CARD NOW.

I MOVE IN THE SHAPE OF A GRACEFUL LETTER,

AND YET I KNEEL BEFORE MY BETTER,

YOU SEE NAUGHT BUT MY GRACEFUL HEAD,

BUT IF WE TOUCH, ONE OF US IS DEAD.

(NOTE: ONCE AGAIN, TRY TO SOLVE THE RIDDLE BEFORE MOVING ON.)

SANTO IMMEDIATELY ASKS IF THAT MAKES SENSE TO LITERALLY ANYONE HERE, AND MONET TELLS HIM THAT IT’S A RIDDLE. THEY HAVE TO FIGURE IT OUT BEFORE IT MAKES SENSE. SANTO ASSUMES THE ANSWER IS A BUST OR A COIN AND CLARICE GUESSES MAYBE IT’S SOMEONE WHO KNEELS IN CHURCH, BUT MONET SAYS THAT THE ANSWER NEEDS TO BE ONE WORD. JAY SAYS THAT THEY ALL KNOW THE GAME PREFERS METAPHORS TO CONCRETE FACTS, AND ASKS IF THERE’S A METAPHORICAL WAY YOU COULD KILL SOMETHING.

MONET: I DUNNO. THROW IT OUT, LIKE GARBAGE?

CLARICE: MAYBE MAKE IT AN OUTCAST SOCIALLY?

SANTO: GOD I HATE THIS GAME.

SOFIA: GAME! SANTO, YOU’RE A GENIUS!

JUST AS THE TIMER RUNS OUT, SOFIA SAYS THAT THE ANSWER IS KNIGHT. EVERYONE WAITS AND THEN SIGHS AS THE GAME PIECE MOVES FIVE SQUARES. JAY ANNOUNCES THAT THAT WAS CLOSE, AND MONET TELLS HIM HE’S DAMN RIGHT. SHE WAS SO CLOSE TO HAVING TO BANISH ‘SHITE’ FROM HER VOCABULARY, ON TOP OF THE OTHER WORD. IF THE NEXT ANSWER IS EITHER ‘SIT’ OR ‘STICK’, SHE MIGHT AS WELL NEVER SPEAK AGAIN.

CLARICE: GOOD JOB, BABE!

SANTO: WAIT. I DON’T GET IT.

CLARICE: YOU’VE NEVER PLAYED CHESS?

SANTO: WH—YEAH I HAVE!

CLARICE: NAME ONE PIECE ON A CHESS BOARD.

SANTO: …A KNIGHT.

MONET ANNOUNCES THAT THEY’RE DOOMED, BUT JAY QUESTIONS THAT. THEY’VE ONLY GOT ONE CURSED WORD SO FAR, AND THAT WAS BEFORE THEY REALIZED WHAT KIND OF GAME IT WAS. BEFORE HE CAN SAY THAT MAYBE THEY CAN BEAT THE GAME, HOWEVER, MONET SHUSHES HIM, INSISTING THAT THEY CAN’T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT IN FRONT OF IT. SHE EXPLAINS THAT THE GAME IS ALWAYS LISTENING AND IT HATES HUBRIS. THERE’S DEFINITELY A POSSIBILITY THAT IT’LL CHANGE THE RULES TO PUNISH THEM FOR IT.

CESSILY: YOU’RE KIDDING.

MONET: NOPE. I’VE BEEN DOING SOME RESEARCH FOR MISS PRYDE’S ‘MYSTERY OBJECTS OF THE PAST’ PROJECT. APPARENTLY, THE PLAYERS IN SARATOGA ALMOST MADE IT TO THE END UNTIL ONE OF THEM DECIDED TO CALL IT… I’M QUOTING WHAT THEY SAID, NOT IMPLYING IT’S TRUE. ‘…BITCHY CANDYLAND’. AND THEN THERE WERE A THOUSAND MORE SQUARES ON THE BOARD. THEY LASTED A WEEK BEFORE THEY WERE OVERTAKEN.

SANTO: HOW THE FUCK ARE WE SUPPOSED TO STRATEGIZE IF THE RULES CAN CHANGE LIKE THAT?!

CLARICE: IDIOT, YOU JUST WASTED YOUR CURSED WORD PASS!

SANTO: THIS IS BULLSHIT. THIS GAME CAN SUCK MY NONEXISTANT DI-

WHEN THE SOUND SUBSIDES, JAY TELLS SANTO TO LOOK AT WHAT HE DID. BEFORE, THE RIDDLE CARDS HAD BEEN DIVIDED INTO AN EASY, MEDIUM, AND HARD SECTION. NOW, THERE’S ONLY A HARD SECTION. SANTO APOLOGIZES AND MONET TELLS CESSILY THAT IT’S HER TURN. AND CONSIDERING ‘PEBBLESLIDE’ JUST PISSED OFF THE GAME, IT’S GONNA BE A DOOZY. CESSILY SIGHS AND READS THE NEXT CARD.

MY FAVORITE FRIEND HAS COME TO CHAT,

POLITELY HE TAKES OFF HIS HAT,

AND SHOWS US ALL A TALENT RARE,

WITH CURIOUS SHAPES WITHIN HIS CARE,

PLACE A CROSS UPON HIS HEAD,

HE TURNS AS HARD AS WEEK-OLD BREAD,

MOVE THE CROSS THEN TO HIS FEET,

AN OBLIGATION HE WILL MEET,

REMOVE THE CROSS AND ADD A MOON,

HE’LL HACK AND WHEEZE LIKE A BABOON,

BUT ONCE WE’VE ALL HAD OUT GOOD FUN,

RETURN THE HAT WHERE IT’S BEGUN,

HE’LL PERFORM HIS NAME ERE HE DEPART,

TELL ME WHAT IT IS, DEAR HEART?

SANTO: HOOOOOOLY SHIT, THAT’S A LOT OF RIDDLE.

(EDITOR’S NOTE: YOU CAN SKIP THIS ONE. UNLESS YOU LIKE A CHALLENGE.)

THEY ALL IMMEDIATELY READ IT OVER AGAIN SILENTLY AND MONET ASKS WHAT A HAT COULD MEAN. SANTO GUESSES A BASEBALL CAP OR A COWBOY HAT, BUT SOFIA SAYS THAT IT’S TOO LITERAL. CESSILY AGREES, SAYING THAT IT COULD MEAN THE TOP OF SOMETHING OR THE HEAD OF SOMETHING, AND JAY ASKS WHAT YOU DO BEFORE YOU LEAVE SOMEPLACE.

