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trickphotography2 · 6 months ago

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D-Day by TrickPhotography | Chapter 19

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x female!reader

Word count: 8.8k (sorry, it's a long one)

Synopsis: After finding out his girlfriend is pregnant, Jake is ready to move in and get married. The last thing he expected was to be hit with a six-month deployment at sea and missing the birth of his first child.

18+, minors DNI

Chapter 18 | Series Master List | Ao3

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Chapter 19

Jake's heart pounded, eyes darting around the arrivals area at Tokyo Haneda. The arrivals board had said you'd landed twenty minutes ago, and his anticipation was turning into restlessness. He wished he could text you, check in on how you were feeling, how the flight was, and if you needed anything.

He was looking down at his watch again when the doors slid open. His head jerked up, and he felt a twinge in his neck with a flare of disappointment when it wasn’t you. Grimacing, he rubbed the sore muscles, fingers squeezing the cup of coffee he’d sipped on the train. The hour ride took twice the amount of time as a taxi, but after your reaction to the charges on the credit card bill, he was happy to do that if you wouldn’t fight him on grabbing a car back to base. After all, you’d already been traveling for 19 hours. After a nearly six-hour layover in San Francisco and over 11 hours in the air, it was almost 6:00AM local time. Jake had managed to get an early pass off the carrier to meet you at the airport and had reserved the Navy Lodge starting the night before so you could get off the plane and go right in to relax. You’d already texted him that the upgrade to first class was worth it for the lounge use alone during the layover, and he hoped you’d been able to sleep on the flight. He’d been too anxious to ensure everything was ready to get much sleep and regretted it, fatigue making his eyes heavy. After downing the rest of the coffee, he tossed the empty cup.

The doors opened again, and Jake felt his heart stop. He’d never seen a more beautiful sight than you in leggings and his old sweatshirt stretched across your seven-month pregnant belly. A grin spread across his mouth as he gripped the strap of his backpack and started to push through the crowd, watching as you looked for him. When you spotted him, he saw how your eyes widened and filled with tears as you hurried toward him, waddling a little. The smile that hid your wobbling lower lip.

And then, in an instant, you were there, standing before him. Without a moment's hesitation, he enveloped you in his arms. His lips found the crown of your head, and he felt his heart surge with love at the sensation of your stomach against his. “Hey, darlin’,” Jake whispered, his voice husky with emotion. Unable to speak around the lump in your throat, you held him tightly - or as tightly as you could, between your stomach and breasts pressing against him and forcing you apart.

Pulling away slightly, you tilted your head up and smiled at your husband, eyes blurry with tears. His lips met yours, and you could feel him grinning as one of his hands spanned your lower back while the other slid to touch your stomach. When you broke apart to breathe, you pushed onto your toes to chase his lips, trusting that he would keep you steady. Jake chuckled, kissing you again before resting his forehead against yours and wiping away the tears from your cheeks. “Missed you,” he said softly.

“I missed you more,” you replied. Shaking his head, he gently broke your hold on him.

“Not possible,” he said, sinking to one knee. You felt a flush rise as he leaned closer and kissed your middle. “Hey, Sloane-girl, it’s your daddy. Were you good for Mama on the plane?” Your hand went to his shoulder, holding tightly to his backpack strap as he leaned against you.

“You’re gonna make me ugly cry in public, Seresin.” Your tone was teasing, but he could hear the barely concealed tears in your voice. Chuckling, he kissed Sloane again before springing to his feet and tugging you into his arms.

“Can’t have that, Mama,” he replied. “We need to get your bag?”

“Nope, traveled light. Or a light as you can when you’re huge.”

“Darlin’.”

“Just have my carry-ons,” you plowed through, ignoring his stern tone. His hold tightened, and he pressed kisses into your hair. You weren’t the only one that had gotten bigger over the deployment. While he’d always been fit, you could tell he’d put on more muscle, and his stomach was firmer against your own. To put it plainly, your husband was hot as hell. And if you noticed the differences in his appearance, he was surely noticing your own.

Of course, you’d sent him pictures throughout your pregnancy, so it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen your body's changes. But those pictures were carefully curated to be flattering. The weekly picture he requested of your bump was only taken after you’d gotten ready for work, hiding the worst of the stretchmarks on your stomach and breasts. Makeup concealed the bags under your eyes after sleepless nights pacing the house. It was almost comical to think about how self-conscious you’d been about your tiny bump that Jake had watched grow, given that Sloane had more than doubled in size since last seeing him.

After three and a half months apart, you wanted to look your best for your husband. But instead of taking the time to do that, you’d only brushed your hair and teeth on the airplane, forgoing any makeup, and hurried through customs instead of stopping in the bathroom to freshen up. And you felt like crap and were exhausted after traveling for almost a day. The flight attendants were great, ensuring you had everything you needed. Your first-class seat was converted into a bed, but it wasn’t comfortable. The pillows you shoved under your belly while lying on your side hadn’t helped, as they were too flat. One of the flight attendants had rolled up blankets and suggested using those as a wedge under your stomach, which had helped some. But, per Dr. Shearer’s orders, you’d gotten up every hour to walk around to avoid blood clots and had to rearrange the blankets when you got back into bed. Sloane had also been restless, pressing on your bladder after you forced yourself to drink a lot of water to stay hydrated.

Jake’s palms lifted to cup your face, leaning down to brush his lips to yours. “You look gorgeous. You always do, but now? Christ, darlin’.” His thumb traced your trembling bottom lip. His soft smile nearly broke you, and you tried to quiet your internal monologue, listing all the faults in your appearance. “Ready to get outta here?”

“I should probably hit the restroom before we go,” you sighed, placing a hand on your stomach. Jake nodded, leaning down to kiss you before gently batting your hand away as you reached for your suitcase handle. His free hand took yours, raising it to brush his lips to your knuckles.

Jake waited for you outside the bathroom, and you quickly did your business and studied your reflection in the mirror while washing your hands. The bags under your eyes were slightly less prominent with the excited flush in your cheeks. After drying your hands, you smoothed them over your stomach and took a deep breath. You felt a flutter in your belly and pressed against Sloane, “Ready to go see Daddy?” you said quietly.

Green eyes met yours when you stepped out of the restroom, and Jake extended his hand. Drawing you in, he grinned against your mouth. “Can’t believe you’re really here,” he murmured. When his kisses bordered on indecent, you laughed and gently pushed him away.

“Remember we’re in public, Lieutenant,” you gently chided, tapping his nose. He smirked, leaning forward to whisper in your ear.

“Good thing we’ve got a hotel to go back to. Realized a few weeks ago that I can’t remember how you taste, which is unacceptable,” he drawled. Your breath caught at his whiskey voice, feeling heat flood your face as a different type of fluttering occurred in your stomach. Trailing his lips along your cheek, he pecked your lips and pulled away. A teasing smolder lit his green eyes as they ran the length of you, lingering on your belly and breasts before rising to meet your own. “Ready to go?” his voice was husky, and his grip on your suitcase tightened. Rather than answer, you held out a hand, feeling his fingers slide between your own.

The taxi slowed as they neared the gate, and Jake was glad he’d asked for your ID as soon as you got into the car. The moment it had started moving, you’d leaned your head against his shoulder and fallen asleep. After wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tucking you close, he’d rested his head against yours and closed his eyes, his free hand on your belly. He couldn’t get enough of touching you and wanted more than anything to feel his daughter move.

After the MP checked both IDs, the car pulled away from the guard shack. Jake kept his eyes open, blinking in the weak early morning sun. A tired smile tugged at his mouth when he looked down at you, and he gently ran his thumb under your eyes. You’d mentioned having trouble sleeping, but now he could see how tired you were.

Your brow furrowed as the car turned into the Navy Lodge parking lot, and Jake chuckled. “Alright, sleepy girl,” he said softly, pressing kisses into your hair. “We’re here. Let’s go get our keys and go to bed, alright?” You groaned, nuzzling closer to him, and he chuckled again, meeting the taxi driver’s gaze in the mirror. The man quickly looked away as he pulled up to the hotel and got out to get the bags from the trunk. “C’mon, darlin’. Gotta open those pretty eyes for me.” After undoing his seat belt, he reached over you and unclipped yours, holding the belt away from your body when you let out a disgruntled little sigh, eyes slowly blinking open. “There’s my girl,” Jake cooed. “Let’s go get more comfortable, Mama.”

You smiled sleepily, and Jake couldn’t resist kissing you. “Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he smiled. He held out his hands to help you from the car and grabbed all the bags when you reached for them. When you commented on taking your things, he shook his head. “You’re on vacation. Besides, you’re already carryin’ the most important thing.” He handled check-in while you relaxed on the couch and watched the bags, kneading the muscles in your lower back. “They’ve got breakfast if you want me to grab you something,” Jake said when he appeared at your side.

“I’m fine for now, but we’ll want to grab some stuff for the room later,” you sighed, mentally preparing to push to your feet.

“There’s a store across the parking lot, and the NEX and commissary are about a 10-minute drive, but the taxis are close.” Nodding, you scooted to the edge of the couch and braced your hands on your knees. When you stood, you noticed your husband was grinning.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he replied before handing you the room keys and swinging his backpack over his shoulder. The room was on the second floor, and Jake made sure he was behind you as you climbed the stairs, one hand resting on your lower back. While you internally rolled your eyes at his overprotectiveness, you didn’t say anything to discourage him. It felt nice to have his hands on you again.

The room was decent-sized, with a small kitchenette and two queen beds. The window faced Tokyo Bay, and you could see a few small boats bobbing in the morning tide. After tossing the bags onto the extra bed, Jake stood behind you as you gazed out the window, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. His lips grazed your temple as his palms rested on either side of your stomach. “I saw something and wanted to try it,” he said softly.

“A sexy something?” you asked, rolling your head onto his shoulder when his lips trailed down your throat.

“Not exactly.” His hands moved further down your body to curl around the hem of your sweater and drew it up. You grumbled a little when he encouraged your arms up so he could take it off. His attention turned to your leggings, and he rolled the waist down before tugging up your shirt so it was tucked under your breasts. Jake’s calloused palms slid down your stomach, and he knit his fingers together underneath your bump. His arms caged you in as he raised his hands, lifting Sloane. The relief was immediate, and you sagged back against him, letting out a moan as the weight disappeared and the tension left your back. Jake laughed, and you felt tears spring to your eyes. “That good?”

“So good,” you breathed, swallowing hard when he kissed your cheek.

“You alright, Mama?” he asked, concern lacing his voice when he saw the tears on your cheeks. “Does it hurt?” He started to lower your belly, but you quickly closed your hands over his.

“Don’t you dare,” you breathed, loving the brief reprieve from the extra weight on your front and the feeling of his arms around you. “I just missed you.” Jake whispered your name, lifting Sloane again as he gently nudged you with his nose until your lips found his.

“Miss you all the time,” he said softly against your mouth. You deepened the kiss, curling a hand around the back of his neck.

And then Jake froze, eyes opening and meeting yours in wide-eyed awe. “Was that…” he asked.

“Your daughter moving?” you nodded, feeling Sloane wiggle. Slowly, he lowered your belly - you bit back a groan at the weight now tugging you forward - and turned you around. His hands returned to your stomach, and he frowned when he felt nothing with his light touch. “Here,” you said, guiding his hand and pressing a bit harder.

“I don’t feel anything,” he sighed after a long minute.

“I don’t either. She might be sleeping. What time is it at home?” Jake glanced at his watch and did the mental calculations to account for the 16-hour time difference.

“About 3:00 PM yesterday.”

“Give it a couple of hours,” you assured him. “She’s usually active around the time I get off work.”

“You sure it’s not just that she doesn’t like me?” While his tone was joking, you could hear an undercurrent of worry in Jake’s words. “I’m just some stranger tryin’ to feel her, after all.”

Sighing, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, purposefully pressing your stomachs together. Resting your forehead against his, you guided his hand back to your belly. “You’re not a stranger. She goes crazy when we’re on the phone or a video call and she hears your voice. And she loves it when I’m on the flight line, and the jets are taking off or landing, just like her daddy. It’s just been a long day, and we’re both tired. But I promise you, your daughter loves you.”

Jake’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I’m missing everything, darlin’. I hate that I - ” You cut him off with a kiss, his hands shifting to your hips when you rose onto your toes. The movement pushed you off-balance and forced him to take some of your weight, but you didn’t care - you trusted him enough to make sure you wouldn’t get hurt.

“I hate that you’re missing it too,” you panted against his mouth. “But at least we have this week, alright? I don’t want to spend it being sad.” Jake nodded, chasing your kiss when you landed on your feet. Gently pushing him away, you gripped your shirt and tugged it over your head, dropping it onto your discarded sweater. “Now, I’m gonna jump in the shower because I feel gross. Do you want to join me?” Forcing his gaze from your breasts, which were so much bigger than the last time he’d seen you, Jake nodded. “Good. Would you mind getting my toiletries for me?” When he nodded again, you smiled and moved past him, undoing the clasp of your bra and tossing it onto the bed.

Careful to set the water to a reasonable temperature, you did your business and stepped under the spray, tilting your head back and letting out a soft groan. You were so sore. Even with the compression socks Dr. Shearer had recommended, your legs and ankles were swollen to the point of seeing the indents in your skin. Your hips and back hurt from trying to sleep on the plane. Your shoulders from wearing a bra for almost a day. On days like this, you wished you could enjoy an extra hot shower to soothe your tense muscles. Letting the water wash over your face, you rubbed your shoulders and rolled your neck.

The curtain pulled back, and you glanced over your shoulder to see Jake stepping into the shower, toiletries in one hand. Taking a deep breath, you turned, holding out your hands for your things. Your face flushed when his eyes widened, taking in your naked body - stretch marks, swelling, and all. Forcing yourself not to cover up, you plucked the travel bottles from his hand and turned away to place them on the shelf.

You felt him move closer, and then his hands on your hips encouraged you to face him. Jake licked his lips and smirked, drawing you from the shower spray and switching spots. He faced you as he tilted his head back into the water, arms bulging as he lifted his hands to scrub through his hair. Heat pooled low in your stomach as your eyes followed the water running down his chest and abs, the lines of his Adonis belt. His cock, hardening under your gaze.

Your mouth watered at the sight of your naked husband, and his cocky grin let you know that he knew what he was doing. Jake reached for you again, maneuvering you under the spray. “Sorry, darlin’, I’ll stay outta your way,” he drawled. His eyes focused on your breasts and belly as he loosely gripped his dick and lazily stroked. You shifted, trying to ease some of the pressure between your legs. Biting your bottom lip, you forced yourself to turn away from him - as much as you wanted to fuck him, you needed to clean up first. “‘M surprised you didn’t make the water hotter. Usually have it scalding.”

“I’m not allowed,” you sighed, rolling your shoulders to try and loosen some of the tension. “Can’t have any temperature too hot. I hate it.” Jake moved closer to press himself against you. His big hands went to your shoulders, rubbing gently before his thumbs pressed harder at the base of your neck. You groaned, letting your head fall forward and eyes close.

“Good?” His touch tiptoed the line between pain and pleasure, and you could only hum a response. Bracing a hand on the wall before you, you closed your eyes and pressed back into your husband’s touch. Too soon, his hands trailed down your spine, knuckles stroking lightly until he reached your lower back. He pushed hard, massaging the muscles of your back and hips, and you couldn't keep the loud moan from escaping. Jake chuckled. You struggled to keep your eyes open between his magical hands, the lukewarm water, and exhaustion. After a few minutes, you felt his palms slide around your hips and glide up your belly as he moved closer, gently pulling you upright. His breath was steady on your ear as he slowly explored your new shape, fingers tracing the reddened stretch marks and the dark line below your flattening belly button. You could feel his cock against your ass and shifted as his attention drifted upward to cup your breasts, arousal simmering in your veins. “This alright?” he asked, mouth pressed against your throat as he ran his thumbs over your sensitive nipples. Unable to speak, you nodded, reaching back to touch him. One hand trailed down your body, fingers dancing over your stomach to cup your core. “How ‘bout this?” You let out a shaky breath, widening your stance to allow him better access. “That’s my girl,” he rasped, parting your lower lips. “Wanna taste you so bad, darlin’, but I can wait. Wanna feel you cum on my cock, but I think I’ll settle for you on my hand for now. Gotta be more careful, now, darlin’.”

“J-Jake,” you stuttered as he sank a finger into you. Your head fell back against his shoulder, hand curling around the back of his neck to play with his wet hair. His hand left your breast to curve around your jaw, tilting your face closer so he could kiss you. His lips were rough, tongue plundering. He swallowed your gasp as he added a second finger, his thumb finding your clit with ease.

“So fuckin’ tight.”

“Fuck me,” you pleaded. “Want your - ” He curled his fingers to pet your g-spot, cutting you off with a choked gasp.

“Gotta work up to that, darlin’,” he chuckled. “Been neglecting my pretty pussy for too long. You been using the toy I bought you?” Unable to speak, you nodded. “Good. Read somethin’ about pregnancy hormones makin’ mamas hornier than usual, and wouldn’t want you to go without.”

“You read a lot about pregnancy hormones?” you asked, then whined when he withdrew his fingers. Your hand shot down to cover his when he pulled away.

“Don’t worry, darlin’ - not gonna leave my girl hangin’.” Instead, he tugged you away from the spray and backed you against the shower wall. The tile was cold against your heated skin, and you tried to move forward, but Jake boxed you in. With one hand by your head, his other went back between your legs. His mouth covered yours, panting as you grasped his cock. He thrust into your hand, synchronizing with his fingers in your pussy. You ground down on his hand as he trailed kisses down your throat, licking the water from your tits before sucking on your nipple.

The sensation set you off, and you clapped a hand over your mouth as your moans echoed in the bathroom. Jake continued his ministrations as you came, fingers pumping as he switched to your other breast. When it became too much, you tugged him up and kissed him, feeling his grin against your mouth. He pulled away only long enough to lick his fingers clean before he kissed you again, allowing you to taste yourself.

You could feel his dick twitch against your thigh and reached for him, but he caught your hand, shaking his head, “Not yet, sweetheart.” Ignoring your whine, he led you back under the shower spray. His hands were gentle as he washed your hair, massaging your scalp and trading lazy kisses. You held onto his shoulders when he went to his knees to wash your legs, kneading your calves and tracing the lines the compression socks had imprinted on your skin. Once satisfied that you were taken care of, Jake quickly washed himself, eyes alight with teasing as he watched you watching him.

Your patience snapped as he dried you off, and you snatched the towel from his hands and threw it onto the floor. Tugging him back into the bedroom, you perched on the edge of the bed and reached for him. Jake grinned, lowering you onto the mattress as he kissed you. But then you grimaced. “Shit,” he hissed, pulling back quickly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you said, bracing your hand on the bed. “Just kinda uncomfortable being on my back.” Glancing over at the other bed, you pointed. “Grab me one of those pillows.” Jake scrambled to get it as you sat up and moved toward the head of the bed. When he extended the pillow, you took it and positioned it under your hips, wiggling as you laid back down. “Much better.”

“You sure?” He still looked skeptical as you reached for him and nodded.

“Positive. Unless…” You tried to push down the wave of self-consciousness as he watched you. “Unless you don’t want to?” Jake sighed, crawling across the bed to hover over you, ensuring he kept most of his weight off you.

“Mama,” he breathed, leaning down to nip at your lips. “I’ve dreamed about this.”

“How’s reality stacking up?” You sighed when he ran his cock along your entrance, gasping when he tapped it against your clit.

“So, so much better.” His mouth covered yours, swallowing your moans as he slowly pressed in, inch by glorious inch. Jake’s arms shook by your head when he bottomed out, his breath stuttering as you squeezed him. “Fuck, darlin’, feel so fuckin’ good.” You had to stretch to kiss him, curling a leg over his hips to encourage him to move.

“Please,” you panted. “Jake, I need - ”

“I’ve gotcha, honey.” Setting a languid pace, bracing himself on an elbow, he reached between you and circled your clit. The extra pressure on your stomach made your back twinge, but you ignored it as your husband played with you, trailing his lips along your neck and shoulders, peppering your face with kisses. Too soon, you came, clenching around him as his rhythm stuttered. He grunted your name against your throat, pausing until you lifted your hips to encourage him to keep going.

Sitting back on his heels, Jake looked down at you before his eyes fixed on where you were joined. His hips started to move again, and you scrambled to grasp the sheets as he thumbed your clit. “Can’t,” you gasped.

“Yes, you can, pretty girl,” he growled, angling so every thrust hit just right. “Just one more for me, darlin’.” The combination of his fingers and cock was deadly, but when his eyes finally met yours, you couldn’t hold back. Jake hurriedly leaned down to cover you as you shook, kissing you hard as he finally came.

You stayed like that, trading tired kisses until lying on your back became too uncomfortable. Jake slipped out of bed to retrieve a washcloth as you curled on your side. After he cleaned you up, he handed you pillows to put under your stomach before sliding into bed behind you. His fingers twined with yours, wedding rings sliding against one another before he rested your hands against your belly. “Just gonna nap,” you promised, pressing back against him and feeling his nod. “Need to get on the time zone.”

“Just a nap,” he agreed, lips grazing your shoulder. “So happy you’re here, Mama.”

“Me too, Daddy,” you yawned.

The day flew by too quickly. As much as you wanted nothing more than to spend it in bed with your husband, you eventually forced yourself to leave the hotel. Together, you explored Yokoska, your husband indulging you as you browsed 100 yen and stationery stores, listening to your reminiscing about buying gel pens and trading Hello Kitty and Bad Batz-Maru paper over lunch in elementary school. When you pulled him into candy stores, he said nothing and helped fill a basket with your childhood favorites. When you squealed in delight at finding a vending machine selling a grape drink you remembered loving as a kid, Jake couldn’t help but laugh while digging out the yen to get it for you. He wasn’t a fan of the little pieces of white grape in it and chose to finish the melon soda you’d already opened instead.

Jake quickly got a taxi and returned to the base at the first sign of you getting tired. While you napped at his insistence, he walked to the store to pick up a few things for the room. You woke to the sound of him loading water bottles into the refrigerator and shoving snacks into the cabinets. When he joined you in bed, lying on top of the covers, his hands went unerringly to your stomach. “Hey,” you whispered, covering his hand with yours.

“Hey,” he replied, kissing the back of your neck. “How was your nap?”

“Would have been better with you. I hate that I’m so tired.”

“I figured you would be. You had a long day.”

“I don’t like wasting our time.”

“Not wastin’ it if you’re relaxing.” Sighing, you rolled to face him, raising an eyebrow. He chuckled, leaning forward to kiss you. “We don’t have to do anything while you’re here. I’ll cancel all the plans, and we can stay like this the whole time.”

“You want to spend your first time off the ship in months just staying in this room?”

“If that’s what you want, definitely. Just wanna take care of you, Mama. You and Sloane.”

Rolling your eyes, you pushed onto an elbow. “Spending our whole trip in bed sounds like fun, but I need some stories to tell people when I get home.”

“We can make those up,” he teased, looking up at you as his hand rested on your hip, fingers bunching in the bedding. Shaking your head, you kissed him, tongue teasing the seam of his lips until he opened for you.

It didn’t take long for your clothes to land on the floor, Jake’s hands roaming your body as you rode him.

Rooster and Mav met you in the lobby of the Lodge the following day, and you tried not to blush when they inevitably made comments about how big you were and congratulated you on having a little girl. Jake’s arm was around your waist, his fingers lightly resting on your stomach. Together, the four of you took the hour train into Tokyo, and the three aviators caught you up on their deployment while you shared what was happening in Lemoore.

The city was much bigger and busier than you remembered as a kid. It was a change from your sleepy California home, and you felt a slight pang of longing for city life that was quickly stifled when you looked at your husband. Sure, you’d always imagined living in a bustling city, but if you hadn’t accepted the promotion and transferred to Lemoore, you wouldn’t have found Jake. As if sensing your thoughts, his hand squeezed yours, and he smiled down at you as you browsed a store. “Love you,” you said softly, disentangling your fingers and guiding his hand to where you could feel your daughter moving. Jake’s eyes lit up, turning to face you as he felt the subtle movement beneath your skin.

