#well you should have SAID SOMETHING in the campaign to let them know it wasn’t going to be the same

[the-physicality]

this election discourse reminds me so much of finals discourse…. (Obviously much higher stakes but)

[utilitycaster]

Hi, would just like to say thank you for writing up so much meta on campaign 3, it is keeping me sane seeing similar thoughts to what I’ve had written down coherently.

The last couple asks you’ve answered have got me thinking about how campaign 3 ended up like this (indecisive characters, weird nonsensical themes, only setpieces and maybe a ship or two being memorable) and I remember hearing that c3 was described by Matt as ”Pulpy” and I keep coming back to that and thinking that there was never even meant to be a big decision. From what I’ve read of old pulp fiction dnd novels it's pretty much “here’s the big bad go defeat/seal/slap them on the wrist, have fun on the way there with several cool setpieces and romance!” and I wonder if there was even meant to be a god debate at all or if it was just picked up in the middle of the story by the cast. It could explain why the characters wouldn't fit the story if this wasn’t meant to be the story.

Cause a character who goes with the flow is fine in those books and a character who only looks into what is thrust upon them works, but it feels like somewhere it tried to be more and just fell apart.

Because even now the story does feel pulpy but just held down by a narrative it isn’t handling well. 119 was a great episode and having the Raven Queen show up in the middle to give boons is an incredibly cool beat that would be memorable as hell but for it to end up as another god debate just sucks. But the rest of the campaign sort of does that with cool beats that end up dragged down in one way or another so its not unique I guess

I know you talked about the “pulpy”ness of c3 a while ago and was wondering if you had more thoughts now that we’re in the endgame for the campaign

I do - this is all rather speculative but in some discussions with other people one possible explanation that's come up is that Matt genuinely didn't expect the characters to be so hesitant to save the gods or stop Ludinus or sympathize with the the Vanguard, and has kind of pivoted to make a campaign that accomodates those doubts...but in doing so sort of fucked his end premise of "we must deal with Predathos". Which, you know, makes a lot of sense! What if Hearthdell was intended as a glimpse into why people might join something like the Vanguard to introduce an element of complexity to a party that (quite reasonably I might add) had said "these people are a fucking scourge on Exandria" but instead served to fan the flames of "well the gods didn't give me things when I asked so yeah we should let them be eaten"? What if the fetch quests to the Shattered Teeth or the scouting mission were like the quest for vestiges - something that the party desperately wished to do to achieve a deeply felt goal - and not something they had to be nudged along to do every step of the way? What if the party went into the final confrontation with any consensus or intention? Because then yeah a pulpier "you're taking on the Big Bad Ultimate Threat...but your MOTHER is on THEIR side" a la vintage superhero comics plays out much more coherently. I cannot stress enough that the cultural touchstone Matt brings up about the campaign is the 2012 Avengers film. Regardless of some posts I've seen (which tend to assume anything the cast has ever read/watched/played is an influence, which is. incorrect) that is your starting point.

The thing about all the "take a third option" and "status quo" talk surrounding this campaign is...this post is actually a good description of how it plays out in real life. Like yeah there's a lot of political constructs within the world that are stupid and unjust! However it is unproductive, naive, and idiotic to act as though just because you don't like them they aren't part of a complex system that needs thoughtful dismantling (at least, if you place any value on human life) or worse, that they simply don't exist because they shouldn't. Sometimes you genuinely do have two choices and neither is ideal and if you do not choose between them because you're holding out for a better option the choice is made for you, and often, it's the worse one. Sometimes there is in fact a problem caused by something stupid that you cannot undo in time to solve said problem, and it is selfish and childish to say "well I think this shouldn't be a problem" and leave it at that. You will fail in your endeavors if you do this. People will see that's your approach and stop listening to anything you say.

Bells Hells feel like that to me and it's not even entirely their fault. I think because Matt had such a clear endgame in mind in the sense of "face off against Predathos" and the party was so ill-suited, and the early pacing was genuinely already bad, he's sort of tried to pivot away by following every dumb idea Bells Hells have to perhaps funnel them towards that endgame. And this is a problem too, because it means the plot doesn't push back on them and they do not grow as people, which means that a lot of us are getting tired with their shit. It's telling that most of Bells Hells' loudest defenders are the "well, if you're traumatized, you're excused from all responsibility for your actions ever :)" types within the fandom because like, part of why people are sick of Laudna's shit (for example) is that it's like ok I agree you shouldn't have an evil wizard in your head but you do, so like, what are you doing about it. And because she hadn't done anything about it and because they had to get to Predathos we had our Deus Essek Machina situation, which to be clear, not mad about, but it also means Laudna never really learned or grew from this. And to be clear she's not alone; part of the frustration around Ashton is it seemed like they DID have a revelation around shardgate and then immediately discarded it.

There's many more factors I'm sure but just to sum up:

Matt has a very clear overarching plot in mind [and, also, probably was creating a campaign for characters who see point 3 had more realized worldviews and goals and investment in their communities]

Matt does not give the cast much guidance in creating characters for that plot; "pulpy" is really tonal and not even genre

Cast, having played characters specifically designed for the "complex and morally gray and must be from the continent the campaign is set on" campaign last, turn to wacky and go-with-the-flow types

Overarching plot kicks in; characters do not behave as expected

Matt tries to embrace/encourage this by getting the party to follow what they want to do

Go-with-flow/take no responsibility party doesn't know what they want to do

endless loop of a DM trying to adjust the direction of flow to a directionless party instead of imposing a direction/Cast trying to take direction cues from a DM who keeps throwing more options at them in the hopes one will appeal to them which turns into a "what do you want to do" "I don't know what do you want to do" situation.

[suitelif3]

Under the mistletoe…gone wrong

rated t | 1.4k | ao3

For @steddiemas, prompt: mistletoe

**

“Why don’t you want to be with Nancy again?” Dustin asked.

“God Henderson, we’ve been over this. She’s with Jonathan now, and they’re a good couple. I’m not that interested in her right now anyway.” More like he’s interested in the boy with brown doe eyes, curly hair and stubborn personality. God, he really has a type.

“How are you this blind, Steve? Just because she’s in a relationship doesn’t mean feelings aren’t there.”

“Dustin, there’s no feelings anymore. Get that through your thick skull. It’s never going to happen again.”

“We’ll see.” He muttered.

“Oh my god.” Steve said disbelievingly. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“What’re we talking about?” Robin jumped on the counter, swinging her legs, so they were banging on the cabinets behind them.

“Just about Steve’s tragedy of a love life.”

“Dude! I’m perfectly fine being single, I like focusing on myself for once in my life.”

“Fine. You said fine Steve. Not great, not fantastic. Admit it, you miss being in a relationship!”

“Dustin, not everything is about being in a relationship! Do I miss being taken care of, sure. Do I miss having someone to be affectionate with, yes. But I also don’t need to be in one to be happy. I have Robin, I have you guys. That’s enough for me.” Steve sighed, looking around the kitchen. Robin smiled encouragingly at him, but Dustin seemed closed off. He didn’t want to ruin the Christmas party with everyone at the Byers, he was just tired of constantly being asked about his relationships from Dustin.

Even if he was secretly missing being in a relationship, he wasn’t missing one with Nancy, and he didn’t need to tell Dustin who he was missing one with.

“Yeah, Dustin, it’s okay to want Steve to be with someone but he’s okay. We’re all okay because we have each other. As friends, and sometimes friends is all you need.” Robin slung an arm over Dustin’s shoulders.

After a beat, Eddie peeked his head into the doorway of the kitchen. “What’s all the commotion about?”

“Nothing.” Dustin grumbled. Eddie smiled at Dustin, and ruffled his hair.

“Alright, well Wayne and I brought mac and cheese. Where should I put it?”

Robin gestured to all the other dishes on the counters the party has brought in so far.

“Thanks Buckley.”

Steve’s heart raced at the sight of him. Eddie looked good. He had his curls pulled up into a messy bun, with some out to frame his face. He had on non-ripped dark jeans and a dark, nice dress shirt. It was the most done up Steve had ever seen him, and all he wanted to do was kiss those perfect, plush lips. He wanted to absolutely ravish him.