MONET: YOU COULD… SAY GOOD-BYE, SHAKE HANDS, HUG IF YOU’RE A HUGGER…

CESSILY: NONE OF THAT MATCHES THE REST OF THE RIDDLE. OKAY, EVERYONE JUST SAY A BUNCH OF YOUR FAVORITE WORDS BECAUSE WE ARE OUT OF TIME.

AFTER A BRIEF FEW SECONDS OF EVERYONE SHOUTING ‘TITS!’ AND ‘ANTIDISESTABLISHMENTARIANISM!’, THE TIMER RUNS OUT AND THE WORD BOUGH APPEARS ON THE BOARD. JAY SAYS THAT IT MAKES NO SENSE, AND JUST WHEN CLARICE ASKS HOW, EVERYONE IS WRITHING ON THE FLOOR AGAIN. SOFIA REPRIMANDS HER GIRLFRIEND WHO PROTESTS THAT SHE THOUGHT IT RHYMED WITH ‘GO’. SANTO THEN ASKS IF THEY’RE JUST TOO DUMB FOR THIS GAME.

MONET ASKS THEM IF THEY COULD FOLLOW HER TO THE WINDOW BEFORE PULLING OUT AN EXPO MARKER. SHE THEN WRITES DOWN ‘I THINK GAME LISTENS, BUT DOESN’T SEE. WANT TO TEST. COULD BE HELPFUL IF RIGHT, BUT I MIGHT BE WRONG, OK?’ THE OTHERS NOD AND THEN BRACE THEMSELVES AS MONET WRITES DOWN THE WORD ‘FUCK’. NOTHING HAPPENS.

SOFIA: OH THANK GRANDE! UH… THAT YOU BROUGHT SOMETHING TO WRITE WITH, MONET. I’M TERRIBLE AT REMEMBERING DETAILS.

WHAT IS SAID

MONET: JAY, YOU’RE UP NEXT. I KNOW THEY’RE ALL HARD CARDS RIGHT N—PRESENTLY, BUT SINCE YOU’LL BE THE FIRST ONE READING THE CARD, YOU’LL HAVE A HEAD START ON ALL OF US IN GETTING THE ANSWER. HOW GOOD ARE YOU AT RIDDLES?

JAY: KINDA BAD. THIS IS A REALLY WONDERFUL GAME THAT I LIKE PLAYING A LOT, BUT I’M NO GOOD AT IT.

SOFIA: MAYBE WE COULD READ ALL THE BOOKS IN THE LIBRARY BEFORE WE CONTINUE. IF WE GENERALLY KNOW, WE CAN ANSWER BETTER.

CESS: MAYBE WE COULD ALL TELL THE GAME HO-- THAT IT’S A GREAT GAME. IT MIGHT GO EASY ON US, NOT THAT WE DESERVE IT. IT’S WORKED SO HARD TO GIVE US A COMPLETE GAMING EXPERIENCE.

MONET: OH FOR F—SANTO, GIMME THE MARKER.

SANTO: HEY, FU---NK YOU. I HAVE SHIT TO CONTRIBUTE.

MONET: AND I WANT TO HEAR IT. WHAT IDEAS DO YOU HAVE?

SANTO: FFFFFINE. WE COULD… TRY TO MAKE FRIENDS WITH THE BOARD. WE COULD… TRY TO TEACH IT TO BE GOOD AND KIND AND NOT THROW US IN A PIT. WE COULD… TRY TO CONVERT IT TO MORMONISM, OR ISLAM, OR ANY OTHER RELIGION THAT DOESN’T THROW PEOPLE IN PITS. HEY, YOU WONDER WHY IT’S CALLED ‘THE PIT’? DO YOU THINK IT’S LIKE HELL OR SOMETHING? OR DO YOU THINK IT’S LIKE THE BOARD GAME VERSION OF HELL WHERE THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN IS GETTING COFFEE SPILLED ON YOU. BUT I’M BABBLING NOW, MAYBE SOMEBODY ELSE SHOULD SAY SOMETHING, Y’KNOW? TAKE SOME OF THE PRESSURE OFF ME.

JAY: I HAVE AN IDEA.

WHAT IS WRITTEN

MONET: WE ARE TOO DUMB FOR THIS GAME. AGREED?

EVERYONE NODS.

SOFIA: ANY IDEAS TO STOP PLAYING? JAY, SAY SOMETHING FLATTERING. MIGHT GET EASY RIDDLE.

CESS: RULES SAY GAME CAN’T BE DESTROYED. MAYBE USE POWERS?

MONET: NOT SURE.

CLARICE: GREAT. ANYONE ELSE HAVE AN IDEA?

SANTO: *STARTS DRAWING A PENIS ON THE WINDOW*

MONET YANKS THE MARKER AWAY FROM SANTO.

MONET: SANTO, YOU TALK. LEAVE WRITING TO US. JUST DON’T SAY A CURSED WORD, OK?

SANTO LOOKS AT HER LIKE HE’S ABOUT TO SAY SOMETHING, BUT GRUDGINGLY RELEGATES HIMSELF TO TALK DUTY.

CESS: WHAT IS WE TRICK IT?

MONET: WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

CESS: MAKE IT THINK WE BROKE A RULE WHEN WE DIDN’T. GAME CURSES US WHEN IT SHOULDN’T. THAT MEANS GAME IS CHEATING.

SOFIA: HOW CAN WE DO THAT?

CLARICE: DON’T LOOK AT ME.

JAY STRAIGHTENS AND WRITES SOMETHING IN HUGE LETTERS ON THE WINDOW. EVERYONE ELSE NODS ENTHUSIASTICALLY.

FOUR HOURS LATER, THEY ALL SIT INSIDE THE LIBRARY. THEY’VE SPENT THE LAST HOUR ARRANGING THE BOOKS INSIDE INTO EASY-TO-NAVIGATE SECTIONS, AND EVERY BOOK ON RIDDLES IS WITHIN READING DISTANCE. JAY DRAWS THE NEXT CARD AND STARTS TO READ.

