#trying to spin this/ remain hopeful for the campaign

[taylorswiftdebut]

this isn’t behavior of someone who likes taylor’s music 25% less

[taintandviolent]

Master ; Eddie Munson x Reader

summary: [PART ONE HERE!] It's been a few days since Eddie Munson and reader had their little hookup in the back of his van, and she's jonesing for more. After a D&D campaign, Eddie invites her back to his trailer.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 4.8K | female reader, smut, use of pet names (princess, sweetheart, baby, etc.), light bondage, no use of y/n, fucking to music (because he would), eating out, p in v, slight cockwarming at the end.

a/n: i am so overwhelmed by the response to my first eddie fic!!! you guys are CRAZY! thank you though, from the bottom of my heart. i hope this part lives up to the last part! ps: i've never played d&d, so just ignore how bland that section is. thanks. ps #2: the album that eddie puts on is Ride the Lightning, so if you wanna' listen to that while you read.... please do. not beta-read, yada yada yada yada. divider by @/strangergraphics!!

full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

For the most part, everything had returned to normal with the very welcomed exceptions of a few heated glances, some knowing smiles, and the occasional touch when he passed by you. All of which had you reeling, viciously fanning the embers of your desire for him. Many times throughout the week, you’d considered approaching him for one reason or another, but you were holding out for reasons unbeknownst to you.

In other news, Jason had requested a new lab partner - or tried - but Mrs. Cowan didn’t bother entertaining his request, much to your dismay. So the last period was spent with him, trying to remain cordial, but silently cursing everything he did. 

That morning, you’d woken up with a fiery craving for Eddie. It couldn’t be sated by merely thinking of him, or watching him from afar. You need to feel him again. Out front of Hawkins High, you bend down to retrieve your backpack, nestling your patterned Trapper Keeper in the crook of your arm. 

And as if on cue… 

“I’m your turbo lover! Better run for cover!” 

You freeze and straighten up, a chill shuddering up your spine. There’s no way someone is just playing that song. Your thighs press together tightly, as if doing so is inhibiting anything. You spin around, searching for the source of the music. And boy, do you find it. Eddie’s van screeches around the corner, just in front of you. 

You watch as Eddie then pulls into a parking spot, his arm hanging out the window of the van. He lifts it, giving you a casual wave, even though that gesture is anything but casual. For a moment, you’re almost mad. He’s all but ruined that song for you, because now all you can think about is him fingerbanging you in the back of his van. You let out a frustrated huff as the music dies off and the door creaks open.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says as he passes, his voice dripping with nonchalance. Your mouth gapes open, appalled that he didn’t tackle you in kisses right then and there. You watch, wordlessly, as he takes the steps two at a time and march after him, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. He wasn’t getting away from you that quickly. Thankfully, this semester, you had two classes with him; English in the morning and History after lunch. The little game he was playing was vicious and mean, and you hated it. 

“Eddie, wait!” You call, trotting down the hallways. He slows his pace and gradually turns, a sly expression on his face. 

“Yeees?” 

“What are you doing?” 

“Uh.. y’know… just going to class.” He answers coolly, nodding his head towards Miss Tipton’s door. You steal a glance at his body; he’s wearing a Metallica shirt with his go-to black jeans, and he’s got a black backpack slung over his right shoulder. His hand is clamped around the handle of that lunchbox he always carries, his rings clanking together as he adjusts his grip. You remember what those rings felt like, entangled in your own fingers. At the lewd thought, you have to withhold a sigh. He’s so… you dig your nails into the plastic of your binder, growling slightly.

“You can’t just…” You stutter, looking at him with big, pleading eyes. “I’m going crazy over here.”

“Yeah? So what do you want me to do about it?” Suddenly walking you backwards, he urges you against someone’s locker, his belt buckle pressing hard into your stomach. Your breath comes out in a rush. “You want me to do it right here?” 

He brushes the backs of his fingers along your jawline, teasingly. Your eyes drift behind him, watching people’s eyes flit to you and widen as they pass. A few people snigger and make some comments, likely disparaging in nature. Of course, they must be thinking, who would want to be that close to the Freak of Hawkins? You groan inwardly and lean your head back against the slotted metal. 

“No… we can’t.”

“Then you’re gonna’ have to be patient, aren’t you, sweetheart?” His voice is husky and low, his breaths washing over your face. You frown slightly, but nod. You’d gotten something… the warmed, lingering sensation of his hips pressed against yours was enough to get you through the rest of the day, at least. He backs off, smirking, and reaches for the door, pulling it open. With eyebrows raised, he holds the door for you, letting you duck underneath his arm. 

Once in the classroom, you pick a seat and settle in. After a few moments, Miss Tipton turns to the chalkboard to write something and in doing so, turns her back away from the class. A few seconds later, something hits your shoulder, bouncing off of it. You look down at your feet and spot a folded up piece of notebook paper. Making sure that the teacher is still occupied, you bend down and scrape your fingers against the floor, scooping it into your grasp. You quickly unfold it, your eyes scanning over the scrawled letters. 

Today after last period. Meet me in the theatre. 

EDDIE 

PS: I miss the way you taste.

Your stomach tightens. Tucking your face into your shoulder, you sneakily peer back behind you. To your right, a few seats down, Eddie meets your gaze and feigns innocence, widening his eyes at you before casually scratching the side of his face with a capped pen. You withhold a smile and turn back around, tucking the note into your binder. Class continues without a hitch. In fact, it goes by surprisingly quickly. 

After class, you hurry to the payphone outside, dial home and bring the receiver to your ear. It rings twice before you hear your mother’s voice.

“Hello?” 

“Mom, it’s me.” 

“Honey, is everything okay?” You can hear the worry in her voice.

You smile, leaning against the nearby brick wall. “Yes, I’m fine. I just wanted to call you and let you know that I’m going to be home later today. I’m uh… thinking about joining a club.” 

“A club? At school? Honey, that’s great. Just be careful, okay?” 

You straighten up, hunching over the payphone again. “I will, I promise. Love you.” 

“Love you too. Bye-bye.” 

Every class speeds by, having been spent fantasizing. You’re in deep, too deep maybe. Short of drawing hearts around his name, you’ve allowed yourself to become completely wound around his guitar-calloused fingers, you’ve imagined every scenario possible and succeeded in riling yourself up throughout the day. Prepwork, you’d call it. 

So, later that afternoon, when you make it to the theatre, quietly opening one of the double doors, you’re almost disappointed that it’s a room full of boys. Sure, Eddie’s there, sitting at the head of the table, but it’s a room full of boys all the same. Foolishly, Hellfire Club wasn’t a frontrunner in your thoughts, you hadn’t even considered it or the fact that he had invited you to one of the sessions, and you’d agreed. You grimace and take a few steps forward, bringing yourself out of the shadows.

“Ah, she arrives.” Eddie’s voice booms, echoing in the acoustics of the theatre. He’s oozing confidence, and you bite your lip, silently talking your own arousal down. 

“Hey guys,” you say, trying to mask your nerves with a casual wave. “Eddie invited me.”

“Indeed I did.” He’s perched on an ornately carved chair, his elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced together. Eddie then jumps over the arm of the chair and bends down, retrieving something from his backpack. Casually, but almost theatrically, he strolls over. Once he’s in front of you, he reaches for your hand, pulling it up and carefully lays the item in your hands, his fingertips grazing the edge of your palm. It’s a Hellfire Club shirt, just like the one he wears. A smirk crawls across your lips; you were now technically in possession of two of his shirts.

After changing behind the heavy velvet curtains, you get situated in one of the empty seats, and Eddie explains the campaign, setting the scene with all of his elaborate, fantastic descriptions. This guy was a natural born storyteller, and you could tell he had a passion for this silly little game. Too quickly, it came to be your turn. You had no idea what you were doing, and you realize that you haven’t been paying attention at all. Your attention was… elsewhere the entire time. Panic grips your throat as everyone’s eyes are on you, waiting for your roll. 

“Uhhh,” You look apprehensively at the dice in your palm. Unlike regular dice, they have way too many sides and you don’t know what you need to achieve. Eddie assured you that you’d get the hang of it, but so far… you haven’t. “I have no idea but roll a one-hundred to charm the DM?” 

“One-hundre— WHAT! That doesn’t even make sense. She’s not even playing!” The kid with the curly hair – Dusty? Dustin? – sounded frustrated. He took this very seriously. They’d all briefly introduced themselves as you’d sat down, but your attention had been on and still was on Eddie the entire time, so you hardly retained any of their names. You are enchanted with his energy tonight; the way he masterfully navigates the campaign, engaging with each of the rolls and weaving an intricate story that none of the other players can predict, but adore all the same. 

You two make eye contact. Eddie withholds a smile. You can see it — the middle of his plush lips start to spread across his teeth but he reels it back in. It takes an immense amount of self control, but you don’t make finger guns at him. Instead, you toss the dice back onto the table, not bothering to watch what you’d rolled. With a groan, you lean back in the chair, which creaks in protest. “Fine,” you lamented, lacing your fingers behind your head. “I’ll just watch. I don’t understand this anyway.” 

“Lady Terowyn,” he starts, saying the name that he’d given you at the start. He holds your gaze strongly, leaning forward in his chair and gripping the sides of the table, his rings clanking against the wood. “You seem to have acquired a ferocious malady. You can roll again in hopes that Blossom Tealeaf will assist you with a cure…”

“Who was Blossom Tealeaf again?” You ask, almost exasperated and look around at the other players. Dustin rolls his eyes, slumping down in his chair. “Alright, alright. Sheesh. I’ll accept this… illness and just watch this time.”

“Alright, then. Lady Terowyn succumbs to the vicious curse and perishes. What shall you do?” 

The boys fall into a heated discussion and Eddie’s eyes find yours again. Without saying anything, he’s saying a lot. He’s smiling like he did before he kissed you, and the thought drives you insane. You have half a mind to climb across the table and go sit in his lap, sweeping your hips back and forth until his cock hardens underneath you, but you wouldn’t dare interrupt his campaign; it means too much to him and the others.

So, you sat. You sat, commenting, cheering the boys on when they figured something out, and gasped when their fearless dungeon master bested them yet again. Eventually, they warmed up to you, the coldness gone from their responses, even going so far as to involve you in some of the discussions. This went on for a few hours, until finally, they lost against the merciless beast that they’d been fighting. After the group dispersed outside, Eddie towed you to his van, promising he’d take you home. 

He pulls you into a kiss, his tongue dancing along your lower lip and slipping inside to wrestle with yours. You moan into his mouth, and slide your hands into the warmth inside his leather jacket. Never breaking the kiss, he gently pushes you against the side of his van, the metal cool behind your back. One of his hands moves to your leg, hitching it up around his waist to bring you even closer to him. He bucks his hips into you once, and your breath hitches. 

“It really is fun,” he starts, brushing his lips against your neck, trailing delicate kisses down the length of it. “Y’know… if you’d actually try playing it.” 

You whine, tilting your head to the side and allowing more space for him to kiss. “Listen, I was distracted, okay?” 

“Oh, by what?” 

“Like you don’t know.” 

Eddie chuckles, a breathy sound just underneath your earlobe. His lips ghost down your neck, stopping at a place between it and your shoulder, and he sucks the skin into his mouth. You wince at the sudden pressure, but don’t protest. It’ll inevitably leave a mark, and it seems he knows it. Smiling at the reddened skin, he leans back to look at you, to gaze into your half-lidded eyes. 

“You wanna’ go back to my place? Wayne’s outta’ town…” 

You aren’t sure who Wayne is… but the implications of that hang heavy between you two. For a moment, you say nothing, letting your gaze drift back and forth between his eyes and his lips, but finally, you nod. Eddie grins and is dragging you around to the passenger side before you have a chance to change your mind. He throws open the door and circles his hand in front of it, beckoning you inside. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady.” 

You can’t help but smile – the theatrics of his campaign are clearly still lingering. Once you’re in, Eddie shuts the door and hurries back around to the other side, retrieving his keys from his pocket. Tossing a confident smile your way, he stabs them into the ignition, turns them and the engine of the van roars to life.

The drive from the high school to the trailer park takes about ten minutes, but feels like twenty. Every time he pulls up on a stop sign, his hand drifts over to your thigh. He kneads it, his rings bumping together. Just when it starts to get good, just when his hand starts to drift up your skirt, he pulls it away, and accelerates. 

Once you’re inside, Eddie flips on the lights and turns to you, expectantly. He knows what’s coming. He’s been riling you up the entire ride. The second the door is shut, your lips are on him, smearing hot, wet kisses all over his neck and jawline. Eddie’s laughing breathily, his hands roaming around your waist and ass. “So needy,” he says. 

“I’ve been thinking about this since we….” Your voice trailed off, meeting his mouth in a sloppy kiss. Eddie keeps you there, holding your face tightly. He walks you backwards past the kitchen towards his bedroom until the back of your calves hit the mattress, and you wrap your arms around his neck. His hands trail up your waist, winding around the front of your body. It’s warm to the touch, and Eddie smiles as his large hands cup your breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze.  

“Fuck, Eddie, oh my god…”

You claw at his leather jacket, trying to push it off his shoulders. You can’t get enough of him, and want him naked on top of you immediately. Enough teasing, enough foreplay. You’re desperate for him. 

“Someone’s grabby. We’ll fix that.” He pushes you lightly backwards onto the bed, your ass bouncing against the mattress, the springs squeaking in protest. 

He reaches around, pulling the black bandana from his back pocket, and shakes it out from its folded state. The heat that blossoms between your thighs is only worsening, becoming unbearable. One knee pressed into the bed, his body tilted slightly forward towards you. “Hands together, m’lady.”

At first, you stare, dumbfounded, up at him. He was… so cute. The dim, yellow lighting of the table lamp behind him creates a halo around his fluffy hair, akin to a renaissance painting. Some artist had to have painted an angel from this point of view… but there was nothing angelic about what was taking place. Nothing, because you were about to —

“Hello?” You blink once, twice. Had he been speaking the entire time? He quirks a brow, very obviously waiting for your response. His warm, chocolatey eyes hold yours in a death grip as he wraps the bandana around your wrists, tying it tightly in a knot. He hadn’t told you to look at him, at least not verbally. Deep down, you knew that you couldn’t look away if you tried. He knew that too. “Hands to yourself until I say so.”

“Yes, master.” He freezes, with his fingers still on the buckle of his belt and raises his head back up to look at you.

You try to speak, to undo what you’ve said, but only squeaks and a nervous string of ‘Uhhh’s come out. You drop your bound wrists into your lap with a dramatic huff, and roll your head back, staring embarrassed at the ceiling of his trailer. Truthfully, you hadn’t even known where that came from; you’d never called anyone ‘master’ in your entire life, and even mocked the concept. Master and Servant was a Depeche Mode song, not something you practiced in the bedroom.  

“I don’t knoow — dungeon master? I don’t know where that came from, I’m — Eddie, please — PLEASE!” Your head snapped back up.

“Hey,” He cooed, brushing your bangs from your eyes. “It’s okay. I liked that. I just couldn’t tell if you were being serious or not.”

Eddie brings his face close to yours, nuzzling his nose against your cheeks. “Lay back for me, sweetheart.” 

You do, bound hands resting on your stomach. Eddie shrugs out of his jacket, and pulls his shirt up from behind his back, tossing it onto the floor to join the rest of the clothes. You haven’t seen him shirtless before; the visual has your cunt clenching as your eyes dance over his tattoos, memorizing them. 

You watch him with hearts in your eyes as he strolls half-naked over to his stereo, pops in a tape, shuts the door and hits play; the heavy sound of Metallica fills the small room. You smirk. He would. As the song builds, Eddie returns to the edge of the bed, creeping closer, walking his hands on the mattress until he’s close enough to press a kiss to each of your kneecaps. Just like before, he unzips your skirt and peels down your tights, taking his time with the action. Your breath catches in your chest when you feel his calloused fingers ghosting along the outside of your thighs, sweeping along the flesh as it prickles with goosebumps. It’s not cold by any means, but the sensation of his fingers has your skin reacting.

“Now that’s a sight for sore eyes…” he says, admiring the way you look, pantsless but still wearing the Hellfire Club shirt. “God damn… you should be on the cover of an album or something.” He tilts his head, staring for a moment longer before he’s pulling the shirt over your head, and yanking your panties over the wide curve of your hips. 

The rest of your clothes join his on the floor of his bedroom, and you’re naked, lying on his stained sheets, writhing in anticipation. Eddie pulls your thighs apart carefully but forcefully, like he’s opening the jaws of a lion. He slots himself underneath your legs, hoisting your thighs onto the curve of his shoulders. As soon as you realize what’s about to transpire, he feels the sudden tension in your body and slides his hands up your waist tenderly.

“Just relax. I know what I’m doing.” His voice is commanding and heavy with desire. 

Your eyes roll back in your head, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip; you feel your cunt clench at his lusty tone. You can feel your face flush with heat. Something about him makes you trust him, turn to putty in his grip – in fact, you’ve never trusted a man more in your life. You nod, inhaling a deep breath as he presses a kiss to your cunt. Some of your pathetic, shuddering whines are lost in the heavy guitar and drums of Metallica, which you’re grateful for. The feeling of his lips against her makes your whole body jerk violently, and Eddie’s hands are suddenly pressing down on your hips, holding them tight to the mattress. 

“Easy, baby…” 

You clench your jaws and shut your eyes, trying to slow your breathing, but that does little to pacify the feelings and how deeply he’s turning you on. His lips hover, his breath washing over her in small, warm gusts before he kisses her again, nuzzling his nose against the soft mound before his tongue slips in between the folds, flicking upwards. Still tied together, all you can do is lift your hands and wad them into tight fists. You could reach forward and push his head further into you, but he’d specifically ordered no touching. You whimper and writhe against the mattress, to which Eddie softly shakes his head against your cunt, muttering a ‘Mm-mm’, and again grips your hips tightly again, holding them in place. 

“You like that?” 

He swallows hard, before his tongue juts out again, toying with your clit, mercilessly flicking it back and forth and up and down. He encircles the swollen bundle of nerves and hums into your cunt, pleased at the visceral reaction from your body. Even over the music, you can hear the slick, suckling and slurping sounds he’s making, and above all, how wet you are, which is slightly mortifying, considering he’s only just started. Your juices leak onto his mattress, leaving yet another stain on his sheets.