While you felt you were slowing the men down, they didn’t say anything when you had to find a place to sit or a restroom. Together, you visited temples and gardens before venturing into Harajuku. The shopping district was crowded, and you were happy to lean against your husband as he lifted your belly, feeding him bits of a crepe over your shoulder while Mav and Rooster looked for souvenirs. Excited by the sugary treat but unhappy with the intrusion on her space, Sloane squirmed in her father’s hands.

Jake didn’t have liberty on Wednesday and had to be back on the carrier by midnight, so you left Tokyo in the early afternoon and boarded the train back to Yokosuka. The gentle shaking lulled you into a trance, and Jake guided your head onto his shoulder as his arm went around you, encouraging you to sleep. He forced himself to focus on the conversation Rooster and Mav were having as your hand rested high on his inner thigh, your wrist brushing his throbbing cock with every sway of the train. Later, after a dinner on base and a quick shower, he massaged your swollen legs and sore feet before curling up behind you. His hand went around your mouth as he fucked you so sweetly and deeply that you couldn’t help the loud noises you made. After, he touched your stomach, simultaneously fascinated and terrified when you had Braxton-Hicks contractions. At your final check-up before the trip, Dr. Shearer had made sure you knew the difference between them and active labor and when to head to the hospital, a knowing look in her eyes.

Reluctantly, as midnight neared, Jake crawled out of bed and took a quick shower. You could see the concern in his eyes when he caught you shifting from the cramps as he dressed and made you swear to call him if you needed anything. He tucked you into bed, ensuring the pillows were positioned just right, before kissing you and Sloane goodnight. With one final check that your purse sat on the stack of medical records you’d brought ‘just in case’ to make both your doctor and husband happy, he left.

Mav and Rooster had invited you for another outing to Tokyo the next day, but you declined. A lazy day hanging around the base sounded like heaven. It was a cool day with rain threatening, but you didn’t mind. You debated going to see a movie but found the theater was closed. Instead, you took a taxi to Kosano Park and looked out at the bay, munching on McDonald’s fries before walking to the NEX. Being on base brought back memories of living overseas as a kid, and you felt a pang of regret that your daughter wouldn’t have the same experience. She would never dread shopping for school clothes on base, sure that everyone would wear the same thing, or experience the month-long trips back to the States where you would spend days shopping. With that thought, you walked next door to the commissary to pick up some stuff for the room and a few things for Jake to bring back onto the ship. It felt so nice to be shopping for both of you again that you had to pause in the chip aisle and take a few breaths when tears threatened to overwhelm you.

You were propped up in bed, eating yogurt-covered pretzels and sipping on a water bottle, watching a sitcom when the door opened just after midnight. Jake smiled tiredly, an eyebrow raised at the sight of you eating in bed before shaking his head and dropping his bag to lie beside you, his head in your lap. While running your fingers through his hair, he told you about the admin work he’d been doing all day while you caught him up on your activities. His nose brushed your stomach before he tugged down the blanket and pushed up your shirt to kiss your skin. You shifted, flushing at his hot breath so close to where you wanted him. Jake looked up at you and raised an eyebrow again.

“They weren’t kidding about pregnancy hormones,” he panted, holding onto your hips as your fingers curled into the sheets of the spare bed that he’d had bent you over. It had taken some convincing and swearing that you hadn’t had any actual contractions at all and a quick chat about orgasms causing Braxton-Hicks for him to agree to touch you. Unsatisfied by his hand, you’d gotten out of bed and stripped, reminding him that you owed him a video for being right about having a girl. His legs had gotten tangled in the sheets, and he nearly fell to the floor while grabbing his phone while you laughed. But that laugh had died on your lips as he cooed about how sexy you were, a hand between your shoulders gently pressing you down, setting a hard and fast pace. You whined as he pinched your clit, leaning forward to hiss and get a shot of your fucked out expression on camera. “Don’t think I forgot about our agreement of no crumbs in bed.”

To make it up to him, you woke him up the next morning, slowly pulling down the blankets to stroke his cock and, once he was awake, kneeling on the floor between his spread thighs and blowing him.

Jake surprised you with dinner reservations for Thanksgiving the next day at the Officer’s Club. To kill time, you took the ferry to Sarushima Island and explored the fortified pathways and old bunkers. The ocean was cool when you walked along the shore, feeling the coral sand between your toes, thinking about the last time you’d walked along the beach together in San Diego and picking out baby names.

“If we have a boy later, what do you think about still using the name Oliver James?” you asked. Jake stopped walking, eyebrows high over his sunglasses as he smirked.

“Already thinkin’ about having another one?” he teased, stepping before you to tug you into his arms.

“I mean,” you shrugged, looping your arms around his neck. “We’ll see how it goes when this one makes her appearance. Maybe she’ll traumatize us to the point where we never want to touch -”

“Don’t talk about my little girl like that,” Jake playfully chided, lightly smacking your ass before leaning down to kiss you. “Besides, it’d take a whole hell of a lot for me to never wanna touch you.”

Rooster and Mav joined you at dinner, sharing stories about their trip to Yokohama. It was fun to hear them trade stories about the deployment and to hear Rooster’s perspective of what Jake was like at their first base. When Jake and Rooster went up to get second helpings, you were able to chat with Mav for a minute and ask how your husband was doing. The older man glanced over his shoulder at the younger aviators before reaching for your hand and squeezing it.

“It’s hard,” he admitted, “especially when his parents…” You felt goosebumps rise at the mention of your in-laws. Taking Jake’s lead, you hadn’t outreached Sarah once they left the house. After a challenging conversation with Lina where she’d accused you of lying about her father’s behavior, you hadn’t spoken again. Jake mentioned his sister was angry with him, but he didn’t care. You knew she was still following you on social media so the Seresins would be informed about your trip and see the pictures you posted. “But he’s okay.”

On Jake’s last day of liberty, you reluctantly agreed to take the 40-minute train to Enoshima. As pretty as the shrines and sea caves were, you wanted nothing more than to be closed up in your hotel room with your husband. He paid the fees to take the escalators up the tree-topped hills so you could admire the views of the Pacific Ocean and distant Mt. Fuji. It was a surprise to see a fence decorated with padlocks, and after using an app to translate the signs, you realized you were at a place called Lover’s Hill. A bell hung in a little stand, the placard stating that if a couple rang it, they would be together forever. You set your phone up on the provided photo stand, snapping a picture of the two of you tugging the bellrope with Sagami Bay glistening behind you. When Jake went into a small store to grab you a melon soda and water, he returned with a lock and sharpie. He wrote your names on it before taking your hand, leading you back to the fence, and pointing out a spot for you to lock it.

At the Navy Lodge, Jake tried to encourage you to pack your suitcase, but you refused. He was due back on the carrier at midnight again, and you didn’t want to spend a minute of that precious time thinking about flying back home the next day. Still, tears gathered in your eyes as he started to clear out the kitchenette, putting your candy in a pile while shoving the snacks into a plastic bag for him to take back to the carrier. You watched him from the bed, biting your lip to keep from sobbing. When he turned to offer you a bottle of cold water, he sighed your name.

The clock was your enemy as Jake undressed you, his lips caressing every inch of skin he uncovered. With a pillow under your hips, he guided you to lay down as he kissed and licked his way down to the cradle of your thighs. Deliberate and slow, he brought you to the very precipice of pleasure before backing off, savoring your taste and whimpering moans. Again and again, your husband toyed with you until you had to switch positions when you started to hurt. It took some convincing for you to straddle his face, clinging to the headboard for balance, but Jake’s soft pleading and cajoling eventually had you grinding against his mouth as his fingers dug into your thighs.

Dinner was a quick affair - burgers that Jake ran across the parking lot to grab from a chain restaurant while you begrudgingly checked into your flight and started to pack. Trying to keep the mood light, he joked that he was happy to finally cross off a french fry run off his Daddy Bucket List, and you quickly ducked into the bathroom to hide your tears. You turned on the sink tap to hide your sniffles, but Jake was waiting outside the bathroom and folded you into his arms when you opened the door. “‘M sorry, darlin’,” he whispered against your hair.

As much as you wanted to focus on enjoying those last few hours together, Jake pulled you onto the bed and handed you a stack of printed papers. Standing before you, he ran a hand through his hair as you flipped through them. He explained that he needed to update his base dream sheet in case he got orders soon and wanted to discuss them with you. Though his tone was even, you could detect an undercurrent of anxiety in his words, and you looked up at him. “So, what do you think the timeline is?” you asked.

“I dunno. I just… have this gut feeling that it’s gonna be within the next year.”

You sighed and set the papers beside you, threading your fingers through his belt loops and tugging him closer. Resting your chin against his flat stomach, you looked up at him, “As long as it’s not within the next five months, it’ll be fine. I really don’t want to deal with a PCS with a newborn.”

“You’d be okay with leaving your job?” he asked tentatively, tracing the curve of your cheek. Frowning, you pulled away from his touch.

“Are you saying you want me to stay in Lemoore?” you asked, a hint of hurt coloring your voice.

“No! No, of course not,” Jake quickly answered. “I just… Are you going to be okay if we move?” Heaving a sigh, you grabbed his left hand and tapped on his wedding ring.

“I knew that was part of the deal when we married, babe. Do I want to leave my job? No. I like the work and the people I work with. But I love you, and - for now - your career is going to be the one that makes decisions for our family.” Jake swallowed hard before burying his free hand in your hair and tugging gently so your head tipped back. His mouth covered yours, nipping at your lips as he tried to lower you onto the bed. But you braced your palm on the mattress and resisted, chuckling against his lips when he grunted. Shaking your head, you reached for his jeans, quickly undoing the button and dragging down the zipper.

Leaning against the headboard, Jake whimpered as you sank down onto his cock, hands clasped around your hips. He could feel you clench around him and let his head fall back, grunting when you refused to move. “Darlin’,” he pleaded.

“Nope, not until we get this dream sheet filled out,” you breathed, fighting your own urge to move. Instead, you grabbed the discarded pile of papers and a pen from your purse. Resting them against his shoulder, you started to read off the bases he’d put as his top choices back when he was single. Jake found it hard to concentrate as you debated the merits of each base. But as much as you pretended you weren’t affected, he could see the pulse fluttering in your throat and feel you clench around him when his hands roamed your thighs and ass. When his hands ventured higher to cup your breasts, your head lolled back as he ran his thumbs along your tender nipples. “Back on task, Seresin,” you panted.

“‘M a great multitasker,” he promised. You laughed, and he groaned as you rocked against him, hips lifting to thrust into you. But you shook your head, setting the papers on the bed and covering his hands with your own. The movement made him moan, and you chuckled, lifting his hands and guiding them to curl around the top of the headboard.

“You’re the one who decided to wait until the last minute to have this conversation, Lieutenant. Now, don’t move those hands until I say so.” It was torture, he decided, trying to talk about your future as you warmed him, squeezing him anytime you felt he wasn’t paying attention. Most of the time, he loved how thorough and logical you were, but at that moment, he would have been happy with whatever random base the Navy decided to send him to. Finally, Jake felt the pen drag across his skin when you propped the papers on his chest to write the new ranking - Lemoore at the top with San Diego after, but including a few bases in Florida and even leaving Iwakuni, Japan on the list.

His head fell back, and he swallowed hard when you leaned to place the papers and pen on the nightstand. Chuckling, you licked his Adam’s apple while taking his hands from the headboard. But when you guided them back to your breasts, he shook his head, a sly smirk crossing his mouth. “Had your chance, darlin’,” he murmured, shaking off your hold and resting his hands on your knees that bracketed his hips. His calloused palms glided up your thighs, one circling your hip while the other slid between your legs. Jake pressed his thumb to your clit but didn’t move. “Now you’re gonna have to work for it.”

The unspoken order was clear, and you pouted. “You’d make you poor, tired, pregnant wife - ”

“Absolutely,” he cut you off. “Especially when she’s being a tease. You wanna come, you’re gonna work for it.”

“On our last night together?” Jake nearly caved when you leaned forward to kiss him. Your words reminded him that he only had hours left until he wouldn’t see you again for two and a half months. But when you smirked against his mouth when he circled your clit, his resolve firmed. Pulling away, he leaned against the headboard while landing a loud slap to your ass. You jolted, clenching around him, and he groaned.

“Clock’s tickin’, Mama,” he managed to say, looking down his nose at you. You sighed, rising onto your knees and sinking down onto his cock. You both moaned, and Jake’s free hand returned to the top of the headboard as he fought the urge to help you. The only help Jake gave was the consistent pressure on your clit and the litany of praise and encouragement that fell from his lips - “Feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Just like that. Liked that, hmm? Do it again. Can feel that you’re close.”

When you finally came, Jake kissed your temple as you collapsed against him, his hands sweeping your skin as he told you how much he loved you. Gently, he encouraged you onto your knees and turned you around, lifting your hips. Your cries were muffled in your folded arms and blankets as he fucked you from behind, thrusting hard enough to punch the air from your lungs. Glancing behind you, you were mesmerized by the sight of his muscles moving beneath his skin, highlighted by the stream of sunset through a gap in the curtains. Your husband grinned as he met your gaze, one hand leaving your hip to run a soothing hand down your spine.

Hit with a horrible sense of deja vu, you refused to close your eyes when Jake tried to get you to relax after a shared shower. His hands drifted over your skin, mapping every curve and divot before pressing lightly when the baby made herself known. He shifted down the bed to press his forehead to your stomach, stroking softly as he murmured his love to his daughter, promising he would be home soon. As usual, when she heard her Daddy, it felt like Sloane was doing cartwheels in your belly. Jake’s grin was worth every bit of discomfort as you threaded your fingers through his hair, savoring the moment for the three of you.

With less than an hour until the taxi came, you watched as Jake checked the room to ensure all his stuff was packed away. His bags sat by the door, ready for the moment he had to go downstairs and return to the port. With his last check completed, he joined you in the kitchenette, where you sipped a water bottle, boxing you in against the counter. Setting it aside, you wrapped your arms around him and felt him kiss your forehead. “Just a couple more weeks,” he said softly.

“More than halfway done,” you nodded. Jake lightly tugged your hair, encouraging you to look up at him.

“It’s gonna fly by.”

“February will be here before you know it.”

“We’ll have so much to celebrate then.”

“Not sure I’ll be in celebrating shape by that point,” you said, attempting a teasing tone that fell flat. “Can’t have sex for at least six weeks after giving birth.” Jake chuckled, stepping closer so your stomach pressed against his.

“Worth it.” You nodded, swallowing hard against the tears that threatened to fall. “Talked to my CO, and he’ll make sure I’ve got a private space to be on a call with you when…”

“What happens if you’re in the air when I go into labor?”

“The tower’ll let me know, and I’ll land as soon as possible and call you.” Blowing out a breath, you met his solemn green eyes and forced a smile.

“I’ll make sure my laptop and charger are in my hospital bag.” You watched as the sadness crept into his gaze and his brow furrowed against yours. “It’ll be okay,” you promised. His touch was calculated as he slowly stripped you of your clothes, fingers caressing your bare skin as he kissed you. After he kicked away the jeans and boxers pooling at his feet, you palmed his cock before his hand wrapped around your knee, keeping you steady as he encouraged you to wrap it around his hip. Holding you there, he slowly pressed into you, swallowing your gasps and sighs as he rocked against you.

The front desk called at 11:35 PM to inform you that the taxi had arrived. Jake tried to get you to stay in the room, but you refused. After tossing his things into the back seat, he pulled you into his arms and kissed you hard. “Love you, darlin’.”

“Love you too. Be safe.”

“You too. Both of you.” He dropped to his knee and pressed his forehead to your stomach. “Be good for Mama, Sloane. I’ll be home soon.” You felt him push your shirt up just enough to brush his lips to your skin.

“Go before I start crying,” you whispered against his mouth when he kissed you again. He nodded, dropping his head to rest his forehead against yours. “I love you, Jacob Michael Seresin.” You felt his smile as he said your full name.

“‘M so glad we aren’t friends,” he chuckled, and you laughed, standing on your toes to kiss him.

“Me too. So much better being your wife.”

As the taxi drove away, you lifted a hand and waved. Jake smiled at you from the backseat and blew you a kiss.

The house seemed empty when you finally made it home. Javy carried your bags to the bedroom while you darted into the bathroom. The plane had hit bad turbulence on the flight home, and you still felt nauseous. You kept that information to yourself when replying to Jake’s text while standing in line for Customs, instead telling him it was smooth.

As tired as you were, it was hard to sleep that night without the sound of your husband’s soft snoring and his hands on you. Sloane seemed restless as well, moving more than normal at night.

“I know,” you sighed, pressing a hand to where she’d kicked you. “I miss Daddy too.”

February couldn’t come soon enough.

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Author's Note: Jake and Darlin' got their babymoon 🥹 I had a lot of fun writing this chapter - my family wasn't at Yokosuka, but we did live in Japan for 9 years when I was growing up. Guess who didn't realize that Johnny Rockets was an American burger chain until they were 16 since I'd only gone in Tokyo? Yeah... good times...

Though I can't tag her here, May deserves credit for helping me with this chapter and making sure I didn't go too far into the body image angst.

Read Chapter 20

Tag list: @memeorydotcom; @alldaysdreamers; @kmc1989; @djs8891; @caitsymichelle13; @dempy; @midnightmagpiemama; @lovelyladymayyyy; @caidi-paris; @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby; @bellaireland1981; @lethargicluv; @tenderclio; @lucypaulette; @abaker74; @trhett21; @misshoneypaper; @schreksdoubledeckerhomechecker; @eternallyvenus; @mavrellover91; @chloeforde; @thatbitcily; @rest-of-brazilian-wax; @percysaidnever; @harperdoodle; @hardballoonlove; @maeleeme; @emma8895eb; @xoxabs88xox; @queenslandlover-93; @memoriesat30; @queerqueenlynn; @capswife; @regsg18; @boisewaffles; @fudge13; @starkleila; @shanimallina87

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#hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #top gun fic #top gun maverick #jake seresin #Hangman top gun #soft!Jake Seresin #hangman smut #hangman fic #D-Day fic #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman imagine

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tikosblogg · 1 month ago

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The purge…

Summary: The purge. A night full of legalized anarchy. A societal experiment gone horribly wrong. Once a year, for twelve hours, all crime becomes legal, a sanctioned release valve for the darkest desires of mankind. The streets transform into a battleground of chaos, where the weak become prey, and law is reduced to a meaningless whisper in the wind. @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning 💜

Warning: ⚠️ 18+ mentions of CRIME, MURDER, little bit of BLOOD. Mention of a KNIFE, GUNS, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex (plz don’t do that) I think that’s it, lemme know if I need to add anything.

A/N: FUCK the haters….thats all. If you don’t like it, go cry somewhere else.

Noah stood in the living room of his L.A. townhouse, surrounded by his friends—Jolly, Folio, Nicholas, and Matt—as they fortified their makeshift sanctuary. The news had broken just a week ago, the Prime Minister’s voice echoing across airwaves, officially sanctioning a night of anarchy. The so-called "Purge" was to commence at 10 p.m. tonight, and he felt a cold dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

“Noah, we need to barricade that window better,” Folio urged, nodding toward the house’s fractured glass. Noah grunted, clenching his fists, his tattooed arms rippling with tension. “Ok.”

His thoughts drifted to y/n, his best friend since childhood. She had moved to San Francisco a year ago, chasing dreams of her own. The last time they spoke, everything felt normal. He had purposefully refrained from telling her about the impending chaos, not wanting to burden her with fears that now clawed at his heart. Instead, they planned to see each other soon, and now… This godforsaken night loomed large with unknown terrors. As the clock counted down, his resolve weakened.

You rushed through LAX, suitcase in tow, your heart racing with excitement. You had decided on a whim to surprise Noah for the weekend. It had been too long since you saw each other, and this precious moment was supposed to rekindle your friendship. As you navigated through the bustling crowd, an alarming sense of urgency swept the airport.

People were screaming, some crying, and others rushing toward the exits. Crowds seemed insurmountable, and the clock ticked menacingly toward 10 p.m. “Where are all the damn cabs?” You muttered, scanning the chaos. It felt as though the world outside had distorted into a surreal nightmare. You finally decided, against your better judgment, to trek two miles to the nearest bus station.

Crossing the now eerily quiet streets, you glanced at the houses. Something felt off. People peeked out through the curtains, eyes wide yet lifeless, like ghosts. Ignoring the isolated chill that swept over you, you pressed on.

When you arrived at the bus stop, your spirits sank further. A hooded figure occupied the bench, a menacing silhouette against the dimming light. As you sat down, adrenaline pumped through your veins. You noticed the figure’s heavy breathing and turned just in time to meet a hollow gaze from behind a white mask, its eyes and mouth outlined in glaring neon. A large knife secured tightly in his hand.

You gasped, your body reacting before your mind even registered the danger. Panic surged as you leaped to your feet, your suitcase clattering to the ground. The figure sprang into action, knife glinting as it sliced through the air.

His heart raced as he felt the looming threat tighten around him. The countdown struck 10. The Purge had officially started, and the world outside was now a canvas for human depravity. His phone vibrated, notifications flooded his screen—a string of reports about violence breaking out on the streets.

“Remember, we don’t engage,” he reminded his friends as they holed themselves up. But the intense need to talk to you clawed at him. He sent you messages, one after another, but silence echoed back. His instinct pricked with fear.

As minutes turned into endless seconds, a loud bang echoed through the quiet night. He glanced at Matt, who nodded apprehensively. “Lock and load. We stick together.”

You charged through unfamiliar backyards, desperation heightening every intuitive reflex you had. The hooded figure pounded behind you like a relentless pursuing shadow. You stumbled onto a lawn and struck a futile plea at the front door of a house—“Help me Please!” The home owners peering out their barred in windows, sadness in their eyes.

Closing in on you, the figure yanked you back as you screamed slamming you against the front door. You sobbed in fear and confusion. Why is nobody helping? The knife glided down your cheek, slicing it. A surge of primal instinct kicked in: you struck out, hitting him in the groin.

The man topples over with a groan, as you make a run for it again. You run through multiple peoples yards, passing house after house sobbing. You don’t understand what is happening. You finally come to a stop, hiding behind one of the houses in the neighborhood. You look around, the neighborhood seemingly familiar. Noah lives on the next street over. You gasp covering your mouth, as the hooded man walks down the side walk tauntingly whistling for you.

You stay silent hoping he gives up and walks away. You were almost in the clear until your phone rang out, its ringtone slicing through the tension. The figure paused, turning toward you. You sprinted, lungs burning, as you finally caught sight of a familiar street. Noah! You can make it.

Noah tensed when he heard a distant scream, a heart-wrenching reminder that this was actually real. He hesitated before finally taking a peek out of the barred window. His eyes in utter disbelief at what they were seeing.

You reached Noah’s front yard just as sheer terror felled you. You felt the ground beneath you, a weight pressing down as the hooded figure tackled you, pinning you. His knife rose slowly, ready to enact a brutal act. You thrashed and sobbed, eyes squeezed shut waiting to meet your dreaded fate.

Suddenly, the air exploded, a gunshot ringing out. The weight on top of you lifted as the figure collapsed, knife slipping from his grip. Noah appeared, rushing to your side. “Y/n Oh my god!” He swept you into his arms before you could breathe, hauling you inside as the guys locked the door behind you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?!” His voice trembled, his gaze sweeping over your disheveled state and the blood drawing down your cheek. “I wanted to surprise you, but…” your words tumbled out in a rush as your body shook, “He… He chased me, and….”

He pulled away, an intensity in his eyes that both calmed and ignited a fierce instinct as he shushed you. “You’re safe now. I promise. But we need to secure the house.”

As they set to fortifying the house, you found solace in the familiarity of Noah’s presence. Though the night was haunted by terrors. After making sure everything was secured, everyone checked in on you before they scattered to their own respective rooms. Noah grabbed your hand, leading up the stairs to his. He grabbed you a shirt to change into, letting you crawl into the comfort of his bed. He leaned in placing a kiss to your head, before standing back up.

Your hand caught his shirt before he could move any further. “Don’t leave me.” You whispered. He softly smiled before shaking his head. “Never. I just need to get changed.” You nodded softly, allowing him to do so. He finally walked back over, climbing into bed with you. You turned over, as he pulled you back into his chest, holding you tight as the distant sound of chaos lingered beyond their secured walls.

“Please tell me what’s happening Noah.” You whispered, voice still shaking. He kissed the back of your head, gripping your smaller hand in his. You pulled them up to your chest, placing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I’ll tell you everything in the morning… it’ll be over by then.” He spoke, his voice low. Even more confusion filled your mind, as you snuggled in attempting to get some sleep.