I CAN GO NEAR, I CAN GO FAR,

YET CANNOT MOVE – I’M QUITE BIZARRE,

A THOUSAND NAMES DO GRACE EACH HAIR,

WHICH SPLIT TO ROOTS, BUT DO NOT TEAR,

I FEAR THE ICE, BUT NOT THE FLAME,

THUS ENDS MY POEM: SAY MY NAME.

(NOTE: THINK YOU CAN GUESS THE FINAL RIDDLE? TAKE A MOMENT TO THINK AND THEN READ ON TO SEE IF YOU WERE RIGHT.)

CESSILY THEN ASKS WHAT GOES SOMEWHERE BUT DOESN’T MOVE AND CLARICE GUESSES A STAMP. MONET SEES THAT THE GAME PIECE DOESN’T MOVE AND SAYS THAT SHE THINKS IT’S SOMETHING SIMILAR. SOFIA ASSUMES MAYBE IT COULD BE SOMETHING THAT DIVIDES, AND SANTO SAYS THAT GOING BUT NOT MOVING REMINDS HIM OF RACING. HE ASSUMES MAYBE THE ANSWER IS IN A BOOK ABOUT CARS.

MONET TRIES TO FIND A SIMILAR RIDDLE AND REACHES FOR A NEARBY BOOK BEFORE PAUSING. SHE TELLS JAY THAT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA TO GO TO THIS PLACE AND IT’S STARTING TO GIVE HER AN ANSWER. SHE THEN PULLS OUT A BOOK NEXT TO THE RIDDLES SECTION, THE STREET.

MONET: THE ANSWER IS A ROAD, OR A STREET.

NOBODY MOVES AND THEN THE GAME PIECE ADVANCES FIVE SPACES. MONET SAYS THAT SHE KNOWS IT MIGHT BE WASTEFUL, BUT SHE’D LIKE TO TAKE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO SAY FUCK. YES. WHEN NOTHING HAPPENS, SANTO PUNCHES THE AIR AND ANNOUNCES THAT THEY BEAT THE GAME. THE GAME BOX STARTS TO VIBRATE, BUT SANTO GLARES AT IT.

SANTO: OH NO, MONOPOLY FROM HELL, YOU DON’T GET TO PULL THAT BULLSHIT AGAIN. THIS GAME IS OVER, BECAUSE WE CAUGHT YOU BREAKING THE RULES. RIGHT, CESS?

CESSILY: “RULE 7: CHEATING IMMEDIATELY PLACES THE GUILTY PARTY INTO THE PIT.” CHEATING INCLUDES ANYTHING AGAINST THE RULES, WHICH YOU, CURSED WORDS, DID NOT FOLLOW WHEN MONET SAID A CURSED WORD AND NOBODY GOT PUNISHED.

SOFIA: I’M SURE YOU MUST BE VERY CONFUSED AT THE MOMENT. WHICH IS WHY I’D LIKE TO INTRODUCE YOU TO OUR SEVENTH PLAYER WHOSE TIMELY BOOK PROVIDED THE ANSWER TO OUR LAST RIDDLE. COME ON OUT, LAURA!

WITH THAT, THE LIBRARY FADES, REVEALING THEIR ACTUAL LOCATION; THE DANGER ROOM. IN THE CONTROL BOOTH, X-23 GIVES THEM A THUMBS UP.

SANTO: *MOCKINGLY* “OH NO, I NEED A BOOK ABOUT CAR RACING, HEY LET’S LOOK AT SOME LAST NAMES.” LAURA, I KNOW YOU SAID YOU WERE CRAP AT RIDDLES BUT YOU TAKE HINTS LIKE A CHAMP!

THE RULE BOOK FLIES OUT OF THE BOX AND OPENS TO THE LAST PAGE, WHICH SOFIA READS ALOUD. “RULE 57: PLAYERS MUST SAY THE ANSWERS TO THEIR RIDDLES ALOUD UNLESS THEY CANNOT DO SO, IN WHICH CASE, THEY MUST COMMUNICATE THE ANSWER TO ANOTHER PLAYER WHO CAN SAY THE ANSWER ALOUD AFTER IDENTIFYING THE PLAYER WHO PROVIDED IT.” WITH THAT, MONET REVEALS A TELEPATHIC PROJECTION OF A FEW MINUTES AGO WHEN SHE SAID SHE FELT LIKE THE PLACE WAS GIVING HER AN ANSWER.

CESSILY: FACT 1: YOU NEGLECTED TO SAY WHERE THE PLAYER COULD BE WHEN THEY COULDN’T TALK. FACT 2: LAURA CONVEYED HER ANSWERS THROUGH THE DANGER ROOM. FACT 3: MONET IDENTIFIED THE ANSWER AS COMING FROM THIS PLACE, AKA THE DANGER ROOM. WE FOLLOWED THE RULES, YOU DID NOT.

CLARICE: EAT THE PIT, WANNABE JUMANJI!

JAY: WAIT, I THOUGHT WE HAD COMPARED IT TO UNCANNY ANNIE.

CLARICE: YEAH, THAT TOO.

SUDDENLY, THE GAME BOARD STARTS CURLING AT THE CORNERS AS THOUGH AN INVISIBLE STRAW IS SUCKING IT DOWN. IT ULTIMATELY COLLAPSES ON ITSELF, GOING DOWN UNTIL IT IS NO MORE. CLARICE PUTS AN ARM AROUND SOFIA AND SAYS THAT SHE HAS A FEELING THAT NOW, THE GAME ISN’T THE ONLY THING THAT’S GOING TO BE GOING DOWN ON SOMETHING TONIGHT. CESSILY STICKS OUT HER TONGUE AT THE INNUENDO AND THEN THANKS LAURA FOR HELPING. JAY THEN STARTS TO SAY ‘NOW’ AND WINCES BEFORE REMEMBERING THAT -OW WORDS AREN’T CURSED ANYMORE.

JAY: NOW, I DUNNO ABOUT YOU, BUT I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO GET DRUNK AND WATCH HORROR MOVIES.