“Words, sweetheart…” He pauses to say. One hand drifts between his legs, where he palms himself over his dark jeans. Eating you out has his cock achingly hard, and he wants nothing more than to sink it into you. 

Words? You don’t even know what those are. You can barely form a single word, let alone an entire sentence as his tongue laps at you again, flattening out against your sensitive flesh. It takes you a few tries, but you finally manage to squeak out: “Huhhh- mmm-yeah. Gonna’... gonna’...” 

Eddie pulls back slightly, pressing a single slick kiss against your inner thigh. “Yeah? So soon?” 

You whimper, nodding. “Mmmh…. So…. so good…” 

Bringing his hands underneath your ass, Eddie hoists your hips up, giving him a better angle to suck on your puffy clit. That does it – you’re unable to stop the floodgates. You cry out, bringing your bound hands to your face and pressing the balls of your palms against your mouth, pinching your bottom lip between them. Eddie swallows down your orgasm, bringing the tip of his tongue to your entrance as it squeezes.

As Eddie stands up and wipes the slick from his chin, the song changes, a single reverberating bell rings throughout the room. It brings a smirk to his lips. “For whom the bell tolls…” He says, running a single finger along the length of your quivering thigh. “The bell tolls for you, sweetheart.” 

Completely spent, you lift your head weakly, brows peaked together in question. “Wh…what…” 

Eddie palms himself again, stroking the swollen shaft through the fabric. His gaze is heavy, sweeping over your naked body as your chest heaves with laboured breaths. His long fingers move quickly, working to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans. The jeans fall loose at his hips, just enough for you to catch a glimpse of a lewd outline and a spot where the blue plaid fabric has darkened with pre-cum. He kicks them off and steps out of the circle, smiling at you.  

“Nothin’, baby. C’mere.” 

Eddie gets onto the bed with one knee first, and walks his way over to you. You turn your head to look at him and heave a shaky sigh as he reaches underneath your torso, twisting you so you’re laying rightways on the bed, your head on a pillow. 

“You ready?” 

“R-ready for what?” You breathe. 

“To have your world rocked, sweetheart.” 

“Again?” You coo, looking up at him with big, dreamy eyes. 

Eddie hooks his finger around the bandana and twists it around his index finger, tightening the fabric around your wrists. He yanks your hands up over your head, pressing them against the wall above. With his other hand still free, he pulls the waistband of his boxers down over the curve of his ass, allowing his heavy cock free. It slaps against his tummy, bobbing dangerously in front of your core. It occurs to you then how turned on he is over eating your pussy… his cock is leaking and twitching in front of you, begging for release. 

Fuck. 

At first, Eddie leans down, pressing his cock against your tummy as he kisses you. The kisses are sweet, tender, but passionate with a lingering hint of animalistic demand. He’s being gentle now, but you can feel the unbridled want behind his actions. 

“Do it,” you say. “Fuck me.” 

Eddie runs his tongue along his bottom lip and grins, taking hold of his cock with his free hand and giving it a few long strokes. A bead of precum oozes from the tip, stringing down to your stomach. He lines the tip up, and a warning pressure builds at your waiting entrance. You clench around the velvet soft head, and Eddie lets out a deep groan. 

“Holy shit…” he says. 

He tries to be gentle, but as soon as the tip breaches your slick hole and he feels how wet, how warm you are, he can’t help but sink every inch deep into you. He bucks his hips once, forcing his cock deep inside, and halts, allowing you a moment to adjust to the feeling of fullness. You gasp and tighten around him again, pulling a throaty sound from him. 

He begins rocking his hips back and forth, his shaft sliding wetly out of you. It doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to find a mind-shattering rhythm that has you gasping and clawing the wall above you. He holds onto your bound wrists still, pinning them tightly against the wall. The power in his thrusts come from his core, bucking relentlessly up into you. 

You lift your legs slightly, scooting up and pressing the roundness of your ass against his torso. As he thrusts, his palm presses low into your stomach, rings denting the flesh. 

Over the drums and guitar, the slick, hollow slop slop of his cock hammering into you fills the room, and your vision goes blurry as your lids drift shut. 

“F-fuck, Eddie… fuck!” 

His wanton, concentrating gaze drifts between your legs, watching as he impales you over and over again. You moan loud, much louder than James Hetfield was singing. Eddie shudders and groans, making a deep, almost pained sound. 

“You’re gonna kill me, you know that? Those moans are gonna’... Jesus Christ.”

You smile devilishly and meet his thrusts, rutting your hips against his. You see him clench his jaw, the muscles fluttering on the side of his face. The feelings are tantalizing him, and each jerk of his hips brings him closer to an orgasm. 

“Jesus Christ,” he repeats, looking down at your sweat-glistened body, watching as your breasts rock back and forth with each movement of his hips. You strain against his grip, wanting so desperately to touch him. 

“Master,” you whimper. “Let me touch your body… please….” 

The singular word makes his cock twitch inside you. His other hand joins the right, and quickly undoes the knot of his bandana, tossing it behind him. Your greedy fingers immediately snap to his torso, clawing their way up his toned abdomen. Your digits trail over his tattoos, tracing them absentmindedly as Eddie keeps fucking into you, his jaw hanging slack, expression completely blissed out.

“Harder, Eddie,” you moan, pressing your head back into the pillow. 

He obeys. Happily. He takes hold of your thighs, pressing them back against your body, exposing more of your cunt to him. His cock leaves you for a moment before he’s slamming back into you, heated and heavily.

It doesn’t take him long to reach a climax at this angle, or for you to reach your second one. You scream out, clawing at his abs as you clench around his dick, squeezing it in a vice-tight grip.

“Shit-shit-shit—” Eddie curses, looking down at your pussy. You feel the swelling throb of Eddie’s cock inside you as he paints you insides white. Your own orgasm has you shuddering against him, crying out his name. 

Eddie collapses atop of you, his cock still inside, and nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck.

“That was…” 

“Yeah,” you echo. “Yeah. It was.”

After a few minutes, you turn your head, and press a single kiss against his plump lips. “Soooo, can I sit at your table now? I’m tired of sitting at Jason’s preppy table.” 

“Absolutely.” 

[markantonys]

the good thing about the slog is that because such little of true import happens over such a long chunk of the series, the show is quite well-positioned to be able to tell the whole story cohesively in any number of seasons after 4. only 4 seasons would be tricky, but 5 or 6 would be just as doable as 7 or 8. (disclaimer that there has not been any news or speculation about potentially getting less than 8 seasons so don't panic haha it's just a topic i was randomly thinking about today! that being said, i do think 8 seasons is pretty ambitious in today's television landscape, especially if it continues to take 2 years to make each season, so while we're all hoping for the full 8, it's worth imagining how they could do it in fewer.)

i expect s4 to roughly coincide with the end of LOC, so, dumai's wells for rand and being raised amyrlin for egwene. perrin, mat, nynaeve, and elayne have more wiggle room in what they might be getting up to during s4 (it seems possible the ebou dar trip might be absorbed into tanchico in s3, and perrin may have to get an invented plotline or have a later plotline brought forward for s4 since he has so little in TFOH-LOC), so i won't guess at the endpoint for them beyond that it will likely leave them ready to kick into a fresh new storyline for s5. and nynaeve frankly doesn't have a book storyline after ebou dar (she's just supporting rand's & lan's storylines), so i'll ignore her in this post and just focus on the other 5 mains. fingers crossed the show will come up with more for nynaeve to do during this part of the story, but that's a separate topic.

after LOC, as far as i can recall, each of them only has 1-2 main things they strictly Must do before the last battle (obviously i've left out a bunch of stuff, but i'm thinking of just the absolute bare minimum essentials here):

rand: cleanse saidin (only requires 1 episode); reach his lowest point, then pull himself back up again, all the while simultaneously working to get as many nations under his banner as possible

egwene: unite the tower as uncontested amyrlin

perrin: finish wolf training; fold the whitecloaks into his army

mat: rescue moiraine (only requires 1 episode); get himself in charge of the seanchan forces

elayne: become uncontested queen of andor

so if s4 ends where i speculate, they'd all be perfectly positioned to spend 4-6 episodes of s5 doing these things, then the last battle for the remaining 2-4 episodes, and boom, we've fit all the most crucial things into only 5 seasons.

i know the instinct is to gasp and insist that they all have so much else to do, but.........do they really? everybody agrees that egwene & elayne & perrin only have 1 plotline during books 7-11 which is dragged out for more books than is needed to tell it, so mat and rand are really the sticking points. but if you think about it, mat spends this time repeatedly starting one plotline but then getting yanked out of it partway through to start a new one, so he doesn't actually accomplish that much story-wise. rand, meanwhile, is on a bunch of little 1-book quests (taking illian, seanchan campaign, hunting traitor asha'man, trying to meet with DOTNM) that could be cut for time or merged into his Darth Rand emotional arc from TGS. honestly, he's so emotionally stagnant for most of books 7-11 (he's either not present, dicking around doing nothing, or repeating emotional beats he already did in TSR-LOC) that i don't think going from dumai's wells straight to Darth Rand would be a bad idea at all, if the show had to; in fact, dumai's wells is kind of a perfect launchpoint for that arc, emotions-wise, and plot-wise, if they wanted to replace some of the arad doman events with some slog events, but just put the Darth Rand emotional spin on those slog events, they could easily do so (for example, him being reckless/arrogant with callandor against the seanchan and getting his own people killed could sub in for natrin's barrow in showing how ruthlessly Ends Justify Means he's becoming).

but anyway, these are imo the absolute most crucial pre-TLB plot points of the second half of the series (at least for these main characters, i'm not taking ALL characters into account in this post) and they could be fit into only 5 seasons without much trouble. now if you've got 6, 7, or 8 seasons, that gives extra room to expand these plot points and also add in some additional, not-strictly-required-but-nice-to-have plot points like more Little Rand Quests, elayne taking the throne of cairhien, egwene & gawyn hunting assassins in the tower, and the faile kidnapping plotline. (while making this post i actually had a wild thought of the faile kidnapping being perrin's s4 plotline followed by wolves & whitecloak stuff in s5 then into TLB, or alternately the whitecloaks being part of the kidnapping plotline as perrin's unlikely allies rather than the seanchan; could be a great structure for a 5-6 season scenario, but for 7-8 it would cause perrin to run out of content too quickly haha)

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dear Dapper - you're so great at helping me think through ideas and creative blocks, and you have such great thoughts about DnD religions, so I hope this question is perfect for you. (Forgive the length, feel free to trim in any posting).

Our campaign is set in a world where the gods found some "clay" and sculpted a world out of it. Most of the various plots stem from the earliest, most powerful creations having various emotions about this act (resentment and reformation, jealousy, an overextended sense of ownership, or feeling they can redo it better). In the past, the sense of resentment led to a war where the traditional, but respected, judge-like, ferryman-style psychopomp god of death was killed. He now exists as a partial remnant, God of Undeath - the dark moon. The other gods then fled, abandoning creation.

My character started as a cleric of the light moon goddess, and as perhaps the most mythologically invested player, I've been expanding to become pan-theistic - trying to round up what remains of divine power into beneficent hands (ie, against the bbeg). In a recent story arc, a part of his soul was stolen, then given freely to this God of Undeath.

The God's angry (presumably about being killed - the how is an upcoming plot point). He's viewed as asleep, and wants to 'wake' the living world into undeath. His worshippers are secretive necromancers and the undead. Otherwise his themes so far are generally gothy, macabre and evil.

I think my character's desire is to try to restore him in some way, or at least, 'wake' him into some element of his former neutral/benevolent self. As a player, I want to toy with the scary, gothiness of this change, and dance with temptation a bit. As both, I want to find some good or positive elements to the Undeath angle that I can spin.

What ideas does this generate for you? In particular, what are some positives from undeath that I could play with? Why would a normal living wizard fall into the necromantic worship of this 'deity' (other than the selfish desire for immortality as a lich or vampire)?

Thanks for any thoughts you might have!

Fundamentally any depiction of the undead are really a portrayal of our relationship TO death, and the many reactions we can have regarding it's suddenness, tragedy, and inevitability.

A god that's angry about their own inevitable demise strikes me as one that's stuck mid way through the seven stages of grief, a state not unlike undeath because it leaves those trapped in it unable to move on. Cultists might think they're gaining immortality through undeath but really they're trapping themselves in bereaved stasis.

The ultimate resolution then is taking steps toward catharsis and acceptance, of letting go, and coming to terms with the loss as a form of exorcism. Perhaps your character also had a significant death in their life and had trouble moving on, and wants to give this god the same hardwon peace they finally achieved, or achieve it by working things out through this god.

I find it interesting that "gothy" is a term that's brought up multiple times in your description, because one of the big parts about goth subculture (other than a kickass music scene) is a philosophy that asks us to not shy away from the fear of death but instead look at it head on, unpleasant as it is, and say " I embrace you and in doing so I acknowledge how great life really is"

[vibratingskull]

Glad to see requests are open again!

Can I challenge you to write an unconventional “romance” with aroace-Thrawn? The idea is that he does love Reader and all that, but not in the “traditional” romantic sense that Reader is familiar with. (And if you wanted to skew that way, he’d be sex-indifferent ace and want it in the desire to have a family/sense of security/etc. instead of just romantic lust)

GASP! Aroace Thrawn in my inbox ? I love you anon! ❤️❤️❤️

Thrawn x F!reader

“Thrawn, do you still love me?” You ask out of the blue.

You’re laying on the bed, limbs spread like a starfish, eyes hypnotized by the bare ceiling. You don’t even know why you asked that, it escaped you unintentionally.

You hear Thrawn stopping to type on his datapad and the sound of his chair spinning towards you.

“I beg your pardon?” 

You sure he heard you perfectly. He must have, he always does.

Well you’re in it now, no use backing out now.

“I asked : Do you still love me?” You try to use a softer tone, like you weren’t bothered.

But the truth is that you are bothered, you are worried. He used to be more affectionate and now you can't even remember when was your last hug. So you are worried.

“What may have prompted such a question?” 

“Well…” You start fidgeting your fingers together, trying to find the good words to not offend him, “We barely hug and kiss even less… Are you bored with me?”

“Make me some place on the bed.” He orders softly.

You roll on the side, leaving him some space on the mattress. But in doing so you turn your back to him. It’s cowardice, 100%. If he reveals he doesn’t love you anymore you know you cannot bear his gaze. You feel the bed tipping behind you and a warm hand between your shoulder blades.

“What is wrong Cha’cah?” He whispers.

“I don’t know, it feels like we were much closer before and now you stopped touching me entirely. We are as intimate as we are with our friends, I do not feel loved and appreciated anymore. I miss your little touches on me and your kisses. I… I don’t know.”

He remains silent for a moment, like he is computing your words in his well organized brain.

“I am sorry.” He finally lets out, “I thought you were as comfortable as I was in that relationship. I did not realize you felt neglected.”

He is comfortable like that? Barely showing you love and affection? The situation is even more dire than first expected.

“You… You like it that way?” You ask so low he barely heard you.

“May I see your face?”

You gulp and turn to meet his gaze. It is as clear and resolute as when he plans his campaigns. You take a fistfull of the cover and dig your nails in the fabric, awaiting for his next words. He observes your face intently and his hand comes caressing your cheek delicately.

“I am sorry.” He repeats, whispering. “I took you for granted. I should have been more careful.”

“Do you still love me?” you ask with tremors in your voice.

He fixes you, silently.

“May I be honest and speak without you interrupting me? I do not know if I will be able to repeat what I am about to tell you.”

You gulp again, apprehensive but nod nonetheless.

“I… May have never loved you as you hoped in the first place.” He confesses.

You take in that cold shower, your eyes opening wide and tears right behind them.

He never loved you?

“Do not misunderstand me : I love you, care about you and cherish what we have. I would not want this with anyone else, but… I may have never loved you… romantically.”

Your throat goes dry but you refrain from speaking, letting him explain himself. But man, those it hurt!

“You are an incredible person, and I am the luckiest man to wake up next to you every morning. But I may have never felt this love you talk about. With anyone in my life.”

He lets it sink in and you feel a tear rolling down your cheek silently.

“Do not cry, my love.” He resumes caressing your cheek, “I may not word it well, it was confusing for me for years and I fully grasped it only recently. What I want you to know is that I love you so much, I do not want to part from you for a second. You are my greatest joy, and the most dear to my heart. But I may never be able to look at you with those eyes spilling romantic love like you do for me. And I feel incredibly guilty.”

You gasp, letting the tears roll freely, listening to him opening his heart.

It hurts so much. You feel like you are getting stabbed in the heart.

What does he mean he never felt romantic love? How is that even possible?

“My dear, my Cha’cah, wipe your tears. I will never leave your side.” He places his forehead against yours, looking deep into your eyes.

“How can someone never love someone else romantically?” You ask with a dry voice and wet eyes, “Are you telling me you played me all this time?”

“I never felt it and never felt the need for it. It always seemed like a weird sentiment to me, something so foreign my mind had trouble grasping it. I watched all those couples flourishing around me and knew I would never be a part of it. That was forbidden to me. I am simply incapable of romantic love.”

“That is so sad…”you gasp between tears.

“Not necessarily. I always felt comfortable in my skin and satisfied with friendships. I never felt unloved or as I truly lacked something. Things are just as such and I accepted it.”

“So… So why did you enter a relationship with me?” you inquire.

“I always longed for a companionship deeper than friendship. Someone I could hold and call mine. I wish for a family to hug and love, despite everything I crave love just as everyone else. The type I am searching for is simply different.”

“I am not sure I understand everything.”

“I did not for a long time either. Just know that I do love you, my love is simply… different but it is as true as any other one.”

“Just different?”

“Just different.” He nods gently, still caressing your cheek.

“Is that why we never had sex with each other? Your love doesn’t incorporate it?”

His gaze lowers down like he is searching for his words.

“I never knew you wanted it.”

“I… I never knew if you wanted it either!” you temper, “I didn’t want to pressure you into anything.”

“I am not opposed to that idea. I simply… Never felt this need.”

“My body isn’t to your taste?”

“No, Cha’cah, no. Your body is a real piece of art. I simply never felt the urge. I have never seen someone and wished to take them to bed. But if you wish for it, I can do it.” He proposes.

“No… No. I would rather you desire it too.” You calm things down.

You don’t want him to force himself for you.

“That day may never come.” He simply explain.

“Then… Too bad for me, I guess?” you try humor but he isn’t laughing.

“I can do it for you if you truly wish for it.” He proposes again, “For you I do not mind. I am ready to try. You deserve it.”