Dustin asked Eddie a question about his upcoming campaign, which shot them off into a whole nerd conversation Steve could barely keep up with. He didn’t mind watching Eddie though. His eyes lighting up when talking about his passion, him gesturing his hands out to emphasize his points, his loud boisterous voice filling up the space. Steve loved how he took up space, that he was as confident as ever. He thought he covered up his staring by talking with Robin, her going on and on as usual.

Minutes ticked by until Nancy appeared in the doorway, letting them know everyone was here.

Steve nodded to her, and everyone started to filter out. He lingered behind, hoping to catch a moment with Eddie, but he had already slipped out with Dustin.

Walking out of the kitchen, Steve joined Nancy making idle small talk. They stopped in the threshold of the living room, Nancy going on about her new journalist job. He really was proud of her, they had been through so much together, and she was finally building something of her own. He didn’t love her anymore, but he would always want her to be happy doing something she loved.

“Look!” Dustin pointed to something above them. Steve looked up to see mistletoe hung innocently right above their heads. “That means you have to kiss.” Dustin announced smugly. Steve had never felt this much contempt for him before. He really didn’t want to be under the mistletoe with Nancy.

He took in everyone in the room. Everyone was staring at them, wondering what they would do. Jonathon was glaring at Steve, and he tried not to feel uncomfortable, but that was proved impossible since he was already feeling uneasy being in this situation.

Everyone else gave him varying looks of pity until he got to Eddie. Eddie looked crushed, the gleam that’s usually in his eye was dimmed, his shoulders hunched forward. His face the picture of heartbreak and Steve felt his own heart sink. He broke eye contact with Steve, his eyes darting around the room, planning his escape. He squeezed past different people, bursting through the back door.

Steve turned to Nancy, a look of remorse on his face. He didn’t know what to do, everything itching in him to chase after Eddie, but he couldn’t leave Nancy.

Nancy, able to read him as always, brought her hand up to his cheek, bringing his head down and kissing his other cheek.

He breathed a sigh of relief, looking at her gratefully. She gave him a small smile before leaving to stand with Jonathon.

He briefly saw Dustin’s look of disappointment, and Robin patting him on the shoulder, when taking off to the back door. Everyone chattering away again.

He stood outside, scanning the area for Eddie. The chill of the air made him shiver, the dim light making him squint his eyes, trying to see any figure from here to the shed.

He turned his head to the right, about to go down the stairs when he finally caught sight of Eddie.

Eddie was slumped against the back of the house, looking down at his feet, where they scuffed the ground.

He looked tormented, and Steve took a deep breath, not wanting to ruin this all over again.

“Hey, thought I saw you come out here.” Steve started gently.

Eddie swiped the back of his hand across his face quickly before looking at Steve.

“Uh-yeah. Inside was getting a little stuffy, y’know?”

Steve nodded, descending the stairs to get closer to him.

“Shouldn’t you be inside with Nancy anyway?” Eddie sniffed, eyes flickering around the yard.

He felt a tug in his chest. “Why would I be with Nancy?”

“Just seemed like the perfect situation. You guys under the mistletoe together.” Eddie shrugged with an aloofness about him. To make out that the sight of Steve under the mistletoe with Nancy didn’t bother him at all.

Steve took a chance and asked, “Can I tell you something?”

Eddie nodded.

“I didn’t want to be under the mistletoe with her. I never did.” He confessed.

“I thought you were in love with her?” Eddie looked confused, but Steve was tired of him always pushing him to Nancy. It was never going to happen. He only wanted the man in front of him. If he could have him again.

“I haven’t been in a long time. I don’t know why no one believes me. It’s not going to happen again.” Steve said exasperated.

“Maybe because you guys have a lot of history, Steve. It’s hard to let go of someone like that in your life.” Eddie tried not to sound too bitter.

“She’s not the only one I have history with Eddie.”

Steve still remembered the way Eddie curled into him, how he sounded when mapping out his body, drawing out those sweet sounds. He thought about those kisses, languid and soft. He recalled how he felt, full of warmth and love. He didn’t understand how Eddie thought he was still in love with her, when he’s been in love with him the whole time.

Eddie was looking up at him with those big doe eyes he loved so much. They were glossy, and red around the edges, his lips jutted out in a pout. Steve could only stare and said in a soft voice. “I wanted it to be you. That’s all I ever wanted.”

Something seemed to break in Eddie as he reached out to grab Steve’s collar, pulling him down until their lips collided. This kiss was nothing like their previous ones. This one was fast, a flurry of movement, of passion being pushed and pulled between them. Steve’s arms wrapped around Eddie, scouring his back, holding him as close as he could. Their lips nipping at each other, Eddie’s tongue fighting his, like he was desperate to be felt by Steve.

And Steve couldn’t feel anything but Eddie.

[uss-butterscotch]

Yet another between seasons 3 and 4 fic

Eddie tries to unravel the mystery his newest sheep are caught up in that somehow involves Steve Harrington

Part one

- - -

Eddie wasn’t sure what he was expecting from the group of freshman he had taken into his group, but it certainly wasn’t them claiming to be buddies with the disgraced king Steve Harrington. It had started when Henderson had asked how long Hellfire meetings would go.

“They’ll go as long as they go, Henderson,” he replied, “You claim this isn’t your first round in the fantasy ring, you should know that.”

The little twerp rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well I need a timeframe. Steve said he’d give me a ride home after, but he’s not just gonna wait in the parking lot forever.”

“Yes he would, and you know it.” Wheeler retorted before Eddie could respond.

“Well yeah, but he already spends like no time with people his own age outside of work, it’s getting a little sad.” Henderson said, and Eddie was starting to wonder who this Steve guy was. ”I don’t want to add another reason for him to not have friends.”

“What are you talking about?” Sinclair joined in. “He’s like constantly hanging out with Robin.”

“Yeah! And he refuses to make a move on her! I think he’s lost all his game. And sitting in a parking lot for hours waiting for a group of nerdy freshman isn’t gonna help.” Henderson replied dramatically.

When Dustin had first brought him up, Eddie had figured Steve was like, his stepdad or something. But the more it went on the more lost he got.

“Okay, okay,” he interjected, stopping their weird conversation before it could get any weirder. “Whoever this Steve guy is, you can tell him to pick you up at eight.”

“Oh, you probably know him.” Dustin said, which Eddie highly doubted, since the only Steves he knew were his uncle’s poker buddy, and the former jock/bully/general asshole that was Steve Harrington.

“He graduated last year.” He continued, and that narrowed down the list of Steves in a unpleasant way.

“You’re not talking about Steve Harrington.” Gareth said, looking up from his lunch for the first time during the conversation.

“Yeah, we are.” Henderson replied, and Eddie shared a look with his friends.

“No way Harrington spends his free time driving you twerps around.” Eddie said, thinking if he was a character in one of his campaigns he’d be insight checking them all so hard right now.

“Unfortunately he does.” Wheeler said lazily as he pushed his meatloaf around his tray.

“Nobody’s forcing you to get in the car when he picks us up.” Dustin snapped.

“What, and ask Nancy for a ride? That’s worse.” Mike responded.

“All of you shut up,” Eddie called, once again derailing their strange conversation spiral. “Let me get this straight: King Steve has no friends besides some band geek that he can’t even manage to date, and spends his free time driving a bunch of freshman around?”

When none of them answered him he threw his head back, cackling. “Oh this is too good.”

He kissed his hands and threw them up, as if beckoning to the heavens. “Oh it’s all true! What goes around truly does come around.”

He was too busy reveling in the downfall of the personification of everything he hated to notice Henderson’s simmering rage across the table from him until he slammed his fists on the table. “Steve’s a good guy!” He shouted.

Eddie gave him a dangerous look. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dustin asserted. The kid had guts, he had to give him that.

“Tell that to Jeff in freshman year, with his head in a toilet while Harrington egged his buddies on.” Eddie pushed.

Dustin looked between him and Jeff briefly, but his defensive aura didn’t waver. “He’s not like that anymore.”

Eddie scoffed and leaned away from the table. “Yeah, and I live on the moon with my fairy godmother and a million dollars.”