SOFIA: DITTO! I MIGHT HAVE ONE IN MIND…

CLARICE FACEPALMS AND SAYS THAT AFTERWARDS, THEY’RE WATCHING FUNHOUSE. AS THEY ALL WALK OUT OF THE DANGER ROOM, MONET THEN ANNOUNCES THAT SHE DOESN’T WANT TO PLAY GAMES WITH THEM ANYMORE.

[down-in-dixie]

Snatched it from @ multifacet-ed

Name: Lauren Location: coastal North Carolina, USA Star sign: Sagittarius Height: 5′8

Put your music player on shuffle. What are the first 6 songs that popped up?

Unholy (Sam Smith) 【covered by Anna ft. ‪@chloebreez‬】| dual POV ver.

Mama Said by Metallica

Mary on A Cross (You go down just like Holy Mary) by Ghost | Cover by Justine M.

Wicked Ones by Dorothy

The Sound of Silence by Disturbed

Reasons I Drink by Alanis Morissette

In a relationship?

I’m as single as they come. And that’s not going to change anytime soon.

Grab one book nearest to you and turn to page 94. What does the first paragraph say?

Lucia's brows furrowed, her fists clenched as she stayed herself, wishing Alessandra would reach for her, give her an excuse to catch her up in her arms, and take her to bed, but the pirate was still as a statue. She wondered where the captain's previous bravado had gone—where her own had gone. Where are the teasing words, smirking lips, and inviting touch? -- Pirate's Queen by Riley West

Ever had a poem or a song written about you? Not to my knowledge.

Who is your celebrity crush?

I don't think I really have one. Although, I have been pretty interested in Mary Kate Morrissey as of late.

What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?

Hate: Nails on a chalkboard or similar high pitched scraping / scratching sounds. I'm also not a fan of the screaming / crying / high pitched squealing noises made by babies and toddlers. Or just loud children in general. Love: Good music.

Do you believe in God / a higher power?

I'm an atheist, so no. I don't believe in any of it. And even if there is a God, I don't care. I don't care about "Him" or religion. As a matter of fact, I'd be happy if I never had to hear about any of it ever again.

Have you ever crashed a car? Only in a recurring dream (nightmare?) that I've been having since I was in high school. Don't ask me why.

What was the last book you read?

The Spanish Pearl by Catherine Friend. It's a sapphic tale about an American lesbian named Kate Vincent who travels to Spain with her partner, Anna, to adopt a five year old boy named Arturo. Unfortunately, during the trip Kate decides to take a tour through a cave and actually ends up traveling back in time to the year 1085. While she's there she's captured by a band of mercenary soldiers and becomes an unwitting pawn in the violent conflict between the Catholic kings and the Islamic Moors. In her struggle to stay alive, she must flee exotic harems, filthy dungeons, and treacherous Moorish courts. Along the way she meets a sword-brandishing champion with an astonishing secret, and the next thing she knows she's torn between two women and two centuries. If you're into sapphic stories, time travel, and adventure with a little history thrown in then this may be the book for you.

What is the current show that you're watching?

UnREAL. It's an American drama series about a woman named Rachel who is a reality TV producer pushed by her unscrupulous boss, Quinn, to swallow her integrity and do anything it takes to drum up salacious content for their dating reality show Everlasting.

Last movie you watched?

NYAD. It's the remarkable true story of athlete Diana Nyad who, at the age of 60 and with the help of her best friend and coach, Bonnie Stoll, commits to achieving her life-long dream: a 110-mile open ocean swim from Cuba to Florida. What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?

When I was nine years old I got hit between the legs with an old, jagged, splintered wooden plank that my brother and I were using as a see-saw. I ended up with some cuts (thankfully they weren’t that deep) and scratches on both of my inner thighs as well as my vagina. And if that wasn’t bad enough, one of the jagged pieces actually broke off and somehow managed to lodge itself in the most upper part of my inner thigh. I now have a scar there because of it. Needless to say, it hurt like hell and I’m not even exaggerating when I say that it was several days before I was able to go to the bathroom without wanting to cry.

Do you have any obsessions right now? I suppose I have been a bit obsessed with Wicked (mostly the musical) lately.

Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong? I usually don't or at least I try not to. However, I think it would depend on the severity of the situation and who the person is. If it's something fairly minor, then I can usually look past it and not let it get to me. But if it's something more serious, something that really hurts or upsets me (especially if it's done by someone close to me), then there's definitely going to be some resentment for it. At least for a while.

[battleangel]

Gambling Addicts Suicides = Billions for the NFL

Per fherehab.com, gamblers have the highest suicide rate, proportionately, of any addiction. While there are more drug and alcohol addicts (about 25 to 30 million in the US) as opposed to 10 million or so pathological gamblers, a larger percentage of gamblers attempt or complete suicide.

Per Google, up to half of people in gambling disorder treatment have suicidal thoughts, and about 17% have attempted suicide. A 2018 Swedish study found that people with problem gambling had a suicide mortality rate that was 15 times higher than the rest of the population. According to studies, people with gambling disorder have the highest suicide rate of any addiction disorder, with one in five attempting suicide.

A gambling addict is five times more likely to die by suicide than a drug addict or alcoholic — thank god online sports betting and betting apps are now ubiquitous and you can bet on every play, every down in every NFL game!

May is Mental Health Awareness Month and I wanted to discuss an addiction that is fairly invisible compared to other addictions like drugs, alcohol, opioids and food — gambling.

You can't see that someone has gambled themselves into debilitating debt or bankruptcy.

There is no visible weight gain, change in physical appearance, behaviors, mannerisms or behavior like there is with other addictions.

If the gambling addict doesn't disclose their addiction, unless you somehow have access to their financial records, or unless their addiction gets to the point where it costs them their job or their residence — there is no way you would know they have a gambling addiction unless they tell you.

Unlike liquor, fentanyl, cocaine, percocet, vicodin, oxycontin, junk food, fast food and other addictions which have visible markers — gambling addiction doesn't.

Gambling addiction is the most invisible and the most deadly addiction.

Gambling addiction has the highest rate of suicide.

That is why I wanted to discuss and examine what the NFL has done in terms of exploiting gambling addiction for profit during the last day of Mental Health Awareness month.

The NFL is literally profiting off of gamblers' addictions, misery, depression and suicides and I don't see much discussion around it.

Restless, desperate, depressed, suffering, irritable, in debt, broke, broken down, suicidal — exactly the type of gamblers the NFL covets, creates, endlessly preys on and exploits.