“But you also deserve to have your desire respected.”

“We can make a compromise. Is it not what couples are all about?”

“You’re truly sure of yourself?” You give him the opportunity to get out.

“For you, I am.” He solemnly declares, “I want a family with you. I want a child with you. I want to tie my legacy to yours.”

You hide your lower face behind the covers.

He wants a child? You never heard about that before!

“You do not seem happy.” 

“I’m just surprised. I never knew you wanted a child.” you murmur.

“I do. For a long time. Do you want it too?”

A child? With him?

That does sound enticing. But that would still require him to take you to bed, and he doesn’t desire it truly.

“What about adoption?” You propose.

“Maybe. For a second one. I want one with my blood too.”

Well, you got your response.

“But let's get back to the beginning. You felt neglected and that is unforgivable of me, I should have noticed sooner.”

You feel really dumb to complain about hugs and kisses now that he revealed this side of him. How childish!

“I… It’s okay. I never knew you were uncomfortable with physical affection. If it bores you I can keep it up like that.” You say, trying to support him and his desires.

“No. I do not feel uncomfortable at all, I simply must remember that you need more displays of affection than I do.”

“But what if you’re satisfied with this level?”

“Compromise, Cha’cah, compromise. I will remember it from now on.” 

And as to seal his words he captures your lips, pulling you in his embrace and holding you tight. You feel your heart flutter at the contact of his lips, missed for so long…

He parts with you, kissing your forehead.

“I do not want you to force yourself for me.” You insist.

“And I do not want you to feel neglected. I never forced myself to hug and kiss you, Cha’cah. Never. I hold you dear to my heart and want you satisfied with me.”

“So… You still love me?” you ask again with a little voice.

“More and more everyday, Cha’cah.”

You can get used to that.

He loves you despite everything, this is just different.

As long as he is comfortable with you, you will take what he will give you.

“Thank you.” You whisper, snuggling against his warm body.

“Anytime, Cha’cah.” 

And he hugs you tighter than ever before.

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar@thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay

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[tarithenurse]

I see fire - VIII

Fandom: D&D 5E/homebrew campaign. Word count: 2513. Contents: Mystery man and lore dump. A/N: Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag. Divider by @firefly-graphics

VIII

Coming out of her trance, the first thing Zilvra notices is the uncomfortable tightness around her wrists and throat: the bonds are getting dangerously tight to the point where they slightly hamper her movement, a tingling feeling in her fingers a sign of how they block the blood flow, and soon her breathing will grow laboured too. But with the mine dealt with, they would have not even a full day’s travel back to the monastery where she can get the bonds loosened.

The others have already started on breakfast (cold rations) and are talking about how to proceed with the wolves.

“But wouldn’t they have used it for shelter?” Morella argues, pointing to the now blocked entrance.

Daremot knows what she’s getting at. “Probably, but wolves are hearty. This is probably more about the reclamation of their territory than something as simple as dry fur.”

“Either way,” Anvindr cuts through surprisingly decisive, “we can just ask and if they’re still unhappy, then we’ll see if we can find something better for them.”

Willem has been watching Zilvra who can’t keep her hands away from her bonds, pulling futilely at them. “And if they want that, then they’ll have to wait for a few more days...”

Morella follows the deputy’s gaze. “Oh Zilvra...why didn’t you say anything?”

The drow shrugs, unsure of it herself.

Thankfully, it turns out that the wolves are more than happy about the demise of the duergar and while they wouldn’t object to a better place to settle down, neither the humans nor the trio has to feel obliged to find that for the pack. So after goodbyes have been spoken, the humanoids head back as fast as they can to the monastery.

---

The trip back is uneventful – pleasant, even – and after having been gone for four days, everyone is looking forward to a bit of comfort once more.

Daremot peels off from the group at the village centre, bidding them goodbye and thanking the trio for their help.

The remaining four head to the monastery and as they open the door, they’re greeted by the lovely homey scent of dinner cooking and the view of McBribe waiting for them.

“Finally,” he exclaims, looking worried even now as he sees them back and safe. He lets Willem pass, patting him on the shoulder, but stops the trio from going further. “Someone’s here for you. From the city.” He ushers the three friends back out the door. “He’s waiting at the graveyard but his patience is wearing thin.” And with that, the marshal closes and locks the door, not bothering or daring to explain further.

“But...” Zilvra tugs at the bond around her neck, feeling nervous.

But the anxiety wanes, leaving room for a new determination that’s shared with the other two and they all set out towards the little, neighbouring graveyard.

It’s a small place with simple tombstones. A low stone fence holds back the shrubs that try to invade the space, even where there’s a gap to allow visitors entrance along a gravel path that winds between the graves.

Entering the place one after another, Anvindr is in front while Zilvra has taken the back, a bit distracted by her discomfort though still trying to keep an eye out. Even so, she doesn’t sense the movement before it’s too late: something clobbers her at the back of the skull, nearly knocking her out. Acting purely on instinct, she spins, pulling out her weapons and despite Anvindr’s weak protest, she lunges at the shadow she sees through her doubled vision only to miss and when she blinks, there’s no one!

Cursing silently, the drow flicks her hand to scatter a shimmery, magical layer on anything within range, hoping to reveal the attacker but whoever it is must be swift, dodging it.

“There,” Morella grumbles, using her own magic to sprout thorny vines that lash about and actually manage to grab onto something invisible and for a moment the conjured plants are taught, holding on tightly...but it does not last long and the trio realizes when the vines fall slack that the unseen person is free once more.

“Here,” a man’s sourceless voice says right behind Anvindr dropping his invisibility.

He moves with the confidence of one that knows his body and skills well. A black, shimmering cape over his shoulder and a mask over the lower half of his face.

He is impossible to get close to save for when he himself nears any of the trio to batter them with his billy clubs – hurtfully but not lethally – and so Zilvra decides to try a different approach, allowing the magic to flow through her fingers in an arch towards him. But as the spell crackles through the air, the man swirls his cape and the magic comes to nothing, absorbed by the cape. I want that cape, Zilvra thinks to herself, understanding its nature immediately.

“Sorry, Anvindr,” Morella quips, hands digging into the ground and an area beneath his and the stranger’s feet shimmers and alters, becoming full of spikes that penetrate even the tough soles of their boots.

Both wince but clench their jaws at the pain but the human doesn’t stay still despite the terrain, choosing instead to swivel around and shove Anvindr before him as a shield.

“I yield!” the deep voice of the man calls out. “Enough!”

The trio stands down warily, Morella dropping the magic.

“Who are you,” they demand to know.

Anvindr cocks his head. “If you’re here about that person we killed, we can explain. He was a thief, stealing from the vineyard and he refused to give up when we confronted him we had to -”

“Perhaps this is a talk better suited for a more amicable setting,” the stranger interrupts. “I’m hungry and have heard good things of the wine here. Let’s go in.”

He insists on the trio walking before him, making in particular Zilvra feeling uneasy – it’s only soothed a bit when the man releases the absorbed magic from his cape, allowing it’s effect to hit a rock in the fence as they walk towards the monastery.

The door is still locked, but the stranger knocks heavily, yelling for McBribe to open and judging by the speed with which the entrance is unbarred, the marshal must have been waiting for them.

Once inside, the masked man turns to Zilvra. “Sort your bonds. I need to talk with the marshal before we four sit down. Let’s meet in the dining hall.”

Then he turns, offering McBribe to go ahead though really it’s an order.

The trio is left to look at each other for a moment.

“Better get them loosened,” Morella insists, nodding to the drow’s bonds.

“Right.”

Zilvra hurries off, finding the kind, fat friar and soon she can breathe and move unrestrained once more.

“You have eight days this time,” brother Paxton beams proudly.

“Thank you.”

---

The trio has assembled first, their backpacks set to the side but they refuse to abandon their weapons completely for now in spite of sister Anetta’s pointed glares.

When the stranger arrives a bit later, he first takes off the cloak that Zilvra desires so badly and she’s bummed to see it disappear in a shimmering swirl. But the lack of cloak reveals a brown, tight ponytail with streaks of grey and white in it. Next, he takes off the fully equipped belt, allowing himself to sit more comfortably than the sets of clubs, daggers, swords, pouches and more would have allowed. Finally, he pulls down the mask and the face that greets them is that of a surprisingly older man than they had expected. Zilvra is not good at judging human ages but she would wager he’s somewhere in the late 50s or early 60s: fine wrinkles by his eyes and mouth. He’s perfectly groomed and his gear is pristine too, including the armour that looks very similar to the one of the grape thief.

“Food and the best wine you can muster, please,” the man asks of Anetta who seems to be under orders to just accept the demands because she nods and hurries off to fetch the bottle. Turning to the trio, he looks them over and sees their wariness. “I saw the head...a bit gruesome but thankfully the letter explained it all. The problem is that that man used to be a colleague of mine,” the stranger explains.

“And you are?” Morella (and her friends) wants to know.

“My name’s not relevant,” the man insists, “I’m known as #2 which also indicates my rank.”

Zilvra scoffs softly. “Sounds like a spy’s code name.”

“Indeed,” #2 simply replies, “and in this network of spies and infiltrators, the man you killed didn’t have a rank any more. His name was Gaelin Patton and while he was good – I did train him – he had chosen to leave the corps.”

“Why?” Zilvra wants to know.

The human regards her briefly. “That is what I want the three of you to find out. I can’t be hands on and...let’s just say I think this is better in your hands.”

“You don’t trust -” Anvindr begins.

“No and keep in mind that I was not the first to see the head or the message. Rumours might be spreading already. Of you. Of Gaelin’s death.” He pauses, allowing for sister Anetta to serve the food and wine. “I’m not naïve enough to suppose you’d do this out of the goodness of your hearts...you’re not beholden to Stouvania. But I can offer something in return. Those bonds...I can get them removed. And for you two,” he nods to Anvindr and Morella, “I’m sure we can arrange something of interest.”

“Sounds like we’d be running quite a risk getting involved,” Anvindr argues.

We’re already involved, Zilvra thinks to herself.

But #2 nods. “That is true. I won’t force you and I don’t expect an answer right now. But should you accept...you can get word to me through an associate of mine in Stouvania: Klaud Mohan. He runs the Cheddar Valley.”

“That sounds like the name of a cheese shop,” Morella smiles.

“It is,” is the serious answer.

Zilvra has been thinking. “Is this connected to the Masons that we keep hearing about?”

The human quirks an eyebrow. “It might be. What do you know of that?” The trio shrugs, explaining they don’t know much. “Well,” #2 begins, “the uprising stems from dissatisfaction after they had rebuild the city after the orc wars. For some reason, a contract had never been settled on paper and after the hard work was done a lot of the nobles didn’t want to pay what was owed according to the oral contract.” The human rubs his brows but continues: “That led to protests, peaceful as such but loud and disruptive. During one of them, the king decided to show his goodwill, coming to the main square of the protest and declaring that he was on the side of the masons. In spite of that, one of them threw a brick which struck true and killed the king on the spot.”

“What?!” Anvindr seems as flabbergasted as at least Zilvra feels – it doesn’t add up.

“Needless to say, it was chaos. A full blown riot where forces were set in to beat it down and the guilty was apprehended. Garrion Clarke, leader of the Masons.”

The trio shares glances, all aware of how absurd it sounds.

Morella is the one to put their doubts into words: “And you’re sure that it was this Clarke that threw the brick? Sounds like a really stupid thing to do if the king had just announced being on their side.”

“In a crowd, in the heat of the moment,” Anvindr agrees, “it could have been anyone and it would be enough for someone to lie during testimony to make the authorities believe it was him.”

#2 neither confirms nor denies the theory. “Either way, he was executed shortly after on the behest of the widowed queen.”

“Well that explains why you have to keep things compartmentalized,” Zilvra mutters. “I’ll happily accept my freedom in exchange for a bit of puzzling...but it won’t be enough for these two.”

There’s a subtle smile on the human’s lips. “I can offer knowledge. Connections.”

Anvindr perks up at that. “I do need to learn from the best.”

“Tinkering,” #2 guesses. “To the north there’s an elven city called Kel’Alora. It’s in the mountains and hard to get to for several reasons but they do possess some interesting knowledge about engineering. The problem is that between here and there are the orcs that Stouvania fought...particularly one called Steamroller.”

The four of them talk about the north as they finish eating and enjoying the admittedly very good wine.

By the time supper is over, the trio feels comfortable enough around the man to talk freely about their travels in Stouvania.

“I’m confident in the three of you,” #2 admits, “but Zilvra...I might be able to teach you something now that could be of use during all of this. Come.”

The drow does cast a glance at her friends but they just nod for her to go on – they must have more faith in this stranger than she does but Zilvra does in turn trust them and their insight so she follows along outside.

The two make their way around the corner to a training dummy clearly meant for McBribe and Willem. It has seen better days but is still usable.

Lined up before it, #2 starts instructing the drow on how to complete a so-called “ghost strike” that will force an attacker to fail at their next attack. He’s patient but strict, making Zilvra think of her former mentor, Ellara Loth’Kar.

It only takes a few hours for the drow to master the move.

After the lessons have ended, #2 asks her to bid her friends goodbye from him and he sets off into the darkness rather than stay the night so Zilvra is alone to enter the monastery once more, finding her friends upstairs in the clock tower in the company of the cat that may of may not have been stolen by Morella.

“Guess you would love to get rid of those bonds,” the eladrin comments teasingly.

The drow nods, pulling at her sleeves to try and hide the signs of her little crime. “Yeah...it was a close call today,” she admits.

“Alright, let’s do that then,” Anvindr decides, barely looking up from the work he’s doing on the armour, “unless McBribe has something else for us...”

It’s true that both he, Willem, and actually anyone in Heartwell Shire have been kind to the trio and the food here is much better than the standard that had been set in Oldgarde – most likely, adventuring anywhere else would be less luxurious.

So it’s decided that the trio will speak with the marshal in the morning, ensuring there’s no other opportunities for them and then, providing there’s not, they will go back to Stouvania and get in touch with #2.

[vague-shadows]

Something I Need

So this is my first attempt to participate in a Whumptober. I'd been debating whether to bother since the last few weeks have been crazy, and I'm behind in drafting and posting. I may not catch up before the month ends, but excited to work through the prompts as much as I can.

Prompt No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” | Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

I was thinking on the prompt when "Something I Need" by OneRepublic played on my shuffling playlist, and thus we arrive at this fic. Hope you enjoy!

Read on AO3

Edward hears the key turn in the lock and rises with a sleepy smile to go and greet Roy.  As he gets to his feet, the world seems to lurch sideways, and he stumbles a bit, catching himself on the arm of the sofa.  He worries that he’s sloshed whiskey all over the floor but then realizes the glass tumbler in his hand is empty. Again. Whoops.

Edward hadn’t intended to get quite this drunk.  

“Ed?” Roy calls as he removes his coat and gloves at the door.  “You home?”

Ed leans heavily against the doorframe as he looks out into the hall. 

“‘Course,” he replies with a wry smile, “where else would I be?” 

He moves toward Roy, placing a hand on Roy’s chest and moving in for a lingering kiss that’s probably a little sloppy but he doubts Roy minds. Roy pulls back from the kiss, looking down at Ed as he wraps an arm around his waist. 

“I thought you might still be at the university," wasn’t the programming for the symposium scheduled to last through dinner and a reception after? I thought you’d - ”

“Left early,” Ed interjects, “fuckin’ press was circling like a bunch’f vultures. Felt like a fuckin’ bug under a microscope.”

Roy sighs, letting his head lean forward to rest on Edward's shoulder.  “I'm sorry. I know you hate it."

"'s not your fault."

"They only seem to get worse with the elections coming up.”

“Yep,” Ed agrees with an exaggerated pop of the ‘p.’  “And hell if I’m gonna do something stupid or embarrassing that fucks up this campaign for you.”

"Edward, you shouldn't have to be holed up in here being miserable. Maybe you should get out of town for a while? Take a vacation? I know you already hated being stuck in one place for so long - now you can’t even go out - I…worry,” he says with a look past Ed toward the sidebar where the nearly empty bottle of whiskey sits. 

“You’re just worried I’m gonna be able to out-drink you at the inauguration ball,” Ed teases, hoping to deflect. “Besides, you’re missing out by not enjoying all that great whiskey you hoard - this bottle is great .  Have some with me,” he says, pulling Roy by the arm as he heads back for the bottle. 

“I don’t hoard whiskey. I’m curating a collection to age and - ”

Edward isn’t deterred by Roy’s oft-repeated defense of his extensive alcohol inventory.  He tunes it out in favor of focusing on pouring the remaining amber liquid into two tumblers and offering one to Roy. 

“C’mon. Cheers,” Edward says as Roy takes the offered glass. 

“Cheers,” he replies, clicking his glass lightly against Edward’s and taking a measured sip while Edward indulges in a gulp that drains half his portion. “Edward, are you sure you’re okay? I know the stress of this election is - ”

“I’m fine , Bastard,” he interjects, “just focusing on enjoying now instead of hoarding for later. Nothing wrong with cutting loose a little bit, is there?” he reasons. “Ya only die once, right?” he adds with a grin, taking another deep drink.  

“I think the phrase is ‘you only live once,’ Edward,” Roy says, frowning, the adorable little crease in his forehead that indicates he’s thinking too hard about something appears.  

“Same difference,” Edward says with a shrug.  “Live once - die once - however you phrase it - I wanna die with you, Fuhrer Bastard.”

“Edward - ”

“Whole damn world full of people out there, but you’re the one I never could shake.”

“Ed, I think there’s something bigger we need to talk about here.”

“Nah, nothin’ to talk about,” Ed dismisses, tossing back the last of his drink.  “I tried a million times to understand the reasoning - but there’s no logic - just something about you…” 

He reaches to card his fingers through Roy’s hair.  Edward thought he was explaining that the political hellscape he signed up for is something that is worth dealing with if that’s what it takes to be with Roy. Except Roy just looks wrecked, and Edward isn’t quite sure why...but Ed must’ve fucked up what he was trying to say...but his coherency is fading fast, so he can’t fix it right now.  

“Just come to bed with me?” Ed asks - hoping maybe he hasn’t fucked anything up so badly that Roy plans to sleep in the guest room rather than with his sloppy sad-drunk fiance. “Please?” 