Dustin had apparently heard enough, because he picked up his bag and stormed away. Wheeler and Sinclair watched him go for a second, before sharing some kind of psychic communication. Eventually Sinclair got up and followed after him.

“Oook what’s his damage?” Eddie asked.

Wheeler sighed. “He and Steve got really close last year. Dustin was in some trouble and Steve helped him out. And then the thing with Billy, and the-“ he stops abruptly before continuing “the mall, and now I guess Dustin sees him as like, a big brother or something.”

“Ok that explains like, nothing.” Gareth says, “The thing with Billy? You mean when Hargrove smashed Harrington’s face in last year?”

Mike nodded. Unhelpfully not explaining further. Giving them a look like they were the crazy ones.

“And what does that have to do with Henderson?” Eddie prodded.

Mike huffed and crossed his arms. “He was there. We all were. Billy was looking for his sister and she was hanging out with us, and he said some shit about her not associating with ‘people like Lucas’, and then he attacked him, and Steve stopped him, but Billy fought dirty.”

Mike shook his head and looked away. “We thought Billy was gonna kill Steve before Max was able to stop him.”

Eddie shared a look with Gareth and Jeff, trying to judge if they were buying it. It was no secret that Billy was an asshole, and a violent one at that. Wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to believe he was a racist too.

“Ok, so Harrington got is face beat in to stop a racist asshole. That doesn’t cancel out all the shitty stuff he did before.” Eddie stated.

“Yeah, also, you mentioned the mall?” Jeff cut in.

“Yeah.” Mike said like it was obvious.

“The one that burned down?”

“Yeah,” Mike was picking at his fingernails now. “We were there for that too, with Steve.”

He looked like he was thinking hard for a second before continuing. “We got separated in the fire, so I don’t actually know exactly what happened, and they don’t like to talk about it, but when shit was going down Dustin, Steve, Robin, and Lucas’ little sister got in a pretty bad situation. The way Dustin tells it, Steve got them out, but he got pretty hurt in the process.”

“Jesus Christ, is there any disaster in Hawkins you guy’s weren’t there for?” Eddie said.

Mike gave a humorless laugh. “I wish.”

They all let Mike’s story sit for a second before they all started firing off more questions.

“What was Steve even doing hanging out with you guys when Billy showed up?” Jeff asked.

“So you’re trying to tell us he’s some kind of hero for saving Dustin from the mall fire?” Gareth added.

“Come on, Wheeler, he dated your sister, you can’t really think that highly of him.” Eddie finished.

Mike squinted at them for a moment before scoffing, “Honestly, none of it is any of your business,” he turned his gaze to Eddie, “and yeah, he did date my sister, and he was kind of douchebag like two years ago. And for the record, I don’t even really like him that much, but he did save mine and my friends’ lives more than once, so I think I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt and not automatically assume he’s a complete asshole.”

At that he also grabbed his bag and his lunch tray. “I’m gonna talk to Dustin, try to get him to see your side of it, but maybe you guys should try to see ours.”

Eddie watched him follow his friends out of the cafeteria. Shaking his head. “Man I never pegged them as the type to hero worship some jock.”

Gareth shrugged. “Sinclair maybe, I overheard him talking about joining the basketball team last week, but Henderson? No way Harrington puts up with him.”

“Maybe if Henderson cools off by Friday we’ll see if Harrington really is there to pick him up.” Jeff mused.

When Friday came around, find out they did.

The session ended up going until about 8:30. When Eddie called it a night and Henderson looked at the clock he started packing up in a hurry.

“Shit, Steve’s probably pissed we kept him waiting.” He practically shrieked.

“Dude, chill out, he’s probably just out there failing to chat up Robin. Again.” Lucas said, collecting his things in a more at a more relaxed pace.

Dustin barely had time to hear him though, as he raced out of the room with a hasty goodbye to the rest of the group.

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Steve talks a lot of shit, but if it really pissed him off that much, he wouldn’t do it.”

Eddie paused his organizing of his dice to shake his head. “There you go again talking like you’re friends with Harrington.”

“Whatever, thanks for the great session, Eddie. See you on Monday.” Lucas said as he left.

Wheeler was still there, taking his sweet time packing up his things. “What, King Steve’s not taking you with him?“ Eddie asked.

“Oh, he is. I just like making him wait as long as possible. Plus, his and Dustin’s dumb secret handshake takes so long they’ll probably still be doing it by the time we get out there.” Mike replied, rolling his eyes.

“They do not have a secret handshake.” Gareth said, incredulous.

Mike shrugged. “Believe whatever you want man, all I know is that it makes us about 5 minutes late to whatever we’re doing.”

Eddie shared a look with the rest of his friends, simultaneously deciding that if this secret handshake existed, they had to see it for themselves. They left their stuff behind and made their way out to the parking lot to see what must have been the end of the handshake, which consisted of what looked like a brief light saber fight and Dustin spilling Harrington’s imaginary guts on the pavement.

“What the hell,” he whispered as he watched Harrington animatedly ask Dustin how it went.

As Henderson talked, he watched Harrington wave to Lucas across the parking lot and notice Eddie and his friends in the doorway. His smile faltered slightly, becoming a little awkward, as he waved to them too.

Eddie’s brain was too busy trying to process everything he was seeing to have the wherewithal to do anything back. Looking back on it, he wished he would have stuck his tongue out in his signature devil move, but alas, he’d have to save that for another day.

As he watched, Henderson got in a fight with a girl in the front seat of Harrington’s beemer. At first he thought it was a little odd that Harrington would bring a date to pick up a bunch of high schoolers from D&D, but then he recognized her. Robin Buckley, the band geek the freshmen had mentioned was Steve’s only friend.

Eventually, Harrington broke up the fight. “Henderson you can sit in the front when you’re the one who just got off a 5 hour shift on a Friday night.”

He watched Buckley stick her tongue out at him through the window as he joined Lucas in the back. Then Harrington checked his watch almost anxiously. He opened the driver’s door and said something to the kids in the back. When he reemerged from the car he did something Eddie never would have expected. He started walking towards them.

Not only was he walking towards them, but he was looking at them almost like he was about to-

“He guys, is uh, is Wheeler still in there?” He asked, looking between the four of them. He sounded almost nervous. Good Eddie thought, let him squirm.

“No actually, we had to sacrifice him for our satanic ritual.” Eddie replied, his brain finally catching up to the situation. His friends snickered behind him.

Harrington had the audacity to look worried, like he almost believed him, until he looked behind them and apparently saw what he was looking for.

“What the hell is taking so long, dipshit?” He asked.

“If I’m not allowed to say dipshit in front of you why are you allowed to do it?” Mike fired back without missing a beat.

Harrington just rolled his eyes, somehow resembling a tired parent. “Just get in the car, I was almost worried you fell into the-“

He stopped abruptly, not unlike the way Mike had the other day, Eddie noted in the back of his mind, and glanced at the Jeff, who also seemed to notice.

“…Toilet.” Harrington finished lamely, and was met by a classic Mike Wheeler judgemental grimace. He cleared his throat and added, with a hint of annoyance, “Just get in the car, Wheeler. Your sister will kill me if you’re not back by 9.”

The evening’s surprises kept coming when Wheeler, for maybe the first time in the month that Eddie had known him, dropped his pinched expression and sounded almost sincere when he mumbled “Sorry, didn’t mean to like, actually scare you.”

Steve just nodded in reply. As Mike made his way to the car, Harrington lingered for a moment looking like he was trying to convince himself to do something.

“Hey, uh,” he started eventually, “thanks for lookin’ out for them.”

And with that he gave another awkward wave and walked a little too briskly back to his car. Eddie had a brief thought that he should probably stop watching them, that he should head back inside and stop thinking about it, but found himself unable to look away as Harrington got into the car, yelled something to the back seat, and pulled out of the parking lot.

They were gone for a long moment before Gareth spoke up. “Ok so Harrington’s definitely been replaced by some sort of alien robot or something, right?”

“Yeah I’d say that’s the most likely explanation.” Eddie said, still staring at the spot the car had disappeared from.