The 2020 CBA doesn't involve a financial agreement for the players regarding compensation for online sports betting on NFL games and fantasy football.

The players are the ones being betted on and moved around as pawns in peoples fantasy leagues, they're the ones incurring the permanent brain damage every single season and assuming all the risk yet getting exactly zero of the reward as it is set up in the CBA to go exclusively to team owners unlike say television deals and rights which players share a part of the revenue with the league.

Online sports betting now that it is allowed inside NFL arenas as of 2023 is expected to explode in further popularity — the players will see exactly zero additional revenue from this.

Per MSNBC.com:

"But the rise in sports gambling on the internet and phone has accelerated the prevalence of gambling addiction. The ease with which people can access online sports gambling platforms is frightening. The states love it, as they are getting dollars from the gamblers. Nor is there any effort to restrict its visibility, the way tobacco ads have largely been banned. These sportsbooks bring in billions a year, while millions of lives are ruined. They depend upon compulsive gamblers, sucking them dry while misery mounts not just for themselves, but for their friends and families. Now, with the advent of artificial intelligence and big gambling data, there are different types of bets that can be offered every few seconds while watching games in real time.

Much of the growth has been in the online betting platforms that offer a dizzying number of wagers that change minute-to- minute. A flood of advertising, technology that allows for one-click betting at home, and nearly unlimited betting options during games have collided. In the past five years, there has been an explosion of online sports betting apps from companies like DraftKings, FanDuel and Caesars. Focus on gambling disorders has historically been minimal in the United States. This is in part because people with gambling disorders have been viewed as foolish or lacking willpower. We equate the ability to hold onto money and win money with success and equate losing with greed."

Per CNN.com:

"Many states naively or some other way went about legalizing sports betting without adequately estimating the costs on problem gambling resources," said John Holden, an associate professor of management at Oklahoma State University who studies sports gambling regulation."

They estimated the costs on problem gambling — they want people addicted to gambling.

The NFL wants this because its billions more in revenue for them and, remember, the most recent 2020 CBA does not allocate any revenue that the NFL generates from online sports betting and fantasy football to the players that are sacrificing their bodies and minds to make the NFL that money.

So, the NFL reaps all the rewards while the players are the ones on the field taking all of the risks and not making a single solitary dime and we are talking about billions in revenue.

Talk about a slave plantation when 70% of the players are black and 0% of the owners are black yet black men only make up 6% of the US population.

Modern day slavery.

Per CNN.com:

"Many recovering gambling addicts feel helpless against the constant barrage of advertising encouraging betting on games.  "We consider it to be predatory advertising because it's incessant and it glamorizes gambling," Grondin said."

Its incessant, glamorizing, ubiquitous and being done in partnership with the NFL so the ads are relentlessly shown during games and parlays and betting lines are discussed by analysts during the pre-game show.

The ads and marketing are literally inescapable, just like a stalker and true predator — predatory.

Per CNN.com:

"Regulators are wary of how tightly they can curtail messages in gambling advertising without running afoul of First Amendment protections on commercial speech. "A lot of state regulators have big First Amendment fears," Holden said. "No one wants to fund litigation or lose a Supreme Court case over gambling."

The First Amendment is being used to protect predatory advertising targeting vulnerable gambling addicts that have a suicide rate five times higher than alcohol & drug addicts?!

That's freedom of expression?!

Per CNN.com:

"In most states, the legal age for sports betting is 21 years old. But ads during games, in stadiums, and with star athlete sponsors normalizes sports betting for kids and teenagers, critics say. The United Kingdom last year banned top athletes and celebrities from appearing in ads endorsing or promoting gambling to try to curb underage gambling. That's unlikely to happen in the United States."

The United States of capitalist excess, exploitation, overconsumption, materialism, consumerism, addictions, compulsions, disordered behaviors, binges, highest individual debt in the world, highest cost of living, glamorizing addictive behavior, spend spend spend, buy buy buy, shop till you drop, money makes the world go round, money buys happiness, retail therapy, hey you never know, publishers clearing house, $100k pyramid, lets make a deal!, dystopian game shows reality shows & competition shows, dying to gamble, dying to win, bankruptcy, foreclosures, repossessions, evictions, overcompensating, impressing people you want to know, kissing ass, keeping up with the joneses, obsessions, adrenaline rushes, vicarious thrills, dying to feel alive, chasing down highs, monotony of modern life, cubicle slave, worker bee, 9 to 5 drudgery, the excitement of winning your parlay, beating the odds, beating the system, coming out on top, becoming a millionaire, quitting your day job, instantaneous wealth, everybody else is doing it, seductive ads, predatory ads, alluring ads, compelling ads, Jamie Foxx, Gronk, Kevin Hart, Draft Kings, FanDuel, hot blondes, Buffalo Wild Wings, filling up your empty existence, finally winning at something, distractions from the constant drudgery of daily life, beating the doldrums, not totally up to luck & chance, using knowledge of football to beat the odds, finally getting rewarded for all these years of being a fan, makes watching the games more interesting, being more invested as a fan, threatening a players life for fucking up your parlay, sending death threats to a running back with a season ending and potentially career altering injury for fucking up your parlay, dehumanization of the players, dehumanization of the self.

Make the NFL plantation 100% white owners richer and richer off of the backs of their 70% black slaves...

Per APA.org:

"People can gamble around the clock from anywhere and, increasingly, at many ages, including teenagers and even young children who are well below the legal age for gambling. Starting young carries a relatively high burden of psychological distress and increased chances of developing problems. The National Institutes of Health has agencies dedicated to problem alcohol use and drug use, but there are no official efforts aimed at problem gambling, and there are no federal regulations against advertisements for sports betting.

An estimated 96% of people with gambling problems have at least one other psychiatric disorder. Substance use disorders, impulse-control disorders, mood disorders, and anxiety disorders are particularly common among people with gambling problems."

The sports betting & fantasy betting ads target and exploit people who already struggle with impulse and self control and encourages them to make risky bets, bet impulsively and to lose whatever self control they have and bet with Draft Kings now now now every play every down how many yards how many catches how many forced fumbles how many interceptions how many pass break up attempts how many first downs how many QB rushes how many QB hurries how many sacks how many tackles for loss.