He hasn’t told Roy, but the nightmares that all-too-often plague his dreams have taken on a new theme these past few weeks.  Almost every night, Roy gets assassinated in Ed’s nightmares - snipers, rogue alchemists, poison, bombs - it seems his mind has an ample supply of ammunition to ensure all the worst-case scenarios play out in gruesome detail.  The only thing keeping Ed sane is the ability to wake up and see that Roy is safely asleep in bed beside him.  

Just a few more months until the election… he reminds himself as if it’s a comfort.

But a voice that sounds too much like Truth always intrudes with the counter-thought: maybe just a few more months until the election, but what then, little alchemist? You’ll still be as much an intruder in the political world as you were in mine. Won’t you ever learn better than to tread where you don’t belong?

[schraubd]

Assessing AIPAC's Victories

Last night, Rep. Haley Stevens soundly defeated fellow incumbent Rep. Andy Levin in a D-on-D Michigan primary matchup. The race drew significant attention in the Jewish community because of the gobs of money AIPAC spent seeking to oust Levin and support Stevens. Levin earned AIPAC's ire because he is a vigorous proponent of America taking more robust steps to protect a two-state solution for Israel and Palestine -- including steps which entail places checks on Israeli government policies which place that solution in jeopardy. While I endorsed Levin, I want to be clear that I harbor no ill-will towards Haley Stevens, whom I also like and have zero qualms supporting in the 2022 general.

In any event, as the primary season nears its conclusion, it is fair to say that AIPAC's initial foray into direct candidate advocacy has been relatively successful. So far, it has notched ten victories against two defeats in the Democratic primaries it has substantially invested in. To be fair, that figure is a bit misleading, as in many of the races AIPAC either was backing a candidate who already came in as a favorite, or were in relatively low-salience open-seat races where AIPAC's firehose of cash swamped the field. For example, Stevens entered the race against Levin as the substantial favorite -- more of her old turf than Levin's was placed in the new district they both ran in, and she is generally regarded as a better and more natural campaigner than Levin. Indeed, my hot take was that Stevens probably would've bested Levin even without AIPAC's giant cash infusion. But certainly, AIPAC probably is relatively happy with its performance thus far.

What AIPAC bought with its investment into the Stevens campaign was the ability to write a narrative. It's hoping the political message taken from Stevens' victory includes lessons like "pro-Israel is good politics" or "supporting conditioning aid on Israel is a sucker's bet in Democratic politics." Needless to say, AIPAC's critics are hard at work resisting these narratives and trying to spin out others of their own ("AIPAC is a vector for letting GOP billionaires take over Democratic politics"). Meanwhile, as in nearly all races of this sort, the national attention on the race (centered on Israel/Palestine) almost certainly had relatively little impact on the local considerations that drive votes one way or another. At the end of the day, Stevens won her old turf, Levin won his old turf, but the new portions of the districts, formerly represented by Rep. Brenda Lawrence, went to Stevens -- who had Lawrence's endorsement. The actual lessons may not be much more complicated than that.

I want to do my best to separate wheat from chaff here. There are lessons to be drawn from AIPAC's victories this primary season. Though not every ecstatic claim of AIPAC supporters can be borne out, they have proven some lessons true.

At the most basic level, AIPAC's argument is that its primary victories show that Democratic voters support its version of "pro-Israel" politics. Yet this, I will suggest, remains unproven. As much as it has spent on these races, AIPAC has been notorious for virtually never speaking about Israel or Israel-policy in its advertisements or promotions of its preferred candidates. This suggests that it doesn't think that issue is necessarily a winner for them.

However, it does seem true that running against AIPAC's policies is not a winning strategy in most Democratic primaries. This is, perhaps, another "Twitter is not real-life" lesson -- the excitement and enthusiasm one sees online for a candidate who "stands up to the Israel Lobby" is not reflected in on-the-ground political performance. While it's unclear that voters affirmatively value AIPAC-style "pro-Israel" politics, it's quite evident that they don't find even Levin-style two-stateism to be a major political motivator. Similarly, it seems pretty clear that -- as of right now at least -- AIPAC has not faced any substantial backlash from Democratic voters for backing insurrectionist Republicans. A Democratic candidate who is viewed as "the pro-life candidate" is toxic in a 2022 Democratic primary. A Democratic candidate who is viewed as "the AIPAC candidate" isn't. This might change over time -- I suspect there is quite a bit of festering ill-will towards AIPAC amongst many Democratic Party actors that is waiting for an opportunity to burst forth -- but right now, AIPAC's position is secure.

It's also worth noting, in the context of right-wing Jews crowing about Levin's defeat to Stevens, that AIPAC's success does seem to decisively falsify the alarmist and opportunist narrative that the Democratic Party is being "taken over" by anti-Israel forces, that such positions are the new normal or mainstream in Democratic political life, and so on. To be clear, I find it repulsive to argue that Andy Levin in any way represents an "anti-Israel" position. But the point is one cannot simultaneously promote all of AIPAC's successes in Democratic primaries while also saying that the true soul of the Democratic Party is irreducibly hostile to Israel.

I also do think it's fair to say that AIPAC has reestablished some of its perhaps decayed deterrent effect. Democrats know that if they get on AIPAC's bad side, it can and will dump vast sums of money into ousting them from office. And by the same token, if they play ball with AIPAC they can access those same sums for themselves. That's a powerful inducement.

That said, the question of how AIPAC's interventions will affect political decision-making by prospective Democratic politicians on Israel is more complicated than might appear at first blush. I do think that, on average, a lesson that will be learned by many mainstream Democrats is "don't get on AIPAC's bad side", and to that end will result in more Democrats taking up AIPAC-friendly positions. Those positions include nominal support for a two-state solution -- AIPAC does that too -- so long as that support doesn't take the form of ever asking for any pressure on Israel or demands that America use its leverage to pushback against Israeli decisions that are destructive to the possibility of eventually establishing a Palestinian state. However, I also think that AIPAC has also paradoxically opened space for at least some Democrats to be more radical on the issue -- for example, in endorsing one-statism* -- because they'll internalize the lesson that more "moderate" approaches like Levin's robust two-stateism don't offer any political advantage.

Let's simplify potential Democratic Israel positions into three categories: (1) AIPAC-style status quo (represented by someone like Stevens), (2) The Andy Levin or J Street style two-stateism , or (3) Rashida Tlaib style one-stateism. Of course, some politicians have very strong feelings on this question and will choose based on those deeply-felt sentiments. However, my core model assumes that most politicians don't have hard-and-fast policy preferences on most issues. Rather, on most issues beyond the rarefied few they care deeply about, they will choose the political path-of-least-resistance amongst the set of choices which meet their basic criteria of moral tolerability, even if a different choice might be closer to their ideal ideological preference. So if we imagine a politician who really doesn't care one way or another about Israel/Palestine -- they are at least not repelled by any of the three forms of Israel positions above -- they won't adopt the position they "believe in" the most, they'll pick the position that is politically easiest and least likely to generate controversy or backlash. AIPAC's victories have strongly suggested that, in many contexts, that would be position #1 -- even in Democratic primaries. And to that extent, AIPAC probably will succeed in moving the Democratic needle towards its preferences.

However, we can also imagine a different sort of potential progressive candidate, one who does not find AIPAC-style status quo advocacy to be morally tolerable. For this candidate, the two viable choices for their Israel/Palestine positions are categories #2 and #3. Historically, many would have picked door #2, again, because it's the path of political least resistance. Indeed, if such a candidate a few years ago had asked me for advice -- had said that they had serious concerns about Israel's behavior and they simply couldn't endorse a position of total and unconditional support -- I'd have told them that, so long as they supported two states and opposed BDS, they'd probably be okay. They wouldn't necessarily be endeared to AIPAC or other like actors, but they wouldn't be seen as beyond the pale either. But endorse BDS, or oppose Israel's existence outright, and the full sound and fury would fall onto them.

But now AIPAC may have changed the calculus. By going scorched earth on Levin, it sends the message that it views categories #2 and #3 as equally destructive. Suddenly, door #2 is not a political "path of least resistance" compared to door #3. And if they're both going to bring AIPAC's full fury down upon the candidate, well, at that point you might as well choose based on your ideological preference. Some of these candidates, will sincerely prefer robust two-stateism over one-stateism (that characterizes me, for instance), so their behavior shouldn't change. But some will no doubt prefer one-stateism, and lacking any political rationale for tacking towards the center, they won't do it anymore.

I worry that this might be the lesson people draw from the Donna Edwards/Glenn Ivey race -- another where AIPAC dumped massive sums of money into the contest. Again, all politics is local and Ivey's victory likely reflects factors that overwhelmingly have nothing to do with AIPAC or Israel. But if one looks at Edwards' trajectory entering this race, and in particular how she tried to heal old suspicions held by Maryland's Jewish voters, it seems hard to argue that she is now (if she ever was) some sort of anti-Israel firebreather. She was never going to be AIPAC's poster girl, but she made a concerted effort to pinch towards the center and assuage Jewish concerns about her record. The result was less than nothing -- AIPAC spends eight figures on sinking her career. To be clear: I have no reason to think that Edwards' moves were anything other than sincere, or that she secretly harbors one-state sympathies. Nonetheless, there absolutely will be other politicians in Edwards' position who may decide "why bother?" There's no sense going through all this effort to listen and grow and build bridges and try and find common ground if they're going to go scorched earth regardless.

In short: there is likely a set of candidates who (a) find both one-stateism and robust two-stateism tolerable, (b) marginally prefer one-stateism over robust two-stateism, (c) would nonetheless back robust two-stateism if that was the path of political least resistance. If robust two-stateism no longer offers any political advantage, they're likely to begin promoting one-stateism. To be clear, these candidates are still likely to lose. AIPAC's hammer puts them at a decided disadvantage. But their logic will be "I'm likely to lose either way, so I might as well swing for the fences." Indeed, there's not just a moral but an instrumental logic here. Consider two strategies: One will have you lose by 10 points in 10/10 races. The second will have you lose by 30 points in 9/10 races, and win by 2 points in the tenth. The rational political actor should choose the second strategy, even if it is objectively less popular (a point I've made regarding the future of BDS in Democratic Party politics)!

Paradoxically, AIPAC may encourage some number of Democratic candidates in the more liberal tranche of the party to start supporting a one-state solution who otherwise would not have done so. And the odds are some of them will end up prevailing in their races (if only because of idiosyncratic local factors). There's a real chance that an upshot of AIPAC's intervention will be to strengthen the political power of the one-state caucus -- not because of some political backlash, but based on how it has altered the political calculus amongst more progressive-minded actors. In many ways, it is J Street that is more of a loser than AIPAC is a winner, and I expect J Street's influence to bleed out not just towards AIPAC, but also towards more radical and uncompromising anti-Israel actors and the far-left. For someone with my politics, that is perhaps the most depressing lesson of all.

So to sum up, here are the lessons I think can be validly drawn from AIPAC's performance this election cycle:

(1) While it isn't demonstrated that Democratic voters support AIPAC's brand of "pro-Israel" policies, it does seem clear that they aren't especially moved or motivated by major alternatives. The political energy behind any alternative to what AIPAC pushes -- whether it's Levin's robust two-state Zionism or explicit non- or anti-Zionist positions -- is vastly exaggerated and isn't translating to on-the-ground political power.

(2) AIPAC, and its affiliates, are not toxic brands in Democratic primaries.

(3) The Democratic Party, including its base, are not "anti-Israel" or sympathetic to "anti-Israel" positions in any meaningful respect.

(4) AIPAC has restored some "deterrent effect" against Democrats who might consider crossing them, at least in circumstances where the Democrat has other political vulnerabilities that can be leveraged (such as after redistricting). Likewise, AIPAC has credibly indicated it can and will substantially invest to support Democrats whom it feels favorable towards.

(5) The average Democratic politician who is not substantially invested in Israel/Palestine as an issue will likely move their position marginally closer to AIPAC's as "political path of least resistance".

(6) Left-wing Democrats who are sympathetic to one-stateism or other more radical anti-Israel positions, but who had been hewing to more J Street style stances because they thought they'd be more politically palatable, may reassess the utility of relative moderation and become more open in their anti-Israel declarations.

* Not the apartheid one-statism where Israel controls the entire territory and Palestinians are perpetual second-class citizens -- AIPAC is clearly fine with that.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/Mk75uUx

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 142

Another late chapter... I’m really batting a thousand lately, seems like.

So, work has been insane, but @baelpenrose reminds me to post when I forget, thankfully. And this is SUCH a fun chapter.  I hope you all enjoy!

I dropped into a seat in Mess Hall Seven with a groan, so exhausted that I barely managed to get soup and a grilled cheese from the console.  Tyche yawned and nodded in agreement before poking at her sushi bowl idly. It was six Von-days after the last drill, and between coordinating increased training schedules for Shelters Three and Seven and helping Charly plan kink-night at the Undine, we were wiped.

“People are ungrateful,” she muttered before managing to barely balance a piece of salmon into her mouth.

I muttered something that hopefully sounded like agreement before I scooped up a bite of my soup with one wedge of sandwich, too lazy to even bother with the spoon. “Remind me why we don’t have Vati and Hannah handling the practice schedules?”

“Because they are handling the extra evacuation drills with Jokul and Arthur.”

Personally, I thought they were getting the better end of this deal, but since the raging success of their first Food Festival, it really was only fair. “And the relocations for those who need it,” I admitted. “Except mine.”

“Conor may actually strangle one of them if any of your plants don’t make it,” she pointed out, gesturing with her chopsticks for emphasis after having given up and using her fingers to eat her lunch. “Not to mention I wouldn’t wish packing with Maverick on anyone.”

“He’s letting me pack the books and textiles.” I shrugged in acceptance after taking another bite of soup-dipped sandwich.

We picked at our food in silence after that, grateful for something resembling a reprieve, before we were interrupted by a flurry of grey hair and enthusiasm landing in one of the nearby chairs with a heavy thunk. “Good afternoon, Madams Reid.”

“Hey, Jokul,” I muttered as Tyche just waggled her fingers at him. I really think I liked it better when he was trying to kill me. Right now, I might even let him do it.

“I know you are both on your meal period, but I wanted to test the waters on potentially scheduling a community activity,” he rushed out.

Tyche guarded her lunch with an almost feral aggression, having heard what happened the last time Jokul had interrupted my lunch. “That should really be something you run by Al-”

“Worthington, yes, I know,” he interrupted. “However, I know you are both quite busy and I wanted to be respectful of your time. As such, I will make this as brief as - ow!” He snatched his hand back away from the other half of my sandwich, rubbing where I had slammed my spoon down onto it.

“I have no idea where the food stealing comes from, but don’t,” I warned him.

“Rude, got it,” he nodded in a terrifying impression of Charly’s normal demeanor. “As I was saying, I recently learned a new type of game from Terra, from the Before.  It involves teamwork, and encourages creativity and escapism, and I think it would be a very good community activity - “

I surrendered to my urge to groan. “We are not doing a redux of Settlers of Cattan. Arthur stabbed someone last time.”

“I didn’t press charges…” Jokul pouted, glancing at the scar on the back of his wrist briefly. “Besides, it was only a fork. Clearly he didn’t mean it, there were four knives in arms reach counting my own.”

Tyche cocked an eyebrow at me. Seriously?

I pursed my lips and wrinkled my nose in response. Yep.

“So what game is it this time?” I asked hesitantly.

I was reward-bombarded with a grin. “It’s called Dungeons and Dragons! Somewhat like a video game, but with more people, and using writing implements and paper. Oh, and different kinds of dice, very important. One person is something of the narrator, to give the game a kind of structure, while the other players act as characters in the game… Ivan introduced me to it, and it is quite challenging with the right people.  The dungeon master - that is the narrator - has to re-evaluate the story based on the actions of the other players, but the players themselves don’t know what the dungeon master is going to do. It is very much a social diversion, and there are many classes….”

As Jokul continued to gush, he was rather oblivious to the fact that Tyche and I were stuffing our faces as quickly as possible to avoid interrupting him or laughing. We had both played when we were younger - in fact, we had been introduced to the game by our mother.  There had even been a very overwhelming pop-culture movement in our youth around the game, which further emphasized just how far out in the boonies Jokul had grown up.  As shocking as it was that he was just now discovering the game, it came at exactly zero surprise that he enjoyed it so much - it was right up his alley of interests.

About fifteen minutes and two more grilled cheeses into his retelling of the campaign he was part of, Charly and Arthur squeezed in with us, their own lunches in tow.  As seemed to be a growing trend, Arthur reached over and snagged one of my sandwiches before I could react, shoving half of it in his face.

That was apparently enough to snap Jokul out of his story. “Hey! Why didn’t you hit him?”

“His deathwish, not my problem,” I shrugged.

Around the remains of my lunch, Arthur managed to enunciate. “Told you, Noah fissed the dairy allergy.”

“Bleargh,” I gagged comically. “It’s okay, think I’m done anyway.”

Jokul’s hand swatted Arthur’s out of the way to steal the rest of my food. “As I was saying, Ivan was quite clever with his resolution to deal subdural damage to the player who was very much ruining the storyline by insisting his character was immune to magical sleep…”

“Oooooo! I love tabletops!” Charly squealed, bouncing in her seat. “What setting are you playing in right now?  My favorite was always Exalted…”

“Miss Harper, I think we are discussing different activities.” Jokul sounded supremely confused, but my heart broke a bit.

Arthur shook his head. “Maybe not Exalted, but what about Ebberron? Swordhaven, maybe?  Just tell me it isn’t Ravenloft… I know you haven’t been fucking around in a Dark Sun, but I beg you to tell me you aren’t playing Ravenloft.”

“I’m not sure what those are… Ivan introduced me to Dungeons and Dragons. There is only one setting.”

“So… Greyhawk or homebrew,” Arthur nodded. “Best place to start, get the basics down.”

Jokul’s head pivoted toward me and Tyche, squinting in annoyance. “You knew, didn’t you? And you let me prattle on…”

“You were so… happy….” I explained plaintively. “We didn’t want to ruin that for you.”

Tyche nodded. “We both remember how fun that first campaign is. And honestly? We’ve been having a kind of crappy day.  It was nice to hear someone be excited about something that isn’t work related.”

“But I came to you to discuss making it a ship activity…”

“Originally, yeah,” I shrugged. “That was maybe the first thirty seconds.  After that, you were doing what literally every tabletop roleplaying person has done since the beginning of time… telling stories about the fun, dramatic, and frankly stupid shit the people in your party are doing.”

“Says the two-foot eight halfling rogue,” Arthur scowled.