But the peace is short-lived. A nightmare rips you from your sleep, your scream piercing the quiet room. You jolt upright, your heart pounding, and find Noah's eyes already open, alert and concerned.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he whispers, his hands grasping your shoulders. "You're safe, I'm here baby." His dark eyes, hold yours, anchoring you back to reality. You take a shaky breath, your chest heaving as you try to regain control. "I-I'm sorry, I just..." Your voice cracks, the memory of the dream still vivid.

"Shh... it's okay. Just tell me what you need," he says, his voice steady and reassuring. You bite your lip, a mix of so many feelings overwhelming your body and nervousness flitting across your face. "I... I just want to forget, please make me forget.” You whined, looking away shyly.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your forehead, then your cheek, and finally capturing your lips in a tender kiss. His mouth is warm and inviting, and you melt into him, your lips parting in silent invitation. His tongue slides against yours, a slow, sensual dance that ignites a fire within you.

As the kiss deepens, his hands begin to wander, tracing the curves of your body now covered by his shirt. He lifts the hem, his fingers skimming the bare skin of your thighs, sending shivers through your core. His touch is electric, awakening every nerve ending in your body.

He breaks the kiss, his breath ragged as he gazes into your eyes. "I’ll make you forget baby…just focus on me." His voice is a husky whisper, his desire evident in his intense stare.

You nod, your breath coming in short gasps. He leans back, his hands guiding your body until you're lying on your back, the soft sheets caressing your skin. He stands, his muscular frame towering over you, and slowly peels off his shirt, revealing a chest covered in intricate tattoos.

Your eyes devour his body, tracing the lines of ink that tell a story of his past. He steps out of his pants, leaving him completely exposed, his dick already straining towards you. You feel a rush of desire, your body responding to his raw masculinity.

He joins you back on the bed, his lips finding yours once more, while his hands roam freely, exploring every inch of your body. His fingers tease your nipples through the fabric of his shirt, making you arch into his touch. He pulls the shirt up, baring your breasts, and takes one tight peak into his mouth, sucking gently.

A moan escapes your lips as he alternates between teasing your nipples with his tongue and teeth. His free hand travels down your stomach, slipping beneath the fabric of your dampening panties, and finds the wet slit. He strokes your sensitive bundle of nerves, making you squirm and beg for more.

"Please, Noah," you whisper, your voice desperate with need. He grins, a devilish glint in his eye, and slides a finger inside you, curling it to find your sweet spot. You gasp, your body arching off the bed as he adds another finger, stretching and filling you.

"Feel good?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "I want to hear you, baby.” Your cheeks flush as you realize he wants you to vocalize your pleasure. "Fuck…please Noah." He chuckles, the sound deep and sensual. "That's it, sweet girl."

He positions himself between your thighs, giving you one last teasing smile, before licking wide strip up your cunt, groaning at the taste of you. You gasp, your back arching from the bed. He dives back in devouring you. He pumped his fingers slowly, his tongue giving your clit few kitten licks before sucking it into his mouth gently.

You whimper, your fingers running through his hair gripping it firmly. He groaned as you tugged it, your hips thrusting against his tongue. “Such a good girl…take what you need.” He groaned watching you fall apart for him. You wasted no more time, pulling his face back into your aching cunt. Your orgasm quickly washing over you.

He grinned as you made a mess all over his tongue. He licked up every drop, before crawling back up to you. His lips found yours in a messy heated kiss. In one smooth thrust, he fills you, his cock sliding deep inside your core. You cry out, your body adjusting to the invasion, the sensation of being stretched around his thick cock.

He holds still, giving you a moment to acclimate, before beginning a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust fills you, his hips slamming against yours, his balls slapping against your ass. "Fuck baby..you feel so good," he grunts, his eyes closed in concentration. "So tight, so wet…all mine." He growled thrusting harder to emphasize the word ‘mine’

“Isn’t that right sweet girl?” He moaned as You matched his rhythm, your hips rising to meet his, your hands digging into his shoulders, leaving marks on his tattooed skin. "Fuck yes…all yours, please," you beg, your voice breathless.

“Please what baby?” He whispers against your lips. “Harder..”you whine, so close to the edge for the second time. He complies without another word, his thrusts becoming more forceful, his cock hitting your sweet spot with each stroke. You're a mess of moans and whimpers, your body on the brink of ecstasy.

"Touch yourself, baby" he encourages, his voice thick with desire. "Let me see you fall apart for me again." You do as he says, your fingers finding your clit, rubbing the sensitive bud as he pounds into you. The combination of his cock and your fingers sends you over the edge.

"Fuck! I'm—I'm gonna cum!" you cry out, your body convulsing around him, your juices flowing freely. He grunts, his own release building as he feels your pussy clench around his him. With a final, powerful thrust, he empties himself inside you, his hot cum filling you up.

He collapses onto you, his weight pinning you to the bed, his breath ragged against your neck. "Fuck, y/n" he pants. “What?”A light giggle leaves your lips, as he lifts back up to look down you. “I love you.” His face was now serious, almost nervous. You reach up cupping his cheeks, pulling down into soft lingering kiss. “I love you too.”

#noah sebastian #bad omens #badomensimagines #noah sabastian smut #noahsebastiancult #bad omens cult #imagines #bad omens band #bad omens smut #nick folio #kinktober #joakim jolly karlsson #nicholas ruffilo

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moss-the-irishman · 5 months ago

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Riordanverse race/nationality headcanons (Main characters and background characters alike)

This may be a very long post, and I’m throwing in little tidbits about appearances, so with no regard to any particular order, strap in:

(Seriously, this is a huge post)

Edit: Changed Luke from just Korean American to mixed Argentinian/Korean American, inspired by @tagthescullion

The Seven (Including Nico and Reyna):

Percy Jackson: Biracial White/Latino, Cuban American (Sally was born in Havana, she had Percy shortly after moving to the US)

Annabeth Chase: Biracial Black/White, Irish/African American (with Swedish, Ghanaian and Polish descent)

Jason (And Thalia, by extension) Grace: White German American (Beryl moved from Germany to the US)

Piper McLean: Native American, Cherokee

Leo Valdez: Latino, Mexican, Born in Texas

Hazel Levesque: Black, African American, New Orleans (1940's French Creole)

Frank Zhang: Chinese Canadian, Vancouver

Nico Di Angelo: White, Italian with Russian descent, 1920’s Venice

Reyna Avila Ramirez Arellano: Latina, Puerto Rican

Camp Half Blood:

Will Solace: Biracial White/Bangladeshi American, Texas

Luke Castellan: Mixed Argentinian/Korean American (Born in the US, May (or Mi-Hee) grew up in a Argentine Korean community in Buenos Aires before she moved to the US and met Hermes)

Malcolm Pace: White with albinism, Scottish, Glasgow

Travis and Connor Stoll: Mixed Scottish and Laotian, Edinburgh (Source: @freddie-77-ao3)(I think in the TV show, they cast two Asian boys as the Stolls, so I've made them Asian)

Alice Miyazawa: Japanese American, Los Angeles

Julia Feingold: White Luxembourger, Luxembourg City

Cecil Markowitz: White Austrian/Northern Irish (Born in Graz, grew up in Belfast since he was two, has dual citizenship)

Katie Gardener: White Scottish, Aberfoyle

Castor and Pollux Vintner: Black, Irish (Pollux is Albino, Castor wasn’t), Donegal

Michael Yew: Mixed Irish and Chinese, Limerick (Granny moved from China)

Lee Fletcher: White Irish, Donegal

Clarisse La Rue: Mixed French/Pakistani American, Arizona (Mother moved from France)

Chris Rodriguez: Afro-Latino, Nicaraguan (Moved to the states when he was seven, lived in the same neighbourhood as Clarisse)

Silena Beauregard: Blasian, African American and Filipino, Mississippi (French descent)

Charles Beckendorf: Black, African American

Jake Mason: White American, Wyoming

Harley Smythe-Davidson: Biracial White/Aboriginal Australian (Source: @freddie-77-ao3)

Nyssa Barrera: Latina, Panamanian, Panama City

Shane O’Doherty: White Irish, Laois

Christopher Chalkevas: White Greek/English (Born in Larissa, moved with his mother to Hackney, London at age five, has dual citizenship)

Clovis Karlsen: Wasian, Welsh (Welsh/Norwegian grandad, Indonesian granny, Source: @ashthenerdtheythem)

Chiara Benvenuti: White Italian, Florence

Alabaster C. Torrington: British Indian, English, Westminster

Lou Ellen Blackstone: Black with vitiligo, British Ghanaian, Birmingham

Drew Tanaka: Japanese American, New York City

Valentina Diaz: Latina, Colombia

Mitchell Singh-Donovan: Mixed Indian and Irish, Cork

Lacy Alfsen: White Danish, Copenhagen

Ethan Nakamura: Japanese, Tokyo

Damien White: White Irish, Northside Dublin

Miranda Gardiner: Vietnamese American, Massachusetts (Distant Irish ancestry)

Billie Ng: Wasian, Irish/Thai Canadian, Toronto (She grew up in Longford till she was seven, then she and her mortal dad moved to Canada)

Sherman Yang: Chinese American, Alaska

Marcus (Mark) Dooley-Wallace: White Irish American, Georgia

Ellis Wakefield: Black, Algerian

Holly and Laurel Victor: Sri Lankan American, Seattle

Meg McCaffery: Wasian, Irish/Vietnamese American

Camp Jupiter:

Dakota Cheshire: Black, Bermudian

Gwendolyn Nunez: Hispanic, Spanish American

Bobby Herrera: Latin American, New Mexico

Lavinia Asimov: White Russian, born in San Francisco

Larry Schumacher: White American, North Carolina

Leila Grunfeld: White American, Colorado

This has been a very exhausting post to make lmao. I gave some of the characters who don’t have canonical surnames my own Hcs for their surnames. Also, I am yet to read through trials of Apollo, so maybe I’ll come later back to add more Roman names to the list.

Tagging my moots that I like to see their opinions for this (as well as the ones I tagged within the list as well):

@aki-bara @ravingcoffeeaddict @ebony-reine-vibes @squiggle3worm @sleep-needer

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archive-z · 5 days ago

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Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time or, what was on Daniel Molloy’s bookshelf in 1973?

Inspired by @volkswagonblues’ and @islandbetweeenrivers’ reading list of texts providing historical and cultural context for Daniel Molloy as journalist in the 1970s and 80s

This is, pretty much in its entirety (bar one or two references throughout the show and its extant material), assumptions I’ve made about the character. But, also: it’s my blog so I can do what I want. Dating works is somewhat inconsistent, as I opted for the date a piece was published in a collection or translation rather than when it first appeared in print if it seemed more realistic to have been acquired in that format.

I’ve found the archives of Rolling Stone and Playboy have been helpful in piecing together a who’s who of literary life in the late 1960s and early 1970s, especially for a intellectually precocious teen from suburban Modesto, CA transplanted into the centre of countercultural life in Haight-Ashbury.

From what I can gather, being born in ‘53 means Daniel was just a year shy of being drafted to fight in the Vietnam War, an experience that would have profoundly effected his peers just a year or two older than him. Throughout his teenage years, he’s got the spectre of the possibility of being drafted hanging over his head. It reminds me of pop-inspirational phrases like “you only live once,” which really puts his risk-taking, thrill-seeking behaviour into the perspective of yeah, this is someone who is trying to live life to the fullest every second of every day because the possibility of being drafted means that he might not make it past twenty. (Unfortunately! Louis & Armand also mean he might not make it past twenty either xoxoxo)

However, crucially, he did narrowly miss the draft, and despite that it would be horrible, I think there’s an acute sense of having missed out on this profoundly altering experience as well. Moving to Haight-Ashbury, he’s six years late to the Summer of Love ‘67, and the rose-tinted image of hippies, peace, and love is replaced by the grittiness of speedfreaks and serial killing (the Zodiac Killer being active throughout 1969, when Daniel would have been sixteen). He’s made it to San Francisco just a few years after its golden era, and i think this makes him even more determined to live, more determined to chase living life in order to make up for that, yknow?

i think the themes that he’s drawn to when reading are:

new journalism, and particularly when the journalist-as-rockstar persona is inserted into said reporting

the provocative, bacchanalian pursuit of pleasure, whether it be sex, drugs, or rock ‘n’ roll — and often sex mixed with violence in a way that is neither straightforward nor legible

travelogues and adventure stories that reflect his restlessness, particularly which let him romanticise far away places with thriving literary scenes like Paris and New York

a general aura of repressed queerness and crises of american masculinity (Capote, Tennessee Williams, Ginsburg, Hemingway)

war narratives as a vehicle for cold war/red scare anxieties

Without further ado, the actual book list:

Periodicals

Playboy magazine. People have long joked about reading Playboy for the articles, but it is the one piece of literature teenage Daniel is in-universe confirmed to have readily accessible, so I’m running with “Danny actually does read it for the articles, though” (and anyways, it’s Diana Ross’ Rolling Stones cover issue from Feb 1 1973 that he jerks off to). In 1973 alone, Playboy featured interviews with playwright Tennessee Williams; Huey Newton (co-founder of the Black Panther Party); news anchor and journalism’s elder statesman Walter Cronkite; science fiction novelist Kurt Vonnegut; and Pulitzer Prize-winning New York Times Vietnam war correspondent David Halberstam. Other Playboy interviews of possible interest: Fidel Castro, Orson Welles, Michael Caine (1967); Norman Mailer, Truman Capote, sexologists William H. Masters and Virginia E. Johnson, Paul Newman (1968); Martin Luther King Jr., Marshall McLuhan, Allen Ginsberg (1969). Also of note: between 1969 and 1971, Playboy was publishing faked letters to the editor that eventually developed into the Illuminati conspiracy theories.

In terms of reporting from major national newspapers in circulation, significant stories that come to mind are the New York Times publication of the Pentagon Papers (1971) and Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein’s Watergate investigations for the Washington Post (1972-73). It’s harder to gauge the circulation of underground newspapers like the Berkeley Barb (CA) and the Village Voice (NY) but its entirely likely that a resourceful and enterprising young reader with a point of view in Modesto, CA could get their hands on a copy.

Prose, Fiction & Nonfiction

The Little Red Book by Mao Zedong. At Berkeley, The Black Panthers would raise money by selling copies bought in bulk at markup to students. Absolutely makes sense that daniel would acquire (and actually read) a copy. Growing up in the wake of McCarthyism/Red Scare nonsense def makes me think he would see flirtations with communism as provocative and cool/edgy, but never back that flirtation up with follow-through.

The Hell’s Angels, a Strange and Terrible Saga (1966) by Hunter S. Thompson. Throughout the 1960s and 70s, the Hells Angels had a sizeable presence in San Francisco and Oakland — from what I can find they lived dead centre of Haight-Ashbury up until ‘69 if not later. As a teenager in Modesto, Daniel would have been geographically quite close (if not actually in attendance at) the 1969 Altamont Festival Rolling Stones performance where a teenage concertgoer was stabbed to death by a member of the Hells Angels.

Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail in ‘72 (serialized in Rolling Stone magazine) by Hunter S. Thompson. The quintessential text to understand ‘73 Daniel, imo. Fuck Nixon, Fuck Reagan, fuck the National Guard killing student protestors. Thompson’s other works include “The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved“ (with illustrations by Ralph Steadman) and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

The New Journalism: An Anthology (1973) edited by Tom Wolfe. In addition to excerpts of Hunter S. Thompson’s work already discussed above, the anthology collects In Cold Blood (1965) by Truman Capote, Slouching Towards Bethlehem (1968) by Joan Didion, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test (1968) by Tom Wolfe, and Armies of the Night (1968) by Norman Mailer. I won’t do justice to summarizing the New Journalism here, but it’s def important.

Slaughterhouse-Five (1969) by Kurt Vonnegut. The quintessential Daniel Molloy fiction novel, to me. Exploration of post-traumatic stress disorder through an encounter with time travelling science fiction aliens. Takes on a new resonance for Daniel when he’s dealing with his own ptsd post-1973. Vonnegut’s other works include Cat’s Cradle (1963) and Breakfast of Champions (1973). On the subject of Cold War anxieties, there’s Catch-22 (1961) by Joseph Heller. I don’t have much to say about it as I’ve not read it yet, but it feels like the kind of thing teenage Daniel living in Schrödinger's draft call-up would take to. Maybe also John Le Carré’s The Spy Who Came in From the Cold (1963) and The Looking Glass War (1965), the latter particularly for the palpable air of repressed homoeroticism and WWII nostalgia/Cold War anxiety.

A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway (published posthumously in 1964). Daniel absolutely spent his teenage years romanticising being an expat America writer in the Paris literary scene. Substance use, war, and crises of masculinity throughout. In addition to Hemingway’s reporting on the Spanish Civil War (1937-1938), other works include novels The Sun Also Rises (1926), A Farewell to Arms (1929), and For Whom the Bell Tolls (1940).

George Orwell: Down and Out in Paris and London (1933), Burmese Days (1934), Homage to Catalonia (1938), Animal Farm (1945), Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949); and essays ”Books v. Cigarettes“ (1946), ”Decline of the English Murder” (1946), “Politics and the English Language” (1946), and “Why I Write” (1946). I think Orwell’s nonfiction writing would appeal to Daniel more than his fiction, especially when at the right age to romanticize the poverty-tourism of Down and Out. Also bonus points for Paris.

On the Road (1957), The Dharma Bums (1958), and The Subterraneans (1958) by Jack Kerouac. In particular, The Subterraneans is based on Kerouac’s interracial relationship with an African American woman in the 1960s. He’d also probably read Naked Lunch (1959) by fellow Beat poet William S. Burroughs.

Lolita (1955) by Vladimir Nabokov, both for its salacious notoriety and its unreliable narration. Like myself, Daniel feels like the kind of teenager who would read Lolita at sixteen as a provocation in a conservative environment, but come away genuinely enjoying it.

Poetry, Drama, Misc

Howl and Other Poems (1956) by Allen Ginsberg, particularly the edition published locally by San Francisco’s City Lights Books Pocket Poets series.

A series of miscellaneous titles I’d group together as “Daniel Actually Did the Assigned Reading in High School English Class” — The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald, Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger (“Get off that bench, brother”), Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck, and “The Second Coming” by W. B. Yeats. Most significantly, I imagine high school is where he’d be exposed to the work of American playwrights Tennessee Williams and Arthur Miller. The Glass Menagerie (1944), A Streetcar Named Desire (1947), and Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1955) by Tennessee Williams. In the context of his relationship with Louis, I think it’s fun to imagine he’s familiar with/attracted to the Southern Gothic by way of Tennessee Williams (again with the crises of masculinity, the spectre of war, the repressed sexuality). Williams and Death of a Salesman (1949) by Arthur Miller, present the life Daniel could have had ie. the alcoholic husband, housewife vacuuming on Valium, etc.

If there’s anything else anyone thinks I’ve missed, feel free to hit me with a reply or a dm or an @ or whatnot. stay freaky & support yr local library x

#tv series: interview with the vampire #daniel molloy #mine #this is more like a Rorschach test into what writing my iwtv fic looks like

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gallierhouse · 4 months ago

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The thing about Armand is that he’s demonstrated he likes shiny new things (the projector, the iPad, the high-tech UV blocking windows in the penthouse) and he likes intensely stimulating things (the short but violent plays, the need to chase his prey around, even the fact that the coven moonlights as a biker gang, the sheer theatrics of the trial, etc.). So I think it’s less about having a consistent interest in a particular kind of game or show, and more about intense, brief fascinations with whatever new, shiny, attention-demanding thing has been invented, and then immediately moving on once he’s had enough of it. Flashlights were probably endlessly entertaining when they were invented, then the radio must have been interesting, and it would’ve been a great day when all the televisions turned to color, and now he’s probably on TikTok. But he also maintains a significant distance from the human world and doesn’t participate in it much, so I can imagine him only finding out about men on the moon a decade late, and being entirely uninformed about the Big Bang or the fact that disease is no longer transmitted through miasma. I don’t think he’s got particular reverence for technological progress, though, he’s seen empires rise and fall, seen it all go forward only to collapse. Progress is interesting, but unremarkable. In San Francisco, he’s upset, but he’s also really dismissive of Daniel’s “ferric tapes,” so he does know how they work and what they are, because he’s not calling them cassettes (ferric implies magnetism), and he’s unspooling them. New technology must be like a brand-new toy, but new toys come out every year, so they’re nothing to write home about. All this is to say that he might not know anything about the basic functioning of this world, and he may not possess any feelings beyond shallow interest and fascination towards technology, and he might not understand electricity or politics, but he does know how to use an iPad to look at TikTok.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #armand

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mostlysignssomeportents · 10 months ago

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The REAL AI automation threat to workers

I'm Kickstarting the audiobook for The Bezzle, the sequel to Red Team Blues, narrated by @wilwheaton! You can pre-order the audiobook and ebook, DRM free, as well as the hardcover, signed or unsigned. There's also bundles with Red Team Blues in ebook, audio or paperback.

Long before the current wave of AI hype, we were being groomed for automation panics with misleading stories. Remember this one? "'Truck driver' is the most common job in America. Self-driving trucks are just around the corner. How can we prevent America's army of truckers from turning into a howling mob when the robots steal their jobs?"

https://futurism.com/millions-of-jobs-are-at-risk-but-their-loss-could-be-for-the-greater-good

It was absolute nonsense. First of all, "truck driver" isn't a particularly common job in America! The BLS lumps together all cargo vehicle drivers under a single classification. The category error here was thinking that every delivery van driver, furniture mover, and courier is behind the wheel of a big rig, cracking wise on a CB radio as they tear up the interstate.

But what about automation threats? It's possible that if we redesigned the interstates to give 16 wheelers their own separated lanes, and then set them to following one another, that they could traverse long distances in that way. Congratulations, you've just invented a shitty, failure-prone train.

"Shitty train AI" does not threaten the job of the vast number of people the BLS classifies as "truck drivers." For one thing, "shitty train AI" isn't going to pilot a UPS van around the streets of a busy city with other road users. Sure, a few robotaxi companies have bamboozled city governments into conscripting the city's residents into an uncontrolled murderbot experiment. These are not going well:

https://www.cbsnews.com/sanfrancisco/news/9-key-leaders-depart-gms-cruise-amid-ongoing-investigation-into-san-francisco-incident/

More than $100b has been set on fire chasing the robotaxi dream, and the result is most charitably described as a technological curiosity, requiring 1.5 high-waged remote technicians to replace each low-waged driver:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

But even if we could perfect this technology, robots still wouldn't replace all those "truckers" who drive delivery vans (to say nothing of moving vans!). The hard part of driving a UPS van isn't just getting it from place to place – it's getting the parcel into the place. The robo-van would still need at least one person to get the parcel from the back of the van and into the reception desk, porch, or other delivery zone. It's not going to fire those parcels at your door with a catapult. It's also not going to deliver them by drones. Drone delivery is another one of those historical curiosities, capable of delivering a very narrow range of parcels, under even narrower circumstances:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/05/comprehensive-sex-ed/#droned

If all UPS delivered was lightweight, non-fragile rectangular parcels ordered by people with large, unobstructed back yards, then sure. Congrats, you've just created the world's least-useful parcel delivery service!

https://arstechnica.com/gadgets/2022/06/amazon-drone-delivery-service-seeks-faa-approval-to-launch-in-2022/

All that said, the big rig drivers probably don't need to worry about robots stealing their jobs. It's not even clear that "shitty train" is within our technological grasp, but even if it is, there's yet another problem with the AI automation trucker jobpocalypse: "trucker" is already one of the worst jobs in America:

https://www.usatoday.com/pages/interactives/news/rigged-forced-into-debt-worked-past-exhaustion-left-with-nothing/

It's hard to overstate just how fucking terrible it is to be a trucker. Truckers are trapped in abusive debt holes by their employers – who misclassify their workforce as "contractors" in a bid to sidestep labor law. Shriven of any labor rights, truckers are forced into the most ghastly, body-destroying, family-wrcking, financially precarious existence imaginable.

You can drive a truck for years, give almost all of the money you earn back to your employer (who denies that you're their employee) to pay back the usurious loan for your truck. Then, your employer can underschedule for shifts so that you miss a loan payment, and they can repo your truck and keep the six-figure repayment you've already made to them, leaving you destitute.