Every imaginable stat at your fingertips, the NFL's dream, and an addictive bettor's worst nightmare...

Per APA.org, "Vulnerability is high in people with low incomes who have more to gain with a big win."

Targeting the working poor already being exploited by capitalism just like the alcohol, fast food, soda, snacking and credit card rewards companies do.

Per APA.org, "Unlike rewards given after every repetition of a behavior, this type of variable ratio reinforcement, or intermittent reinforcement, exploits a cognitive distortion that makes a gambler view each loss as one step closer to a win and can lead to very rapid adoption of a behavior that can then be hard to extinguish. Animals exhibit the same patterns."

Psychological exploitation, psyops, psychological warfare.

Per APA. org, "As many as 90% or more of people with gambling problems never seek help. Nower has proposed three main pathways that can lead to gambling problems. For one group of people, habitual gambling pushes them to chase wins until they develop a problem. A second group comes from a history of trauma, abuse, or neglect, and gambling offers an escape from stress, depression, and anxiety. A third group may have antisocial or impulsive personalities with risk-taking behaviors."

Recall this from earlier in my article: "An estimated 96% of people with gambling problems have at least one other psychiatric disorder. Substance use disorders, impulse-control disorders, mood disorders, and anxiety disorders are particularly common among people with gambling problems."

And this from the above quote from APA.org: "A second group comes from a history of trauma, abuse, or neglect, and gambling offers an escape from stress, depression, and anxiety."

This is a complete and total set up to target vulnerable populations already more susceptible to gambling addictions with predatory ads — the NFL, Draft Kings & FanDuel are partially responsible for the deaths of gambling addicts that are committing suicide at five times the rate of alcohol and drug addicts and they could give a fuck less.

APA.org:

"In 2023, at its peak, according to news reports, the betting platform FanDuel reported taking 50,000 bets per minute. Sports bettors trend young: The fastest-growing group of sports gamblers are between 21 and 24 years old, according to an analysis by Nower's group of data from New Jersey, which legalized sports gambling in 2018. Compared with other kinds of gambling, the in-game betting offered during sports games is highly dependent on impulsivity, Nower said.

There are opportunities to place bets during the game on everything from who will win the coin toss to which quarterback will throw 100 yards first to how long the national anthem will last. And impulsivity is particularly common in younger people and among sports fans caught up in the emotion of a game, Nower said.

About 14% of sports bettors reported thoughts of suicide and 10% said they had made a suicide attempt, she and colleagues found in one New Jersey study."

And gambling addicts have a suicide rate five times higher than alcohol and drug addicts — five times! And the NFL could give less than a fuck.

Per APA.org:

"Because of gambling on mobile phones and tablets, there's no real way to keep children from gambling on their parents', friends', or siblings' accounts. And they're being bombarded with all these advertisements. This is a recipe for problems among a lot of young people."

"We educate our kids in our school systems about alcohol use, drug use, drinking and driving, and unprotected sex," Derevensky said. "It's very difficult to find jurisdictions and school boards that have gambling prevention programs."

The NFL likes to get them while they're young and vulnerable and easy to exploit — just like Pop Warner.

Some observations from NFL Reddit:

"If you just do it on your phone you may not fully appreciate the consequences or realize how much you are actually wagering. At a certain point it just feels like another addicting cell phone game. Which is exactly what the gambling companies want."

"Simmons, etc. frame parlays as a "smart guy" way to play but if you look at it from a business perspective the books have a much higher take rate on parlays which is why they are getting promoted so much. So it's pretty much a lie. But smart gamblers don't do any of the things that would be advised on podcasts. They might sweat individual bets but also generally understand that bad beats are part of life, they are not wagering emotionally on or against teams that they dislike for whatever reason. Also the online books will start limiting you as soon as you win, so it's basically a waste of time if you are trying to be a "smart" gambler..."

This instant gambling, 'take out your phone and bet right now!' ubiquitous exploitative mantra in every ad and during every game is so fucking predatory and exploitative — just like the NFL — who is making billions off of gambling every single season.

For the NFL, the more addicts, the more suicides, the more lives ruined, the better.

More NFL Reddit observations:

"A lot of people consume the NFL through the lens of fantasy (people like to own their friends) and gambling (people like the thrill of winning/losing money), so the NFL is now dependent on those to sustain interest in the sport as a whole. We're going to see more gambling and fantasy content in the future."

"It has increased football's hold on people. Along with fantasy, it's a reason to follow all of the games as opposed to just your team's games."

"I know so many people that would have never gambled if it weren't so accessible and heavily promoted."

"It's ruining sports, it's ruining watching sports with people. We all know guys whose lives basically revolve around their daily bets."

The NFL revels in creating future gambling addicts and future suicides — just like their current players quietly developing CTE and later committing suicide decades after they finish playing.

The NFL makes billions upon billions with online sports betting and fantasy football with an audience mostly made up of men — who develop gambling addictions at double the rate of women — yet they cant significantly and seriously fund any studies on gambling addiction yet gambling addicts commit suicide at five times the rate of alcohol and drug addicts?

$6 million is what the NFL contributed to sports betting research in the same year they made over $3 billion from online sports betting. Do the math.

Just like the NFL's reluctance to acknowledge CTE and fund research into it, the NFL refuses to seriously commit to funding research on gambling addiction because of how massively they are benefitting and profiting from gambling addicts to the tune of billions of dollars a year.

Just like their stance on CTE for decades, the NFL doesn't want to know.

The Supreme Court legalized online sports betting in 2018 and it is legal six years later in over 38 states — legal, instantly accessible on mobile phones, apps and tablets with ubiquitous and predatory ads with ultra famous athletes and celebrities from Gronkowski and Kevin Hart to pregame analysts endlessly spouting off about parlays, prop bets, over/unders, spreads, picks, who's going to score next ad nauseum.

Final NFL Reddit Observations:

"Avoiding your addiction is critical to recovery. By advertising constantly, you are more likely to recapture those recovering addicts. Gambling is a psychological addiction so the advertising component is more important."