“I rolled it at random, it was fifteen years ago, get over it!” I threw my hands up dramatically. “At least I wasn’t mated to a frickin’ deity.”

Charly giggled uncontrollably while Jokul goggled at us. “Exalted is broken in all the fun ways.”

“You literally sacrificed, and I quote ‘all of your fucks to give’, for necromancy.”

“That was your idea!”

Jokul turned toward Tyche, waiting for her to say something. She just held up her hands defensively. “I was a murder monk-bunny.”

Arthur snorted. “You were the Black Rabbit of Inle….”

“Well if my wife would have just stopped dying…!”

“At least none of us were the Platinum Knight who pissed his pants every time he confronted his favored enemy,” I laughed. “He never did live that one down. Every. Single. Dragon. He would crit fail his roles.”

“Oh, please,” Arthur intoned drily. “Did I ever tell you about the time one of my players managed to make ‘Notice me, Senpai’ into the most terrifying in-universe warcry imaginable?”

Charly choked before swatting his shoulder. “Not in front of my pasta. Please.”

Jokul, however, looked both horrified and intrigued, egging Arthur on. “Barbarian whose entire clan worshipped a god named The Senpai…. Just imagine, a barbarian in a rage, bellowing ‘NOTICE ME, SENPAI!!!’ before just scything down thirty men with a broadsword.”

At this point, I was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down my face. “Please, please tell me there was a kilt and pigtails involved….”

Jokul touched his own hair, before straightening as seriously as possible. “They are warrior’s braids, Councillor.”

That was it, I couldn’t take it anymore. I just put my head down on my folded arms and waiting to either pass out from laughing so hard or from exhaustion.  A few deep breaths and a spinning head later, I managed to wipe my face on my sleeve and realized the conversation was continuing without me.  Just as I was clearing my throat to let Jokul know he should be fine to start organizing something and to send me a rough outline, Arthur dealt the final blow.

Leaning over, he whispered over my shoulder. “By the way, the barbarian’s name was Drystan of the Doki-doki tribe.”

I was proud that I managed to get up and dash into the hallway before collapsing against the wall in maniacal laughter.  I barely registered Hannah’s voice behind me asking everyone at the table if I needed medical assistance, and that did not help.

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[gaming-universe]

Who We Are || Russell Adler

Call of Duty Black Ops: Cold War

-PART THREE-

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR CALL OF DUTY BLACK OPS: COLD WAR! IF YOU HAVEN’T PLAYED/FINISHED THE CAMPAIGN THEN PLEASE DONT READ! Gore, violence, course language, mature content.

Summary: Betrayed and alone after surviving the events that took place on the Solovetsky Islands, Y/n ‘Bell’ L/n faces new and more dangerous threats when she learns that Perseus has other plans for his failed nuclear detonation of Europe. It was only a matter of time before Y/n came face to face with her old team. There is unfinished business between Y/n and Adler, as this operation proves to be more deadly than originally thought.

Author’s Note: So, after finishing the campaign, I needed to do Bell/Player and Adler justice. I loved this game so much, and chosing to play as the female character, I felt like there was a genuine connection between Bell and Adler throughout the game. There is a tag list open for anyone that wishes to stay up to date with the series. Simply comment below. Gif by @travelllar​

|PART ONE| |PART TWO|

A low whistle came from Woods as Adler stumbled backward, groaning in pain as he clutched his jaw with a deep chuckle.

Mason winced at the sound, his eyes flickering between both you and Adler with a worried gleam. Adler huffed, standing tall and giving you a deadly glare. “It’s nice to see you too-”

You surged forward, ready to attack the fucking prick and release all of the rage you had built up over the last four months, but Mason was quicker. Faster than you thought humanly possible, he appeared by your side and wrapped his arms around your waist, hauling you away from the scene whilst Woods apprehended Adler. Once you were a safe distance away, Mason released you only to spin you around and place his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, hey calm down...” He soothed, smiling softly as your wild and furious eyes met his own. They shone with unshed tears as he pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

You didn’t know how to react, taken aback by his sudden display of affection. Despite the fact that he knew what had been done to you all those months ago, and even though he looked at you with sadness and pity, he still treated you like you were one of their own. The fact that you had once worked for Perseus didn’t matter. Everyone had their reasons, he didn’t agree with brainwashing you, that was something he absolutely hated. He hated lying to people he cared about. You returned Mason’s embrace, sighing into his shoulder as a way to relieve your anger.

“We all thought you were dead...” He whispered, tightening his hold around you “when Woods and I found out that Adler had shot you, we left the team”.

You pulled away from him, stepping back to look him up and down with an expression of confusion. “If you left, then why did you come back?” You asked quietly, tilting your head to the side in wait for his answer. Mason grinned, “Because we wanted to do you justice. You got us to Perseus the first time, and you helped us even though the CIA took away who you were, and you helped us even though we all lied to you. So we both thought we owed it to you to put a stop to Perseus once and for all”.

You felt your heart swell with mixed emotions, feelings you hadn’t felt in a long time. Your gaze fell to the floor as you released a long sigh, before lifting your gaze to stare across the room. Adler was already looking at you when you turned, there was something dark hidden behind his blank expression, something sombre yet guilty. You hoped he felt guilty at least.

Woods began to approach, a happy skip in his step as he left Adler to his own devices. “Holy shit, Bell. I’ll make a mental note that you can survive literally anything that is thrown at you” He teased, wrapping you in a warm embrace of his own. You returned the gesture, chuckling lightly before pulling away with a warm smile. He held you at arms length, looking you up and down with a fond expression. He patted your shoulder “It’s good to have you back” He spoke lowly, to which you nodded slightly in response.

Looking over Wood’s shoulder, your eyes met Adler’s once again. In fact, you didn’t think his eyes ever left your form. Carefully, you moved around Woods, half expecting the man to wrap his arm around you and stop you mid stride. But when he didn’t, you approached the man across the room with heavy and reluctant steps. When you stood before him, you had to force yourself to look up at him, through those aviators he wore and into his eyes. Even in the small time you had known him, Adler had always been a mystery. He was the type of leader that always kept to himself, never shared his thoughts with anyone. Until now.

You could see through his facade, through those sunglasses he used as a front to hide what was going on beneath. Though he tried to appear stern and authorative, deep down, there was something he wasn’t saying. Something that made you want to ask him-

A loud alarm blared through the bunker, red flashing lights gleaming brightly throughout various locations of the room. Adler huffed, shaking his head angrily. “Fuck, we need to go. Now” He ordered, giving you a small nod before moving towards Woods and Mason. You followed a short distance behind, the four of you now ascending the stairs leading out of the bunker. It was no easy task, trying to sneak out of the base while everyone was on high alert. But it wasn’t impossible.

The four of you made it out of the base relatively unscathed, making it to the jeep you had hidden atop one of the ridges without further hassel. With Adler in the passenger seat and Woods and Mason in the back, it made for a very awkward drive back into town. The cut on your arm stung painfully, you winced at the smallest movements. And of course, the man beside you just had to notice. “You’re hurt” Adler spoke lowly, his tone somewhat concerned, but more stating the obvious. You pursed your lips, wanting nothing more than to reach the safety of Viktor’s house faster. “I’m fine...” You replied shortly, turning left and taking the dirt path up to the house “it’s just a flesh wound”.

“It doesn’t look like one-”

“Did I ask for your opinion?” You quipped, harshly bringing the car to a stop. Ignoring Woods and Mason groaning in annoyance in the background, you turned to glare at Adler, your eyes narrowing dangerously. Adler held your glare, his chest rising and falling as his annoyance no doubt grew. With a long roll of your eyes, you removed the keys from the ignition and quickly jumped out of the car, slamming the door closed behind you with a violent ‘thud’. The others followed suit, closing theur doors a little more gently before joining you at the top of the stairs on the small wooden terrace.

Viktor had left the door unlocked, in the hopes of your eventual return. You smiled faintly at his kindness. Walking into the house, you were immediately met with the concerned expression of the old man, his mood quickly changing when he spied the three men standing in the threshold. “Friends of yours?” He questioned, his eyes now examining your form with a somewhat judgemental look on his features. You turned around to face the three men, finding Mason waving awkwardly in Viktor’s direction with a light chuckle.

Nevertheless, he old man beckoned them inside. Mason entered first, followed by Woods, who mumbled a complimentary ‘nice place’ as he walked past you into the living room. And last, of course, was Adler. After closing the door behind him, Adler let his gaze wander around the interior of the house, studying the off-white walls and the wooden furniture, before returning his attention to your form. His eyes remained focused on the large bloodstain on your chest, the whole in the fabric a reminder to him of the damage he had done.

After an extensive silence, Adler cleared his throat “We should talk, about what happened tonight-”

“No, not now...” Viktor suddenly interrupted, moving to stand beside you in a supportive manner. When Adler opened his mouthto protest, Viktor stopped him once again. “You are all exhausted, and injured. Some more than others...” He gave you a pointed look, one which you responded by poking out your tongue childishly “...there will also no doubt be soldiers looking for you. You will not talk tonight, but tomorrow, when all is safe”.

Begrudgingly, Adler agreed, his shoulders sagging heavily with exhaustion. Viktor clapped victoriously, before offering to show the three men to a room they could use for the night. As Woods and Mason followed Viktor upstairs, you disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve the medical supplies that were kept in the cupboard above the stove. Managing to retrieve a spare bandage, medical tape and disinfectant, you trudged over to the table and collapsed into one of the chairs with a loud sigh. Carefully removing your long-sleeved shirt and tossing it to the side, you figured that perhaps it was time to throw the torn and bloody piece of clothing away. There was no way the blood would was from it now.

After cleaning the wound and stitching it with small strips of medical tape, you wrapped you arm with the bandage, grimacing as a blinding pain shot through your veins. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you allowed your eyes to close briefly. The memory from the bunker kept playing over and over again, Perseus’ voice echoing from somewhere within your subconscence.

Operation Hydra, you are my most valuable asset.

You were brought back to reality by the clinking of glasses, and the chair beside you scraping against the floor as someone sat down with a light groan. Opening your eyes slowly, you were surprised to see Adler sitting there, pouring two glasses of what appeared to be whiskey. “Now this, is the last thing you expect to find in an old Russian man’s cupboard” He spoke lowly, extending one of the glasses toward you with a raised eyebrow.

Despite the mood you were in, you couldn’t belp but laugh softly, taking the glass from his grasp with a small nod of thanks. As if in unison, both you and Adler downed the contents of your glasses, causing you to sigh at the pleasant burning sensation. Your eyes met, and Adler shook his head. “How the fuck did you survive?” “Why? Have you come back to finish the job?” You asked quickly, watching with observant eyes as Adler’s hand tightened around his glass, his knuckles turning white as his shoulders tensed. “We came back to Solovetsky, because we picked up some Russian chatter about our old friend Perseus. He was planning to rebuild that base up there...” He breathed, his scarred features forming a scowl “we didn’t expect to find you”.

You laughed bitterly, leaning back into your seat and folding your arms over your chest “I bet that was a surprise for you-”

“Do you realise how hard it was for me to come back here Bell?-”

“That’s not my name”.

Adler paused at your threatening tone, huffing loudly as you glared daggers. If only looks could kill. You sat up straighter in your seat, jaw clenching as you spoke “My name is Y/n, but I assume you already knew that”. When the man before you said nothing, and instead found the surface of the table more interesting, you stood up abruptly.

“Did you regret it?” You dared ask, your voice becoming soft, grabbing Adler’s attention. When his gaze met yours, his lips parted in response “Regret what?-” “Don’t fuck me around, Adler...” You snapped, violently slamming your hands down atop the table “you’ve screwed me over enough. I don’t think you understand how hard this is for me. The man I trusted with my life, the man who fucked up my mind and shot me because he considered me a loose end, is sitting right in front of me. No more lies. No more bullshit. Tomorrow, you will tell me everything you know, and I will tell you everything I know, which admittedly isn’t much. But if your plan is to just fuck me over again, then I’m already out”.

When Adler didn’t respond, you took that as your sign to leave. You ignored Woods and Mason, who watched you storm past them up the staircase to the second floor of the house. You were beyond tired, overwhelmed by the days events. 

Viktor brought you tea later that night, offering his company should you need it.

Tag List: @pookolokon @travelllar @basicwhiteasian @shellshockedbell @inteligentecat @staryozora @lovinggooppalacebanana​ @ktdragonborn @quietblogs-2-rd​ @cerezi​

[justasparkwritings]

Green Light

Previous: 

Pairing: Harry Styles X Ex Reader, Harry Styles X New Girlfriend

Genre: Angst

Rating: PG15

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Swearing, Alcohol use, Mentions of Drug use, Past Infidelity 

Listen: Green Light by Lorde

For the #playlistficchallenge by @harrystylescherry 

           The lights flicker against her skin, dancing pinks and purples and blues giving way to green as the bass thumps through the speakers. The light up floor is causing an illusion against her body as she hastily searches for her peers. Eyes darting across the club, trying to find the couple of the hour, but getting lost in the sea of drunk people dancing to a b-rate Whitney Houston cover, she’s becoming frustrated. Why play Whitney if you’re not going to play the original? She wonders, moving through the perimeter towards what she assumes is the VIP area. Being correct, she waits patiently for one of the guests to notice her, waving her into the exclusive space.

           He notices her first, beaten converse and magenta tulle, she dressed to kill. Standing, he moves towards the bodyguard, pointing to her as the guard gave her a once-over. Nodding, pulling the rope back, she smiles at the stranger before deftly moving into the space.

           “I didn’t know you’d be here,” Harry says, hand on the small of her back, flush against the exposed skin, lips low to her ear, guiding her towards their friends.

           “You’re such a liar,” She replies, rolling her eyes. The neon eyeliner, drifting over her eyelids and near her brows is striking against the dim lights. The single rhinestones applied carefully to the inner corners of her eyes bounce the light off, shrouding her in a conflicting color story.

           “You made it!” Daisy yells, arms reaching to pull her into a hug. It’s tight and sweaty, a sign she’s either been dancing or snorting.

           “I told you I’d be here,” Her smile widens at her friend, “Congrats again on your engagement.”

           “Thank you!!! Now please, drink. We have bottle service until midnight,” Daisy hands her a champagne flute, which she happily tosses back before reaching for the vodka. “If you’re good, you can have a little of what I’m having.”

           “I better behave,” She responds, eyes clocking Harry talking to Daisy’s fiancé, Jack.

           “I thought he wasn’t coming,” Daisy’s gaze follows hers, eying the man. His wide trousers and cropped jacket give way to the tattoos covering his chest, swallows in constant conversation. Hair recently cut, he’s scruffy and wanting, his eyes not hesitating to check her out for the second time in two minutes.

           “Lies,” She scoffs, eyes rolling again at the sentiment.

           “I swear! Jack said he was out of town,” Daisy counters.

           “Clearly he’s not,” She looks at their other friends, nodding and smiling to the familiar faces. Their friends from uni, from work, a few from their neighborhood in Holmes Chapel have all gathered to raise a glass at Daisy and Jack’s inevitable engagement. It feels like the kind of New Year’s party Harry would’ve dragged her to, on the pretense that it would be fun to catch up. Knowing he would be right, she would’ve gone and enjoyed the company of the people who knew her before she was on his arm, the people who knew him when he worked all hours at the bakery. Tonight, their friendly smiles weren’t hitting the same, welcoming her into their embrace, no, they were darting between her and Harry, unsure where their allegiance should lie.

           “Rumor has it, he’s got a new girlfriend,” Daisy says.

           “Super,” She purses her lips, eyes moving to search for whoever his latest trophy was.

           “Don’t be like that,” Daisy shakes her head, disappointment oozing from every syllable.

           “Like what?” She snaps.

           “You’re so mad he’s with someone else, when -

           “I thought we were done talking about what happened between us?” She interrupts, frustration and anger coursing through her veins.

           “If you were over it, you’d stop looking at him like that,” Daisy holds her own, tone unwavering.

           “Fuck off.”

           Handing her a drink, Daisy levels with her, “Drink.”

           Tossing back whatever was in the glass, she waits impatiently for the liquor to take over, coursing through her veins and reducing her heat to a dull simmer.

           In the months after the breakup, she hadn’t seen or interacted with Harry. No cursory texts, no awkward pleasantries exchanged at a birthday party, or running into him at the grocery. She didn’t speak to him, and yet he was everywhere. His voice, his favorite sayings, his touch, his music, all of it spread across the city, taunting her. She had let him go, literally, but figuratively, metaphorically, he was everywhere. Seeping into her thoughts, burrowing into her mind, never able to escape him even in sleep. Tonight, he looked at her like he didn’t know her at all, like she was the villain in his story, not the other way around. Like he didn’t let his work get the best of them, ruining what they had in its wake.

           Somewhere between drinks four and five, Harry’s latest lover arrives. Scarily tall and equally skinny, silky brown locks and pouty lips, it’s clear she’s a model. Whether she was with anyone or not, the bouncer lets her into the VIP section without a second thought. She floats towards Harry, sinking gently onto his lap before whispering in his ear. He smiles at her as she places a hand on his scruff covered cheek and lowers her lips to his.

           From the dance floor, she stares, unable to stop watching him move on from her. How could it be so easy?

           Pulling her attention back to the floor, Daisy spins her, moving them out of sight from Harry. The lights beneath their feet give way to a soft glow about her, the colors bending against Daisy’s white jumpsuit. She’s grateful for her friend, her best friend, grateful for the distraction of alcohol and blow, grateful to be dancing and screaming the lyrics instead of sitting in the tub at home, crying into her room temperature bath water. But grateful and grieving often go together, and as her level of intoxication ebbs, the hurt of seeing Harry with someone knew, she retreats to the VIP section to gather herself.

           “You must be Y/N,” The model says, moving from her post next to Harry to her.

           “Um, yes?” She responds, eyes traveling up the woman’s legs, slowly making their way to her face.

           “I’m Arden, Harry’s girlfriend,” Arden smiles, blinding, and sits down. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

           “Can’t believe everything you hear,” She scoffs, grateful for the bottle of water Jack hands her before going to find Daisy amongst the neon.

           “Harry speaks quite highly of you, so does Jack,” Arden continues to smile, blissfully ignoring the contempt she’s displaying.  

           “You’ve met Jack before?” She asks.

           “Just Jack, never Daisy, she’s stunning, right?” Arden asks, laughing.