They can force you to work for hours – days! – without pay while you wait for loading and dispatch. They can make you drive long past the point of safety, then, if (when) you get into a wreck, they can fine you for not taking the mandated rest breaks.

Now, these drivers aren't about to be replaced by AI – but that doesn't mean that AI won't affect their jobs. Commercial drivers are among the most heavily surveilled workers in the country. Amazon's drivers (whom Amazon misclassifies as subcontractors) have their eyeballs monitored by AI;

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

AIs monitor the voices of the (primarily Black, primarily female) workforce at Arise – homeworkers who field customer service calls for blue-chip companies like Carnival Cruises and Disney. They're listening for unruly children or pets in the background, and workers who fail to muffle these dependents lose the contracts they have to pay to train for:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/22/paperback-writer/#toothless

And AI monitors the conduct of workers on temp-work apps. If a worker is dispatched to a struck workplace and refuses to cross the picket-line, the AI boss fires you and blacklists you from future jobs for refusing to robo-scab:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/30/computer-says-scab/#instawork

Writing in The Guardian, Steven Greenhouse describes the AI-enabled workplace, where precarious, often misclassified workers are monitored, judged, and fined by algorithms:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2024/jan/07/artificial-intelligence-surveillance-workers

Whether it's the robot that gets you disciplined for sending an email with the word "union" in it or the robot that takes money out of your paycheck if you take a bathroom break, AI has come for the workplace with a vengeance.

Here's a supreme irony: nearly all of the beneficial applications for AI require that AI be used to help workers, not replace them, which is absolutely not how AI is used in the workplace. An AI that helps radiologists by giving them a second opinion might help them find tumors on x-rays, but that's a tool that reduces the number of scans a radiologist processes in a shift, by making them go back and reconsider the scans they've already processed:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

But AI's sales pitch is not "Buy an AI tool and increase your costs while increasing your accuracy." The pitch for AI is "buy and AI and save money by firing workers." Given how bad AIs are at replacing humans, this is a bad deal all around, both for the worker who loses their job and the customer who gets the substandard product the AI makes.

There is a very limited slice of applications where an AI could make a lot of money for a company that deploys it, without costing that company anything when the AI screws up. For example, AI is a really good tool for fraud! Rather than paying people to churn out millions of variations on a phishing email, you can get an AI to do it. If the AI writes a bad phishing email, it's OK, since nearly all recipients of even good phishing emails delete them. What's more, no one will fine you or publish an op-ed demanding that your board of directors fire you if you buy an incompetent AI to commit fraud. Fraud is a high-value, low-consequence environment for using AI.

Another one of those applications is managing precarious workers who don't have labor rights. If the AI unfairly docks your worker's wages, or forces them to work until they injure themselves or others, or decides that their eyeball movements justify firing them, those workers have no recourse. That's the whole point of pretending that your employees are contractors: so you can violate labor law with impunity!

But that's not the ironic part. The ironic part is that "being a shitty boss" is the one AI application that companies are willing to increase their net spending on. No one buys an eyeball-monitoring AI so they can fire a manager. This is the one place where AI is there to augment, rather than replace, an employee.

This makes AI-based bossware subtly different from other forms of Taylorism, the "scientific management" fad of the early 20th century that saw management consultants choreographing the postures and movements of workers to satisfy the aesthetic fetishes of their employers:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

The pseudoscientific cod-ergonomics of the 1900s was demeaning and even dangerous, but it wasn't automated, and if it increased worker output, this was incidental to the real purpose of making workers move like the machine-cogs their bosses reassured themselves they were:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

Every AI panic is a way of deflecting attention from the real, grimy, here-and-now ways that AI is destroying our lives by demanding that we entertain nonsensical science fiction claims about large, shiny existential risks that AI might present in the future.

The "X-risk" of the spicy autocomplete chatbot waking up and using its newfound sentience to turn us all into paperclips is nonsense. Adding words to the plausible sentence generator doesn't turn it into a superintelligence for the same reason that selectively breeding faster horses doesn't lead to locomotives:

https://locusmag.com/2020/07/cory-doctorow-full-employment/

But there is a way that AI could destroy the human race! The carbon footprint and water consumption associated with training and operating large-scale models are significant contributors to the climate emergency, which threatens the habitability of the only planet in the known universe capable of sustaining human life:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/federicoguerrini/2023/04/14/ais-unsustainable-water-use-how-tech-giants-contribute-to-global-water-shortages/

Likewise, AI isn't going to replace you at work. But it's already augmenting your shitty boss's ability to rip you off, torment you, maim you and even kill you in order to eke out a few more basis points for the next shareholder report.

Science fiction is a fun and useful way to tell parables about our current technologies. But it's not a roadmap for the future. The fact that sf writers like me found AIs as useful measures to describe Earth's dominant artificial life form – the limited liability corporation – doesn't mean that superhuman AIs should – or can – be created.

Back the Kickstarter for the DRM-free audiobook of The Bezzle, read by Tumblr's own @wilwheaton!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/11/robots-stole-my-jerb/#computer-says-no

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #labor #ai #disciplinary technology #bossware #automation #robots stole my jerb #surveillance #privacy first

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bitchbot3000 · 4 months ago

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Devil’s Minion: 70s vs Now, What if We Get Both?

Book & show spoilers below, reader beware! ⚠️✌️

I've been seeing a lot of posts of people making their respective cases for why they believe we're getting either 70s Devil's Minion or Modern Devil's Minion in S3, but personally, I'm not entirely convinced it's going to be one or the other. Hear me out.

While this is obviously not to be taken as canon, Jacob Anderson mentioned in an interview that he believes while living in America, Armand and Louis spend long periods of time apart. What if what we're getting is essentially the Devil's Minion chapter split across several decades, with a gap in the middle and a role reversal when things pick back up?

It feels entirely possible that, during an extended period of time spent apart, Armand would go after the fascinating boy who just came very close to blowing up his relationship without even meaning to. I don't imagine the chase would happen on the same scale as it did in the books, but him essentially stalking Daniel, demanding answers from him to all sorts of technical and philosophical questions, getting Daniel to teach him about the 'modern' era? That feels entirely plausible and like a pretty natural escalation of the encounter we already saw, with Armand demanding again and again to know what makes Daniel 'fascinating'.

Will it go as far as the Night Island and declarations of love? More doubtful, but maybe the first seeds of it? Enough for Daniel to ask to be turned, and Armand to care enough to refuse him, perhaps!

Assuming it ends when Louis returns, I think having that part of their past a shared (if unknowing, on Daniel's part) secret from Louis is also a compelling idea, and it explains a bit more of why Armand and Daniel's interactions have felt a bit loaded and at times, even indulgent, from the start. More so than I personally think what we saw in San Francisco would explain.

Moving on to the modern era, what we have now are all the trappings for things to pick back up, full-steam ahead, even messier than before. Daniel has just blown up Armand's life (a pattern that tends to dictate who Armand will gravitate toward next), very intentionally, this time, he's also the only one who sees straight through Armand's bullshit, and the only one whose mind Armand can't read. On top of that, he has a degenerative health condition and he's lived a full human life, which likely would remove some of Armand's previous reluctance to turn him. Especially when paired with the spite we're given as his reason for turning Daniel.

So, Armand turns Daniel, runs for whatever reason (panic, conflict over committed an act he was so revolted by, a search for safety, whatever conniving idea he's got coming up next, the list of potential reasons goes on), and the chase begins anew, with Daniel doing the hunting. This is where I think the bond between them would come into full bloom, and the Night Island, if it's going to be included at all, would come into play.

On top of all the reasoning above, it just seems practical! It gives Armand and Daniel, both of whom are definitely loved by the audience, their own storyline to be followed while the season is focused on Lestat, and it gives them a chance to keep utilizing Luke Brandon Field, because they kind of struck gold in finding an actor who fits SO well as Eric Bogosian's younger counterpart.

Obviously, this is all just speculation, and even within it, I've still got a lot of questions. Would Daniel remember their time together once he was turned (or perhaps even before, while he and Armand were left alone together)? Would Armand have cared enough to give young Daniel a vial of his blood to ward off other vampires (and if so, where is it now)? Will the mess Lestat is about to make be what drives them together, could it make Armand worry for Daniel, with all the older, stronger vampires converging?

Who knows? Not me! But it's fun to think about.

#iwtv spoilers #this isn't the most complex post just some speculation cause i can't think of anything but them #interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc iwtv #devil's minion #devils minion #armandaniel #armandiel #the vampire armand #daniel molloy

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zkaus · 5 months ago

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I need to tell you all that I FUCKING CALLED IT over FIFTEEN MONTHS AGO!! And now I don't know whether to celebrate or sob.

Probably both because 😭🫣😂😫 Episode 12 was a revelation!!

But also HOLY SHIT Armand?!?!! You brutal, conniving, sinister, murderous fuck! Way to be book accurate in the WORST possible way 🫣😬

But also... I was so damn close!!

As Armand says in the episode: "Did I catch you in a fantasy, where the boy somehow fumbles his way to publication? Where Lestat strolls past a bookstore, your book displayed in the shop window, where he buys himself a copy, reads your nasty embellishments and comes chasing after you again?"

This literally maps perfectly to how the events of the original novels play out.

Louis impulsively gives an interview (a clear provocation) to Daniel, who then publishes it as IWTV. Lestat wakes, reads Louis' book, and decides to write his own book in response and publicly announce his vampirism to protect Louis (by diverting the other vampires rage towards himself) and to both communicate with and ensure Louis can find him. He is so desperate to find and save Louis, he pulls a gigantic spotlight onto himself this causing the spiral of events in Queen of the Damned and all the rest...

The original interview is the metaphorical spark that the lit the fire (IWTV), and set the house on alight (TVL), that burned the entire neighbourhood to the ground (Akasha). And we all know Louis loves starting fires.

But it never happened so... now we know.

Its ONLY because Armand is still there with Louis in San Francisco that the original IWTV was never published, therefore the events of TVL and QOTD never played out like they did in the novels.

So now we have some confirmation... If Lestat woke up in 1984, he never came out as a vampire, and therefore Akasha never woke up. She's somewhere, sleeping still...

Also here's my (also 15 months old) theory on Dubai....

So in celebration of my apparent predictive accuracy, I have a few more theories to share about season 2, lets see if I'm right...

Or completely off 🫣🤔😂

Season 2 theories:

1. In the books, for years Armand stalked and psychologically tortured Daniel. He was 'fascinated' by him, just like in the show. I think we're going to see that although Armand convinced Louis that Daniel was only involved in 1973, he actually stalked the shit out of Daniel for the next decade (at least!) and probably never truly stopped*

*I'm fairly confident Daniel's apartment is in Trinity Gate (check out those ceilings!), and now we know Armand is into real estate it's even more likely.

2. I think we'll see that Armand moved from obsession with Louis, to obsessively amd sadistically fucking with (and actually fucking) Daniel for years and years. But when Armand eventually genuinely fell in love with Daniel (and it's reciprocated) he freaked the fuck out, and wiped/doctored Daniel's memories. Forced him to forget Armand was ever in his life at all, even manipulated Daniel by transferring his love from himself towards a woman (maybe Alice, maybe his second wife).

Then Armand went back to Louis.

3. I'm about 90% sure that in 1973, Lestat was either locked up (probably locked inside one of Armands horrible drawers in the rubble under the theatre) or horribly incapacitated. Very likely, Armand locked him away after the trial, and kept him there all this time.

In the books, Lestat was sleeping while healing during the events of 1973, so it's possible that he will be in the ground in the show. But by 1984, Lestat able to revive himself (as seen in the opening of TVL). However, in the show Lestat was awake enough in 1973 to speak with Armand. So when Armand told him that Louis was gravely injured (very much like in Merrick) we all know that Lestat would have done everything he could to get to Louis, tried anything to save Louis. So we can only assume that he can't. He's weak, malnourished and most likely imprisoned. And probably reamains so in 2022...

So now, the question becomes where the hell is Lestat right now? He would be with Louis if he could be? What the Fuck did you do Armand?!?

I'll be thinking hard on this one...

What do you think? What are your theories?

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #the vampire lestat #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #daniel molloy #armand #iwtv season 2 #loustat #devils minion #iwtv spoilers #iwtv speculation #the vampire armand

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theresthespark · 2 months ago

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Okay Lestat is canonically a Scorpio and Louis a Libra which are both painfully accurate. I wanted to play Estelle and share my astrology headcanons

Claudia:

Leo rising – the hair, the general slayage, her association with yellow aka the sun

Aries sun – she’s so bold plus libra and Aries are sister signs so they share traits that present different which feels right for Louis and her’s kinship

Taurus moon – not prone enough to over emotionality to be a water sign but not overly practical in the way the other earth signs are. Very stubborn and does canonically enjoy beauty and luxury. Also if you know a Taurus I feel like it just makes sense

Madeleine:

Virgo Rising – She just gives demure when we first meet her and yet no bullshit either. Virgos just seems very put together almost unassuming which is funny since every Virgo I know is crazy lol

Aquarius sun – the decisions she’s made in her life feel the best suited for an Aquarian. Also her talking to Armand? That woman stopped giving a fuck about what everyone else is doing years ago

Cancer moon – Almost did Scorpio here but her loyalty and intensity didn’t feel suited there. Cancer still has some of Scorpio’s snap but its homey and soft too. I also can’t see Claudia gravitating towards someone similar to Lestat at all lol

(Bonus: suspected Aries Venus. The intensity of her!! Her directness when she cares! How she chases life and joy!)

Armand:

Pisces Rising – those big ole eyes are a big marker for this one. Also Pisces have big baby energy despite being the oldest sign which feels perfect for him

Gemini Sun – Please what else could he be? There’s the 27 different faces but more so, the love for technology and knowledge, the urge to always strategize. The near inability to ground into his emotions. The perpetual anxiety. Also Geminis are so funny without even trying but that’s just me

Capricorn Moon – Caps are ruled by Saturn which is in short a struggle bus placement. Fits well with the forever 27 thing (stuck in perpetual Saturn return) and his tendency to self flagellate. Also it being represent by the devil card in tarot. Iykyk

Daniel:

Capricorn rising – When you first meet him he comes off quite no bullshit in a way that only makes sense for Capricorn to me. Also fits for the workaholic tendencies (our risings tend to be a truest to self energy aka us at our best). Also feel that may be what draws Armand to him hehehe

Sagittarius sun – If you look up famous Sags all of them are silly goobers (and lowkey problematic 💀). Like him being a Sag makes SO much sense to me for San Francisco. Only a Sag would make that many dumb decisions just bc it was a vibe lmaoo

Aries moon – Thinking about Eric’s comment about Daniel not taking kindly to bullies. Also how similar him and Claudia feel to me I feel they’d share some major signage too

(Bonus: Gemini Mercury bc his got the gift of the gab, the quick wit)

Louis: (i couldn’t resist finishing their big three)

Libra rising – Ruled by Venus, Helen of Troy, Malena coded. What else could he be really?

Libra sun – Painfully canon

Scorpio moon – With how he talks about himself and his life versus how he moves through the world it makes perfect sense to me. So much emotion but also a lot of passion all bottled unless in the right company. Also he would loooove SZA (plus plus you’re more likely to become heavily attached to people who’s sun is your moon)

Lestat:

Aquarius rising – Leo’s sister sign (perfect for him and Claudia’s dynamic). She’s a rebel she does her own thing she does not give a flying fuck about the rest of yall. Only an Aquarius could be responsible for the events in Queen of the Damned

Scorpio sun – Again debilitatingly canon

Leo moon – Do I even need to explain it? Pull any TVL passage if you want an explanation lmaooo

I hope you enjoyed my analyzes I love astrology and would kill to get a proper birth chart for these characters. The house placements! The Aspects! The CHIRONS!! I need to chill

#interview with the vampire #astrology #i’ve been sitting on this one for a while #armand #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #daniel molloy #claudia #madeleine eparvier

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scoupsahoy · 2 years ago

Text

leaving like a father, running like water

[crossposted to ao3]

It’s 1991 when Steve finally does what his father’s been telling him his entire life, which is: he grows up. Hawkins is stuck in time, a ticking time bomb, a place that’s never really needed him.

That’s okay. People needed him to stay for a while.

Robin needs him. Stuck to his side, constantly over his house, hardly going back to her own. He hears fighting from the inside for a while before he stops taking her back. Violence and vitriol and venom. And he needs Robin, too, needs her to be by his side, needs her to put him back together after the town splits down the middle.

It’s mainly her.

The kids needed him for a while, but they were always stronger. More magical. He was a piece of shit when he was their age, didn’t understand a single fucking thing, and they just knew. They’d lived entire lives right under his nose. They’d fought and won and lost and lost and lost and won, and they were always smarter than him anyway. More resilient.

And Hawkins can hardly be called a place anymore. It’s gray and rotten and barren, and the kids live there because they grew up on its streets and underneath them, but Steve. Steve has only been beaten down by this place, realizes he has to grow up somewhere else.

His parents give him the house and he sells it immediately. No one’s buying land in Hawkins, but it’s land, the town will take it, they’ll take anything they can get, and so will Steve.

They drive west until they hit Las Vegas and they get hitched at one of those sleazy casinos so people stop asking questions.

Steve dips Robin low and kisses her on the cheek behind a veil and the drunk witnesses don’t notice that her cackle is at the ridiculousness of people ever thinking they could be together. And hopefully in a while she’ll be one of those girls on the news wearing a shirt that says Lavender Menace but she could never have been that girl in Indiana.

And Steve. Well.

Before they really decide to leave, Steve gets drunk and hooks up with a guy he’s never met before and never seen again, a drummer in a little metal band playing just outside Indianapolis when he was convinced he was just testing a theory, and then Alexandria Brown, who had a fucking tongue piercing, just to make sure girls still get him off, and then Ronny Jackson, who was in AP Calc and a huge loud weirdo but otherwise gives him the best orgasm of his life. And he otherwise chases what Robin lovingly calls “the Munson High” until it clicks for him.

He leaves because without the kids to take care of, because he can’t play mother hen forever, Hawkins is nothing but a rotting open grave.

So they drive farther and hit San Francisco with ring pop rings and get a nice two bedroom apartment from a landlord who doesn’t ask questions, and that becomes home.

Steve is twenty four when he decides to grow up.

The problem with growing up is the growing part. Stretching his limbs and pounding at his muscles and working long hours lifting heavy boxes onto wobbly shelves for nine hours a day. He sees ghosts in the grocery store and monsters in dogs on a walk and it’s hard out here pretending this has been his only life. But at least there’s beer.

“Steve,” Robin flies through their front door, crumpled flier in hand, right when Steve cracks the can open. “Put that down.”

“Why?”

“We’re going out tonight. This was in our mailbox. I think it’s a gay club.” She smacks her hand on the counter, spread out over a piece of paper, probably too excited to realize there’s no way Steve would be able to read it.

He puts his beer down anyway before asking what should be an obvious question, because he actually isn’t trying to turn into his father, and because he’s a good friend. “Why would someone slip a flier for a gay club into our mailbox?”

“I think Addie and Rose from down the hall put it in there. Doesn’t matter. Go with me.”

And. Steve stares at his beer and the tiny television they got when they moved in so they wouldn’t die of boredom. They were going to watch Turner Classics or something because that’s what they always do on the weekend.

He looks back at sweet, hopeful Robin and sighs. “One of these days I’ll say no to you.”

“No you won’t,” she says, bright and shiny, runs into her closet of a room to get dressed and shouts through the apartment. “Also, for the record, you need to get laid!”

“Say it louder, I don’t think Addie and Rose heard you.”

“Don’t say that unless you mean it, because we both know I will.”

So Steve puts on real clothes, nothing too nice, and runs a comb through his hair. It’s a bit longer now than it was when he was a kid, long enough to give him hat hair at work, short enough that he’s not immediately clocked as a freak.

On the walk there, Steve decides his primary goal is to make sure Robin has a good time. His secondary goal is to make sure neither of them get into too much trouble. And the third, if the first two goals go well, is to get head in the bathroom, or, if he’s really lucky, give head in the bathroom.

They haven’t been in San Francisco for very long, considering how long they stayed in Hawkins, but there are regulars in their neighborhood, people he recognizes from work, people he recognizes from the store. It’s like they’re making a life here, almost.

The bartender is a guy who’s jogging route passes in front of their apartment most mornings on their way to work. His grizzled face breaks into pleasant surprise when he gets his eye on them.

“Oh, I recognize you two,” he says, pointing two fingers at them. His voice has a midwest twang to it. Kind of reminds him of home, not that he needs reminding. “That married couple up by that one deli. You guys lost?”

“We’re not.. really married,” Robin says, in that ridiculously un-subtle way she tends to.

Steve shoots her a look. “We’re legally married.”

“Yes, but as friends,” she emphasizes, shakes her naked ring finger at the bartender before leaning both elbows onto the bar and resting her head on her fists. “Tell me, do women frequent this establishment?”

If anything, despite the anxiety burning Steve’s ears red, the bartender at least seems amused. He nods over to a corner of the club closer to the stage and she’s immediately off in that direction, leaving Steve alone on a barstool with a man who knows way too much about him now.

Most of the rest of the bar is empty. Being a club, most people are on the dance floor or in dark corners or against the stage. Steve’s always been the kind of guy to sit by the sidelines. At least, since he graduated.

“She seems quirky,” the bartender says, no malice in his voice, pouring a drink for another patron and sliding it down the bar.

“Yeah, try living with her.”

He heaves a belly-laugh that makes Steve make real eye contact with him for the first time since getting in. “I’m Ricardo.”

“Steve.” They shake hands, firm and friendly.

“Not lost, then?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so,” Ricardo says, though Steve does a quick check of his hair and his clothes, see if anything gives him away. And he must be tense, because he continues. “Hey, relax, let me make you a drink if you want. We don’t bite.”

That shocks a smile out of him, enough to ask for a rum and coke. And Ricardo nods, and Steve tries to remember how to be social again like he hasn’t spent the last five years exclusively hanging out with teenagers and Robin. “That’s a shame. About the biting.”

“Don’t you worry about that. I could introduce you to a friend. He’ll do anything if you ask nicely enough,” he laughs, handing over the drink.

Steve squashes down how flustered that makes him. Robin’s right. He does need to get laid.

“It’s kind of funny, actually. Thinking about it, you’re exactly the kind of guy he usually goes after.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You know. Athletic. Good hair. Very normal looking,” Ricardo makes vague gestures at Steve’s general likeness and he tries not to take it personally. “He usually comes by on Saturdays. In case you were curious.”

“What’s his name?” Steve asks, even though he’ll probably forget, by the amount of rum he can taste in his drink and the way a man with more than one tattoo on his neck looks at him from down the bar.

He does manage to remember, because it’s kind of a weird name. And pretty quickly Steve decides that hooking up with someone in a bathroom isn’t too much trouble to get into at all, and Robin is loud and excitable across the club and he shouldn't worry about her too much anyway. So Jacob with the neck tattoos drags him into the bathroom by the hair at his nape and pushes Steve to his knees and the roughness of it gets him off without even being touched.

And his jaw is sore and his knees are bruised and he thinks about the guy named Winn who usually comes in on Saturdays, who likes guys that look like Steve, who will do anything if Steve asks nicely enough.

On the way out Robin has another girl’s lipstick on her teeth so she can’t say anything too scathing, but she does give him the Munson High stare.

He climbs into her bed that night because he has dreams about monsters and bats and open graves. He thinks about Eddie Munson after five years of him being gone, after only really a few days of knowing him, never knowing what he tasted like and chasing it anyway.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson died.

•

It’s 1991, deep into summer, and Steve sweats through his work uniform every single fucking day, takes twice as many showers as he can probably afford the water for, and sometimes it’s so hot in California that he starts to think he might be seeing things.

Robin tells him he’s been hit in the head too many times, which is objectively true, and if he were more self-preserving he’d probably benefit from going to a doctor about it. His father would call him crazy, he knows that, too.

Sometimes at work he’ll see a new-hire with Dustin’s curly hair, the style he had it in years ago when there was a chance he could grow up normal. And Steve will go home on those days and call the Henderson home phone until someone picks up and tells him he’s safe.