Part 2

[gmasttin]

Really Good, Actually | Kylian Mbappé fic

| Summary: A Madrid-based creative unexpectedly finds herself leading the rebranding of Kylian Mbappé. Between cold coffees, impossible deadlines, and tense creative sessions, something more than just a campaign begins to take shape. An ironic, intimate, and emotionally sharp story about the chaos of feeling alive just when you thought you were only surviving.

| 3.9k words

| You can read Chapter 1 and Chapter 2

CHAPTER 3:

Monday starts with a word no one around you seems willing to say out loud: feedback.

But it’s everywhere, in your inbox, the comments on the shared PDF, the voice notes your boss records like he’s telling bedtime stories to an insomniac toddler.

And you, who had the wildly naive hope of making some quiet progress today, are now trapped in an endless chain of revisions, versions, nuances, and phrases like “this is good, but maybe we could find something more authentic.”

More authentic than what, you have no idea. Maybe your current existence.

You honestly can’t remember the last time someone sent you a message that said: “it’s perfect, don’t change a thing.” In your world, feedback is always long, contradictory, and laced with passive-aggressive gems like: “this works, but could we push it a little further?”

Lately, all you get are scattered comments from his PR head, each one soaked in that kind of ambiguity that should honestly be illegal:

“We think the tone is good, but is there a way to make it warmer without losing depth?” “We love the sincerity, but we don’t want it to feel vulnerable.” “Kylian’s read it and says it’s going well.” (Which part? When? What did he understand?)

It’s all like that—vague opinions, nonspecific compliments, contradictory questions sent your way like cryptic horoscopes. One message literally says:

“Do you think the angle is too intimate?” And four lines down: “We love the emotional closeness. Let’s amplify it.”

What doesn’t show up anywhere, at all, is Kylian.

Kylian isn’t in the office. Not in your inbox. Not on Zoom. No signs of life, except for the occasional “seen” check on the group chat you share with his team.

The first time you see the little blue tick, your emotional stomach twists a little. The second time, you just sip your coffee and ignore it. The third, you don’t even bother reacting.

It’s been a week since you saw him.

No one mentions it directly, but the silence around his name has the exact shape of the space he used to take up when he’d just show up. Unannounced, unapologetic, settling into the chair next to yours like he belonged there.

And you keep telling yourself this is better. Now you can work with more focus. More method. More efficiency. That you don’t need to see him to know what he’s trying to say. That this is work, professional, strategic, logical.

But that’s not entirely true.

Because every line you write, every block you structure, every mental image you craft… has him at the center.

And not in a “campaign protagonist” way. In a “this only works if it’s real” kind of way.

Sometimes, you feel like messaging him. Saying:

“If you don’t get involved, this is going to turn into exactly what you didn’t want.”

But you don’t. Because that wasn’t the deal. You don’t want to seem more invested than you’re supposed to be. And because if he’s not showing up, you are not going to beg.

Your day starts every morning with a watery office coffee and the promise, made to yourself, not to overthink things. To just do the job, stick to the assignment, move forward with the production plan.

And yet, every time you open the script, every time you reread a line, you get stuck in the way the words sound when you imagine them in his voice.

You don’t do it on purpose. It’s not cheap romanticism or some overblown obsession. It’s something else. It’s professionalism contaminated by intuition. It’s knowing, deep down, that this project is only going to work if you manage to tell something that feels true. Something that doesn’t sound like it was designed by committee or wrapped in off-the-shelf storytelling.

And that, unfortunately, doesn’t get written on autopilot.

Lucía, who glides past your desk with the smoothness of someone already two coffees in, drops a chocolate bar without saying a word. You just look up at her like she’s thrown you a life raft in the middle of a shipwreck.

“Did you shower today?” she asks.

“Yes. But my self-esteem didn’t.”

“Perfect. You’re ready for another ‘aligning expectations’ meeting.”

The meeting is with Marta, someone from PR, and Guillermo, who showed up in a printed shirt and the energy of someone who still hasn’t realized it’s too late to change careers.

Between jokes and phrases like “let’s land the concept,” you spend half the morning arguing whether a scene in the video needs more organic music, or if “organic” is already too burned-out as a concept.

Guillermo suggests layering sounds from the Paris metro with flamenco clapping. You blink.

“Why not?” he says. “It’s culturally transversal.”

“It’s culturally schizophrenic, Guillermo.”

Lucía writes the line down. She says it’s going straight into her list of “things Y/N says that Guillermo should never forget.”

Kylian’s PR rep, joining in from a Pinterest-Corporate blurred background, nods politely to everything. Every time you pitch something, she says “I like it” or “could work,” but you never know if that means keep going or shut it down.

After the third video call of the day, Guillermo flops onto the Scandinavian-room couch and says: “I’m thinking of becoming a creative coach.”

“Based on what experience?”

“Based on having lots of ideas and zero desire to execute them.”

Lucía looks at you. And you laugh. Because you don’t have the strength to cry.

By midweek, one thing is clear: the project is taking shape. Or at least, it has a skeleton. You’ve rewritten the script three times, reorganized the thematic blocks, renamed the files seven times, cut out beautiful lines that no longer fit, left gaps where you have no idea what to put, and created a folder titled “final versions (for real this time).”

After hanging up one of those long, daily PR calls, Lucía walks into the room with two glasses of wine stolen from a client launch you’ve both already forgotten about.

“I have five theories,” she says.

“About what?”

“About why he’s not showing up.”

She lists them aloud, while pouring more wine:

He’s testing whether you can handle the pressure without him.

He’s secretly working on a parallel campaign reinventing himself as a visual artist.

He’s afraid of falling in love with you.

He’s completely out of the loop because his PR filters everything with ‘everything’s going fine.’

He’s just super busy with the season and the seventeen million matches he has to play.

“Option five feels very real.”

“Option three too.” she says. 

You look at her, not knowing whether to laugh or run away. You decide that, for today, you’ll just leave it on pause.

He’ll show up. Or he won’t.

But you’ve got a script that, for the first time, is starting to feel like a real story.

The tension of the project starts to shift into something else when, on a Thursday afternoon, you find yourself closing your laptop at the exact moment Lucía and Guillermo shoot up from their desks like someone had just pulled a fire alarm.

“Y/N, you’re coming to the afterwork, right?” Lucía throws at you as she passes by, with that mix of invitation and subtle scolding in her voice.

You lift your eyes from the script and give her your best poker face. You feel like you’ve been staring at screens for two days straight until your pupils started begging for help, but there’s something in the way Lucía looks at you that makes you think that if you don’t go, the afternoon is going to feel even longer than it already has.

“After... what?” you ask, faking ignorance, while slowly getting up from your desk.

“Afterwork. Beers. Ending up drunk at karaoke. One of those stupid things that cures post-feedback syndrome.” Lucía shrugs. “Guillermo organized it. You bring the vibes.”

Right then, Guillermo appears dragging the box of the good donuts, the ones he’s been hiding from José Luis for days, like a hidden treasure.

“Idea!” he announces, with a mischievous smile. “These donuts, well, what’s left of them, my place, beers, I introduce you to my new cat Pipo, and we invite my neighbor.”

Lucía and you exchange a look. For a second, your mind drifts back to the script, to the words that have been echoing in your head for days, and you catch yourself realizing how absurd it would be to turn all of it into a drunken game.

“What if instead we stick to the plan and order a gin-tonic every time someone says authenticity?” Lucía proposes, raising an eyebrow. “I need an excuse to get drunk the way I want to.”

You agree, because you know you need it: some time away from screens and notes, a moment where you can feel there’s still life outside of a script about solitude and “fractures.”

You change in a makeshift bathroom closet next to the printer (which, by the way, is still broken). Lucía steps out in a wine-colored dress, and you in jeans that finally let you breathe for the first time in days, and a black strappy corset-style top.

You walk two blocks to a bar with discreet neon lights and worn wooden high tables. The waiter greets you with that calculated indifference of someone who’s seen everything, except maybe someone ordering “a gin-tonic of authenticity, please.”

You order rounds of beer and a gin for the bet. You sit between Lucía and Guillermo, with the echo of your department coworkers' laughter floating through the glass door.

“How’s that ‘fracture’ section going?” Guillermo asks, teasing you from the first sip.