           “Yeah, completely,” She nods, eyes traveling to find Daisy, her beacon in the club. She’s been best friends with Daisy since diapers, their mother’s best friends, hoping and praying they’d each have daughters to carry on the legacy of their familial bond.

           “Harry tells me you’re in publishing,” Arden tries again to make conversation.

           “Correct,” She nods again.

           “That’s amazing, I love reading,” Arden offers.

           “Same.”

           “I have a lot of downtime at work, I’m a model. I just did the new Rodarte campaign, and Gucci,” Arden is trying her damnest to make this work, but her motives remain a mystery.

           “Congrats,” She snorts, unimpressed by the model’s recent credentials.

           “Thanks, I just want to say, I know you and Harry are at this weird point in your friendship, but I do hope you’ll work it out.” Arden is serious, glossy blue eyes resolute.

           “Did Harry tell you why we broke up?” She asks, eyeing Arden suspiciously.

           “A little, but I didn’t ask. It was before me so really, who cares?” Arden forces a giggle, baby blues trying to break through the tension.

           “Right,” She nods, a slight eyeroll giving way to her true feelings.

           “I just thought maybe you two could, mend your –

           “Hey,” Harry says, making his way towards the two of you.

           “Hi babe,” Arden seamlessly slips her arm around his waist, pulling him close to her.

           “What uh, what are you two talking about?” Harry asks, eyes accusatory as he again takes in your stunning appearance.

           “I was just saying that we’re going to Tahiti after I finish my campaign with Gucci. Relax, sit on the beach, drink Mai Tai’s, surf, or really, for me, learn,” Arden rambles on, her hair bouncing in animation, matching her words. Her deft swerve to the topic of vacation surprising, unsure why she needed to lie to Harry.

           “The beach?” she asks, looking at Harry. He nods, cursory.

           “Yeah,” He sips on his drink.

           “Huh,” She responds, eyes narrow. “Will you excuse me? It was nice meeting you Arden.”

           Slipping out of the VIP section and into the night air, she feels his presence behind her, chasing after her as she moves through the crowd and into the brisk summer air.

Not bothering to turn around, she asks, “Why are you following me?”

           “Why did you just disappear?” Harry demands, coming to stand next to her. His warmth radiating onto her skin.

           “You’re here with someone else,” She reminds him.

           “You haven’t responded to any of my –

           “Harry, you are here with someone else, the very someone else who if I’m not mistaken, is the reason for our demise,” She turns to stare at him, eyes boring into his.

           “I, she’s not,” Harry shakes his head.

           “Oh right, because I am the sole proprietor of our heartache and failed relationship,” Another eyeroll. Her mother used to tell her that if you roll your eyes too many times, they’ll get stuck up there. A fear she was clearly ignoring.

           “You’re not,” Harry scoffs, they’d had this fight before.

           “Why are you looking at me like I am?” She’s unwilling to back down, a trait Harry once loved about her.

           “I’m, I’m sorry alright?” Harry’s flustered speech gives way to a run of his hand through his curls. Resting his hands on his hips, he stares at her.

           “Sorry for what?” She asks again, words clipped.

           “Everything,” He shrugs.

           “That’s the least specific apology I have ever heard,” She deadpans. He wants to respond with some witty banter, some lighthearted sarcasm, some joke a year ago, five years ago, she would’ve laughed at. But they’re not the same people they were six months ago.

           “What do you want me to say?” Harry’s exasperated.

           “I want you to tell me how you really feel, because we broke up six months ago, and I still don’t understand why you ran to her, whoever she was, instead of fighting for me. Then tell me why our friends think I’m the viper, I’m the one who broke your heart. Why are you spreading rumors hoping they’ll bite me, when they just show how pathetic you’re behaving?” Her volume increases exponentially as she speaks, until she’s nearly yelling at him.

           “That’s not fair,” Harry states, eyes closing as he shakes his head.

           “I’m trying to let go, Harry. But you fucking have your tentacles in everything I do! You’re everywhere.”

           “It’s so easy for me? You are everywhere. Every new song I write, every role I consider taking, every project. I still fucking talk to you like you’ll hear me, everywhere I go is tainted by some memory of us.” Harry spits back.

           “Tell me why, Harry. Why are you going to Tahiti?” She questions, voice cutting through the cold air and going straight to Harry’s heart.

           “I like the beach,” He shrugs.

           “You are such a fucking liar! No, you don’t!” She yells, arms reaching towards the summer sky as she shakes her head at him.

           “Maybe I’m trying out new things,” Harry stares at her, “Maybe I’m trying to be –

           “What, different? Better? You cheat on me, after saying that you will always be in love with me, which surprise, you’re not!”

           “Not a cheater?” Harry’s momentarily confused, a slight diversion from the rant she’s begun.

           “Not in love anymore,” Her eyes are wide, confused by his lapse in memory, “You’re not in love with me anymore. You cheated on me, lied to our friends and now you’re here with little miss long legs.”

           “Don’t call her that,” Harry says.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Arden,”

“Look, I’m sorry,” Harry runs a hand through his locks again, sighing in frustration.

           “No, you’re not. If you were, she wouldn’t be here with you. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be fighting with me outside the club. If you were sorry, you’d –

           “I need your forgiveness! Alright, that’s why I’m out here.” Harry’s voice raises several decibels. He’s been holding onto this for months, long before she found out, long before he willingly broke her heart.

           She lets out a shaky breath, “What?”

           “I need you to forgive me, to accept my apology, to, give me the green light that it’s okay to be, not yours anymore,” Harry explains.

           “You cheated on me!” She yells, finger pointing directly above Harry’s heart. “I have honored you by not telling our friends for what? You don’t get to have or ask for my forgiveness, I’ve already given you too much. Forgiveness went out the window when you fucked someone else Harry! How dare you ask me to forgive you, absolve you, for a sin you willingly committed. You were in complete control of yourself and you still cheated on me. You want a green light? That was fucking it.”

          She pushes past him, stomping back into the club and onto the dance floor, into the arms of someone else, someone who isn’t scared to kiss her above the dazzling lights, someone whose bedroom she’ll wake up in, unsure where she is, not caring to leave a note before slipping out into the city. And hopefully, after a few more escapades, the embrace of the rising sun on her walk home won’t echo his voice anymore. The birds chirping won’t sing his songs, and the sting of telling Daisy the truth won’t ring out over overcooked eggs and overpriced mimosas.

          Harry had wanted her to give him the green light, but in refusing to do so, she watched the light change for herself.

Next: Talia

[narrators-journal]

Months of love

I know, it’s a shock that I actually do write more for bsd than just for the redheads. Either way, I hope you enjoy this fluffy little piece of Poe being a denial-ridden little dumbass lololol. Also, just a little reminder, I know only the bare details of white day and valentines in Japan, so if there is any mess ups or details wrong, forgive me.

Poe shouldn't have been surprised to go to the store and see so many valentines chocolates on fancy displays, with brightly colored advertisements and boxes. He'd only come to the store for some groceries, but he'd been picking through small boxes of candies and packages of assorted white colored goodies for an hour, his shopping in his cart and ready to buy.            "Do you think I should buy one?" He asked the raccoon perched on his shoulder, "I don't have any partners, but if I remember correctly valentines, or maybe white day, is also for general loved ones and not just romantic interests in japan, right?" As he spoke to himself, Poe looked over one of the boxes of pre-made chocolates, but they didn't sound that good for who he had in mind. I'm not sure if Ranpo has any allergies, so maybe it'd be best to avoid as many as I can. He decided after a swift scan of the remaining candies. So, he finally went to check out and go home with his pet. For the next chunk of the day, he tried to find recipes online for valentines chocolates and try them. His many attempts at the craft helped him hone the skill, and left him with plenty of candy for himself, so he wasn't frustrated at how long it took to finally get a high quality batch of candies. Once he had them, he boxed them up in the best little package he had, put Ranpo's name on the box in Japanese, and headed out for another trip into town, this time to the ADA. Oh god, is it okay if I go there? So late into the day? What if they're closed? What if they're NOT closed? The panic in his gut ate at his soul, he could feel himself reaching the limit he had for people and being out of the house like a collision he could see from a mile away, but he had no clue if he could spare a day to leave the candies and have the same meaning of appreciation. So, he powered through the discomfort as he pulled up to the agency building in the warm, gentle light of evening. What if Ranpo reads too much into it? I'm his nemesis, surely he won't think I have feeling-feelings for him? I just-I just want to show him that I appreciate his humoring of my rivalry with him. Poe told himself, climbing out of his car and taking a deep breath to quell the feeling of frantic, vibrating energy in his stomach before he walked into the building. The goth, of course, didn't have the guts to personally give the small box of candies he clutched anxiously to the smaller, highly intellegent, hyper-active ravenette he called a rival, so he instead crept closer to the office door and paused to listen. When he heard life within the ADA office, Poe's stomach plummeted and anxiety clogged his throat for a moment, forcing him to choke it down before he got so absorbed into 'what if' that he got caught crouching beside the door like a dumbass, clutching the gift he'd brought. So, he choked back the suffocating fear and just placed the box down before scurrying out and back to his car. He'd never been so thankful to return to his secluded, empty mansion-of-a-home in a sea of trees until that day. He was also highly grateful that his main source of income, ever since before the guild had hired him on, was so asocial and relaxing to him. It gave him a chance to unwind and destress after such a taxing day, though it also helped that, unlike in America, Poe had a whole month or so to prepare for any possible reciprocation he might get. Of course, Poe hadn't forgotten what he did by the time White day came around, he just couldn't decide if he was anxious to get a gift or not. Was he scared that Ranpo might reciprocate the feelings? Would he reciprocate the stated feelings, or the ones the goth kept locked deep within himself to avoid the risk of making a complete and utter fool of himself? These questions had been gnawing at him the most since the eleventh or twelfth of March, but his thoughts continued their campaign through every possibility imaginable as he once again did his monthly shopping and went to talk to his publisher. If anything, that feeling of frayed nerves negatively impacted his day, but he couldn't really bring himself to care about his publisher after the way this branch's representative was so rude to him. However, when he walked out into the early noon light and back to his car he got an answer to silence his anxieties, or make them worse. There, sitting on the hood of his car like a parking ticket was a small, somewhat shallow, white box with a note neatly tucked under the thin black ribbon. With shaking hands, Poe carefully took the box and note, pushing the thick curtain of bangs that he usually saw the world through from his grey eyes to read the scribbly, energetic english written on the slip,              It amazes me that someone with such a creative, complicated, mysterious mind as yours is so very, very obvious with his reasoning, Edgar. I know for a FACT that you wanted me to see your little gift as a simple 'thank you for being my rival' but trust me pretty boy, you are as gay as a double rainbow in what you call 'pride month'. My only hope with this gift is that you are much more adept at picking clues up than you are at hiding your feelings. Poe took a deep breath to try and steady his vision, laying his head against the hot hood of his car as he slid down to his knees. he was almost certain that the world was swaying and spinning at the same time, his chest full of swirling whirlpools of shock, excitement, panic, general amusement, and finally the overwhelming urge to cry. Of course Ranpo was as mean sounding in a note addressed to the man he was reciprocating the feelings of as he was talking to his coworkers, that was almost painfully Ranpo. It also left no room for him to worry his way out of the clear, flashing meaning of the note, which brought a small smile to the nervous goth's lips.

[the-delta-42]

Disarmed

Disarmed

Gabriel glared at the screen in front of him. The girl, Marinette, Ladybug, had been a major thorn in his side for too long. He’d tried going to her home and taking all the miraculous she had in her possession but had found he couldn’t remember where she lived.

Nathalie had suggested targeting the school, of course, it’d have to at a time no one was there. Gabriel smirk insanely as he started drawing up his plan.

Nathalie had started to grow concerned at the lengths Gabriel had started to go to bring Emilie back. She hoped he wouldn’t go too far in his campaign.

D

Marinette glared at the little screen on her yoyo, Adrien was dozing behind her as Alec Cataldi’s smirking face looked up at her. Ever since Marinette’s arm had been taken off, the ‘reporter’ had been openly questioning if she was capable for her job. It didn’t help that he had the backing of an alt right politician, who’d started calling for anyone who was neuro-divergent to be sectioned for ‘being a danger to society’, and Gabriel Agreste. Marinette supposed that Gabriel had a reason to question her competence, since she was in his son’s class, and she’d lost him his ‘muse’.

Marinette looked behind her, at Adrien, quietly wondering if he agreed with his father. Adrien opened his eyes and smiled at her, before stretching his arms out.

“What time is it?” Asked Adrien, looking around to make sure no one had seen them.

“Just after 11.” Replied Marinette, frowning as Adrien looked around, “Adrien, if anyone spotted us, I would’ve woken you.”

Adrien yawned, before flopping back down. Just as he did, an explosion rocked Paris. Both heroes looked at the explosion.

“Did… did Hawkmoth just blow up our school?” Asked Marinette, blankly.

Marinette shook her head and shared a look with Adrien, before the two called on their transformations. Ladybug and Chat Noir skidded to a halt in front of the burning building.

“Okay, we’re at the scene, but there’s no Akuma.” Muttered Ladybug, her bionic arm twitching.

A deafening roar tore through the street, as a dinosaur glared down at them.

“Mr Césaire got Akumatised again?” Asked Chat, cocking his head.

Ladybug was about to answer, as a blue blurr rammed into her side. Mayura threw Ladybug through the window of her parents bakery. Chat moved to grab the villainess, only to be grabbed by the collar and thrown at the dinosaur. Hawkmoth sneered at the boy, just as Mayura sailed past him and into a lamp post.

Ladybug charged at Mayura, ramming her fist into the elder woman’s stomach. Ladybug’s continuous blows triggered a coughing fit, the woman doubled over, unable to continue fighting. Ladybug turned her gaze on Hawkmoth, before launching herself at him, with Chat following. Ladybug’s fist connected with Hawkmoth’s chin, while Chat’s staff got the back of the man’s knees.

Hawkmoth stumbled back, spitting out a tooth as he went.

“I really need to get one of those, M’Lady.” Smirked Chat, falling into a defensive stance.

“I wouldn’t recommend it, Minou.” Responded Ladybug, mirroring her partner, “Looks like Mayura’s down for the count, Hawkmoth.”

Hawkmoth glanced at Mayura, as the woman continued coughing. Ladybug removed her yoyo from her hip and started spinning it, “We could easily end this now, you just have to give me your miraculous.”

“I was just about to say the same thing, Hawkmoth.” Snarked Ladybug, launching her yoyo at him.

Hawkmoth quickly dodged the attack, before swinging his cane sword at her. Ladybug blocked the attack with her arm, as Chat swung his staff at Hawkmoth’s head.

Hawkmoth snarled, before he grabbed Ladybug’s yoyo and pulled her towards him. He swung his cane-sword at her again. Ladybug raised her left arm to protect her chest and neck, only to collapse to the ground as Hawkmoth stabbed her right leg  and twisted the blade until the limb fell away from the rest of her body halfway up her thigh. Hawkmoth plucked the earrings from Ladybug’s ears and threw Marinette towards Mayura, who’d stopped coughing.

Hawkmoth turned his sights onto Chat Noir, an insane grin covering his face, “You need a new arm, boy?”

Chat gulped, before he swung his staff at Hawkmoth’s head again, only for Hawkmoth to grab his wrist. Hawkmoth grinned sadistically, as his sword pierced Chat Noir’s right bicep and he pulled on the limb until it came off the young hero’s body with a wet snap and a scream from the hero.

Hawkmoth threw Chat to the ground and smirked as he held both Miraculous in his hand.

“Finally.” Muttered Hawkmoth, before glancing down at the boy and freezing as he saw Adrien trying to stop the remains of his arm from bleeding, “Adrien?”

The boy froze, before he recognised the voice of his father.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Demanded Hawkmoth, advancing towards Adrien, “We could’ve brought your mother back together!”

Adrien froze, before looking up at Hawkmoth. Hawkmoth tutted, “No matter, we can just have another, worthier, son.”

Hawkmoth raised his sword to kill Adrien, before Mayura tackled Hawkmoth and ripped the miraculous from him. Gabriel looked down as he realised that Mayura had taken all of the miraculous he had on him, including the butterfly. The senti-monster dissolved into nothing, as Gabriel was tackled from behind, while paramedics attended to Marinette and Adrien.

D

Adrien stared down at the stump of his right arm. He now understood what Marinette meant when she said she could still feel her fingers. The very thought of his arm being cut off, much less that it was his own father that cut it off, sickened and distressed Adrien. Max had already come by and measured a new arm for him, he was muttering about having to make Marinette a leg.

Adrien knew that Marinette had lost a lot of blood, since his father’s sword had severed her leg mid-thigh and cut through an artery.

“They’re tying to sew Marinette’s leg back on,” Said Nino, making Adrien look at him, “but there is the possibility that the leg can’t be reattached.”

Adrien frowned, before Nino grabbed his remaining hand, “Focus on me, don’t look at the arm.”

Adrien cracked a small smile, as Alya poked her head through the door.

“Mari’s out of surgery, they’re putting her leg in a cast until it fully heals,” Alya informed them, “It’ll be a while, but she’s going to keep her leg.”

“Thank Allah.” Muttered Nino, releasing a sigh of relief.

“Don’t thank him yet,” Said Alya, “Marinette’s not going to take it well.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT’S GOING TO BE THREE TO NINE MONTHS BEFORE I CAN WALK AGAIN?!” Came Marinette’s scream, sounding panicked.

“Yeah, she does not react well to the pain killers.” Said Alya, as Marinette was wheeled past.

“I don’t need blood transfusions.” Babbled Marinette, her tone doing a complete 180.

“You lost a lot of blood, you’re barely surviving on the blood that you didn’t lose, you need these transfusions.” Said a Nurse, as Marinette pouted and glared at the cast.

“I wanna go home.” Mumbled Marinette, folding her arms and sulking.

“You’re going to be kept here for a few days for observation, but you’ll be able to go home soon.” Reassured the nurse, as she and Marinette grew further away from the room.

“Marinette doesn’t seem to like hospitals much.” Remarked Alya, before looking at Adrien, “How’re you holding up, Sunshine?”

Adrien shrugged, looking down at his lap.

“He hasn’t said a word since the fight,” Said Nino, looking away from Adrien and towards Alya, “I think he’s still in shock.”

Alya frowned sympathetically, before sighing.

“I’m not surprised, considering…” Alya trailed off.

“He was going to kill me.” Whispered Adrien, as his vision blurred, “He said he was going to bring Maman back and he was going to kill me.”