And lately, on Friday afternoons after work, when he goes straight from work to the grocery store to pick up whatever he can for dinner, he swears he catches a glimpse of Eddie. Just for a second. Like he’s a ghost.

And there are things wrong, always, the hair, his style, the walk, it has to be a hallucination.

Eddie’s been dead for five years, dead in a different state, in a different universe. And there’s no one to call when he gets home.

The feeling of it sits in his gut and festers like a poison. He doesn’t know why it’s getting worse since coming here. Chasing the Munson High.

They don’t go back to the club very often. They probably should. Robin needs to get laid just as badly as Steve does, but he’s never been the type to let loose when he felt responsible for someone else, not since Nancy. San Francisco is big and gay and new and it’s not quite home yet, and they’re from smalltown Hawkins, Indiana. He doesn’t know how to let his guard down.

But.

“We’re going out tonight,” Robin tells him, sitting next to Steve on their little couch with a sandwich and swinging her legs across his lap as a table.

“We are?”

She nods, smiles, speaks with a mouth full of food. “Yep. We’re going back to the club. And I’m the designated driver.”

“You don’t drive,” Steve blinks. “And we walk there.”

“Then I’m the designated walker. I’ll cart your little drunk self back home. Unless you go home with someone else, of course.”

“What the hell are you going on about?”

Robin smiles her little Robin smile, the one where she’s clearly feeling pity, which she knows Steve hates, and will not apologize for it.

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Your nightmares are back again. You’re worrying too much about me and everyone back home,” back in Hawkins, she means, their old home, “and it’s Saturday night and as your wife, I’m forcing you to go out and get drunk and get laid and stop worrying about other people for once.”

“There’s plenty of things to worry about, Robin,” Steve points out, even though it’s a losing battle.

“I’m a big girl, Steve. The apocalypse isn’t coming to San Francisco, and I’m pretty sure if it did I’d be able to handle it until you sobered up.”

She’s right. He knows she’s right.

Fuck. He knows she’s right.

So he lets Robin eat her sandwich and he gets changed into something that won’t make him die of heatstroke (because if he survived the past eight years and throws it all away in the basement of a club, he’s going to march into hell pissed off). And he makes himself look good and he wonders if Jacob with the neck tattoos is coming tonight, or maybe a drag performer, or maybe Winn who knows Ricardo.

They come up with a game plan on the way, because Steve is nothing without a game plan, basically the only thing that’s kept him alive this long. He’s going to get as plastered as he likes, and Robin is going to hopefully hook up with a drag king, and they are going to check in at midnight. And if Steve goes home with someone, he’s going to let her know before he goes, and he’s going to have a good time (this, she is adamant about), and he’s going to call her if he plans on spending the morning in bed.

Robin tells as much to Ricardo when they get in, orders Steve shots before setting his watch to go off at midnight like he’s fucking Cinderella. She looks Ricardo right in the eyes and demands him, “make sure he gets plastered.”

And get plastered Steve does.

“I was wondering when you’d be back,” Ricardo says. “Not really your scene?”

Steve leans an elbow on the bar. “It’s not that. I like to be careful. I know that this is San Francisco, but still. We’re from Indiana.”

It’s a half-truth, at least. Indiana itself was part of the problem, it always was. Not safe for Robin, not safe for him. Steve always had to pick the safe option. Tonight is really the first time he’s not going to worry about it.

The world is a scary place, even without all the monsters. Ricardo must understand that. Steve takes another shot.

“Illinois.”

The liquor burns down his throat this time, hits him like a punch, “What?”

“I’m from outside Chicago,” Ricardo says, which explains the midwestern accent.

Steve breathes, the buzz starting in his chest. “How long did it take for you to get used to this?”

“Kid, we’re all still getting used to it.”

He takes another shot at that. He thinks about the things he’s getting used to, the new place and the new world and the way the world spins. The way the ground here isn’t cracked and rotten and part of hell. The way he doesn’t have to worry about getting an annual concussion, hopefully, if he watches out, if he follows his rules.

He thinks about Eddie, which is a bit funny, because he doesn’t think he’s tried to think about him in a long time. Sometimes it happens like that. You know about someone for years and then you know them for a few days and then.

Impact.

And if he’s being honest, he’s never going to get laid like this. Sitting miserable at the bar. It’s a club. There are people and performances and men that he doesn’t have to be afraid of.

Steve has to do more than just survive, now. It’s been eight years of surviving and he gets to live.

So he gets plastered. Sloppily so, finds Robin and kisses her wet on her forehead and lifts her up for the girls by the stage and wingmans until she’s giggling and slapping at him and threatening divorce.

He gets bullshit drunk, chases his Munson High, grinds against a man with lots of eyeliner, hair so long he’s pretty. He tells him so against his lips and his hips. Doesn’t learn his name before he’s sitting back at the bar, a moment that hardly sobers him.

He sits for a while and breathes and people-watches and talks to Ricardo, and there’s a man with sunglasses down the bar, staring right at him. His hair is cropped short and he’s covered in tattoos, and Steve flags Ricardo down.

“Am I really drunk or is that guy staring at me?”

Ricardo smiles, response sloshing around in Steve’s brain. “He’s definitely staring. I told you that you were his type.”

“Oh shit,” he says, “that’s Winn?”

Steve doesn’t stick around long enough to hear anything other than the confirmation. And if Winn gets tense, Steve is too drunk to notice. He wants to drink and he wants to make out and he wants this guy to do whatever he wants with him. He wants to flirt and get in his pants and go home with him. And he’s a reckless drunk and he’s okay with it.

“Hey,” he says when he sidles up, rests his elbows on the bar.

“Hey.”

His voice is gruff and deep, surprisingly so. And he looks out into the crowd for a bit, so Steve can peek behind his sunglasses to see what they’re hiding. “I was wondering if you were planning on buying me a drink.”

Winn smiles, and it’s bright, even if it isn’t huge. It looks shocked, unused, awkward in the lips like they’ll crack open. Steve wants to get bloody on them.

“Now why would I do that?”

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” Steve says, even if he doesn’t know that it’s true. It’s true enough. “And Ricardo told me that I’m just your type. Was wondering if you’d ever make a move.”

“Wow. And you couldn’t make a move of your own?” His voice wavers a bit, a teasing jolt, something familiar, weirdly.

Steve drags his eyes down Winn’s body, his plain black shirt, and dark wash jeans, and the lean muscle that sits underneath. “What do you think I came over here for?”

“You’ve got me there. But I don’t think I was staring at you.”

“I’m pretty sure you were.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m wearing sunglasses, so I could have been staring at anything,” Winn says, turns his shoulders towards Steve’s, like they’re closing in on each other.

“You’re looking at me now, at least.”

“That’s true.”

“Any chance you’ll be looking away any time soon?”

It’s fun. Their back and forth. He can tell Winn likes it too, cheeks red, even when the lights change to flash yellow and blue and green. His voice cracks higher for a half second. “None.”

There it is.

“Good,” Steve says, curls his fist into the front of his shirt and pulls Winn down to him. He can feel the snag of chest hair in his hand, swallows the little groan he lets out into his mouth. He wants to get drunk on that, too.

He knows how drunk he must be, out in the open like this. He knows how selfish this must be, and he couldn't give less of a shit about it. Steve wants.

Winn hesitates for a fraction of a second, the kind of second that drags on when you’re drunk, and then kisses back the kind of kiss that empties your entire mind. His tongue is hot, licks into his mouth like fire, and he doesn’t taste like liquor. It’s just cigarettes and sweat and Steve wants to drown in it.

It turns out that Winn is the take control type. The do whatever you want if you ask nicely enough type, if he’s remembering correctly. He’s solid and bone-crushing and not nearly close enough. Steve is desperate and hungry in a way he hasn’t let himself be in years, doesn’t care about the consequences, wants Winn to make a mark on him that won’t go away.

And Winn gets them both drinks, gets Steve just what he likes, takes his own shots like they’re nothing. He downs them like water and Steve stares at his throat like he wants to build a home inside of it.

There’s a little bit of talking, but mainly making out, and a lot of touching hip bones and exposed biceps and the tender skin at the juncture of Winn’s neck, and ordering drinks and feeling reckless and not giving a shit.

And then his hands are in Steve’s hair, pulling, kissing him again and again, and his knees nearly collapse right there.

“Take me home,” Steve finds himself saying. “Your home. Take me to your place.”

Winn laughs, a sharp sound, “You’re a little drunk, buddy.”

“Sober me up then,” Steve says, slides his free hand up Winn’s leg. He tests a theory. “Please?”

And that does something.

He is pretty drunk, and otherwise his blood isn’t particularly focused on his brain function as much as his dick, honestly. But still, Winn makes Steve dizzy with it, with want and need.

It’s quick and reckless. Steve tells Robin he’s going home with Winn, that he’ll call a cab in the morning, and she salutes him on his way out.

The air outside is just as stale and hot as the club, and Steve leans into Winn’s arm while they walk.

“I hate how hot it is here.”

“You might have come to the wrong place, big boy,” Eddie says. Or, well, Winn says it, but Steve stops short in his tracks, feeling like a tape getting rewound, cranked slowly. It’s five years ago all of a sudden, just for a second, and Winn catches Steve by the bicep and if Steve were feeling more like himself he might have flexed or flirted or something. “You alright?”

And he’s back in the present, skipped ahead with a scratch. “Yeah.”

“Don’t die of heatstroke on me. I have water at my apartment. It’s not far.”

It really isn’t far. Winn keeps his sunglasses on even though Steve can hardly see a foot in front of him as it is. He wonders for a second if Winn has real eyes, or if he sees through his lenses like screens. Or maybe he can’t see at all. That seems unlikely.

He wonders if Winn has Eddie’s eyes, too. Big and brown like he’d never seen before or seen since. The real Munson High: not a guy with long hair and rings and tattoos and weird interests, but a guy who looks at him like that, like Eddie did. Intense and sure and determined and unafraid.

“You remind me of someone,” Steve says, sloshed, uninhibited.

For all accounts, he should keep his mouth shut. Steve is actually trying to sleep with this guy, and he can’t imagine that comparing him to his admittedly life-changing but violently dead friend from five years ago is going to be appealing.

And this guy is cool, Steve tells him so. His style and his walk and his demeanor and how he tastes like cigarettes, the kind you roll yourself.

He thinks, maybe, keeping it lighthearted will be best. If this is the final destination of the Munson High, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Or scary the way seeing the ghost of him in his grocery store is.

Winn keeps him talking, though. “Someone nice?”

“Oh,” Steve blinks. He isn’t quite sure, which seems unfair, but he doubts Eddie thought Steve was all that nice either. “Maybe. He was nicer than me, maybe. He was good, I know that. We had a lot going on back when I knew him, but you have the same kind of smile. And manner of speaking. All that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Steve is too drunk really to read into the way Winn’s posture changes, maybe it has something to do with the fact that they’re at Winn’s apartment already. It’s not far at all. In fact, Steve could probably make it back home in fifteen minutes if he wasn’t so far gone.

His apartment is small and a bit messy, and it’s quiet and a little impersonal. Not much on the walls, no pictures of family around. And sometimes it’s like that here, he’s learned. Not everyone has a Robin. But at least Winn has a Ricardo.

The entry space isn’t too warm. It’s actually nice and cool. Cooler than the club, certainly cooler than the outside. Like, Winn must have good air conditioning. “Jesus Christ, are you rich or something?”

“I can’t believe that you of all people would ask that,” Winn says. Steve doesn’t bother asking what that means but he wonders. He looks for hints in Winn’s sunglasses or the familiar weight of his hands.

“I feel like I can breathe,” Steve takes a deep breath and spins, almost topples over, and Winn catches him by the shoulders. Firm hands. Familiar. They’re familiar. “Woah, thank you.”

“Not a problem, dude.”

There it is again. That tone of voice. Steve has got to be fucking hallucinating, honestly, all of a sudden overcome by this pulling in his chest.

“Is dude really an appropriate thing to call someone you’re trying to sleep with?” He flirts, the only cylinder in his brain that’s firing like this. Everything else is fighting drunken confusion and Eddie and trauma. And it’s not fair that this is happening now.

Winn’s sunglasses are still on. “You’d be surprised, Stevie.”

He stumbles and trips over a cable and it feels like 1986 again and 1985 and 1984, and it’s a black and slimy vine, something that will slither around his neck and ankles and choke him out. And the next few hours are a confusing haze, because he collapses in Winn’s arms. He gets taken to the couch, a fucking ugly thing, and he can’t breathe and it’s humiliating.

It’s been a while since an episode like this. The first few weeks in San Francisco were like that, peeking around every corner, distrustful of every shadow. And the feeling of being back there mainly sticks to nightmares, something he can blame on his dreams.

But he got used to it. He got used to San Francisco and normal problems like being broke and hating your parents.

Steve knows what’s real and what isn’t. He’s smart. He hasn’t gone insane. He’s not crazy, except, he definitely looks crazy to this guy. This poor guy. Not-Eddie. Eddie’s not real. Or, not anymore.

He never should have come here. He should be with Robin. She knows what’s real too. She can talk him down. She’s good at it.

He can’t see for what feels like an hour or what he knows is realistically only a couple of minutes, and then he can, because Eddie or not-Eddie rubs circles into his back and puts a glass of ice water in his hands and tells him how cold it is. He narrates the droplets of condensation that track down his skin and into his watch, which still hasn’t gone off yet.

This is the longest night of his fucking life and that’s saying something, it’s saying too much.

“You’re okay, man,” Eddie or not-Eddie says, calm like he’s used to this feeling, when nobody could be. Nobody but the group of them who fought monsters in alternate dimensions, who were nearly killed off and then paid off by government organizations. It’s why Steve and Robin came here in the first place. To get away from it. Somewhere where no one would know. So they wouldn’t have to see the effects of it every day and breathe the awful polluted air.

A chill runs up his spine. The air conditioning whirrs. A thought comes to his mind: he likes it cold.

And he thinks he’s hyperventilating again, he must be, because Winn is concerned and takes off his sunglasses and Steve gets a good look at his eyes and they’re Eddie’s. Like he took them from him. Like the world is fucking with him, like they never won at all and this is Steve’s fucking ticking clock. Like the last five years weren’t real, like nothing is real.

By some grace of God, that’s too much for his brain to handle, and he passes out right there on Eddie’s couch in Eddie’s arms in San Francisco in 1991.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson almost died.

•

It’s 1991, and Steve wakes up hungover in a room he’s never been in before. It’s dark still, and his head is pounding, and he’s sure it’s from the alcohol. But it centers around his eyes like he’d been crying, something he doesn’t let himself do all that often, and it floods back.

His eyes barely adjust and there’s an old Metallica poster on the wall and a stack of books in the corner of the room and a guitar pick necklace hanging from the corner of a mirror and nothing else.

Nothing else recognizable, at least. Nothing else personal, not that Steve can really say he knew Eddie personally. It’s nothing like Eddie’s room at home five years ago, the one he had to clean out because Wayne and Dustin were too heartbroken to do it themselves. With his guitars and posters and fliers and lyrics and chord progressions. With his drugs that they threw back into Rick’s house. That he and Nancy made sure to keep far away from the kids, because God fucking forbid they touch them.

It’s too dark to tell if this is the Upside Down or one of those clock hallucinations or if it’s just night.

There’s no reason Eddie Munson should be alive.

There’s no reason, really, that Steve should have been thinking about him for so long, anyway. For thinking of Eddie as this special thing to him, a high he’s chased for years, a person he recognizes pieces of in strangers on the street. That must be what this is. Punishing him for not letting him go. When he hardly fucking knew the guy.

But that’s not right, either.

He’s shaking, and the bed creaks with it, and the door opens slowly, and he holds his breath until Eddie walks through.

Because Eddie walks through. His hair is cropped and his neck is scarred and his face is older. There aren’t rings or patches or buttons on leather and denim. He looks different and exactly the same, and the light from the other room floods from behind him like a halo, like he’s a ghost.

Steve knows that this can’t be his imagination, though, can’t be the effect of some spell or hypnotism or post-traumatic stress, because he’d never imagine Eddie like this. Barren.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Eddie says, like it’s a normal thing to say, like this is a normal thing to do, and Steve kind of wants to kill him again.

The light flickers on, bathes the room in an ugly yellow. “What did you do?”

“What?” Eddie stops short. Water spills over the rim of a glass Steve didn’t notice he was holding. “You had a panic attack and passed out. I brought you to a bed.”

Steve shakes his head. “You died! You died five years ago! What did you do? Did you make a deal with Vecna? With the guys at the lab?”

“Jesus, no!” Eddie steps forward and Steve tenses. His eyes flash, and they’re just as big and swirling as Steve remembers, but they’re dark, and he holds his other hand out, placating. Is he a vampire? Is Vecna even dead?

“Was any of it real? Is any of it over?”

Exdie crouches, and he takes off his shirt, and Steve must still be a little drunk because he stares at his chest and the curls of hair scattered around. But behind that, more clear now than it was in the club, is scarred, discolored patches of skin, poorly stitched together, healed but slowly. Painfully. The scratches and scars run lightly up his arms and his chest, up into deep pinks and reds at the base of his neck.

“I didn’t die,” Eddie says, patient, practiced, like he’d been prepared to be found out. Which begs the question: what was the fucking point? “I nearly died. I thought I died. But I didn’t.”

Steve fumes and he tries to follow and he stares at Eddie’s skin, thinks about all the people he couldn’t protect.

“We mourned you. Dustin was,” Jesus Christ, it hurts to think about, “torn in half. You let us all think you died, but you let him think you died. We would have helped you.”

Eddie stares like he’s brokenhearted, and Steve is done talking. His throat hurts and his head hurts and he’s too fucking old for this. He dares Eddie to explain himself.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He really did think he was going to. He’d already accepted it, and if Dustin got to live, he would have done it over and over again indefinitely. He would have relived the pain forever, and he knew it even when it was excruciating and he tasted blood and venom and whatever else.

The only thing he wouldn’t relive was Dustin’s face, dirty and tear-tracked and sobbing.

Eddie faded out and faded back in. He couldn’t open his eyes, but he heard the others come back, heard them tear Dustin off of him, heard the rumbling of thunder and the splitting of earth.

One thing Eddie learned when he was young, when his dad put his mom in the hospital, was that hearing goes last. The last moments wrapped up in loud silence.

He didn’t know if he believed in heaven, but the screams and the cracking and the laughter from Vecna sounded a lot like hell, especially when it didn’t stop. When it kept going. When he thought he was dead.

But hell seemed to spit him back out.

Didn’t want him. Go figure.

He was hardly alive, though. Alive in the sense that he was sometimes conscious and his heart was chugging, pushing blood around his body.

And eventually, in Hawkins, real Hawkins, he crawled until he ended up in the Hendersons’ backyard. He’d heard a story once, right before he died, that Dustin had taken in a little monster until it could live on its own.

It was a long shot, but he was hoping the kid would be willing to do it again.

He was.

Eddie bled sludge onto the concrete of Dustin’s cellar, and Dustin stole antiseptic and gauze and painkillers from where they were keeping Max in the hospital and from the donation drives and wherever else, Eddie never knew. He soaked needles and string in hydrogen peroxide and sewed him up in the really gnarly gashes that wouldn’t scab over, placating Eddie with whatever was in his mother’s liquor cabinet.

And it was fucking hell.

He will never remember most of it.

But as soon as he could stand upright he cut his hair short and hitchhiked to Indianappolis and took a one-way bus to California and didn’t look back.

There was no way he could. Every step was a miracle. He was a man on the run.

But nobody except his uncle knew that his name was Edwin, that his mother’s maiden name was Langley. Nobody except Rick, who’d made him a fake ID before he got sent to prison so he could run off to San Francisco after he graduated, or after Wayne got sick of him, or after shit got really bad.

And well.

It killed the poor kid, he knew it, but he hoped that knowing he was alive would lessen the blow. Even if he swore him to secrecy. The kid was loyal. Could keep a secret.

Dustin is nothing if not stubborn. Packed Eddie’s bag with a note with his home phone number and a radio frequency and a threat, a promise, to tell the police exactly where he was if he didn’t confirm proof of life at least once a month.

An extremely charming scribbled note on a piece of paper he would keep in his bedside table that read: I WILL MAKE ELEVEN FIND YOU. LIVE.

So Eddie Munson – if you asked his ID, Edwin Langley – if you asked anyone else, Winn the Mechanic – didn’t die in Upside Down Hawkins, Indiana in 1986. He laid low for five years in San Francisco, a place where people run to all the fucking time and don’t ask questions, didn’t make too much money, didn’t make too many waves.

He got rid of anything that would identify him. That was the hard part. All Eddie Munson had was his identity. Was his band and his music and his club and his loud personality. And he’d never held himself back for anyone.

He figured, though, if he was going to hold himself back for something, it would be for the teenagers who fought monsters. Maybe, he thought, this way he’ll win. There’s no other way for them to win.

Eddie knew his odds. Every day was a stealth check. And for five years he rolled high enough. It helped staying mainly sober and playing the new performance of being mysterious and quiet. Like that was a new game in itself.

And then, one day, a drunk and traumatized Steve Harrington rolled high enough on investigation to crumble the whole thing down.

•

It’s 1991. And Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He was alive when Wayne and Steve organized a pathetic little funeral for him with sticks and pins and guitar picks buried into the ground on the right-side-up of where he got attacked by the bats. He was alive when Steve and Lucas spent nights in Dustin’s room, giving them a break from the hospital room and making sure they were doing okay.

For Christ sake, he held Dustin while they mourned.

Eddie was alive when Steve sort of pieced together why he was so heartbroken. When Robin asked why he kept Eddie’s jean jacket hung on the back of his desk chair, why he didn’t bury it or give it to Wayne. He was alive when Steve was confused and tired and drove out to Indianapolis and went down on some drummer with long hair and big eyes who called him baby and pretty and gave him a warning before coming down his throat.

When Robin coined the term Munson High.

And Jesus Christ, Steve is exhausted. He’s nauseous and dizzy and hungover and his mouth tastes like shit. He’s only pretty sure this whole thing isn’t an elaborate mind game.

“I don't understand, dude,” Steve says, running the palm of his hand flat down his face.

“What don’t you understand?”

Steve kind of wants to kill him again. “Why did you have to be dead? Why didn’t you tell the rest of us? Why didn’t you tell me? We were friends!” He clears his throat. “And why the fuck did you take me home tonight knowing damn well who I was?”

Eddie counts the questions off on his fingers, formulating his thoughts, and it’s infuriating to watch. Knowing that Eddie has had five years to think about this, and Steve is falling over on himself like a fucking idiot. Blindsided.

He speaks, and for some reason it sounds the exact same as it has in Steve’s memory, and it hurts. “The town wanted me dead, man. There were people coming after me with pitchforks, no questions asked, there was no saving me. Not after Jason died. Not after it broke national news. I couldn’t be missing or sent to jail or any of that shit. I had to be dead or they would kill me. And if they couldn’t kill me, they’d kill you guys for keeping me alive.”

Steve clenches his jaw and it sends the violent sting of a migraine into his eye. “We would have done it. We needed you–”

“That’s why you guys couldn’t know. You would try to fix it. If you knew I lived, you would patch me up and take me to your magical girl’s friends with the government and they would wave their wands, but I would be public enemy number one, and that was never going to change or get better,” Eddie says, a crack in his voice like he’s frustrated, like he has a right to be. “I’ve been public enemy number one since the kids in Hawkins found out who my dad was. It never fucking changes.

“I told Dustin because I knew he wouldn’t ask me to stay after I’d already made up my mind. I didn’t tell you because I knew you would. You would have asked me to stay and I would have done anything for you back then. And now, too. I just can’t say no to you, Stevie.

“But,” he finishes, “you needed to focus on the bigger picture. If you thought there was any shot I would make it, you would have taken it, and you would have gotten yourself killed.”

Steve breathes. He can’t do much to argue with that, but the parts of it that were personal, that made Steve feel like stained glass or the open mouth of a cave, like he was something Eddie could really see, those parts are hard to swallow.

“And?”

“And,” Eddie says. “I haven’t seen you in five years and I never got to kiss you back then, I never even thought of it as a possibility. And my cover was broken and I was drinking even though I don’t do that anymore, and you asked to go home with me, Steve. I already said I can’t say no to you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie relaxes into a position more familiar, barely. The ghost of a posture Steve recognizes from five years ago. He wonders if he’s still the same or different in Eddie’s eyes. “And I wouldn’t have slept with you under false pretenses, I just figured you’d rather not be in a dark little gay club when you realized I was Eddie.”