“Fracture,” because Lucía and Guillermo have decided that between you and Kylian, there’s been a breakup. You close your eyes for a second, bring the beer to your lips and say:

“Fracture’s going fine. Now it just needs to leave the document and find a space in my stomach, where it actually hurts.”

Lucía claps silently, palm pressed to her chest, and you’re surprised at how seen you feel without anyone asking for more. Because sometimes, just saying “it hurts” is enough for someone to offer you a solidarity seat.

The night moves along with agency stories, inside jokes about impossible briefs, and yes, the classic “authenticity” drop from some guy at the next table, which prompts you to hush Lucía before the bar decides to collectively cancel you.

And just then, you see the glass door shift: it’s him. He’s wearing jeans, a plain tee, and that brown leather jacket that suits him so damn well. He doesn’t walk in right away; he stops at the threshold, rocking his weight from one foot to the other, as if scanning the place while waiting for his three companions.

Your breath stumbles. Lucía and Guillermo both look at you, knowing exactly what this means.

“Y/N, I think your challenge just leveled up,” Lucía whispers, smirking with complicity.

He’s already seen the table, already seen Lucía and Guillermo, and finally makes his way over with that calm of his that slows down everyone else’s pulse.

“Mind if we join you?” he asks softly, almost like he needs permission just to breathe.

Lucía improvises chairs out of three stools and slides them in with a theatrical gesture.

“You had to ask?”

He sits next to you. The background noise fades. Your hand trembles around your beer.

“Mind if I order a round of gin for everyone?” Lucía asks, half-smiling.

“The bet still stands,” Guillermo replies.

He raises the gin like a soldier toasting in silence, and you’re forced to choose between drinking and smiling. You do both. The gin burns your throat a little, and when you lower the glass, he’s glancing sideways at you.

“You got the ‘intimacy’ section under control?” Kylian asks without preamble.

Your heart makes a metallic sound.

“I mean... I’m refining it,” you answer.

“Perfect,” he says. “Because I’d like to hear it.”

And just like that, with no further setup, the night becomes an open canvas of possibilities: Laughter masking insecurities, looks dancing dangerously close to the edge of what hasn’t been said, and that quiet pull to lean in a little closer without anyone making too much noise when shifting their chair.

And so, between beers, gin-tonics, and word-trigger bets, you discover that the most valuable feedback wasn’t buried in PDFs or shared folders, but in an unexpected toast that spins the whole spirit of the project around… and maybe something else, too.

The music drops a few degrees, but the pulse of the night still thumps in your temples when he leans in and whispers, voice just barely louder than a brush of lips:

“Need some air?”

You nod before thinking, and he gently takes your forearm, as if afraid that one wrong move might scare you off. You step out into the bar’s small back patio, where soft yellow string lights warm the chill and only the faint clinking of glasses and laughter filters through the glass door.

The air outside greets you without questions. You take off your jacket and hang it over the back of a chair, fully aware of his fingers brushing your shoulder as he steps aside to help. You lean against the metal railing, and from the corner of your eye, you see him approach, slow, measured. There’s something about the way he moves, deliberate and aware, that disorients you more than any script you’ve ever written.

“I needed this,” he says, not looking away from your profile. “The bar was… you know.”

You nod, and you’re surprised at how natural the shared excuse sounds now, like something you’d rehearsed.

His eyes lock with yours when you turn.

The city’s murmur becomes the perfect soundtrack, and suddenly everything else disappears: the beers, Lucía singing off-key somewhere inside, Guillermo with his over-the-top accent.

Your heart beats with a rhythm you don’t recognize. You want to say something clever, something that diffuses the tension, but what comes out is:

“I guess… we just needed a breather.”

He tilts his head, weighing your words, then reaches out and gently brushes the side of your wrist. The contact is brief, no more than a blink, but it burns your skin. 

In that tiny moment, you feel the heat of his palm, the texture of his jacket, and the fracture in the invisible wall you’ve both built, from the first meeting to this night.

“You’re different,” he murmurs. “When you work, I mean.”

He bites his lower lip, as if looking for something more concrete to follow that up. You respond with a soft smile, feeling something open wide and glowing in your chest:

“And you’re different. When you’re not working.”

There’s a perfect silence, where the words evaporate midair. He takes one step closer, and that step turns the railing into both a boundary and a bridge. You want to lean in, to brush your lips against his, but something in his gaze holds you back, desire, yes, but also hesitation, care.

He sighs, and the tension breaks with a quiet nod:

“Let’s go back in, yeah?”

You nod again, and as you turn toward the door, you feel his hand graze your back, guiding you without rush. In that touch, there’s a silent agreement: tonight, for the first time, something more than a project has started writing itself between the two of you.

The hangover from the night before hits right at nine a.m., when you walk into the agency with the under-eyes of a nocturnal mapmaker. The first light of the day slips between the briefing pages and reminds you that today is the big day: filming begins tomorrow in Italy, and you need to have everything tied up before you fly.

You step into the Scandinavian room—empty, silent, almost reverent—and turn on your computer.

In front of you, a document titled “FINAL Version – Rome Script” blinks like a lighthouse on the screen. You open the outline: 1. Intimate intro / 2. Journey / 3. Conquest and contradiction / 4. Breaking point / 5. Rebirth...

Your task this morning is to fill in section 3 with the latest footage: the studio photoshoot, the voiceover you’d left pending, and the bridging music that will link the narrative to the airplane shot sequence.

You start rewriting the voiceover. Writing long, weighty lines, trying to find the precise tone:

“To pass through the silence’s shadow, to rise above the noise of fame, to find in the air the possibility of becoming something new.”

You feel the weight of every word: this isn’t a slogan, it’s the promise of an emotional journey.

Meanwhile, you reorganize the image folder: You select close-ups of his hands tying his sneakers, his breath held just before the final whistle, the reflection of the moon on his cycling helmet in that clip from the French national team. You rename the files with codes only you understand: “hand_01,” “breathe_03,” “moon_02.”

Mid-morning, your phone vibrates with a short message:

Prod Team: PLANE READY. BOARDING 16:00H PRIVATE RUNWAY.

You close the document and laugh, unsure whether it’s from nerves or relief. You check the time: just enough for a coffee you won’t drink, a sandwich you won’t eat, and a taxi ride to the airfield.

You hop into a cab that smells like old leather and gasoline. On the way, you mentally run through your storyboard sequence. You know the best shots will be the ones where he doesn’t realize he’s being filmed, when he talks about his childhood in that low, unguarded voice.

When you arrive, the guard greets you with indifference and opens the walkway hatch. In front of you stands the Gulfstream: white, polished, its doors half-open like it’s giving you a confident wink. You fixate for a second on the embroidered logo on the wings, a stylized KM that almost looks like a heartbeat, before climbing the stairs.

Inside, the jet is another dimension: cream upholstery, warm light integrated into the panels, leather seats that recline and swivel. The production team is already there, waiting with two cases full of hard drives, wireless mics, and catering that smells like fresh bread and strong coffee. No one looks at you strangely, everyone’s focused on final technical details.

You settle into the seat on the right, right across from the folding table. You spot the back of Kylian’s head, tilted down, as he scrolls through his phone. 

He looks up suddenly, sees you, and gives you a half-smile, saying nothing. You quickly glance away, like his seat is some kind of forbidden territory. But the gesture carries something like complicity: you both know that in a few hours, you’ll be filming the first sequences together in the city.

The engine hums softly and soon you’re rising above Madrid’s rooftops. After a couple of hours, the landscape shifts to dark patches dotted with lights: highways glowing like rivers of fire, small towns scattered across the plains, until the first signs of Italy flicker on the cockpit’s radar screens.

As you descend into Rome, you spot the Coliseum glowing in the distance and a mosaic of winding streets barely visible in the night. The plane touches down in silence. The airfield guard welcomes you with a curt nod and, in minutes, you’re inside a black van waiting at the terminal.

The drive to the hotel takes you past avenues lined with cypress trees and façades bathed in the soft glow of streetlamps. In the rearview mirror, you see Kylian, leaned back in his seat, focused on his phone. You’re reviewing your notebook with the shoot plans: tomorrow starts in a villa on the outskirts, with views of the Tiber and a sunset you could slice with a knife.