"I'm sick to fucking death of how sports betting, gambling is spreading like herpes. I didn't have particularly strong feelings until I saw one commercial whose eyes literally lit up with pleasure on opening some gambling app. Something about this new sports betting world arouses such disgust in me I can barely speak. It's spreading into paid partnerships where just using an app 'unlocks' some bullshit offer to start gambling 'risk free'. By far it's some of the sleaziest, most manipulative marketing I've ever seen and I hate it."

"Sports betting is as addictive as drugs and maybe worse because it's been normalized as a leisure activity and some people are sucked in to the promise of free bets and big payouts."

"Having it available on a device everyone owns that fits in the palm of your hand is terrifying."

"Online gambling is a slippery slope into poverty and despair."

"Without fantasy football, people wouldn't be watching half the games they are. They only watch the games because they have money on them. Suddenly they have skin in the game for teams they'd normally not care about. It's incredibly manipulative."

"The one that really frustrates me is the Jamie Foxx commercial where he's playing a piano and says something like 'You'll be watching every pitch, every run, every lap, every catch now'. I mean right there, they freely admit that gambling can lead to compulsive behaviors."

"These companies are absolutely predatory; they are armed with addiction techniques and scientific studies against people who can't defend themselves. It's psychological weaponry."

"I'm so tired of seeing betting/gambling ads. They've become as pervasive as the drug/pharmaceutical ads."

"EVERY PLAY!! EVERY DOWN!!! BET $5 AND GET $1500 IN BONUS BUCKS!! INSTANTLY!"

Predatory exploitative fucks.

They want people disordered, addictive, compulsive, anxious, depressed, empty, listless, lethargic, impulsive, chasing wins, bored, apathetic, despondent, desperate, money hungry, thrill seeking, adrenaline junkies, high on wins, greedy...

Online sports betting & fantasy betting ads are as predatory, exploitative and ubiquitous as pharmaceutical industrial advertising.

Just as obnoxious and unavoidable. Just as transparent and nauseating. Just as disgustingly disingenuous with their warnings tacked on to the very end whether its medication side effects or gambling addiction helplines.

The NFL makes billions from predatory ads every single season while they continue to create, fuel, worsen & endlessly profit off of gambling addictions.

Per The Washington Post:

"The rapid advance of this technology has allowed gambling operators to figure out a lot about customers - when they bet, how much they bet, whom they bet on - and addiction experts maintain that the companies have a responsibility to use that data to help keep bettors from becoming addicts."

But they don't use the technology and customer data to help bettors from becoming addicts — they use it to send notifications to bettors directly to their cell phones reminding them when its time to place a bet making their gambling addictions even worse.

They want addicts — its best for business.

Just like the alcoholic beverage industry, the vast majority of the money made for both the sports & fantasy online betting industries is made via addicts who overspend.

These industries actively court, lure, seduce, convince and use hypnotic messaging and brainwashing tactics to prey on vulnerable individuals susceptible to addictive behavior as part of their very lucrative and hideously disingenuous, cruel and exploitative marketing plans.

Per The Washington Post:

"On the individual level, operators have enough funds to offer tempting cash bonuses for placing initial bets from new accounts. You certainly don't see that kind of offer for, say, new smokers or new drinkers.

"Think about the ads," Maney said. "Every one of these kids is seeing them Facebook, Instagram, every game you watch. If you're a 12-, 14-year-old - the backdrop is DraftKings. Why wouldn't they gamble?"

From "Sports Gambling: Trading On Americas Addiction To The NFL":

"Revenues in the online sports gambling sector are expected to clock in at roughly $11 billion in 2023, which would represent a 72% increase from 2022. The NFL is America's favorite sports league, which is why the kick-off of the NFL season typically triggers a surge in American sports betting activity.

However, the "house" now extends beyond just sports books - state governments have also horned in on the action - collecting an estimated $3.50 billion in tax-related revenue since the start of 2018 as of 2023.

Not surprisingly, that same research also demonstrated that there's a strong correlation between betting activity and game viewership. For example, survey responses indicated that two-thirds of mobile gamblers were more likely to watch a game they'd wagered on.

That's certainly music to the ears of NFL owners. According to the American Gaming Association (AGA), the NFL collects an extra $2.3 billion per year in revenues due to the advent of widespread, legal sports gambling.

Moreover, an estimated 76% of Americans actively follow the NFL, according to research conducted by Statista. The American Gaming Association (AGA) released the results from a recent survey that indicated upwards of 73 million Americans are likely to make a wager focused on the NFL in 2023. According to AGA data, that figure represents an increase of about 60% from 2022.

Within the online sports gambling industry there's two primary heavyweights - DraftKings (DKNG) and FanDuel. FanDuel accounts for roughly 46% of the market, while DraftKings has 25%. Rounding out the top four are BetMGM and Caesars, which control 12% and 7% of the market, respectively.

As of early September 2023, sports gambling has now been legalized in 38 states and the District of Columbia. Just 10 years ago, that level of penetration in the U.S. market would have seemed unthinkable."

More revenue, more money, more billions, more suicides, more addicts, more divorces, more broken families, more depression, more deaths, more destitution, more ruined careers, more debt, more bankruptcies, more foreclosures, more evictions, more repossessions, more ruined credit, more shame, more impulsivity, more bragging about wins & hiding losses, more rehab, more recovery, more pressure on players, more player injuries, more death threats to players, more dehumanization of players, more revenue for the NFL plantation owners & less money to the slaves playing, more wishing death on players with season-ending injuries who fucked up your parlay, less true fandom, less enjoyment of the game, less fun for players, more exploitation, more manipulation, more predatory, more seductive, more legal, more alluring, more exciting, more reason to watch, more investment in the NFL, more adrenaline rushes, more wins to chase, more opportunities to win back your losses, more child addicts, more addicted teens, more casinos in your pocket, more bets on every play every down every game, more anxiety, more substance use disorders.

More fans dying for their gambling addictions, FanDuel, DraftKings, BetMGM Casino, Caesars, the NFL owners & Roger Goodell...

[bainhardt]

Marchcember 2024 SPRING do - Part 2

I suppose it's fortunate this isn't a proper December To-Do, because next game off the list isn't even really backlog, although it is a similar enough scenario to Mega Serval which also got a post... We'll just say this one's more of a "March Playing a Video Game." I bought Dragon's Dogma: Dark Arisen earlier this month on sale and even finished it in time for this name scheme to still make sense! With my track record, it's practically a miracle this was done with such fast turnaround.