He’s a little too tired for this. A little too broken. It’s a little too much.

Steve wonders if he would feel his heart stop if it did. Or if it would just feel like the same dull ache he’s been feeling for five years. More than that. Since his world turned upside down.

“You’re stuck with me, now. You got that?”

Eddie smiles, and it’s something so massive and heart stopping and sickening that Steve worries if it’s real at all. It’s just different enough. Five years older. Relieved and real.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, waterlogged and broken and also whole.

Steve would hate to break this, but he glances at the clock and feels a tension about a fifteen minute walk away. “You’re going to have to deal with Robin, though. And Dustin is going to have to deal with me”

•

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana.

•

It’s 1991. Steve unlocks his apartment, cramped and kind of ugly, and full of life.

“Hey Rob?”

Robin calls from her little closet room. “No honey I’m home? Where has our love gone, Stevie?”

“Uh,” he shifts by the door. “I ran into someone last night.”

“I thought you went home with that Winn guy. Did he fuck your brains out? I should have told him about your history of concussions before I let you leave…” Robin trails off when she turns one of the snug corners of their apartment and makes eye contact with them.

And Steve can only imagine how they look to her, considering everything. Steve bringing home a man who looks more like Eddie Munson than is probably healthy for him. Looking exhausted, his eyes are chapped and red from last night. And Eddie looks kind of terrified, which he should. It’s a blessing that Nancy is on the other side of the country, because Eddie would be dirt in the fucking ground, probably.

“Hi,” Robin looks Eddie up and down with so much intensity that Steve can feel the heat of it. “I’m sorry. I’m Robin. I need to steal Steve away for just one minute.”

“Robin,” Steve manages. She looks away from Eddie and gives Steve a scathing Munson High stare. It quiets him.

Eddie speaks, though. That same old voice. “Robin.”

It’s pleading, almost. And it works. Steve and Robin joke about being able to read each others’ minds, but it’s like something really happens then. Exactly how he thought she’d react: confused, and then suspicious, and then almost angry.

“What is this?”

She doesn’t give either of them a chance to respond, just walks up to Eddie and pulls on the collar of his shirt. Steve looks too: the smattering of scars, years healed over but still gnarly, raised, skin crawling over itself like veins.

There’s this little quirk in the scars on Steve’s stomach, marks that never faded, speckles of black, like shards of venom from the bats stuck inside him. They play just underneath the pale scars on Eddie’s neck. And Robin’s face breaks.

“What the hell is this?

“I’m–” Steve thinks there’s going to be an apology from Eddie, half-formed, scared and desperate in a way that tears Steve’s heart in half even though it’s only just been mended. But Robin launches forward, unsteady on her feet, wraps both arms around his neck.

“You were gone,” Robin croaks into his skin. “I saw it.”

Eddie rubs her back, and Steve’s heart lurches at the memory of her and her brave face when they found Dustin hovering over his body.

“I’m sorry.”

“How are you here? Did they–” the government, the Lab, the Russians, the creatures, “did they take you away? Are you under witness protection? Who’s Winn?”

Eddie’s voice shakes while he explains it again, and Steve shakes while he hears it again, and Robin watches and listens with her usual intensity, careful and horrified and spinning cogs in her brain while she puts the pieces together. She’s always loved a mystery. A puzzle. She asks the right questions, gets the right answers.

“You’re not going to run away again, are you?”

Steve watches Eddie’s face. This beautiful thing. It crumples the tiniest bit, and Steve’s always been attuned to these non-verbal signs, these warnings. So for a second, there’s a wet anguish in his eyes, and Robin’s fingers curl hard into his shirt like a threat, and Steve worries that whatever comes out of his mouth will be a lie.

It’s too much like 1986 and Eddie’s smiling at him, curly and beautiful, promising that he’s not a hero. Like it’s 1987 and Dustin is sitting at Eddie’s grave like he doesn’t know where he is. Like it’s 1988 and Steve on the phone with his parents, telling them things are fine. It’s 1989 and Steve is telling Robin that he’s fine. 1990: this town isn’t sucking the soul out of him, he can stay for the kids, he deserves one more year as a kid himself, he still has something to offer.

It’s 1991, and Steve knows how to lie, and he’s never been afraid of being lied to. He’s only ever been afraid of the truth.

–

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana. There’s no big white spectacle event at the town’s once-gaudy now-dilapidated church, no priests or preachers. The bride never believed in all of that, and the rest of them haven’t bought into it for at least a decade.

It’s a small ceremony. Steve walks Max down the aisle. He whispers to her that Lucas started crying the moment he saw her, Max says she knew he would, and Steve laughs, delighted.

He drops her off and falls back into Lucas’ groomsmen line, punching him in the shoulder on the way, lands his hands on Dustin’s shoulders and squeezes.

He catches Robin’s eye on the other side of the aisle. She’s still wearing their wedding ring, but she’s playing with the lace on Nancy’s shoulder, and Nancy’s smiling in a way Steve’s never seen from her.

It’s been a decade free of evil in this town, and Steve doesn’t often come back, but it’s moments like this where Steve remembers that this was his home, once. There aren’t towns like this in California, smattered with woods, filled with people who have always known him, who he doesn’t have anything to lie about to.

Eddie’s there. He hasn’t been to Indiana since he crawled out ten years ago. He’s sitting, playing with hair he’s been growing back out for five years.

There’s a tattoo on his ring finger, now, black and sprawling.

Steve stares at it the entire time.

–

It’s 1991, and Steve is back in Eddie’s apartment. There’s a nice radio in the closet, and the two of them sit on the cool ground in front of it.

Steve hasn’t taken his eyes off of Eddie in hours, what’s felt like years. He edges closer, like Eddie is a stray, like he’ll scamper away. And Eddie at least seems to understand. Press back, knowing there’s fear that he won’t.

He’s warm. That’s one of the most jarring things.

He still remembers how cold he felt, years ago, bleeding through his clothes, through Steve’s hands.

And now he’s warm and alive and Steve wants to be burned by him. Seared. He wants Eddie so close he leaves a mark.

Eddie turns to look at him, raises an eyebrow, “ready?” And he waits for Steve to nod before he turns on the radio and plays with the frequency.

“Obi-Wan to Luke checking in…” His eyes flicker up to Steve’s. “Over.”

Steve smiles. Of course Dustin is Luke. He’s almost surprised he isn’t Han.

It takes a few seconds for Dustin to respond, undeniably him, attempting to hide his excitement in the way he’s never been able to pull off. “Luke to Obi-Wan, confirming check-in. Is everything alright? We just spoke last week. Over.”

“Just peachy, young Skywalker. Though I do have a visitor. Over.”

“Are you compromised?” Dustin’s voice crackles with his natural intense panic. “Over.”

“No,” Steve leans into the microphone, keeping all points of contact with Eddie like he’ll float away. “But you are. Over.”

There’s a bit of amusement that Steve can see in Eddie’s eye, a smile that he can’t look away from. It makes this whole thing feel less massive. Everything’s felt massive for almost ten years, and Eddie just dissipates the whole thing. Like magic. Eddie’s fucking Houdini.

“Shit.”

“You didn’t say over. Over,” Eddie says, voice light.

It’s ridiculous, all of a sudden. Easy. Even though everything is an awful disaster, it’s easy.

“Shit… Over.”

–

In 1996 they stay at the Motel 6 on Cornwallis after the reception. They slow dance in the little space next to the bed, entirely sober, both of them. Drunk off each other, almost.

They don’t sleep, because they fuck like rabbits, and because Hawkins is still a little too haunted to get real rest, and because the Motel 6 is still a piece of shit even after rebuilding it in the 90’s.

The sun rises and it stays there.

#steddie fic #steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #tumblr fic

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raeynbowboi · 7 months ago

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Translating the Teen Titans to Faerun

A long time ago I did a post translating the Gaang from Avatar: the Last Airbender to the world and lore of DnD, making Katara a Cleric of Selune, Toph a blind-fighting Ranger, etc. While that was a good first foray into the idea, I wanted to explore the idea again with my favorite team of heroes: the Teen Titans. I've built all of them before, Raven more than anyone else. But today, we're not building the Teen Titans based on their powers. We're building them based on how they would fit into DnD lore as if they were natives of Faerun, born and raised in the setting. How would this change their backstories, or would it simply change their powers? Let's find out.

With a well-crafted team like the Teen Titans, we want to be sure each character stays true to their general party role, and the group works well together in a campaign. An all monk party isn't going to fare as well as a party with diverse roles and classes. So, while we won't get too hung up on this, it's worth thinking about. Robin is the leader, and specializes in stealth, infiltration, and investigation. Cyborg is the meat shield, gadgeteer, and primary doctor. Starfire is the flying warrior princess with laser powers and super strength. Raven is the scholarly wizard with powerful psionic powers from a dark origin and minimal healing powers. Lastly, Beast Boy is the goofball comedic wildcard shapeshifter. These basic ideas we want to keep in tack as much as possible, while filtering the team through the lore of Faerun.

ROBIN

DICK GRAYSON

Before moving to Jump City, Robin mentored under Batman, a master detective and vigilante crimefighter in the crime-infested major city of Gotham. In some Teen Titans media, the Titans are firmly located in San Francisco, California, but even in the cartoon, Jump City appears to be located in southern California. Gotham has influences of major American cities like Detroit and Chicago. Meanwhile, Superman's Metropolis is more closely based on New York City. There are three major cities in Faerun: Waterdeep, Baldur's Gate, and Neverwinter. Of the three, Waterdeep seems the most like New York City as the biggest city in Faerun. Baldur's Gate started as a smuggler's den, mapping well onto Gotham. And that leaves Neverwinter to map onto Los Angeles/San Francisco. This would mean that Batman is a Baldurian nobleman, and that Robin moved from Baldur's Gate to Neverwinter to pursue his own career as an adventurer.

Robin is an ordinary human in every definition of the word. There's nothing special about his bloodline and his biology was not altered in any way. Robin is a Standard Human.

While Robin did begin his career as a performer in the Flying Grayson Circus Act, he's not really a performer anymore. Robin's true training came from being mentored by Bruce Wayne in Baldur's Gate, learning the tricks and tools of crime-fighting, investigation, martial arts, and stealth. We'll say his background is an Investigator for Insight and Investigation proficiency.

It really is worth pointing out that Robin became a villain twice while trying to chase Slade. When he lost to Kotaro, Robin disappeared to the other side of the world for weeks, possibly even a month or longer with little notice. When he broke his arm chasing Johnny Rancid, the entire team tackled him back into his chair thinking he was going to insist on hunting down Rancid in spite of his broken arm, and they were all surprised he was just grabbing the remote. Robin is textbook Chaotic Good.

CLASS

Battle Master Fighter: Fighters are trained warriors. They're soldiers, guards, knights, and faith militants. Battle Masters are experts in strategy and tactical combat. Their maneuvers allow them to command their party, crowd control enemies, or gain advantages in a fight. Robin is well-versed with a variety of tools and weapons, and puts tactics at the forefront of his fighting style. Way of Shadow Monk: while Robin is a skilled martial artist trained by the Grand Master and talking animals, monks possess a mystical, not quite magical power. Their ki is beyond human ability. And a major aspect of both Batman and Robin is the complete lack of supernatural powers. Shadow Monk is not a horrible way to build Robin. He is a martial artist who favors stealth and secrecy. But, it's not the most in-character option there is. Inquisitive Rogue: Rogues do not need to be ruthless cutpurses loyal to some lowly den of thieves. They are simply highly specialized experts in the areas of infiltration, stealth, espionage, forgery, and extraction. It just so happens many use these talents for criminal offenses. Inquisitive Rogues are skilled detectives and investigators. They can study an enemy for weaknesses to exploit, gaining advantage even in a 1v1 scenario and dealing extra damage. It's also worth remembering Robin was trained by Batman, a man often called the world's greatest detective.

Looking at Robin's abilities, backstory, and training, I would ultimately declare him to be an Inquisitive Rogue. They excel at sizing up enemies that are bigger and stronger than them, they're designed to be great detectives, and their littany of skills and talents sure sounds like our Boy Wonder. You could reasonably multiclass with Battle Master Fighter for the maneuvers. Or you could go straight Rogue and just take the Martial Adept feat to gain Maneuvers.

STARFIRE KORRIAND'R

Korriand'r is the princess of Tameran, a planet somewhere in the Vega system. Her race are proud warriors with emotion-heightened powers, including superstrength, flight, and starbolts. Tameraneans are similar to Kryptonians, except they aren't weak to Kryptonite, and they get their powers from emotion instead of the Earth's sun.

There are a few Alien species that Starfire could be:

Astral Elf: Space-faring elves that left the Feywild to explore the stars, Astral Elves have starlight in their eyes, and automatically know either Light, Dancing Lights, or Sacred Flame. Astral Elves can also teleport 30 ft as a bonus action a number of times equal to their proficiency bonus. Dragonborn: Contrary to popular belief, Dragonborn are not the result of a dragon and a bard doing the horizontal monster mash. Rather, they are aliens from the planet Abeir that crossed over to Toril during the Spellplague. Once the unpaid servants of Abeir's dragons, they overthrew their masters and made their own culture. They have a strong warrior culture, and value their clansmen and kin above all else, even faith. Dragonborn aren't always religious as the gods could not hear their prayers on Abeir, but Bahamut is a very popular god for worship in Dragonborn society, and other dragon deities do see worship in Dragonborn society. Githyanki: The Githyanki are the psionic warriors of the Gith race. Once the unpaid servants of the Illithid Empire, they freed themselves from servitude. However, in the aftermath, the Gith separated into two factions: the Githzarai and the Githyanki. The Githyanki serve the undying Lich Queen Vlaakith, hunt Mind Flayers, and ride Red Dragons. They also have a very "the strong eat the weak" mentality, and have extremely harsh policies on failture and usefulness.

While the Astral Elf looks the most like Starfire, I'm going with the race that seems the closest to Tameraneans. I'll be making Starfire a Gold Dragonborn. If the setting allows, you could absolutely make her a Crystal Dragonborn for Radiant energy, but not every setting is going to work for gem dragonborns, so I chose to stick to the classic varieties.

As for her background, Starfire is the Princess of Tameran which could make her work as a Noble. She is a highly skilled fighter which could make her a Soldier. She's also an alien from a far-away planet new to this earth and its strange customs, which could make her a Far Traveler. As being a princess is what shocks the Titans the most, it's what defines her more than the other two things. We'll call Starfire a Noble, but we'll swap out her History proficiency for Athletics, and keep her proficiency in Persuasion. She speaks Draconic as a Dragonborn, as well a language of her choice. We'll go with Gith for flavor, as it's another alien language. If you want a more core rulebook language, Deep Speech is the language of Aberrations. If both those languages feel too alien and you want a language she's more likely to encounter in a campaign, then the strong warrior cultures of Goliaths and Orcs could be nice choices for her, having her speak Giant or Orcish respectively. Because Tameraneans learn languages through lip contact, if you wanted to play up this aspect, you could have Starfire take the Linguist Feat once or twice to learn more languages, but this is entirely optional and mostly for flavor and roleplay.

Starfire always follows her heart. Even when told not to do something, she will do it if she believes it is right, which leans more Chaotic. However, Starfire can also usually be expected to keep her word, dislikes fighting unnecessarily, does not like lying, cheating or stealing. She was even willing to marry Glgrdsklechhh if it meant avoiding war, unaware it was a gambit for Blackfire to gain a powerful artifact in exchange for Starfire's hand in marriage. As such, I would say that Starfire is Neutral Good. She will always do whatever she feels is best in the moment. Whatever course of action she believes will do the most good for the most people.

CLASS

Like with her race, there are a few build options each of which translates Starfire to DnD's world and lore in different ways.

Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer: Being a dragonborn, the Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer translates nicely as her race's natural affinity for draconic magic, mirroring how all Tameraneans have starbolts. She gives up her melee warrior aspects to focus on her dragonborn magic, specializing in Fire magic. Light Domain Cleric: Cleric is a surprisingly good choice for what Starfire would be if raised in the world of DnD. Clerics aren't just healers, some join their faith militant, acting as the sword of their god's divine justice. Clerics can cast radiant spells like Guiding Bolt, Sunbeam, and Sunburst, they're decent frontline warriors, and they heal and support their friends. War is a better fit if she wishes to worship Bahamut, but Light lets Starfire make better use of radiant magic, and also gives her a few fire spells as a Cleric as well, letting her keep the heavy light and fire theme. She may worship Tamara, the Draconic Goddess of Light, Mercy, and Forgiveness. Oath of Devotion Paladin: She starts to really lose her Starbolts at this point, but she puts greater emphasis on her warrior spirit, and she still has radiant smites. Whereas the Cleric angle makes Starfire a better support for her friends and Sorcerer puts all the attention on her starbolts, the Paladin focuses on turning Starfire into a heavy-hitting tank that shakes off the hits her friends can't handle. She still gets some healing with her Healing Touch, and a few healing spells. Starfire fits the mold of fighting for beliefs, as her powers manifest through strong convictions such as righteous fury, boundless confidence, and the joy of flight.

While I was tempted to make Starfire a Draconic Bloodline Sorcerer as a good translation of her canon emotion-based powers native to her race, I had to remind myself that we are not just building Starfire. Dragonborn are not Tameraneans. While they have access to draconic magic and blood, draconic sorcery is not a universal thing across their race the way it is with Tameraneans. We are asking what would Starfire be if raised in Faerun? And I don't believe Starfire would be a Sorcerer. However, Cleric and Paladin is a much tighter race. Both gain their powers from convictions and beliefs, which reflects the way Tamaraneans like Starfire draw their power from strong emotions and beliefs. But which one you favor comes down to splitting hairs. Ultimately, I would chalk Starfire up as an Oath of Devotion Paladin. For starters, we are ignoring their canonical powers when picking a class. Paladins are great warriors, and the people of Tameran are a strong and proud warrior race. Dragonborn are not super religious with Dragonborn Clerics being rare, but Paladins are extremely common in Dragonborn society. Finally, their main stats of Strength and Charisma is very fitting and appropriate for Starfire. She is strong and very charming. While I favor Paladin, the divide between Paladins and Clerics is extremely narrow, and being a Light Domain Cleric is not a bad way to build Starfire. She'd have ample access to tons of radiant and fire spells, she'd be able to heal and support her friends, and nothing is stopping her from putting points into Strength as a Cleric and being a decent front-liner. If you want her to draw strength from her convictions, be effective in melee, and be a full spellcaster, then Cleric is an equally great choice. As I said, Paladin only barely squeaks past Cleric in my analysis, and in the first draft, I did originally settle on Cleric. Both work for Starfire, and thus, I'll leave a spell list for both. For her Paladin build, I had Starfire take Magic Initiate: Sorcerer to give her some ranged spell attack options. You could also do a dip into Sorcerer with a Paladin build as opposed to taking the Magic Initiate feat.

PALADIN SPELLS

Bold: Magic Initiate (Sorcerer) Orange: Oath Spells

C Firebolt, Light 1 Burning Hands, Cure Wounds, Protection from Evil & Good, Sanctuary, Searing Smite 2 Branding Smite, Lesser Restoration, Warding Bond, Zone of Truth 3 Blinding Smite, Beacon of Hope, Crusader's Mantle, Daylight, Dispel Magic, Revivify, Spirit Shroud 4 Death Ward, Freedom of Movement, Guardian of Faith, Staggering Smite 5 Banishing Smite, Circle of Power, Commune, Destructive Wave, Flame Strike

CLERIC SPELLS

Orange: Domain Spells

C Guidance, Light, Resistance, Sacred Flame, Spare the Dying, Thaumaturgy 1 Bless, Burning Hands, Guiding Bolt, Healing Word, Faerie Fire, Sanctuary, Shield of Faith 2 Aid, Flaming Sphere, Lesser Restoration, Prayer of Healing, Scorching Ray, Spiritual Weapon 3 Daylight, Fireball, Mass Healing Word, Remove Curse, Spirit Guardians, Spirit Shroud 4 Aura of Life, Banishment, Guardian of Faith, Wall of Fire 5 Commune, Dawn, Flame Strike, Greater Restoration, Holy Weapon, Scrying, Summon Celestial 6 Heal, Sunbeam 7 Divine Word, Fire Storm 8 Sunburst 9 Mass Heal

CYBORG VICTOR STONE

Victor "Vic" Stone is the son of famous cyberneticist Silas Stone that grew up in Detroit. Once a prolific high school athlete, Victor was horribly injured by an explosion at S.T.A.R. Labs caused by an invasion by Darkseid. With his cybernetics expertise, Silas saved Victor's life by infusing his son with the Mother Box.

Because Cyborg was born human but has since been infused with technology, we'll call Cyborg a Variant Human. Why is he not a Warforged? Becaues he was not built the way Grid was. Cyborg is not a robot, so he is not a warforged. He's also shown several times needing to eat and sleep in order to function, two things Warforged do not require. As a Variant Human, we'll give him +1 Strength and +1 Constitution. And we'll add on the Tough feat to increase his durability. Cyborg is the team meat shield, after all.

In terms of background, Cyborg was a high school athlete before the accident, so we'll call him an Athlete for Athletics and Acrobatics.

When Brother Blood steals Cyborg's blue prints, he becomes determined to stop Blood because it's his plans. His technology. He feels it is his responsibility. He similarly gets upset when any of his technology or gadgets is commandeered by villains. He puts his heart and soul into those inventions, and gets very upset when they're hurt or stolen. Cyborg is a lot more laid back than Robin as a leader, but still cares about getting the job done. I find it hard to really say whether he leans more Lawful or Chaotic. He has principles and sticks to them, but he's also left the team multiple times after a heated argument with Robin. I ultimately land on Neutral Good for Cyborg's alignment.

Now, how does his prosthetics come into it? Well, there's an item in DnD called the Prosthetic Limb, a common wondrous item that can replace lost limbs, doesn't require attunement, can be detached, but not against the user's will. But Cyborg's metal body clearly acts like armor, how do we incorporate this? We travel to Theros. Mythic Odysseys of Theros introduced an item called Molten Bronze Skin that comes in Breastplate, Half Plate, and Plate Armor variants. This item molds itself to the wearer's body, allowing them to easily wear clothes over the armor, and making it impossible for someone else to take off. This item does require attunement, but it accomplishes the same effect of giving Cyborg "built-in" armor, the way a Warforged would have.

CLASS

Artillerist Artificer: Artificers are gadgeteers and magical smiths that can defy logic with their inventions. Both Cyborg and his father are experts in cybernetics, metalworking, coding, and engineering. Cyborg built a car, a submarine, and then turned that submarine into a spaceship. The artillerist can make a tiny cannon they can carry with one hand that can fire a force ballista. Just try to say that's not Cyborg's sonic cannon. Champion Fighter: Cyborg is the tank of the party. It's his job to take the hits others wouldn't survive. In a low-tech fantasy world where Artificers don't belong, this version of Cyborg is a blacksmith who forged his own weapons and armor. The Champion is an athlete who prioritized physical strength over other aspects. When Cyborg isn't using his sonic cannon, he's throwing punches and lifting heavy weights, and he was a high school athlete until his accident. This is also a good multiclass option to get both sides of Cyborg: the tech and the muscle.

At minimum, Cyborg needs at least to be level 3 in Artificer to gain his Eldritch Cannon. After that, he can put as many levels into Artificer or Fighter as he wants. If he manages to become a level 11 Fighter, he'll get to make 3 weapon attacks then fire the Force Ballista as a bonus action, giving Cyborg 4 attacks at level 14. If you choose the Unarmed Fighting Style, Cyborg can wreck shop with his fists, making him an effective pugilist. Thanks to Action Surge, he can attack up to 6 times with just his action, and 7 times once you include his Eldritch Cannon. This makes him a pretty effective damage dealer, and the fighter levels would boost his Hit Points to make him a more effective tank. If you choose to take Artificer to level 9, his Force Ballista increases from 2d8 to 3d8. If you're okay with odd numbered levels and losing out on ASI, then Artificer 9/Fighter 11 could work. But for those who like getting ASI, then Artificer 4/Fighter 16 or Artificer 8/Fighter 12 may be more appealing. Just make sure to max out his Strength, and give him good Constitution and Intelligence, while dumping Dexterity. As an Artificer, we'll add Medicine and Perception to his skill list.