At the hotel, a restored Baroque-style mansion turned boutique stay, you’re welcomed with a warm “Benvenuti” echoing through the marble lobby and a faint scent of limoncello.

The concierge hands you the keycards: 213 for you, 214 for him. In the carpeted hallway, you pass each other for a brief second: he turns left, you turn right.

Inside your room, warm light surrounds you: heavy curtains, a walnut desk, a bed perfectly dressed in crisp white linens. You drop your suitcase onto a chair, turn on the vanity lamp, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, the travel fatigue drawing shadows beneath your eyes, but also a trace of anticipation glowing behind them.

You turn off the main light. Only the low lamp beside your bed remains. You lie down, open your notebook, and write at the top of the page:

“Rome, night. This is where it all begins.”

You close the notebook, sigh, and allow yourself, for the first time since the first round of feedback, to simply be.

Tomorrow, with the Italian morning light, the project will come to life in a different way. For now, all that’s left is to sleep.

Your phone screen lights up softly on the far side of the bed.

00:17. Not a second of rest since you arrived. 

Maybe it’s the built-up exhaustion, or some rogue impulse from your brain, but you decide to message him.

You: Are you awake?

A few seconds of silence. Each one as heavy as a raindrop against glass.

Him: Too much.

His honesty in just that two words, too much, catches you off guard. Your pulse quickens, imagining him lying back in the dark, just like you.

You stare at the ceiling, counting the lines in the molding.

You: Me too. Thought I’d crash after the trip, but it’s hard to switch off.

The “seen” appears like a dull dagger. You bite your lip. Two minutes pass.

Him: Want company?

Your cheeks heat up. You want to answer with a resounding “yes,” but instead, you type:

You: Depends on…

You freeze. Depends on what? Me? You? What this means at midnight in Rome?

A ping.

Him: On you 😉

You close your eyes, and breathe in, deep.

You decide the best thing is to meet him, even if you’re not exactly sure why. You get up, adjust the oversized shirt you’re wearing as pajamas, and knock on your room door. A soft click tells you the lock has turned.

You step out into the carpeted hallway, barely lit by dim lights. The silence is almost as thick as the dark. With quiet steps, you walk toward room 214.

He’s already there, waiting at his door frame, door half-open, a sliver of golden light behind him. The rhythm of his breathing echoes in the stillness of the night.

“Hi,” he whispers, as if afraid of waking half the hotel.

“Hi,” you reply, aware that your voice sounds strangely different from just moments ago.

The space between you is minimal. Just enough to brush shoulders, for the energy of all the unsaid words to fill the gap.

“I’m used to sleeping in hotel rooms,” he admits, “but I can’t seem to manage it tonight.”

“I’m not used to it,” you murmur. “Especially not alone.”

He smiles slowly. That slight curve of his lips makes you feel like someone just cracked open a narrow beam of light inside your chest.

“So… should we stay up for a bit?”

You bite your lower lip. The hallway smells like a story just beginning.

“Yes.”He closes the door to his room, and in doing so, the darkness seems to turn more intimate. Right there, in the middle of that Italian hallway.

[fandoms-in-law]

Still Here 2

Liking Nancy

Story Summary: There's a lot of people with expectations of Steve and he's reached the point where he'll call out when they're wrong

Chapter Summary: Nancy and Jonathan go around to Steve's expecting to confront him over flirting with Nancy in the Upside Down

This is part 2. When written I will link the rest here: Part 1, 3, 4, 5

Author's Note: I'm not happy with this, but I can't remember which bit of the song made me think of this scene at all

~

Steve knew how much he had shown of himself, and was well aware of how he’d acted most of the time. He was not impressed with Nancy and Jonathan coming to talk with him looking as if he’d done something unthinkable.

“Harrington, I think we need to talk.” Jonathan’s formality made him smirk, looking him over.

“Sure, Byers, are you trying to imitate the lab guys before a kidnapping or-” He teased, opening the door wider so they could come in.

Byers spluttered for a moment. “I’m trying to be serious! This is-”

“An odd time to decide that when from what Mike has been saying you were high the entire time you went through whatever happened elsewhere while we dealt with Vecna.” He cut off. The kids had been trying to use Mike’s stories to convince Eddie they should get to try weed after the first D&D campaign which was the only reason Steve had learnt of it.

“Steve, you’re avoiding what we’re here to talk about.” Nancy stated, as if they all knew just what was about to be discussed.

Steve crossed his arms, turning to her. “Which is what? If not the fact that this guy endangered kids by doing that shit off his head.”

“You were flirting with me through it.” She replied as if expecting him to react with immediate denials.

“A taken woman, I’ll point out.” Byers added, looking judgemental now.

He meets the glare, “You’d know all about that, and frankly that’s understating who I’d been flirting with down there. Here’s a question, Have I done any of that since getting out? Or have I focused on healing, getting back to work and looking after the kids as you two forever fail to manage?”

“Who else-” Nancy began frowning, before her eyes narrowed, “Eddie was flirting with you too, but that isn’t the point here.”

Steve rolled his eyes, going through to the kitchen uncaring if they followed him or not. “You have no point here. Have I done anything since I was literally severely injured? More to the point, have you, Nancy?”

“What do you mean has Nancy?” Jonathan asked, sounding confused.

“Call Robin, any flirting that happened wasn’t just me.” He pointed towards the phone, “She’ll also confirm that my interest in Nance is lower than zero considering she never bothered to break up with me before getting with you, and thinks being black out absolves her from any guilt over the Halloween party. The flirting was a way to relax when I was severely injured and before that happened I’d literally been offering to flirt with a guy for information. My charm is something I use for various reasons but seldom recently because I actually have an interest in someone.”

Both his guests scoffed, but Jonathan turned to Nancy uncertain, “You said it was just Steve? And I thought you had broken up?”

“Great, you came to confront me knowing actually nothing.” Steve clicked a few times before turning to face them fully. “Nancy, you keep staying the same. You decided you like the idea of having both Jonathan and Me and refuse to let that go even though I have. I’m not yours and neither of you know me. Show yourselves out. I need to have lunch before your siblings need fetching from the arcade.”

[whiteraven87]

Driven by Success: Golden Girl - 24. Emptiness

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

The Unstoppable Series - Masterlist

Part 2: Driven by Success. Golden Girl

Prologue

Unexpected Gift

Mercedes Golden Girl

Unexpected visit

New season start

The Pain that never Fades

Rebellion on Board

I'm not a trophy

The Campaign

The Edge of Fear

I am not for Him

Breaking Point

Building Walls

Adrenaline

Blinding Lights

Closeness

Don't Run Away from me again

Glows and Shadows

On the Edge

A Night full of Temptations

The Line you won't cross

Shadows of the Past

Confession

Emptiness

I Need Time

Is it over?

Epilogue

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

Warnings: long (very long) slow burn, age gap (23 years), woman racing in F1, boss/driver relationship, difficult and painful past, death, anxiety,

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

24. Emptiness

POV Miriell

I woke up slowly, as if breaking through a dense fog. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. I felt warmth, a familiar scent, the softness of the pillow—but something was wrong.

I opened my eyes, and then it all came back to me.

Toto’s hotel suite. Last night. His arms, in which I had fallen asleep. His presence, the only thing keeping me afloat when the shadows of the past started pulling me under again.

But now, he was gone.

I sat up slowly, wrapping myself in a thin blanket. The room was quiet, too quiet, and I could feel my thoughts drifting toward places I didn’t want them to go.

What if I hadn’t run? What if I hadn’t managed to escape?

My heart pounded faster, and a familiar tightness settled in my throat. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It’s over. I’m here. I’m safe.

The door opened softly. I looked up and saw Toto.

For a moment, we just stared at each other in silence. He was calm, but his gaze was watchful.

"Good morning," he said quietly.

"Morning," I replied, trying to sound normal.

Toto sat on the edge of the bed.

"How do you feel?"

"I don’t know." My voice was quiet. "Empty?"

Toto ran his hand through my hair. I didn’t pull away, but I felt my body tense instinctively.

"You’re safe."