I had my feelings on the game already figured out during my playthrough at about exactly "half-fun." If I didnt like anything about it I wouldn't have bothered finishing, as should be pretty obvious. But there was no shortage of griping along the way. I'm already reminded of a couple other games, saying that...

I absolutely hated traveling. Dunno exactly why but the stamina running out on me all the time made it not fun in the least to explore. It was doubly cruel for the game to give infinite stamina inside Gran Soren, suggesting they did realize that idea had merit. Why not only have limited stamina during combat? The thought had me desperate for Elden Ring's design. At the same time, blaming this whole issue on stamina alone would feel wrong when I know I enjoyed similar games like Skyrim in their day.

I guess to hit on all my scattered thoughts on the subject - movement reminded me of Legends Arceus; the control didn't feel properly snappy and responsive and "fun." Clunky is the descriptor here. Also, the swarms of enemies in the wilderness are entirely pointless. This is maybe the only action game I remember playing that had random encounters. There wasn't much in the way of exp or loot to be gained from fighting my five-hundredth wolf or bandit, and it certainly wasn't fun to do for its own sake, so I employed the age-old technique from RPGs: I ran the fuck away constantly. And finally, the lack of any kind of quick travel was initially a huge turn-off for me, but as I progressed and discovered the portcrystals, I can give them, again, about half credit for this one. I think giving the player a limited number of warp points is a fairly unique compromise... but I would really prefer the warps themself be infinite. I can say with confidence that without the Dark Arisen infinite ferrystone, I wouldn't have played this one for very long.

As for the other side of our basic foundation mechanics, combat gets a "fine" from me. The third-person action approach is cool, but I feel it may have ended up a little too simple. This part reminded me, strangely, of Tactics Ogre (not a good sign); I never once felt like I had to change or reevaluate anything I was doing for the entire game. I learned three Thief skills right at the beginning and mashing the same buttons over and over always worked, so I had no reason to broaden my horizons. Trip enemy with rope, hit enemy with flurry attack. Dunno if that's typical because I haven't played many games like this. And I can imagine what you're thinking: you're supposed to branch out because you want to experience the other possibilities! ...Well, I think it's important to say I didn't really find combat so fun that I wanted to do it any more than necessary, or as said earlier, for its own sake.

Which establishes the main idea here: if the core gameplay loops the game spends most of its time asking you do to are not particularly fun for you, playing it can feel more like a chore. The proportion is so important, too. How much do you like and how much do you wish you could skip? It feels so stupid to talk about it like it's not obvious, but I think it's a huge underlying element of the games that lose me somewhere or other. I just want it to be all good.

So I'll take that as the turning point to talk about stuff that was good! I really love the Arisen/Pawn system of the game, both mechanically and narratively. It made for a fascinating world setting. I initially wanted to know the story because of this, though I don't know for sure I got all of it because I was averse to doing anything other than what was strictly necessary (sorry). The Pawn AI was also fairly reliable. They didn't always do what I'd hope, but they never did anything I actively preferred they wouldn't, either. As I've mentioned, I haven't played other games like Dragon Age or whatever, but this feels like it might be the ideal version of your pseudo-D&D RPG experience in a game. You get all the fun of a full party while only needing to fuss over two of the members' finer details. Actually, to that point, I think I would have enjoyed more details to fuss over. Getting to decide more out-of-combat things my Pawn and I should be good and bad at would make outfitting the party even more fun.

Another plus - one of my own making - is that my characters never stopped making me laugh when they were on screen. This game let me create any character I wanted and I was so unsure of what to do I ended up a hulking, dykey Bart Simpson in a Princess Zelda cosplay. But the true star of the show was Tom Scott, who served as my rock and guide throughout Gransys. I don't know what I'd have done without him.

Quest and dungeon design seemed pretty good overall. While perhaps not many, all of the quests I remember felt unique and had me tracking down more interesting objectives than your usual slay monsters X times bullshit (while also cleverly including that through the bulletins). But it warrants repeating that I avoided even considering certain quests because I knew they'd require I carve halfway across the map through mobs of dull enemies feeling no sense of reward or satisfaction, only to do one cool dungeon and then immediately turn around and drudge my way back. Where I did journey, that ferrystone was always pulling a lot of weight.

And to make an important distinction here about the combat: boss fights were great. I enjoyed every boss that I recall - even when these encounters occasionally slowed down to a bit of a slog, I still preferred their far grander-scale slog to trash mobs at their best. Bespoke monster fights should've been like, the only fights in the game... or maybe that would've crossed too far into Capcom's Monster Hunter (though it's still nice for it all to be building towards a conclusion). But yeah, climbing on guys was fun, learning their moves and options, having your Pawns caught in the crossfire and calling out advice and stuff. Loved all that. This is where the game's systems actually engage the player on a proper level. I was chuggin' through items, reading about the myriad status effects I was suffering, smacking my forehead as That Same Pawn went down for the umpteenth time at the least opportune moment. To return to my point about proportions from before, boss fights felt like the only reward the rest of the drudgery in the game kept me wanting after, and they're easily the best memories from it. I specifically chose to fight the dragon at the end because I wanted to beat ass one last time! Polish up the combat a little and give me further ways to customize my characters around unique challenges and threats posed by these monsters, and I'd be begging for more.

Damn this got longer than I intended. To conclude, I'm glad that I got this game done and relatively quickly, but I am definitely not begging for more. I didn't even buy it because I wanted to play DD2... I just thought the Monster Factory episode was funny.

[retrogamingloft]

Not to be confused with the pinball video game sharing its name, this 2-player-only prototype from the mid 80s created by Wiliams introduces a unique twist—a hockey-inspired game played by drones.

The standout feature lies in the team dynamics: six players per team, where five, including the goalkeeper, are confined to lateral movements, while one enjoys unrestricted mobility across the rink. Upon observing this, my mind immediately drew a parallel to chess, envisioning the limited range of movement for pawns in contrast to the queen's ability to traverse the entire board.

It's not merely a bad game or concept, but rather one that beckoned for general refinement. Distinct from other titles that never saw the light of day, playing this prototype brings an awareness that you're engaging with an experimental creation, underscored by the absence of a single-player mode - a clear avenue for improvement.