SPELLS

Blue: Artillerist Spells

C Light, Mending, Message, Shocking Grasp 1 Alarm, Cure Wounds, Identify, Shield, Thunderwave 2 Heat Metal, Scorching Ray, Shatter, Vortex Warp, Web 3 Fireball, Glyph of Warding, Haste, Tiny Servant, Wind Wall 4 Fabricate, Ice Storm, Mord's Private Sanctum, Summon Construct, Wall of Fire 5 Animate Objects, Cone of Cold, Creation, Greater Restoration, Wall of Force

This spell list was made for those who build Cyborg as a pure Artillerist Artificer, while those who build him as a Fighter multiclass will obviously have fewer spells.

RAVEN RAVEN ROTH

In her youth, Raven's mother Arella was lured into joining a cult that worshipped Trigon. She was chosen to be Trigon's bedmate, and afterwards, was approached by the Monks of Azar. They offered to shelter her and the child from Trigon, agreeing to raise the child in another dimension. A dimension named Azarath.

I believe the best translation of Raven's backstory is that Arella was lured into the cult of a powerful Fiend. Afterward, Arella was approached by Githzerai monks who offered to shelter both her and the unborn child with them in their home: the Chaotic Neutral Plane of Limbo. It would be here in the monasteries among stoic and scholarly Githzerai monks and wizards that Raven would learn to control her emotions, expand her mind, and hone her psionic powers. And one day, she would leave Limbo to return to the Prime Material Plane. This encompasses every part of Raven's backstory: being raised in another dimension, learning to control her emotions, honing her psychic powers.

As a half-demon, Raven translates nicely to Tiefling. Due to her empathy powers to manipulate other people's emotions, we'll go with a Fierna Tiefling. This will give her Friends, Charm Person, and Suggestion.

Having been raised in another plane, I would call Raven a Far Traveler. This grants her proficiency with Insight to get a reading for people's true feelings, and Perception to sense things around her, both of which can be flavored as her empathic powers and her extrasensory abilities. It also grants her proficiency with a Dragonchess Set, and she learns the Abyssal language.

When Robin becomes Slade's apprentice, Raven is the one to remind the team that he's a villain now, and they have to take him down. No matter how much the thought of it upsets her. When Cyborg leaves the team, Raven rationalizes that it's pointless to get upset and to focus on their duty as heroes. When Raven and Starfire switch bodies, Raven explains that she has to remain in control of herself to keep her powers from leaking out of her and destroying everything around her. When Trigon's prophecy comes to pass, Raven reveals that the reason she became a hero was that she wanted to do as much good as she could before the prophecy came to pass, hoping her good deeds would redeem her for the horrible destiny she knew she would one day fulfil. Raven is inarguably a perfect example of Lawful Good.

TRIGON

But what about Raven's father? After all, we're not importing Trigon into the setting, we're picking an existing DnD Fiend to be the stand-in for Trigon. Firstly, we have to settle whether Trigon is a Devil or a Demon, and I believe he is a Demon. He betrays Slade the first chance he gets once it's time to pay up on his side of the deal, and his very presence on Earth changes the entire planet. Demons in DnD are Chaotic Evil, untrustworthy to keep their word. They also have an impact on the world around them that corrupts everything to resemble the Abyss. And prolonged demonic presence only makes these changes worse. But which Demon Lord is her father?

Graz'zt: Graz'zt is an interesting choice because he's actually had a relationship with a human: the witch Tasha. He is the Demon Prince of Lust and Pleasure. Graz'zt will take any opportunity to turn any moment that is sweet, beautiful, and tender into something perverse, degrading, and carnal. If anyone was going to sleep with Arella just to use her to make a kid he can manipulate, it would be Graz'zt. He's not as big as Trigon, but his personality does support that he'd play the waiting game. After all, he used to be a devil before he realized he would never rise high enough to stand beside Asmodeus, and defected to the Demon side. So unlike other Demons, Graz'zt is more clever and patient. It also means Tasha could be a DnD counterpart to Arella, and also gives Raven a grandmother: Baba Yaga. This places Raven in a very prolific magic bloodline of powerful female spellcasters. Before Demogorgon showed up, Graz'zt was contending with Orcus, the Demon Lord of Necromancy for supreme rulership of the Abyss, so he's no slouch in terms of power. He is a Large CR 24 Demon. Baphomet: Baphomet's strongest argument is that he resembles Trigon the most, with his cloven hooves and antlered head. However, Baphomet is more of a king of beasts and brutes, and his general behavior does not support Trigon's plot to conceive Raven. However, Baphomet's sphere of influence is brutality, aggression, rage, and conquest. Red Raven or Dark Raven literally embodies Raven's rage, and anger causes Raven's demonic powers to rise to the surface. Which is on point for Baphomet. The biggest point against Baphomet however is that he favors those with natural weapons such as claws and horns, as his followers should want to rampage and gore with their natural weapons. So a magical daughter like Raven doesn't really fit the bill. This could be her rebelling against his physical aggression mindset, but that's stretching to make it work. Trigon also doesn't care about fighting the Titans, using magic to distract them while he gathers his strength. Baphomet would take glee in the fight, something Trigon does not do. He is a Huge CR 23 Demon. Demogorgon: The Prince of Demons, Demogorgon is the most powerful of all the Demons in the Abyss. He's enormous, and an absolute world-ending level threat. But is he clever enough to plot to conceive Raven? Yes, but only partially. Demogorgon's two heads are basically his left brain and his right brain. One calculating and clever, the other feral and impulsive. The clever head could plan to use Raven as a portal, but the other head might be too impulsive and ruin the plan. He is a Huge CR 26 Demon.

Ultimately, I have to go with Graz'zt as Raven's father. He's not as powerful or as huge as Demogorgon, but he's more manipulative and cunning. He has the patience to wait for his plan to come to fruition, he's manipulative enough to use false love and affection to coerce people into obedience, and he's depraved enough to get a sick pleasure out of using, debasing, and defiling any amount of love shown to him. More importantly, half his brain isn't impulsively trying to undermine every single one of his schemes. While Demogoron is more of a world-ending 'we are so f*cked' threat, Graz'zt is still a Demon Lord. Just because he's prettier does not mean he's not still an enemy that even high level adventurers would struggle with. Graz'zt, after all, is a CR 24 Fiend. Certainly nothing to scoff at. That's only 2 CR below Demogorgon.

CLASS

Raven is clearly a practitioner of arcane magic, but the source of her magic is so muddled that she could be any one of the three main arcane casters.

Aberrant Mind Sorcerer: Raised in Limbo amongst the Githzerai, the Aberrant Mind works well for Raven's backstory. For sorcerers, magic is infused into their very being. They don't need to study or make a deal, they just have a well of magical power innately. How they get this well varies. Usually, it passes along bloodlines. But it can also be like a mutation. One could go to the Shadowfell for Spring Break and return as a Shadow Magic Sorcerer. One can be given a spark of magic by a willing benefactor, they could touch an object that imparts magic to them, or awaken the power in a moment of dire circumstances. They could be born during an eclipse, travel to another plane, or be exposed to the weave itself. Their magic is constantly bubbling up inside of them, and leaking out if they don't contain it. Their magic can be explosive and hard to control. All of which sounds remarkably similar to Raven's powers and the constant struggle she undergoes to contain and control these powers. With Revelation in Flesh, Raven can fly for 10 minutes at a time at the cost of a single Sorcery Point. There's also no limit to how often she can reuse this power, other than her sorcery point pool. Granting Raven something akin to limitless flight, though not exactly. Fiend Warlock: While Raven herself did not make a deal with Trigon, Arella did. Arella was in Trigon's cult. According to Xanathar's Guide to Everything, one way a warlock might be joined to a patron is that their patron has been a benefactor to their family for generations, meaning it is possible to inherit one's otherworldly pact from their parents. There's also something I like to call the Sleeping Beauty Rule. The princess didn't choose to have fairy godmothers, but the king and queen did. The Player's Handbook also highlights that it is entirely possible to stumble into a pact without realizing it, or to become a warlock by simply reading an esoteric tome or touching a sentient blade. As such, it is entirely possible for Raven to be an unwilling warlock of her father. In the show, Trigon says that he gave Raven her powers, and Raven herself says in The End Part III that now that Trigon has no need of her, she no longer has her powers. But this is false, as Raven still has her powers, and uses them to fight back against Trigon. However, this is sort of fuzzy on how this works. Did Trigon really give her those powers, but could not take them away from her, or was Trigon mistaken and was never the source of her power to begin with? There's also the issue that in DnD canon lore, while a warlock Patron can bestow powers, they can't necessarily take them away. And Sorcerers can also have their powers bestowed upon them, further blurring the lines on whether Raven's gifts are more of a sorcerous origin or an otherworldly pact. The w Enchantment Wizard: I've built Raven several times, and every time, she's a Wizard. Raven is the brains of the party. She's a utility spellcaster with a vast knowledge of arcane lore and history. She's a polyglot who speaks several ancient languages, and has a library's worth of creepy esoteric books of arcane lore and eldrtich knowledge in her bedroom. Every spell that deals Psychic damage is under the School of Enchantment, and the school is full of spells that manipulate the mind, the senses, and emotions, all things Raven has displayed the ability to control. But we're not building Raven based on how she behaves in the comics or show. We're building Raven based on DnD lore, and Raven's powers were not cultivated through study. Yes, she learned new spells from Malchior. Yes, she is a highly intelligent person. But scholarly study is not the source of her powers. She does not have a connection to the Weave or any other sort of magical energy in the DC Universe. There are metaphysical forces in DC Comics, such as The Green, The Red, The Black, and other such forces, none of which Raven herself is linked to in any way. As such, I cannot confidently label Raven as a Wizard in accordance with DnD's lore.

Ultimately, I have to go with an Aberrant Mind Sorcerer. Her magic is innate. She works to control and maintain it. And a lack of restraint leads to her magic flooding out of her and impacting the world around her if left uncontrolled. Raven is a Sorcerer. However, she is a good candidate for multiclassing if you so choose. The main reason Raven is said to have left Azarath was due to Trigon finding her, forcing Raven to flee. However, in some versions, it is Raven herself --driven by curiosity -- that seeks her father out. In so doing, alerting him to her location, and dooming Azarath in the process. Either way, the moment of Trigon finding her could be the moment her pact is sealed, multiclassing Raven into a Fiend Warlock. Thus, Raven can start out as a Sorcerer, and possibly dip a level or two into Warlock to boot. This is also a large part of why I didn't make Starfire a Sorcerer. The party doesn't need two sorcerers, and Sorcerer works much better for Raven than it does for Starfire. For my spell recommendation, I will be assuming Raven has 2 levels in Warlock, and 18 levels in Sorcerer. For her Sorcerer skills, we'll give Raven Arcana and History.

SPELLS

*Racial Spells Bold: Aberrant Mind Origin Spells Italics: Warlock Spells Purple: Sorcerer Spells

C Blade Ward, Eldritch Blast, Friends*, Mage Hand, Mending, Message, Mind Sliver, Mold Earth, Prestidigitation, Toll the Dead 1 Arms of Hadar, Catapult, Cause Fear, Charm Person*, Command, Dissonant Whispers, Hex, Shield 2 Calm Emotions, Detect Thoughts, Mind Spike, Suggestion*, Tasha's Mind Whip 3 Counterspell, Hunger of Hadar, Fly, Sending 4 Dimension Door, Evard's Black Tentacles, Raulothim's Psychic Lance, Summon Aberration 5 Bigby's Hand, Rary's Telepathic Bond, Synaptic Static, Telekinesis 6 Globe of Invulnerability 7 Plane Shift, Teleport 8 Demiplane 9 Time Stop or Psychic Scream

ELDRTICH INVOCATIONS

Agonizing Blast

Eldritch Sight

BEAST BOY GARFIELD LOGAN

Garfield Logan was born an ordinary human, but when he became sick as a child, his father injected him with a serum using the DnA of a green monkey. The serum saved Beast Boy's life, but he turned completely green as a result, and unlocked his shapeshifting powers. Beast Boy can turn into more than just garden variety zoo animals. He has turned into alien lifeforms, microorganisms, dinosaurs, and dragons. The Werebeast Form he got in the 2003 cartoon episode "The Beast Within" later became Comic Cannon when Beast Boy was captured by Lupus, a minor werewolf villain. Beast Boy's best skill lies in his wild card shenanigans, as he can do things like turn into a whale to make use of how quickly whales think to artificially inflate his intelligence. When the Borneo Rainforest faced extinction, Beast Boy and Swamp Thing worked together to restore the ecosystem. Swamp Thing provided the seeds and flora, and then Beast Boy dispersed himself into a swarm of insects to help pollinate and stimulate the regrowth of the rainforest. Raven even tells Swamp Thing that when Beast Boy does this, he risks losing small parts of himself should anything happen to his many insect forms, but he takes on these risks willingly for the benefit of nature. While Beast Boy's green skin and shapeshifting are a result of the monkey serum he was injected with, Beast Boy's actual ability to shapeshift comes from a metaphysical energy field in the DC Universe called The Red. Think of it like the Force but specifically for all animal life forces in the universe. A similar force called The Green caters to all plant life in the universe, and this power is wielded by characters like Swamp Thing and Poison Ivy.

In terms of his race, because Beast Boy was a normal human until he turned green, I'd have to chalk him up as a Variant Human. Because he's short and green, there is a primal urge to make him a Goblin, and it would be cute, but inaccurate. There's also an urge to make him one of the partially bestial races like Leonin, Hadozee, Satyr, Minotaur, or Yuan-Ti. Even Simic Hybrid has a valid excuse to be in consideration. However, because Beast Boy was born human, I have to go with such. We'll give him +1 Wisdom, +1 Dexterity, and the Charger feat to dash into melee range and get a free attack out of it.

Beast Boy has pretty much always been a hero, first being adopted by the Doom Patrol, and later joining the Teen Titans. Momento ran the Doom Patrol like a military outfit, and Beast Boy grew up respecting rank and following orders. As such, I'd call him a Soldier making him proficient in Athletics, but we'll substitute in Performance to replace Intimidation.

Beast Boy wants to do good, but he's also the Lancer to Robin's stoic serious Leader. Beast Boy is a goofball knucklehead who often shows little regard for the rules. Upon running into the Doom Patrol again, Momento chastises Beast Boy for prioritizing his team's safety over completing the mission. He's usually also the first to suggest bizarre plans or spout off ridiculous theories. As such, I would say Beast Boy is Chaotic Good. He'll do what's right, just in a very unorthodox way.

CLASS

Moon Druid: the most obvious choice, Druid is the only class in the game with access to Wildshape, the ability to shapeshift into animals. Although Beast Boy's powers were originally from genetic experiments gone wrong, his current lore makes Beast Boy connected to The Red, a metaphysical energy that links all animal life in the universe under the Parliament of Limbs. The Red is closely connected to The Green, which characters like Swamp Thing and Poison Ivy are connected to. Due to his connection to the energy of all living animals, Druid is fitting for Beast Boy. The Circle of the Moon is the most fitting option, granting Beast Boy Combat Wildshape. Lycan Blood Hunter: Before he was connected to the Red, Beast Boy's powers were a form of genetic mutation. Blood Hunters are the class that deal with altered DnA. While Beast Boy can't turn into every animal, his Lycan form is suitably animalistic and primal. It can also be a good option if you want to specifically play into the WereBeast form from the episode "The Beast Within". Because Beast Boy lacks supernatural powers beyond his shapeshifting, this version of Beast Boy sacrifices the variety of his wildshaping to keep him a strictly martial character. The Path of the Beast Barbarian also works, but Beast Boy only really has rage issues in "The Beast Within", and it is not otherwise a core aspect of his character, to the point that I didn't feel Barbarian was a good fit for his character. Valour Bard: If we ignore his powers entirely, then Beast Boy's role in the group is comedic relief and unexpected wildcard, which sounds like a Bard. Polymorph is on the Bard spell list, giving Beast Boy a backdoor method of wild shaping without being a druid. Through magical secrets, Bards can also pick up spells from other spell lists, letting Beast Boy pick up Druid spells like Web, Insect Plague, Summon Beast, Conjure Animals, and Guardian of Nature for the Primal Beast form. None of the subclasses jumped out to me for Beast Boy, but Valour Bards are great cheerleaders and sidekicks. Beast Boy has a chronic people pleaser mentality, and uses humor to lift his friends' spirits. Beast Master Ranger: Much like the Bard, this class option doesn't really fit Beast Boy, but it works as a variant build option that rather than being a full caster druid, Beast Boy protects his animal brethren as a mighty hunter. Tigers, Cheetahs, Lions, Gorillas, Elephants, and Rhinos are among his favorite animals to turn into, and would work well as Beasts of the Land. He also favors turning into a Hawk, Falcon, or Pterodactyl for a Beast of the Air. If you want a Beast of the Sea, he tends to favor Crocodiles, Sharks, Octopi, Whales, Swordfish, and Turtles.

While each of these offers interesting character angles, I obviously have to chalk up Beast Boy as a Circle of the Moon Druid. The Lycan Blood Hunter is a very close second choice, but lacks the connection to nature that Beast Boy (especially his Comic counterpart) definitely has. The bard was mostly thrown in to consider his personality, and it wasn't a terrible idea. He is funny, and would absolutely spam Vicious Mockery. A Beast Boy native to Faerun becoming a funny bard feels very organic to his character. But Druid feels just as organic, if not more-so. Finally, the Beast Master was pretty much thrown out as an extra idea, but not one I was taking seriously. Thematically, the idea of Beast Boy as a Lorax but for P.E.T.A. is interesting. Using his bond with animals to protect other animals. But the Druid was the clear winner. For his Druid skills, we'll give Beast Boy Animal Handling and Perception.

SPELLS

Because Beast Boy does not really have magical powers beyond his wildshaping, I put together his spell list by trying to focus on shapeshifting, summoning animal companions, and any other bodily augmentation spell I could find. Spells that change some aspect of a person's body or enhances their senses in some way. I steered clear of any spell that felt too plant-themed or elemental, as Beast Boy is more connected to beasts than he is to storms or the elements.

C Druidcraft, Guidance, Infestation, Primal Savagery 1 Absorb Elements, Animal Friendship, Beast Bond, Speak With Animals 2 Animal Messenger, Beast Sense, Darkvision, Enhance Ability, Enlarge/Reduce, Locate Animals and Plants, Summon Beast 3 Conjure Animals, Protection from Energy, Water Breathing 4 Charm Monster, Dominate Beast, Giant Insect, Guardian of Nature, Polymorph 5 Commune with Nature, Insect Plague 6 Primordial Ward 7 Draconic Transformation 8 Animal Shapes 9 Shapechange

I will say, more than anyone else, his spell list really surprised me. I've always avoided building Beast Boy and hated the idea of him being a druid because it meant giving him spells. But I am surprisingly content with the spell list I have devised for him. It puts all the correct emphasis where it should be: on making Beast Boy the master of body modification, as well as allowing him to channel The Red as well through his animal spells. I used to think Beast Boy didn't work flavor-wise as a Druid, and now I can't believe I ever thought to build him any other way.

TERRA TARA MARKOV

Terra is yet another princess, this time the illegitimate daughter of King Viktor Markov of Markovia. In the Comics, she made her living as a mercenary and criminal, taking odd jobs to get by, while in the show, Terra is a wandering homeless teen. In the comics, Tara was already working for Deathstroke before she met the Titans, while in the show, Terra met the Titans before she met Slade. This is to say, Terra has two completely different personalities. Comics Tara is a villain through-and-through, while Show Terra is a misguided hero turned villain turned reformed villain. Because the other characters are mostly going by their show counterparts, I'll mostly be looking at the Comics version of Tara only to answer any questions about her backstory we don't have from the show. The most important detail from the comics is that Tara's half-brother, Geo-Force (Prince Brion Markov), also has geokinetic powers. However, these powers are not signs of a magical bloodline, as neither King Viktor nor King Gregor Markov had these same powers. Their powers came about from the experiments of Helga Jace, the royal scientist of Markovia. Later, Brion's wife, Denise Howard, exposed herself to the same energies, turning her into Geode. Both Denise and Tara suffered from mental instability after the experiment, suggesting that the source of their powers had a debilitating effect on their mental states. Tara hated pretty much everyone and everything, while Denise desired to kill her own husband. In the comics, Tara was at one point part of the Black Lantern Corp, which raise their members as zombies to harness the power of death and hatred. This zombie Tara then sought revenge on the Teen Titans. I won't be covering this, but thought it was neat trivia.

We're going to stick mainly to the show's lore, so we'll call Terra a Variant Human since her powers are a result of scientific experimentation. We'll give her +1 Dexterity, +1 Wisdom and the Actor feat so she can pretend to be somebody else.

For her background, Terra is a wandering homeless kid. We'll call her an Outlander for Athletics and Survival. However, if you want to play more into Tara's backstory, then Criminal, Spy, Urban Bounty Hunter, and Haunted One could also work.

Show Terra's alignment seems to me to be True Neutral. She joins the Titans because it's offered. She works with Slade because he's an option. It never feels like her betrayal is personal until after Beast Boy turns his back on her. Up until then, she's hesitant and guilty about it. Terra looks out for Terra. That to me says True Neutral. Terra never seems to care that much about helping people or stopping villains. It was always more about just wanting to belong and to have a home. No strong convictions to be a hero or a villain. Which explains why The Girl Who Might Be Terra in Things Change is just an ordinary school girl. Not some great hero or wicked villain. If you're going by Comics Tara, that's straight up Chaotic Evil. The girl hated everyone and everything, and wanted a horizontal relationship with a middle-aged man. Comics Tara was just really unstable. I mean, she saw a Jerricho-possessed Deathstroke freeing the Titans, and instead of talking to him or trying to figure out what was going on, she just pushed the Big Red Button and brought the building down on herself in an attempt to take everyone with her.

CLASS

Terra's class is tricky because unlike Starfire with her light and fire theme, or Raven's psionics and general magic, there's not really a clean and simple class for Earth-based spells. Druids are connected to nature, and Sorcerers and Wizards have pretty wide elemental coverage, but there's not a clear and clean answer like with the other titans. So, let's look at our options:

Wild Magic Sorcerer: While there was a Stone Sorcerer, this subclass never made it past Unearthed Arcana, so we can't really count it. In the show, Terra has poor control over her powers, often causing side effects accidentally. The possibility that the source of her powers also warped her mind in the comics also fits, as wild magic is the pure chaos of the feywild. Sorcerers sometimes get their powers from being exposed to a source of magical energy, visiting other planes, or being born during cosmic events. And the Wild Magic Sorcerer often causes chaos and problems at the table because of the random side effects of their magic, such that a lot of tables hate playing with the subclass because of just how detrimental it can be to have around. Which seems really fitting for Terra. Swarmkeeper Ranger: Like Toph, Terra in the show is an outdoorsy girl who prefers roughing it in the great outdoors. This rough and tumble lifestyle translates well to being a Ranger. The Swarmkeeper can be aided by a swarm of just about anything, and nowhere does it say it has to be sentient. So, Terra could be a ranger aided by a swarm of rocks or sand fighting alongside her. It's certainly an interesting and flavorful option. Rangers get a few earthy spells, but not a ton of them. However, you could always ask your DM to homebrew a rule that would let Ranger Terra pick up some more earthen-based spells from the Druid spell list. Mutant Blood Hunter: If we ignore Terra's powers completely to focus more on where they come from, Terra makes for an interesting Blood Hunter. Her powers are a result of scientific experimentation. Mutants literally alter themselves to fight, fitting that genetic experiment angle nicely. The only difference is that this version of Terra has learned to do it herself. It's not a bad choice. Assassin Rogue: Like the Blood Hunter, the Rogue is being considered without her geokinetic powers in mind. Rather, I'm looking at the Rogue because of how rogues are often infiltrators, spies, and thieves. I chose the Assassin as they have the ability to create a false identity, which is very fitting for Terra and the Judas Contract. Whispers Bard: This one is being suggested mostly for the worldbuilding implications. Bards from the College of Whispers work as spies and saboteurs, infiltrating parties and guilds disguised as other kinds of bards, then selling their cohort's secrets back to whatever spy network they serve. They literally pull off a Judas Contract as a Subclass. And with their Magical Secrets, a Whispers Bard Terra can pick up the few spells that actually let her throw rocks.