Adrien wasn’t aware he was crying until Nino pulled him into his arms.

“Breath.” Nino instructed softly, “Breath.”

Adrien choked out sobs as he buried his face in Nino’s chest.

D

Chris poked Nino’s face while sitting on his chest.

“Nino.” Whispered Chris, “Nino. Nino. Nino. Niiiinooo.”

“What is it, Chris?” Groaned Nino, squinting at his brother.

“Adrien’s had another nightmare.” Said Chris, pointing towards a dark corner of the room.

Nino could make out the vague shape of Adrien rocking back and forth with his face buried into his knees.

“Okay, thanks Chris, I’ll handle it.” Said Nino, rolling Chris off his chest, “Go back to bed.”

Chris quietly shuffled out of the room, as Nino got up and walked over to Adrien. The blond didn’t react to Nino moving towards him and Plagg was hovering next to his chosen.

“How long has he been like this?” Asked Nino, looking at the Kwami.

“A couple hours,” Responded Plagg, “Sugarcube and pigtails are already on their way over.

Nino glanced at the clock; it was six am. He sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get Adrien back to sleep.

“Bro,” Nino’s voice was soft, “Bro, look at me.”

Adrien slowly lifted his head. His eyes were red and bloodshot, he had dark bags under his eyes and his face had become thin and gaunt. Adrien let out a small whine and buried his face in his knees again. A loud banging at the front door echoed though the house, Nino thought he heard his mother grumbling about whoever was at the door.

“Sorry, Ms. Lahiffe, I need to see my cat.” Came Marinette’s muffled voice, “Alya, move faster!”

Nino winced, remembering that Marinette’s leg stump was still healing. Despite Marinette being rushed to hospital a short while after the leg had been severed, the doctors focussed on getting Marinette’s blood levels back up, before focusing on the leg, which had been left behind at the battle ground. Much like Adrien’s arm, the muscles in Marinette’s leg had be torn as Hawkmoth had cut and the limb had become infected, necessitating the legs removal. Marinette was still getting used to the leg Max had made her.

The loud drag-thump sound on Marinette limping on her new leg came down the hall. The bedroom door flung open, revealing Marinette being supported by Alya.

“Adrien.” Said Marinette, as Alya struggled to get both herself and Marinette through the door.

Adrien stopped rocking himself, just as Marinette decided to push Alya away and crawl along the floor to her partner.

“I’m here, Minou,” Said Marinette, softly, once she reached Adrien, “It’s okay. It’s over.”

D

Marinette leaned on the bright pink cane Rose had given her. Everything was quiet, no birds, not aimless chatter. Just silence. Marinette caught sight of her reflection, her arm and now her leg. Marinette wondered if it would ever get the point where she was more machine than human.

Marinette swallowed the lump in her throat, before quickly looking away from her reflection. Marinette walk-limped towards the door. She carefully climbed down from her room, noticing that everything was shrouded in darkness.

“Hello?” Marinette called out, looking around for anyone who was in the apartment. Marinette reached out for the light switch, flicking it on, Marinette was assaulted by both the light and the unanimous yell of “SURPRISE!”

Marinette let out a squawk of surprise, toppling back and landed on her rear. Adrien laughed, before walking over to her. He held up his black prosthetic right hand out for Marinette, which she grabbed with her red left.

“Happy Birthday, M’Lady.” Said Adrien, as soon as Marinette was on her feet.

[lobotomy-maybe-bestie]

RQG for the music ask meme!!

1. Ghosting - Mother Mother

Probably Sasha as the sneakiest, the invisble one in the party, leaving her home, leaving London and then eventually leaving the entire world, but still haunting the memory of the party as they make their way through the destroyed remains of Other London

I've been ghosting, I've been ghosting alone

Ghost in the world, ghost with no home

I mean this was basically her whole life until finding a home in Ancient Rome. No I'm not getting emotional about Sasha again ;_;

2. Morton's Fork - Typhoon

Ok so this is unfortunate because I have that song from an RQG playlist. It's peak "Guard the pack so you that you will succeed together" "Taking a spear for Sasha" "Volunteering for the first night watch in Damascus even though he hasn't slept for 48 hours" Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam.

I won't lie to you, it will be painful

It's in your nature to fear what is natural

I mean just-

We are alone in this together

All alone in this together

Just-

I haven't slept in several nights and I'm not tired

Who protects the ones I love when I'm asleep?

Though there's little I can do, I say a prayer

That when the wolves come for their share

They'll come for me

Yeah. Pretty much.

3. High Hopes - Panic! At the Disco

S1 Amelia Earhart definitely. This song has crazy airship trick vibes.

4. 21 Guns - Green Day

It's angsty enough to fit the whole campaign I reckon but I don't know any specifics.

5. Loose Ends - Imogen Heap

Zolf and Hamid.

It's complicated

This time I think it could be

Triangulated

It could be just what we need

So what do you say, we give it up and walk away?

We're overrated anyway

Need I say more?

Not now, not ever, no, it's never a good time

How will the good times ever roll on?

Comparing photos then and now, now and then

Just wondering where it all went wrong

Just... ouch.

6. Little In The Middle - Milow

Ohhhh okay this song gives me Hamid vibes. It's specifically about a child's dream to join a circus but like...

For the fun and death defying

But in time you forgot life is small in the big top

And your dreams were slowly dying

What you wanted was not a crime

You could have done it

Hamid with his dreams of becoming a wizard which were shattered only for him to be plunged into a terrifying and wonderful adventure that makes him develop a new dream, of being a Hero.

Lions leap through hoops of fire

As the acrobats go flying

But what's the show all about

When did your north get turned to south

And the truth turned to lying

Only for the story to get darker and darker, he loses his sister, he loses his friends, he loses the world. He is more powerful than he could have EVER imagined but it comes at the cost of having to save the world and being ready to sacrifice everything he has.

Always just a little in the middle

It keeps your head from spinning round

And the party around him who are so much more pragmatic! We just saw it again, Cel closing the door because they knew that it was more important to protect the lab than to ensure they can all survive. Hamid really is just a little guy in the middle of everything and it makes me feel so sorry for him!!

7. Atlas Hands - Benjamin Francis Leftwich

It makes me think about Cel's old life. Like when they were living with their husband and his kids? Actually maybe it's that specific scene in the Garden of Yerlick where he appears and they tell him all about what happened since he died.

I will remember your face

Cause I am still in love with that place

But when the stars are the only things we share

Will you be there?

Like just that quiet reassurance there that they still love and remember him? It makes me feel something.

I've got a plan, I've got an atlas in my hands

I'm gonna turn when I listen to the lessons I've learned

Also these lines are very Cel. They're old! They've seen a lot! They've travelled the whole world! And now they're saving it!

8. Cough Syrup - Young The Giant

Early Sasha, definitely. It's about the "I don't have anything to lose", "I just need to get away"

If I could find a way to see this straight

I'd run away

The party being an opportunity for her. Protection, sure, but also a way out and, maybe more importantly, a reason to go. A goal that isn't just "escape".

9. Carrying Cathy - Ben Folds

Alright, so I thought "Haha it's about Wilde bc he sucks so bad at combat that the party has to carry him all the time" and then I thought some more about it and got very, very sad.

So obsessed was I and self-absorbed that I

Didn't see that she was crying

In Paris, when the party was fleeing and treated Wilde like absolute shit (like okay they saved his life but they treated him a little like they treat Barrett now). Especially told from Zolf's perspective to highlight how CLOSE they are now.

And she's different when it's just me and her, and I

After the whole party disappears and Zolf and Wilde found each other. How close they grew in that 18 months but also the fact that Wilde judged himself effectively useless except to do paperwork (tbf he was right and also very good at paperwork but still... ouch)

But to imagine a fall

With no one at all to catch you

There'd always been someone

And then he falls off the ship and dies. And they carry him again, in the hope he may be resurrected.

10. Purpose - The Late Night Call

This song is very Endgame lol. Everyone aware that they might need to sacrifice themselves and trying to find something good in that.

[drakewalkerfantasy]

The Secret of Downfall (Tatum x F!MC)

Summary: The Secret is the only way for them to be together. But how long will they be able to keep it until Madam President will find out the truth? And how easily it will be for them not forget about the rules in public? Couple of drinks in and the darkness… will it be possible for them to keep a secret? Or will they fall ones again in the arms of each other?

Words: 2216

Rating: T

Warning: fighting / cruelty / violence

Authors notes: I really hope you will enjoy this. Please let me know if still want to be tagged and what I can improve. I hope you will like this chapter, it’s quite short and probably mostly not what I expected it to be at first. I hope you still enjoy reading this series.

Sequel for The art of Foreign Affairs

Previous parts of The Secret of Foreign Affairs.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The next morning, after getting caught in a compromising situation, Claire entered the common room of the suite only to find her mother and her whole team camped out around the kitchen island.

Nervously Claire looked around the room, throwing a quick glance toward Tatum. Her eyes trying to catch his gaze, but he almost seemed to be going out of his way to not meet hers. His fists clenched by his side and he looked as professional as ever, if not for the way his eyes darkened slightly, that it could be easily missed, but not by her.

“Uh, good morning,” she cautiously said looking around the room, feeling the tension only grew when all eyes fell on her. “Mom? I thought you left.”

“Really? I was forced to come back to clear your mess. Apparently, my daughter failed to notify me that she got caught by paparazzi with her pants down,” she snapped, showing a copy of Voyeur magazine into Claire’s hands with a picture of herself and Tatum on the cover. She could feel how her heart skipped a beat, while she took in the picture. Breathing out in relief only after realising that it wasn’t possible to tell who was on the cover with her.

“Ohmygod...,” gasped Claire, feeling how her face went pale. Thankful that no one could possibly know who she was with, blurting that out loud. “At least you can’t tell who it is with me...”

“THIS... THIS what you can tell in your defense???” fumed her mother, her eyes narrowing with spite when she glared toward Tatum. Her gaze calculating, trying to break through his facade, to read him, but still in vain. And her lips pursed by barely suppressed fury.

“It does provide us some cover...,” intervened one of her mother’s political analysts. “But it’s also causing a feeding frenzy online. Everyone is speculating on who your mystery lover is. I would suggest to give a statement identifying the mystery lover. Once we can show this isn’t Claire being... promiscuous with some random stranger...”

“So... Claire? Who is it?” asked her mother, tapping her stiletto heel against the wooden floor impatiently. “You heard her,” she said nodding her head toward the political analyst from her team. “If you want your name to be cleared and all that mistake left behind, you cannot keep that to yourself. The only way we can fight this thing is if you tell us who it is."

Claire’s eyes snapped up to meet Tatum’s gaze across the room. His expression is as impassive as ever, but the spark of fury in his eyes flaming.

“I will NOT name them,” exclaimed Claire fiercely, crossing her hands over her chest, stubbornly meeting her mother’s glare. “I will not drag them into this. The world doesn’t need to know every single detail about me or my love life.”

“Don’t you think that this is a little bit too late to thing about that? And clearly this person is a bad influence on you. You never acted like that before,” snapped her mother.

“Or maybe I just realised that I own it to myself to live a little,” bit Claire back.

“Claire...,” hissed her mother, lowering her voice so only she would hear her. “I will go through your phone if I have to. Is it clear?”

“Seriously? You have so little respect for my privacy?”

“It’s not that, but your future is in jeopardy now. And I’m worried about you.”

“Let’s at least be honest with each other. All that you care about is you and your campaign.”

Claire’s mother opened her mouth to retort, but Winston cut her off.

“Let’s all calm down and see what we can do to spin the story with information we already have,” said Winston, looking around the room before placing his hand on Claire's mother’s elbow and pulling her to the side. His voice lowered to the whisper so only she would hear. His eyes surveying the room so they wouldn’t be overheard by anyone. “Madam President, we don’t have enough evidence that this mystery lover is your daughter’s bodyguard. Last time we had letters, this time we have only words of some guy from Vancross and the fact Claire was lying. We will make sure that our plan is set in motion as soon as possible, but meantime you need to wait while your team will gather more evidence of who this mystery lover is and twist it so he is the one who sold pictures.” Both eyes fell to Tatum, watching him to put a hand to his earpiece before stepping forward.

“Madam President, the limo is ready for you,” said Tatum. His posture stiff, his voice even and his eyes looking into nowhere.

“Good. Tatum, escort me to the airport. I want to talk to you about a few things. Demarco can oversee Claire’s security this afternoon.”

“Yes, ma’am”

Claire’s stomach twisted, when her eyes passingly met Tatum’s, while he followed her mother out the door. Leaving Claire and Winston alone.

———————————————

Hastily, they walked to the limo, Tatum following only a few paces behind Claire’s mother with her security team walking in front of them. His mind racing, and he couldn't help but have a really bad feeling of where this was all going. The same way as all these years ago.

Just before the limo he looked back to the building, catching a quick glance of Claire, behind the blinds. Even from there he could see the worried expression painted on her face before finally tearing his gaze away, and sliding into the car.

“I know you and Claire were at the club together last night, care to explain?” started Claire’s mother, as soon as they sat in limo.

“I’m the head of her security team, ma’am. And it is my responsibility to follow her everywhere and to make sure she is safe,” said Tatum.

“Yes, but Winston checked and at this time you should have been off duty and Demarco should have been with her, and even more so not to let her wander at night to some underground club.”

“She would sneak out anyway. I overheard her speaking with some of her classmates. Ma’am with all due respect,” he spoke through gritted teeth not even looking at her. “But you know there was no way of stopping her, she would sneak out anyway with me or without and she would never take agent Demarco with her.”

“Fine, but people noticed how cosy you seemed to be... getting tequila shots, and then disappearing... together. Am I wrong?”

“No... but she insisted. She cannot understand why I’m like... like that.”

“Like what?”

“We were friends for more than a decade for almost two decades, and then I just disappeared from her life for 5 years only to suddenly reappear now.”

“Lie to her.”

“I tried, but if you think that your daughter is so naive to believe some white lies you don’t know her at all. She can see straight through me. Always could,” said Tatum with cold blooded calm, finally meeting Claire’s mother’s gaze.

“Then make her believe. I have ears and eyes everywhere, so better do as I ask and don’t you dare lie to me. As, if I will find out you or she are lying, and it seems she became surprisingly good at it, the consequences will be for both. You and her. Is it clear?” said Claire’s mother waiting for Tatum to nod, when the limo stopped. “Good. But I still believe you may need a reminder of what will happen if you will disobey me,” spoke she when the doors suddenly slid open revealing the iron walled warehouse of Vancross’ airport. And she nodded in a silence order for Tatum to get out of the limo.

He looked around after stepping outside of the vehicle, noting the fighting ring in the middle of the floor and five bodyguards waiting already next to it. Claire’s mother walked silently behind him.

Her stiletto heels tapped on the metallic floor, and her next words bounced as a muffled echo from the iron walls of the warehouse, when Tatum stopped. His eyes calmly following Madam President’s movements till she finally sat in a comfortable chair covered by the darkness.

“Fight,” the cold order came from the shadows, while Tatum’s calculated gaze moved from one President’s personal bodyguard to another.

All strong. All coming from the Rutherland’s best fighters club. All ex-soldiers... and all hated him.

He knew that he had no chance for a fair fight. He also knew that willingly or not he still will need to fight them. And he doubted that he had even a slightest chance to remain unscratched, but he still needed to try... for Claire... Always for her.

“Ma’am, wouldn’t it be easier just to kill me?” asked Tatum in a calm voice, throwing only a sideway glance at Claire’s mother, regretting only one thing, that he couldn’t say proper goodbye to Claire, couldn’t kiss her like it would be their last time. Not sure if he ever will have another chance to kiss her again.

“You may get your wish... later. After I will get more proof that you are her mystery lover. For now it’s just a warning to keep your distance from my daughter. No more disappearing together... no more smiles... no more eye contact. You may think you are subtle, but she isn’t. So you will fight them, and you,” she looked at her bodyguards with a cold unmoving gaze. “Make sure that every blow you will send his way will be excruciatingly painful but not visible. He is still a head of my daughter’s security team, and I don’t need unnecessary questions. Not from her, not anyone. I want him to remember this last lesson, and my last warning... but still be alive, at least for now. Now fight,” she barked, nodding to two others bodyguards to get Tatum and throw him onto the ring, taking him by surprise.

He landed on his hands and knees with a thud, groaning from the impact, when the first blow went straight to his guts, but his reaction was faster. He blocked it with a side of his shoulder. The force of the block sending the attacker to the floor before getting back to his feet and looking around.

His eyes darkened with rage, but it was the only thing that gave him away. With his peripheral vision he could see another blow coming his way, blocking it faster than it could reach its destination, but almost missing the swing from behind. The one that he managed to dodge at the last second, only to be met with a sharp blinding pain from someone hitting him straight in the stomach with the heavy military boot.

The pain made him sway, but he stubbornly held his balance gritting his teeth. No way he will let them beat him so easily... the thought is fleeting, but strong enough to almost physically heighten his senses, making him dodge the next strike easily. Overcoming the pain and finally sending his own hand to connect with one of the bodyguards’ jaws. Feeling how the skin on his knuckles split from the impact.

His breath elevated and ragged. And he could see how the rage started to rise in the attackers, when the blows began to pour one after the other from all directions, making them much difficult to dodge or block, and more often to miss. But he was still trying, desperately.

Tired. Angry. Bleeding. He was still bravely fighting. Gritting his teeth, ducking the punch after the punch, before landing a couple of his own. Watching how the five fighters getting tired... exhausted, but still unable to send him to the ground and make him stay there as every time he fell he was stubbornly rising back to his feet. As he was fighting for her... she was the only thing that kept him going... Claire... his Claire. The same thing, that he was so cruelly beaten for loving.

And after a while it started to seem that even five of them would be not able to break him. His eyes meeting Madam President’s gaze, distracting him only for a split second to miss the attacker behind him. He could feel a pair of hands gripping him from behind. Felt how the others started to punch and kick him from all sides taking the opportunity as a sign, while two held him still. And he could feel how with the next blow in his groin followed by another one in his stomach the wind was knocked out of him, and he fell to the cement floor with a gust of pain. His ribs aching, and he could barely breath feeling the sharp pain shooting through him with each gulp for air. His eyes closing, but he still could feel the pain, wishing for the darkness to follow, when he heard the quiet voice whispering right into his ear:

“Now clean that mess, and make sure tomorrow you will be good enough to accompany Claire to her date... with Blaine.” The cruel last words like a sharp blade sliced through him before the merciful darkness finally swallowed him.