"You don’t have to watch over me," I said.

"But I want to."

Silence fell between us.

"I hate how I feel right now," I finally admitted. "Like I’m that girl again. Like I have no control over myself."

"You do have control." Toto took my hand. "But you don’t have to be strong all the time."

I looked at our intertwined fingers and squeezed my eyes shut for a moment.

"Marcus…?" I asked softly.

"He’s gone."

"What do you mean?"

"He left. Stepped down as a sponsor. He has no right to come near you."

I pressed my lips together, then nodded. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.

Toto slipped his hand under my chin and lifted my face so I would look at him.

"You’re not alone, Miriell."

I gazed at him for a long time, then sighed quietly and rested my head on his shoulder.

"I know," I whispered.

***

For the following weeks, I lived in the shadow of my memories, but I pretended everything was fine. But it wasn’t fine. Even though Toto said I didn’t have to pretend, I couldn’t burden him with all of this. I couldn’t weigh him down with the scars of my past.

Marcus was gone. That should have meant everything would go back to normal, but it didn’t.

The nightmares returned. The same ones that had haunted me years ago. The ones I thought I had conquered.

The worst were the nights, when I lay alone in hotel rooms or in my house in the Bieszczady Mountains. That paralyzing cold would creep into my bones, stealing my breath away.

I didn’t let anyone see.

Only Toto knew. He didn’t ask. He knew me too well. He knew that if he pushed, I would shut down even more. But I shut down anyway.

I saw how he tried to make me laugh, how he started conversations about meaningless things, how he brought me my guitar, how he encouraged me to do anything that had once brought me joy.

But I felt nothing. I was emptiness.

I focused on racing. On defending my championship. On what was real and tangible, what made sense. It was the only thing I could control. Only on the track did I feel like I was still myself.

Beyond that, I avoided people.

When there was no race weekend, I returned to Bieszczady. Where no one had to see me. Where I could hide.

Bieszczady, July

Summer was in full bloom in Bieszczady, but not in my heart. In my heart, there was only cold.

I buried myself in my garage, tinkering with engines, focusing on every tiny detail just to avoid thinking. I took long walks with Loki, wandered through the forest, sat by the lake, watching the water as the cold slowly consumed me.

That was my shell. My wall.

And I knew one thing—Toto deserved more. Not me. Not someone broken, scarred in ways that would never fade. He deserved someone better. Someone who didn’t carry wounds that could never be erased. Someone who wasn’t shattered.

I wasn’t that person.

Author note:

This chapter broke me while writing it. For Miriell, it was another fall—another echo of the pain she fought so hard to silence. Trauma has a way of resurfacing when we least expect it, whispering that we are unworthy of love, of comfort, of healing. And yet... there was Toto. Steady. Present. Willing to stay, even when she tried to push him away. But Miriell is building her walls again, brick by brick, to protect herself from the very love that could save her. The question is—will Toto let her disappear into herself this time? Or will he fight for the woman he loves, even if she can’t see her own worth yet? The real test of love begins now.

Cheers!

WhiteRaven87

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

NEXT -> 25. I need time

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

"I put my armor on, show you how strong I am."

Read the story here:

AO3 Unstoppable Series

Wattpad Part1 I Wattpad Part 2

🇵🇱 Dla Polskich czytelników [for Polish readers] [PL]:

Seria Niepowstrzymana AO3

Wattpad Część 1 I Wattpad Część 2

===

[dnd-shenanigans-ensue]

The Dog Dies at the End

Cassandra Blackwater Character Sheet

Warnings: Conversations about torture, sibling abuse, animal abuse, and animal death

A/N: This is a scene between my PC Cassandra and another PC, Markus we didn't get to play out, but talked about outside of game.

Some context for this, Cassandra entered the campaign later with the instructions from her patron to steal a ring from Strahd and to kill Markus. As always, there were some complications to this plan, namely a shared illusion that transformed into each party member's personal hell. This prompted some impromptu trauma bonding between Markus and Cassandra, and the party as a whole.

If you're curious to know more, let me know! I've been thinking of writing summaries of each of the session and sharing them here.

Summary: Cassandra and Markus have a much needed conversation about brothers, devils and dead dogs.

Word Count: 3.0K

Cassandra didn’t remember her dream when she awoke, but she could take a decent guess. Her hands stung, nails still embedded in the frozen dirt and fallen snow. She imagined the chilled air was the only thing to keep the usual sweat from covering her entire body. Her heart raced, but she had the satisfaction of not feeling any strain in her throat. A quick look around the camp confirmed the rest; she hadn’t screamed this time. 

Ashe and Freedom were curled by the now dead fire. Tessa sat upright beside them, the distant look in her eyes indicating she was deep into her trance. Almira’s body lay a distance away, the cloth and coins still placed over her eyes. Considering where they were, she took it as a blessing. 

“Surprised to see you up early.”

She turned over, not as surprised to see Markus sitting beside her, fully awake and clearly not happy about it. 

“I’ve always been a light sleeper,” she said, straightening herself up. “Should we wake the others?”

He shook his head. “Leave ‘em be. I think Tessa only just started sleeping a few hours ago.”

Cassandra bit back the urge to correct him. It was too early to debate the difference between sleep and an elven trance. 

Giving him a quick once over, she noted his dress, specifically the armor and sheathed dagger. 

“Going somewhere?” she asked. 

He shrugged. “Just to get more firewood. Since you’re up, I could use the extra hand.” 

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. It was plain enough just by looking at her, her hands were not built for scavenging. Markus has proven time and time again he was not just able to go off on his own, but preferred it. He wasn’t exactly subtle. 

“Well, luckily for you, I have two to spare,” she purred. 

“As do I,” a very different voice interrupted. 

Cassandra’s attention turned to Steel Defender sitting an awkward distance away. Markus in turn rolled his eyes. 

“I need someone who’s strong.”

“I’m strong,” the robot said, indignantly. 

“Who has opposable thumbs then.” 

Steel Defender raised one of its pincers as if just noticing it had hands. 

“That’s discriminatory.” 

“How about you just follow along,” Cassandra stepped in, already seeing the steam rising out of Markus’ ears. 

The robot gave an annoyed huff. “I can do more than just follow after you.” 

Markus mumbled something likely unpleasant under his breath. “Fine, whatever, let’s just go.” 

He straightened to his feet and then did something wholly unexpected; he offered his hand. 

Instinct told her to refuse, years of practiced social grace compelled her to accept. 

She braced herself as her hand pressed against his. It burned, as it always did. Panic spiked into her chest as she willed her body not to flinch away. Every callus and cut scraped against her skin like broken glass. 

It only lasted a few seconds, just enough time for her to get to her feet. If he noticed the swiftness in which she pulled her hand away, he didn’t say anything. 

Silently, they moved out of the circle Cassandra had placed around camp the night before. The only sound that could be heard was of their own feet over freshly fallen snow. 

She had the impression it had been coming down in gentle drifts for sometime, but never piled more than an inch from the ground.  Like the sun behind the darkened sky, time didn’t seem to touch this place. 

A chill worked its way through her as she pulled her coat just a little tighter. Strahd’s hold over Barovia was not worth dwelling on. The immediate question of Markus and why she was out here was. 

“Determined little fellow, isn’t he,” she said, nodding back toward Steel Defender. 

“Sure,” Markus grumbled. “Wasn’t so bad until he started to talk.”

“I heard that.”

“Well try not to,” he snapped, before turning back to Cassandra.“Sorry about…that.” 

“It’s quite alright, although I do want the story of how he became your keeper.” 

He shifted awkwardly, his hand rubbing against his scruff in what she could only assume was a nervous habit. “Yeah, ah, that’s a bit of why I asked you out here. I figured we needed to talk.”

“Do we?” 

He narrowed his eyes slightly before glancing down at her hands. “Have a peaceful night’s rest then?”

She looked down, and saw just how embedded the dirt beneath her nails were. 

A shared memory passed between them, her nails digging into flesh, her mouth tasting of iron and barely repressed bile as her vision blurred red, before being forced back down as she slid her hands deep into her pockets. 

“Well enough under the circumstances,” she dismissed.