If we were just building Terra based on her powers, Wild Magic could have been a decent fit thematically. However, the purpose of this post is to ask ourselves 'what would the Teen Titans be if they were born and raised in Faerun?' And being exposed to the crazy magic of the Feywild just doesn't feel right for Terra. Whispers Bard creates an interesting angle for roleplay, but it caters more to players wanting to play more into her Comic Book Tara counterpart. The willing traitor. Whispers works great for a villainous version of Terra, but not for Show Terra. Blood Hunter and Assassin Rogue are decent ideas, but Terra isn't much of a scientist, and again, Assassin caters much more to Comics Tara than Show Terra. Ultimately, I have to go with the Swarmkeeper Ranger for Terra. As a girl roughing it in the great outdoors, sleeping in caves, and taking care of herself, becoming a ranger seems like a natural extension of the lifestyle she was already leading by the time she met the Titans. And if we're asking what the characters would become if raised in Faerun, that's a pretty cut and dry answer. Terra would have naturally gravitated toward the life of a roaming Ranger, aided by swarms of rocks and sand. Terra Markov is a Swarmkeeper Ranger. For her Ranger skills, we'll give Terra Perception and Stealth. If you want to give her Deception, swap one of the background skills she gets from Outlander, then pick up the dropped skill from the Ranger skill list.

SPELLS

While we decided to make Terra a Swarmkeeper Ranger, it does sacrifice a lot of her Earth-based abilties. However, if you have an open-minded DM, Terra does get a few spells from both Primal Awareness and the Swarmkeeper Subclass that don't quite fit the theme, and a cool DM might be okay with letting you make a few substitutions for Terra's spell list, pulling more Earth-based spells from the Druid and Wizard spell list as an exchange for the excess spells than the base Ranger class gives her. But even without homebrewing in more Earth magic, Terra still gets a few stone-based spells, and Wrath of Nature can let Terra chuck rocks at enemies every turn as a bonus action so long as she maintains concentration on the spell. So even a pure Swarmkeeper Ranger will still get some earthen flavor as Terra. And you could also reflavor spells, such as treating Web like quicksand to keep Terra's earthen flavor.

Italics: Primal Awareness Spells Bold: Swarmkeeper Spells Pink: DM Approved Earth Spells (Homebrew)

C Mage Hand (Mold Earth) 1 Ensnaring Strike, Faerie Fire, Hunter's Mark, Speak With Animals (Catapult, Earth Tremor) 2 Barkskin, Beast Sense, Pass Without Trace, Web (Earthbind, Max's Earthen Grasp) 3 Conjure Barrage, Gaseous Form, Meld Into Stone, Speak With Plants (Erupting Earth, Wall of Sand) 4 Arcane Eye, Locate Creature, Stoneskin, Summon Elemental (Stone Shape) 5 Commune With Nature, Conjure Volley, Insect Plague, Swift Quiver, Wrath of Nature (Transmute Rock, Wall of Stone)

Conclusion

I felt this was an interesting thought experiment. Some characters like Robin and Cyborg changed very little from the last time I built them, while Raven and Beast Boy stayed what I expected but offered new insights into how they fit into the lore of the world. Starfire and Terra had the biggest changes, but those changes I feel are for the better, at least for this post. At least now, you could play a campaign with the Teen Titans while also being completely faithful to DnD lore.

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snowdrop-ivy · 1 year ago

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Chasing the Clouds: A Journey Back to The Beef | 3

Summary: After the meet, you reminisced.

WC: 2141

T/W: Cursing, unresolved mental issues, trauma, suic!de, angst, and smut.

You stared at your ring while sitting on the coffee table. You wiped the tears that have been streaming down since you left your dad’s place. It’s been streaming non-stop. You hitched a breath and bawled your eyes out till you heard your phone ring. It was Phillip, your fiance, calling.

You took a deep breath before answering. “Hey, honey.”

“Hey, babe,” He sounded happy. You covered your lips so he won’t hear you crying. “Just wanna check up on you. How was the party?”

You bit your lip. “It was fun. Jer had a blast.”

“That’s good to hear. Sorry I had to miss it.”

“That’s okay,” You replied. “There’s always a next one.”

“Yeah,” He sighed. “Well, just called to check on you but I gotta head out now. I just stepped out to call. I’ll call you later. Love you, babe.”

You felt the tears fall down as the call dropped. You went to your bedside and opened it. There you saw the ring Carm gave you. It’s a silver halo ring with your birthstone in the middle. You smiled when you remembered when you got engaged and when you told your families. How happy you both were back then.

“So, you guys, wanna hear the story?” Mikey asked as he’s washing his hands on the sink. You’re at their family house cooking up lunch for the Sunday barbeque.

“Yeah, Mikes, go ahead,” Carm answered. You sat beside Richie on the counter with your hands inside Carm’s jacket so you can hide the ring.

“All right, here we go,” Richie started while munching on chips.

You and Nat both rolled your eyes together before laughing. Nat’s leaning on the counter beside you, topping up the pizza. Richie was already laughing even though the story’s not starting yet.

“All right,” Mikey added. “So we’re at Ceres, right, which was the bar at the bottom of the Board of Trade Building. It was just this little bar in the lobby, right? The place opened at 6:30 in the morning, so that when traders lost their ass when the market opened they could just walk over and just get hammered in this little fucking bar.”

Carm wiped his hands as he turned to listen to his brother’s story. He looked at you before kissing you then leaned on you. You wrapped your arm around his arms and leaned on his head.

“Anyway, the name “Ceres” was named after the Goddess of Agriculture, sorry, and…” Mikey belched.

Nat went up to him. “You and your fucking Ceres…”

“Someone’s jealous you weren’t invited?” Mickey mocked her.

You laughed then gave Carm a kiss on the temples. He stood between your legs and held your free arm to wrap around his waist. You propped your chin on his neck, giving him a light peck which tickled him.

“I would not have gone. Thank you,” Nat striked back and grinned.

“You would have gone,” Mikey emphasized. “Carmy, grate some parmesan.”

Carm kissed your hand before slipping out. “I got ya,” He tapped Mike on his shoulder.

You smiled at them bickering, seizing the moment you have together. After this, you’ll go back to San Francisco for Nursing School. Who knows when you’ll see each other again.

“You’re jealous,” Mikey snickered to his sister. “Anyway, on top of the building, there was a statue of Ceres and her back, for all of you historians, was facing towards the east. And that’s because all the trading had just moved to the Midwest.”

“Oh, really?” You mockingly asked. Mikey eyed you up which made you laugh. “Sorry, go ahead.”

“So, the architect John Storrs, legend has it that he built this statue as like a big ‘fuck you’,” Mikey continues while sprinkling some parmesan.

“Christ,” Richie laughed. “Wake me up when the story starts and the fucking class is dismissed.”

All of you laughed at him. Mikey gave him a finger. He gave one back before drinking his scotch.

“Tell the story!” Nat urged him as she stirred the marinara sauce.

“I’m trying to tell the fucking story,” Mikey said as she tasted the sauce which earned a grunt of Sug.

“Anyway, so, the point is, we’re out all night, we’re drunk as shit, we’re fucking high as shit,” Mikey went on and faced everyone. “We figure the only place that’s still open of course is…”

“Ceres,” You both answered. He gave you a salute and you winked at him. Richie jumped down to taste the pizza Nat made while Carm garnished the beef.

“And being 6:45 in the morning, we are right to assume that the place is gonna be a fucking ghost town,” Mikey implied. “Fuck off,” he grabbed the raisins Nat was waving at him.

“Get outta here with those raisins,” Richie said with his mouth full.

“Mum always added raisins,” She stated.

“We are not doing raisins,” Mikey screeched while waving his hands.

Nat sighed in disbelief before looking at you. You gave her a smile and a shrug.

“Anyway, cousin, was it a ghost town?” Rich asked.

“Oh, we’re not done yet?” You blurted out.

“Baby doll,” Miked called you. “Shush your mouth.”

Your eyes widened and sized him up. Mikey gave you a smile before joining Richie laughing.

“Hey,” Carm called his brother. “Don’t talk to my girlfriend like that.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. Mikey apologized before resuming his story. “No, it was not a ghost town. Not only was it not a ghost town, it was a fucking rager.”

Carm finished and went back to his previous place. He smiled at you before giving you a squeeze on the thigh. “It was fucking packed,” Mikey bragged, his veins popping out of his neck. “It was just like…” He made an explosion sound. “Right? All fucking Blackhwak fans, and cousin, who’s there?”

“Savvy,” Richie yelled out.

“Get outta here,” You and Carm laughed.

“Dennis motherfucking Savard,” Mickey roared then flexed his Savvy. They both yelled out mundane stuff about who they saw that made you all burst out laughing. Mickey went on to tell that they also saw Belfour and how Savvy was inducted to the Hockey Hall of Fame and they walked to his going off party and when Savvy saw the Ceres pamphlet, he changed his outgoing message as Goddess of Agriculture.

“That’s stupid,” You laughed with them.

“Fucking stupid,” Carm agreed.

“So dumb,” Nat added.

The air filled with laughter as you watched Carm roll the beef and stick it with toothpicks. Mikey continued to tell stories on who they saw, which this time was Bill Murray. You smiled at the view you had. How everything was so light, calm, and you were all truly happy. Nat continued to force smiles and mocked his stories that you sometimes joined. You got down and had a beer with your ringless arm then joined Carmy on rolling the beef.

“Is the story done now?” Carm asked, wiping his hands before turning to everyone. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you tighter. “We have a story to tell as well.”

“Okay,” Mikey crossed his arms. “Shoot, bear.”

You all looked at their eager eyes waiting for your story. Nat crossed his legs and leaned on the counter. You watched as their faces were filled with confusion. Rich held his beer intently. Mikey lightly shrugged with his arms crossed. You slowly showed your left hand with a bright smile along with Carmy who’s hugging you tightly.

“We’re getting married!” You screamed, jumping with joy.

The screams echoed through the wall with congratulatory marks. Rich choked on his beer which splattered a little on Mikey. Nat’s eyes welled with tears as she hugged you both. Mikey had an awe on his face, it took him a moment to say something.

“Aww, guys, this is so awesome,” Nat stuck out her bottom lip as she examined your ring before giving you a hug once again. “This is so exciting!” She exclaimed.

“Mike, you okay, bro?” Carmy called out his brother who had tears in his eyes. Mike slowly approached Carm and pulled him to a tight hug and shut his eyes off. “Woah, okay, buddy.”

Rich turned to you and hugged you as well. “Oh, please, don’t get divorced.”

You jokingly slapped his shoulder and rolled your eyes. Nat hugged you from the back as you watched the brothers hug. You smiled at Mikey when he opened his eyes. You saw the happiness lingering on his eyes and how he’s trying not to let out his tears.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am for you,” Mike said as he pulled out of the hug. He cupped his little brother’s face. “Don’t mess this up.”

You laughed at what he said. Carm shook his head before nodding. “No messing this up,” He acknowledged his brother.

Mike then turned to you and gave you the warmest hugs. You felt him kiss the side of your head as you heard him sniff. “I’m so… so happy for you.”

A smile slowly formed on your face and the tears started to well up on how happy you felt to hear that. “Thanks, Mikey,” you whispered and kissed him on the cheek.

You all went to the Sunday barbecue where you drank champagne, danced til midnight, and had endless laughter from the many stories Mike and Richie had. You went home to your shared apartment and sat on the coffee table that your dad gave as a gift for Christmas. You gave Carm a glass of water while you had a cup of warm milk to help you sleep. Both of you sat in a calm and safe space of silence. Your feet were on Carm’s legs as he massaged your toes from the heels you wore. The only noise coming from you were the sips you both took and the breeze coming from the window.

“When should we get married?” Carm suddenly asked, still looking and massaging your toes.

You let out a chuckle. “When would you want?” You emphasized.

“Up to you, babe,” He answered, giving you a smile.

You shrugged. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not?” He raised a brow.

“You letting me decide,” You raised a brow back. From the beginning, Carm always lets you get what you want as long as it makes you happy. From the movies you want to the majority of the furniture in your apartment. “Oh! I know a fun way how to decide! We should play a game!”

“Are we basing our wedding decisions on a game?” Confusement gazing on his face.

You stuck out your bottom lip. “Maybe.”

Carmy took a sip of water while staring at you. “Shoot.”

“Okay, you go first.” You sat straight. “Clear your mind. Take a deep breath. We get to ask five questions about the wedding and we answer as fast as we can. No thinking.”

Carm closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You asked if he’s ready and he nodded. You grinned at his seriousness. He’s really taking this seriously since he wants the wedding to be perfect. Just like how perfect you are. He wants to give you the wedding you want and deserve.

“Flowers?” You quickly ask.

“Pink petunias.”

“Cater?”

“Mikey.”

“Color motif?”

“Dusty blue and sage green.”

“Food?”

“Italian and Japanese.”

“Date?”

“November 11”

“Carmy!” You called him out. You raised a brow at him while he had this sneaky grin on his face. “That’s all of my favorite things!”

He let out a chuckle. “I know. It’s your wedding day. I want you to have all the things you want.”

“It’s your wedding too,” You stated, eyeing him.

“I know,” He replied, placing his chin on his palm with his elbows propped on the table. “I just wanna be married to you.”

You pursed your lip trying not to smile. Carmen Berzatto is your death. You can’t help but to squeal and jump on his lap. You grazed his head to his chin while looking at his intense, warm blue eyes. Your hands settled on his chin, drawing circles on it. You saw him lean, so carefully slow. You weren’t sure if you two were breathing or now and you know you can hear your hearts breathing. You felt a shiver as we inserted his hands on your jumper and spelt his name on your waist. You can’t feel whether it's cold or not because at the moment, all you can feel is him, everywhere, filling everything with him.

“I love you so fucking much,” He whispered.

Then he kissed you, gently and passionately.

His lips were the softest thing you’ve ever known, soft like a new bought pillow, like biting into a cotton candy, like floating and being weightless in water. It’s sweet, just like how he is.

Taglist:

@eternal-rue @boo8008 @wabi-sabi1090 @isaxbella749 @ren-ni @xeneth99

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x fem!reader #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto au #carmen berzatto imagines #the bear fx #the bear

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nalyra-dreaming · 2 months ago

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Your dissection has made that scene make the most sense In my head. Louis is still living in a fantasy, and acting on it sometimes. So I wouldn't be surprised if he "under the influence of Dreamstat" moved things around without realizing. And yes he does want be coddled and hyped up, he just wants it from Lestat, not Armand. He's trying so hard to get out of Armands gilded cage. My question is when did he realize that? And how

I think that must have happened before San Francisco, because Armand rants about Louis fucking off and killing sprees “tri-annually“.

So Louis… actually came to realize that his and Armand‘s relationship-out-of-spite wasn‘t it fairly early, but he didn’t manage to break free.

The SF interview is exactly what Armand calls him out on, namely a fantasy to have Lestat chase after him, and so Daniel becomes the lifeline, for later.

Because Louis obviously has experience with the “gremlin or good nurse“ already. Whatever that experience may be. 🧐

#anonymous #ask nalyra #interview with the vampire #iwtv #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #louis de pointe du lac #armand

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labrxnth · 1 year ago

Text

Prison Break- (Leon Kennedy x Reader Series)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

CW: Death Island Spoilers (obviously), suicidal thoughts/tendencies

WC: 1840

Summary: You and your co-worker Leon Kennedy are sent on a mission to rescue a kidnapped robotic engineer Dr. Antonio Taylor. The journey for him leads the two of you to somewhere you thought you would never go, Alcatraz.

A/N: God I loved Death Island. I saw it in theaters on opening weekend a few weeks ago and loved every minute of it. This is me trying to remember the lines and small plot points of this movie from weeks ago so sorry if I get some stuff wrong.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

San Francisco was beautiful this time of year, but unfortunately you weren’t here to sight see. The shops lining the area were littered with “FOR SALE” signs and different colored fronts. The streets, admittedly, needed a little bit of getting used to driving on with the hills and trams. While you were busy looking at the foliage and people passing, your partner was talking on the phone and your ear coms.

The two of you certainly were a sight. You dressed in a black leather jacket, jeans and boots with a Panigale V2 Ducati with red accents; your partner, Leon Kennedy, with a blue bomber jacket, black jeans, boots and the same model Ducati with green accents. Together, the two of you made sense. You went together like Bert and Ernie if Bert and Ernie were weapons trained by the United States government and molded into whatever they needed you for.

And just like Bert and Ernie, the two of you refused to talk about your feelings for each other.

It was just easier that way. If you two went without saying your feelings for each other, no one would get hurt. The fantastic duo you two were would continue to thrive and not feel awkward.

The sight of a white van flying past the two of you brought you back from your daydream and thoughts. The very same white van the two of you were tracking.

“He’s early,” Leon grumbled and turned his bike on.

“We’re counting on the two of you to get him back.” Hunnigan’s voice cut through your ear com. Your thumb flicked the engine of your bike on and through the earbud you heard Leon reply with a chuckle.

“You sure do love to rush me,” He retorted and the two of you took off behind the white van.

“Tell me why the hell we’re rescuing Dr. Taylor. Didn’t he weaponize his robotics?” You asked rhetorically through your ear piece. The two of you were weaving in and out of traffic, keeping a close distance to the van. Whoever was behind the wheel definitely knew you were after them.

“Because we’re just the grunts, we do what we’re told,” Leon replied and sped in front of you.

“Ha ha.” You replied and kept an eye on your rearview mirror in case anyone was coming from behind. The road was slightly busy, making the driving not as hard as it could’ve been, thankfully. Eventually the van brought you two to the highway, making following it easy and a straight shot.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw another truck getting interestingly close to the chase. “We got company,” You said over the ear com to Leon.

“Great, switch,” Leon replied. With ease, the two of you swapped; you speeding ahead of Leon and him dropping back. The Ducati was purring under you, matching your every move smoothly like butter.

Leon had dropped back and out of the corner of his eye he saw a woman get out of the truck boxing you two in. The woman jumped out of the truck, landing on the back of his bike and putting him into a headlock. With a gag of surprise, he tried to steer the bike and deal with her at the same time.

Looking through the rear-view mirror, you could see Leon struggling and turned your head over your shoulder to see what was happening. Hitting your brake, you dropped back so his bike was in front. Sliding into your back holster, you slid your Beretta out and tried to shoot the woman in the leg, trying to get her to let go of Leon.

Using her leg, the woman steered the bike towards a semi truck and ran along the side of it, flipping to the front of the bike, in front of Leon. She started throwing punches, while Leon tried to dodge it, attempting to not crash the bike. With her now in front and so close to Leon, you were too scared to shoot her, afraid of hitting your partner.

She launched herself over his head, hitting the front brake with her heel. Leon’s bike instantly braked on the front tire, sending him flying over the handlebars.

“Leon!” You said, shooting the woman in the road. She jumped back into the truck she came out of. Your eyes went to Leon who rolled on the pavement, lessening the hit to his body. He eventually got to his knees and took his Sentinel out of the holster, scanning everywhere.

“Leave me, I’m fine,” He replied over the ear coms, watching you pass him. “Get Taylor!” He barked.

You sped towards the white van holding your target. “Hunnigan, it’s (L/n). Leon needs a transit while I keep chase,” You said over the ear coms.

“And why would he need that?” Hunnigan’s voice asked. You could see her pinching the bridge of her nose at her desk by the tone of her voice.

“Do you have to ask?” You replied, chuckling. “Seriously, when will you guys stop letting that man drive?” You asked snarkily.

“Hey, I’m a fine driver!” You could hear Leon reply over the radio. “.... Man, I loved that bike…” He said, the frown on his face audible.

“When you survive a mission without crashing something, lemme know,” You retorted and kept your eyes on the truck and the van trying to sandwich you. The white van was slowing down as the black truck was speeding up. You drove to another lane, trying to get around the van. The van slammed into the bike and you steered it clear. The van hit you again and sent you flying towards an exit. With a stutter, the engine on your Ducati started to smoke. You used the momentum of the hit to push you towards the exit, giving up on catching Taylor.

“Fuck…” You said under your breath as you pulled the bike over. Your eyes watched the van and the truck disappear, bringing your target with them. Your finger went up to the radio in your ear. “Leon, when you get that transport pick me up at the next exit. I got rammed.” You said and crossed your arms, looking at the engine.

“And you gave me shit,” He retorted.

“Shut up,” You grumbled back.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

Leon pulled up to you on another bike, a shit eating grin on his face. “And who’s the best driver now?” He asked teasingly.

You stood up and put a hand on your hip, staring at him. “Yeah, yeah, scooch,” You said and waved your hand for him to move to the back seat on the bike.

“Really?” He asked, but scooted back anyway. He knew better than to challenge you on something like this. It usually ended up with you winning anyways.

“Alright, hold on, pretty boy,” You said teasingly and got on the bike. “You get to be the passenger princess now,” You added and grinned. Leon’s arms hesitantly wrapped around you and you could hear the groan under his breath.

“This is embarrassing,” He said slightly.

“I’m making you sit behind me, not wear an apron with polka dots and bows,” You replied and snickered.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Leon replied curtly and tightened his grip around your waist.

After a little bit of driving in silence, you looked at Leon through the rearview mirror. “Hey, you saw her face. She looked really familiar, who was she?” You asked, meaning the woman who tried to paint the pavement with Leon.

“You remember Arias?” Leon asked, getting closer to you.

“Yeah?”

“It was Maria,” He replied and looked forward.

“Oh,” You said, suddenly getting quiet as you were thinking. “What the hell does she want with Taylor?” You asked.

“If I knew, we wouldn’t be heading back,,” Leon said and nudged you a bit.

“True, I guess,” You said under your breath and focussed back on driving. Eventually the two of you made it back to the AirBNB you booked and parked the bike. “Your ass is lucky that you’re a DSO founder. I don’t think they’d put up with the bill you run if you weren’t,” You said, tapping his arm as you got off the bike.

“What can I say, I’m certainly special,” He added, his signature smirk on his face.

You looked over your shoulder at him. “Is that the word you use?” You asked. The two of you got in the condo and you took off your leather jacket.

“So, you wanna break the news to Hunnigan?” Leon asked, shedding his bomber jacket. He walked over to the couch and pulled his phone out, looking up something.

“Absolutely not!” You replied. “I can do no wrong in her eyes and I wanna keep it that way,” You said and walked to the fridge, grabbing two bottles of water. Walking over to the couch, you handed Leon a bottle. “It’s all yours,” You said and grinned widely.

“Wow, thanks,” Leon said sarcastically and watched you sit down. You absentmindedly fixed his hair, combing a few strands down with your fingers. He leaned towards you more while he dialed Hunnigan’s number, letting you fix more of his hair. Your fingers ran through his long brown hair, noticing how, when the light hit it, it almost looked blonde.

“Hey Hunnigan, got some bad news. Both me and (Y/n) lost Taylor. Someone crashed the party and we had to deal with them,” He said, putting the phone on speaker and putting it on the coffee table. You bent your legs so you were sitting criss-crossed and kept playing with his hair, paying attention to the conversation.

“Did you get a good look at the license plate? I can track where it went through traffic lights and records,” Hunnigan said, almost expecting the mission to go wrong. It was never easy for you and Leon, something always went wrong. At this point, Hunnigan expected it.

“Yeah, it was a New York license plate,” You said and proceeded to tell her the number. After a few seconds, Hunnigan hummed on the other end.

“Got it. Traffic light cameras show that they made their way towards one of the islands,” Hunnigan replied.

You and Leon met each other’s gaze, almost as if saying the same thing. There were only two islands in the direction that the van was going.

“Get your gear ready, you two are headed to Alcatraz,” Hunnigan added.

“Got it, thanks Hunnigan. We owe you,” You said and watched Leon hang up.

“Alcatraz….” Leon said and leaned back on the couch, putting his arms behind his head. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as his crystal blue eyes met the ceiling, studying it as the gears turned in his head.

“You ready?” You asked and grinned.

“Ready for what?” He asked, looking at you.

“A prison break,” You replied.

“You bet your ass I am,” He said and grinned.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* : ｡ﾟ☆. ───

Catch it early on my AO3!

#resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil death island #biohazard death island #leon kennedy/reader #leon s kennedy/reader #leon s kennedy x reader

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