Tagging: @choices-bound​​​ @jamespotterthefirst​​​ @mercury84choices​​​ @k2624​​​ @thefrenchiemama​​​ @choicesreal​​​ @starrystarrytrouble​​​ @boneandfur​​​ @walkerswhiskeygirl​​​ @sophxwithers​​​ @ramseysrookiex​​

[quicksilversquared]

Helpfulness with a Side of Spite

Superheroes are kind. Superheroes are patient. Superheroes are helpful.

....that doesn’t mean that superheroes can’t manipulate the situation, though. And they’ll do it with a smile on their face.

links in the reblog

Superheroes were, practically by definition, meant to be helpful.

Ladybug and Chat Noir helped all of Paris by fighting supervillains and restoring the city. They helped save lives and property alike if they happened to be nearby when a bus or news helicopter went out of control. They saved cats that were stuck up in trees and helped parents with young kids evacuate when there were akuma attacks nearby. They even helped out spoiled brats and snotty liars who were getting targeted, even if they definitely didn't deserve the help.

It was one of the reasons why they were so liked, really. Paris' superheroes weren't aloof or cold or focused only on their job and their job alone. They went out of their way to reach out and make sure that people were okay.

….but even the most patient of superheroes had their limits. There were only so many times that Ladybug could put up with Chloe's clinging and endless babble when, despite Chloe's assurances, she had definitely done something to tick the unfortunate akumatized person off and therefore entirely deserved to be the target of their ire. And really, trying to help Lila at all during akuma attacks was a waste of effort, since she seemed determined to fake injuries and try to distract them. But it was still expected that they at least try to help, because- well, they were superheroes.

Still, being a superhero didn't necessarily mean having superhuman patience. And even though it was still early in the morning- they hadn't even finished homeroom yet- Lila was already wearing Marinette's patience thin.

Really, it was an impressive accomplishment, considering that Lila was "out of town" on one of her mother's "trips" and therefore not even physically in the classroom. But she had video-called in first thing after homeroom started to give an overly saccharine-sweet "recounting" of what she had been up to the previous few days. This time she was calling from "the fjords of Finland, I wish you guys could be here because it is gorgeous!" and prattling on about some princess that she had supposedly met and was discussing charity work with.

Marinette could not envision anything being a bigger waste of time. They could be catching up on curriculum that had gotten behind because of akuma attacks, but nope, no such luck. Instead, they were listening to Lila's completely made-up and not at all relevant stories and wasting their entire homeroom period. Lila had been yammering on for over forty-five minutes now, and showed no sign of stopping.

(Also, Marinette had some serious questions about how Lila was supposedly getting enough internet to support the call while on a hill overlooking one of the most spectacular of the Finnish fjords, which was decidedly not close to any sort of civilization.)

At least Marinette had started bringing projects to school to work on during their calls with Lila. If they couldn't use their time productively for schoolwork during homeroom, then she would take the chance to get some of her other work done. Maybe Ms. Bustier frowned on it, but. Well. Marinette had more or less ceased to care. She had too much to get done to be too concerned with what did or didn't bother her teacher, particularly when what she was doing wasn't hurting anyone.

"So I'll be out for the rest of this week and maybe a couple days next week," Lila chirped at long last, beaming at them. "Depending on whether I can persuade Princess Sophia to join Prince Ali and I on our global campaign to end pollution! I'll keep you all updated!"

The entire class exploded with assurances, everyone hastening to tell Lila that they were sure that she would be able to get the princess to help, and how amazing it was that she was doing such great work, and how everybody was sure to pitch in and help her get caught back up on her schoolwork once she returned to Paris. Lila basked in the attention, gushing about how kind everyone was and how lucky she was to get placed in what had to be the world's nicest class.

Which of course meant a whole new round of people telling Lila that she was nice and kind and fantastic, too.

Barf.

Finally, finally, Lila signed off after another few rounds of back-and-forth gushing. Marinette let out a sigh of relief, plenty glad that she wouldn't have to listen to Lila's humble-bragging for another couple days. The far-fetched stories that Lila had been spinning- seriously, how were people believing that Lila had somehow saved a beloved prized cow herd with only the help of their traditional decorative cowbells- had been grating on her nerves.

Cows with decorate cowbells wasn't even a Finnish thing. Somehow, Lila (and everyone else in the class, with the sole exception of Adrien) had forgotten that that was a Swiss tradition.

It was probably too much to expect that Lila would actually pay any attention to details like that. For her, differences between countries and cultures were probably annoying little details that she didn't feel like bothering with.

"Well, we won't be doing anything as exciting as discussing anti-pollution plans with a princess today, but we do have plenty of other things to cover," Ms. Bustier announced as soon as the call ended, glancing up at the clock. "We're actually running a little behind schedule in Literature, so let's use the last, ah, three minutes of homeroom to try to get a bit of a head start so we won't have to have as much make-up homework this weekend!"

Marinette could only sigh and hope that the rest of the day wouldn't be so incredibly exasperating.

Because right now? She didn't feel like being very helpful at all.

  By the time news of an akuma out and about reached the school in the early afternoon, Marinette was almost relieved at the excuse to leave for a bit. It seemed like everywhere she turned, people were talking about Lila's latest so-called adventures- so much for not having to put up with it for at least a couple more days- and speculating about what new royal support might mean for Lila's campaign. And as if that wasn't bad enough, Ms. Bustier had pulled Marinette to the side between classes to tell her off for her obvious disinterest during Lila's video call, so Marinette's mood had slid even further downhill.

And now? Well, she was in the mood to work out some of her frustrations on Hawkmoth's latest minion.

But not too obviously, of course. People would wonder if they saw her punch an akuma's face in, just because she was pretending that it was Lila's. Besides, whoever was under the akumatization was a victim, as she and Chat Noir were always reminding the press and the people that akumas had targeted. They weren't in control of what they were doing.

(Well. Mostly. There had been some exceptions, largely consisting of Lila, but proving that enough to be able to persuade anyone in power was a bit difficult. On top of that, once the first accusation of on-purpose collusion with Hawkmoth stuck, then- well, it could easily turn into a slippery slope lined with baseless accusations from people out looking for revenge.)

Though to be fair, it honestly seemed as though this particular akuma completely deserved whatever beating Ladybug gave her. Best-Laid Plans seemed entirely entitled, screaming in fury whenever her "foolproof" plots to capture Ladybug and Chat Noir were defeated and yelling about how dare they not fall fire her traps, how dare they not believe whatever she said, how dare they laugh at how (laughably) easy and transparent her so-called complex plans to catch them were.

Honestly, she and Lila would probably get along fantastically. Both of them had some serious delusions of grandeur.

"I can't figure out how she thinks these things are foolproof and complex when she can't spend more than a couple minutes seeing them up," Chat Noir said as he yanked the side off of another "hidden" cage and chucked it off to the side so that it wouldn't pose them any danger. "They're impulsive and showy but lack any real substance."

Best-Laid Plans let out another screech of fury. "Stop making fun of them, they're foolproof!"

"Right, because even fools would be safe from them!" Ladybug yelled back. "Because they fool no one!"

"How dare you, I learned how to make traps from an expert in Bolivia! You're just getting lucky!"

"She does realize that claiming that doesn't somehow make it true, right?" Ladybug sighed, utterly exasperated. They had wasted half an hour already, and she really wasn't in the mood for another half hour of this nonsense. "Lucky Charm!"

A bottle of soap dropped into her hand. Ladybug sighed, then glanced around as she and Chat Noir sprinted after Best-Laid Plans. She was heading up, up, up the Eiffel Tower, fast but not fast enough to outrun the superheroes.

"There's another trap there," Chat Noir pointed out as they leapt up another level. "I bet she's planning on pushing us in."

An idea clicked in Ladybug's mind. Of course! "She's going to stop on the next platform- hit the soap bottle right at her as we pass, hard enough for it to split! And- now!"

It was practically a work of art, really. Ladybug tossed her Lucky Charm at Chat Noir, who hit it at just the right time. Sudsy pink soap sprayed across the platform, completely coating it. The split bottle and what little soap remained in it slammed into Best-Laid Plans' face, sending her staggering right into the slippery puddle of soap.

And she slid, cursing up a storm, right off the edge of the platform and neatly into the trap she had set up below.

"Well, would you look at that," Chat Noir said cheerfully as he and Ladybug swung down to land next to the soap-covered Best-Laid Plans. "Your traps can catch one person, at least! So they're not entirely fool-proofed after all."

Ladybug nearly choked on her laughter as she snagged Best-Laid Plans' cell phone, snapping it in half and catching the butterfly that fluttered free. The akuma only glared, furious but unable to do anything with the ropes of her trap twisted around her arms and keeping them bound.

Really, it was art.

After a moment's pause to appreciate the sight a little more, Ladybug snagged the remnants of the soap bottle with her yo-yo and tossed them into the air. "Miraculous Ladybug!"

The glittering swarm rushed around the city, wiping away all of the destroyed traps and putting things back to normal. Once everything else was fixed, the light swept around Best-Laid Plans and left a sulking Lila Rossi in her place.

Somehow, Ladybug was not entirely surprised.

"Surprise," Chat Noir sighed, rolling his eyes as he stepped up to her side. "Gee, and wasn't she meant to be out of the country right now?"

Deep in Ladybug's brain, there was a distinct aha as an idea was born, and Ladybug pounced on it. Pasting on her best friendly-helpful-neighborhood-superhero look, she approached Lila, who only looked more sour.

"You must have been really upset about whatever plans didn't quite work out!" Ladybug told her, trying her best to sound sympathetic instead of smug. "It's always disappointing when things don't work out the way we want them to, but it's rarely the end of the world!"

Chat Noir nodded seriously, only the twitching corners of his lips giving away the fact that he was maybe not quite as sincere as he was pretending to be. "Exactly! If we miss a movie, there's always another viewing. If we can't go out with friends, there's always another day. It's not worth getting too upset about, because then we miss out on other stuff. I'd say just let it go and move on with the rest of your day."

Lila looked mutinous. Ladybug had to assume that whatever plans had been foiled hadn't exactly been the sort that could just be picked up and done another day. "Uh-huh."

"Chat Noir is right," Ladybug said immediately in her perkiest voice, cheerfully ignoring Lila's deepening scowl. "It's best not to linger too much over plans that didn't work out and just go back to your normal day instead. In fact, to help you get back to your normal day, I'll even give you a free ride back to school, so you don't miss even more class! You're at Collège Françoise Dupont, right?"

Without waiting for an answer, Ladybug grabbed Lila and hoisted her over her shoulder before the other girl could realize what was going on and object. She and Chat Noir were usually more careful when carrying civilians- after all, the over the shoulder carry wasn't very comfortable- but she definitely wasn't keeping Lila in any position where she could make a grab for her earrings. "See you, Chat Noir!"

Chat Noir waved back, looking suspiciously like he was struggling to not double over laughing. "See you, Ladybug!"

With that, Ladybug was off, jumping off of the Eiffel Tower and letting herself do a free-fall for perhaps a little longer than she normally would before casting out her yo-yo and swinging at top speed towards the school.

She really couldn't tell if Lila's screaming was in fear or in anger.

It took almost no time at all for the school to draw near, and Ladybug did some hasty calculations to figure out where to go- her class should still be in Literature, though they would be switching pretty soon- before aiming right at the window Ms. Bustier had opened earlier in the day and dropping neatly in.

"Ta-da, back in class!" Ladybug announced cheerfully, dumping Lila back on her feet with perhaps a little more force than necessary. Lila staggered and nearly fell before catching herself. "And it looks like they managed to start up class again after you got akumatized! That's good, I know that sometimes after people get akumatized in school, the whole day just gets entirely disrupted. And I'm sure you wouldn't want to be the cause of your class falling behind on their work!" She sent the class a smile, then jumped straight back out the window with a wave. As soon as she did, the class exploded with noise, confusion clearly reigning supreme.

Ladybug only smiled.

  By the time Marinette slipped back into the classroom, there was such mayhem going on that no one noticed her come in. Lila had clearly tried to spin a new story to cover why Ladybug had brought her to class- and how she had gotten akumatized when she was meant to be several countries away- but this time, no one was buying it.

In fact, Marinette noticed as she slipped back to her seat, Mr. Damocles had already been called in and was currently punching a number into his phone. No doubt Lila's mom was being called now that there was solid evidence that that Lila had not been where she was supposed to be. It was definitely long overdue, honestly, but better late than not at all.

Adrien slid into his seat a minute later with a politely puzzled look on his face, apparently having missed the commotion with a poorly-timed bathroom visit. He caught sight of Marinette, pretty much the only other student still sitting in her spot, and raised a curious eyebrow.

"Lila got akumatized and Ladybug was being helpful and brought her back to class," Marinette whispered, unable to hide her grin. "And, well…"

"Now she's in trouble because clearly she wasn't in Finland," Adrien finished. He grinned back. "Somehow I suspect that Ladybug might have known that Lila hadn't been in class in the first place."

Marinette bit back a tart I don't know what you're talking about before she could give herself away. She wasn't sure why Adrien would suspect that Ladybug would know about Lila's lie about not being in the country, but- well, maybe it was because he had seen Ladybug call Lila out before, and it wasn't exactly normal for her and Chat Noir to return civilians to wherever they had been at the start of the fight.. They only did it for young kids, really, and only if they had enough time left before they detransformed.

So maybe she hadn't been very subtle, so sue her. But at least now Lila wouldn't be able to carry out whatever no doubt nefarious plan that she had been dreaming up. It had already then thwarted once, and Ladybug hadn't been about to let Lila take another swing at it, despite what she and Chat Noir had said about trying again.

"Hopefully she won't get akumatized again," Adrien added after a minute. Up in the front, Lila was in full meltdown mode, but no one seemed particularly inclined to comfort her. Mr. Damocles had clearly gotten through to Lila's mom and had retreated to the corner to try to hold a conversation uninterrupted by the commotion. "I mean, Ladybug and Chat Noir have already fought her today, I'm sure they don't want to again." He grimaced. "I'd hope that Hawkmoth would be tired of her by now, but considering how many times Mr. Pigeon has showed up, that….might be too much to hope for."

Marinette made a face at that. True, another Lila akumatization would be less than ideal, but on the bright side, if she got akumatized at school, then hopefully classes would be canceled for the afternoon and no one would notice her missing. Besides, well… "I'm sure they'd rather just deal with her being akumatized again today than being akumatized several dozen more times in the next couple months, because she is totally on track to do that."

"Ooh, good point."

"And honestly, if anyone is going to get akumatized today, I would guess that it would be one of our classmates," Marinette added, glancing around. People were clearly ticked off about the lies Lila had told, with all of the connections that she had promised and the "industry advice" that she had given people getting their hopes up. Now those hopes were dashed, and people had to come to terms with the fact that someone who they thought was a friend- a friend that they had gone out of their way to help more than a few times- had been outright lying to them to manipulate them. That had to stink, and she was sure that some people would be particularly upset. "Oh, poor Rose. She looks like she's about to cry."

"And Alya looks like she's about to commit a murder," Adrien added. There was an edge of laughter to his voice. "But she's still filming, at least."

Marinette looked and had to try not to laugh herself. It seemed like Alya was torn between chewing Lila out and getting her scoop, so she had combined the two in what could only be described as an accusatory interview given in a yell with less-than-flattering angles.

Well. Whatever made her feel better, she supposed.

"All right class, that's enough!" Ms. Bustier finally yelled over the noise. Mr. Damocles had clearly given up on making his phone call in the room and had fled. "Everyone, to your seats, we're going to continue class as normal until further notice- yes, that includes you too, Lila. Just borrow some paper and a pencil, since you didn't come prepared. And now, back to the lesson-"

Marinette exchanged a grin with Adrien as slowly, everyone filtered back to their seats. Most people were clearly in a state of shock still, but others were whispering, comparing stories and trying to figure out where they had missed the signs where things didn't quite line up. The gossip and speculation continued even as Ms. Bustier resolutely tried to forge on with her lesson, questions about what had happened reigning supreme.

The rest of the story came out less than an hour later, during an easily-overheard shouting match between Lila and her mom inside of Mr. Damocles' office.

As it turned out, Lila hadn't intended to get akumatized at all this time around. She had gotten so upset partway through the day because she had gotten an email- an email that should have been sent to her mom, but apparently the email on file was Lila's instead- that said that, given her test scores and the absolute piles of unreturned makeup work from during her trips, the school would not be able to approve any further travels for the rest of the school year and- even worse- she was in serious danger of having to repeat the grade. She had been furious- there was no real way for her to lie her way out of that- and, well, the rest was history.

And Lila was soon to be history, if Alix was to be believed. She had managed to keep hiding nearby after the rest of the class was busted for skipping class and eavesdropping, and had caught more of the fight. Lila's mom was removing her from Paris effective immediately- apparently she had a very strict aunt and uncle back in Italy who would be willing to take her until either Mrs. Rossi could be transferred to a different embassy or Hawkmoth was no longer an issue. In fact, because of Hawkmoth, Lila was going to be sent back to Italy that evening, before she could get akumatized again.

Marinette honestly couldn't be more relieved about that. Lila's akuma forms tended towards the difficult and more indirect than a lot of other akumas, and she got akumatized often. With her gone- and with the class relieved that Lila was getting properly punished for lying to them- the chance of more Lila-related akumas was steadily dropping.

"What I think is funny is that, if Ladybug hadn't done anything, Lila still wouldn't have lasted much longer," Marinette told Tikki as she headed home after school, completely unable to hide the spring in her step. "She wouldn't have been able to go on any more 'trips' and Mr. Damocles would definitely have to reach her mom about the whole being held back thing, so all of the lies would have come out. Ladybug just sped it up." She grinned. "And maybe it was a bit fun to see everyone's reactions." She paused. "...and maybe it was a bit fun to get my revenge, too."

Tikki giggled too, clearly amused. "I bet it was pretty funny to see everyone's faces! And at least now you don't have to worry about Lila anymore. I bet that people will forget about her pretty quickly once she's gone."

"I hope so." Marinette glanced back at the school before she stepped into the bakery. More people than normal were still lingering, no doubt gossiping about everything that had happened and trying to come to terms with the betrayal. Her class was resilient, though, and they would move on. Maybe there would be some lingering disappointment about the hopes and dreams they had pinned on Lila's lies, but it would fade with time.

After all, Lila Rossi wasn't worth their time or energy.