“Was it your brother?” he asked. He was gentle about it, clearly not trying to push her. It only made it worse. 

“I don’t recall. Statistically speaking it’s likely.” 

There was a pause. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel him searching for the next word. 

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” she prompted.

“No…We’ve had this conversation before. At least I think we did, at the windmill.”

She stopped, finally catching his eye. “You think we did?” 

“Yes,” Steel Defender interjected. “You came up to Markus asking about everyone in the party. He then asked about you. You said “alright, honesty then”.  You then informed him how somebody used to tear you apart and put you back together over and over again, until you met someone who could get you out. He then called you a fool. You then–”

“Yeah, thanks,” Markus cut off. It was hard to tell given his green skin, but Cassandra swore for a moment he was blushing. 

“I believe this warrants a private conversation,” she said before turning to the faithful follower. “I assume your orders were not to let Markus out of your sight.”

“Correct,” Steel Defender said.

“A compromise then. You go as far away as you can while keeping us in sight and stay there until we come and get you.” 

It stared at her for a moment. She could all but hear the gears turning as it worked out if this technicality interfered with its programming. 

“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” it asked, the conclusion it came to clearly not to its satisfaction. 

“Whatever you did before, I imagine.”

The robot didn’t say anything, but did as ordered, rolling off to an acceptable distance. 

She glanced back at Markus, his expression an odd mix of relief and trepidation. She could hardly blame him. If her own experience was any indication, she doubted he had a moment truly alone with another person since arriving in Barovia. 

She could kill him now. 

It would be easy, wouldn’t it? She could slit his throat, blast the little nuisance and come back to the group with some story about being attacked. 

One of the werewolves came out of the woods. Vampires. Ghouls. Strahd. Gods only knew there were plenty of things out here ready to kill them. 

She didn’t even need to go back. She wouldn’t have to go into the temple. Victor could remain dead and in the past. Her mission wasn’t to kill Strahd. If she played her cards right, a simple negotiation would do the trick.  

The picture became clear; a single surprised gasp, the smell of blood and then…

She was going to be sick. 

“Cassandra?”

She blinked, catching herself staring straight through a very much still living and breathing Markus. 

“Sorry,” she said. “Were you saying something?”

His head tilted to the side, his mouth forming into a hard line. “No.”

With an effort she shifted her expression into something casual. 

Answers. She was here for answers. If Cassius wasn’t giving her any, she’d have to find them another way. Killing Markus would have to wait. 

“Apologizes. I was simply putting things together in my mind,” she said. “You mentioned before, your brother tried to summon something. Why do I have the distinct impression he was at least partially successful?” 

That did the trick. Whatever she could fool herself into believing was concern slipped from his face shifting into a much safer solemn expression.

“You could say that. What else have you been able to put together?” 

“Not much,” she admitted. “I take it that doppelganger we saw in…whatever it was, that was him?”

He nodded. 

“You didn’t appear happy to see him.”

A hollow laugh rumbled from Markus’ chest, so low and harsh she felt it resonate in her own. It was the sound she had to swallow whenever a friend of the family offered their deepest condolences. It was almost comforting to hear it finally spoken aloud. 

“My brother was…a monster,” he said, plainly. “I don’t remember as much when I was really young. Redrum left with my father early. I just remember being afraid when they were there and relieved when they weren’t. It was good, for a little while, just me and mum. At least as good as it could be.”

His eyes grew distant a moment, lingering in those few memories run down to rags. 

“She got sick,” he continued, “and when she died, I had to go live with them. Well, I had to live with my brother. Turns out, he killed our father. Our father was a bastard, don’t get me wrong, but this was out of the frying pan and into the fucking fire.”

He forced a breath which did nothing to loosen the sudden tightness of his jaw or unclench the fist at his sides. 

“When I was about ten, eleven, there was this dog that lived near us. Good dog. Didn’t bite or hurt anyone. Redrum ordered me to kill it. 

“I didn’t want to, obviously. I told him I wouldn’t. So, he beat the shit out of me and locked me out of the house. Told me that if I loved the dog so much, I could live like one. I wish I could say I held out, but after about a week of no food or water, save for what I could scrounge…I found the dog; broke its neck and left it on the front step. 

“He got more demanding as we got older, but the simple fact is it didn’t matter who he was telling me to kill or what he was forcing me to do, it all came down to the same choice; my life or the dog’s.

“It’s probably why that thing reached out to him. Redrum believed it was some higher deity, worshiped it as a god. All the things he did, everything he made me do, it was all in service to it. It gave him power and he used that to gather followers, more blood. And when all was said and done it just ended up killing all of them.”

“Except for you,” Cassandra said.

“Except for me.” he repeated. “And that bit of him or it that clung on.”

He met her gaze, and in that moment, she saw it. She hadn’t known him well enough at the time to spot the difference, but now it was obvious. The man she had spoken to that night held himself differently with the stillness of a predator. Markus she knew could be dangerous, but that all too familiar assurance of their own superiority was absent. She doubted the man in front of her now could ever lay claim to having it in the first place. 

“He’s in my head,” Markus said, as if sensing her thoughts. “I can’t seem to get rid of him. He comes out whenever I get…angry or even when I’m asleep. I black out and usually find myself surrounded by bodies.”

Cassandra kept her face placid even as old instincts told her to reach for the dagger pressed inside her sleeve. This certainly explained Steel Defender. It didn’t stop Tessa’s little crush on the man from being pathetic, but at least she could confirm the stalking was for a good cause. 

The question of why Cassius wanted Markus dead remained unanswered. Somehow she doubted Markus knew much about the devil’s true nature he undoubtedly was carrying on his back. Cassius remained open to the idea of separating the two as an alternative to murder. Perhaps this one was strong enough to puppet a body without the soul still attached. 

There was something else, an urge, that pushed its way to the front of her thoughts. 

She wanted to tell him, he was right to choose himself over the dog. She would have done the same thing. 

It pressed against the seam of her mouth, but she swallowed it down, forming it instead into an easy smile.

“Not always,” she said. “I found we had a rather pleasant conversation.”

He ignored her. “Look, the point is; I get needing to get out. And I get what kind of power devils offer people. Some, like my brother, seek it out for the sake of it. To hurt people. Other people…they’re desperate. But at the end of the day, you’re just a means to an end.” 

Cassandra’s smile turned into a line as she was suddenly very grateful for her own restraint. Cassius was right. There was a reason why you didn’t name the dog. 

“While I appreciate your concern, I guarantee your brother’s devil is different from mine.”

“It’s not.”

“It is,” she pressed. “That illusion you and Tessa so kindly pulled me out of; it was more of a memory. 

“When we were young, my brother would come into my room, tie me down to the bed and set it on fire. Of course, his methods grew more sophisticated as we grew older; a lot of trial and error. Funny thing about burning alive, once you reach a certain level of heat you cease to feel anything. So, his little work around was to ensure sections of skin remained untouched so when the rest peeled away, the nerve endings would still be intact.

“He didn’t just stick with fire. Hold Person is a very versatile spell, but somehow he always came back to it. Something about honoring the strength of the family.

“Our parents knew. In the beginning they even encouraged him. Perhaps trial by fire was what I needed to awaken my magic. Of course once they realized nothing was working, I think they just saw it as a good outlet. 

“Of course, they couldn’t have a dead daughter on their hands, even a hopeless one. So they brought clerics and healers to the house, ensuring not a scar appeared on my body. 

“Any one of them could have stopped it. Any one of them could have said no, but they didn’t. None of them said a word.

“So when a devil came to me, and offered me a way out; I told him no. A way out wasn’t enough for me. I needed them to suffer. I needed it to last. And I needed them to know that they deserved it. 

“My devil gave me everything I asked for in spades. And when it was over, he gave me purpose. 

“He has never forced me to kidnap children or torture innocents. Those he sent me after were those like my family. Those who knew my family; who knew what Victor was and stayed silent. Nothing I’ve done in his name is something I would not have done willingly on my own.

“I’m not a victim Markus. Don’t try to paint me as one.” 

She held his gaze, daring him to answer, to call her a monster, to berate her for her anger, or worse, to look on her with pity. 

To his credit, he didn’t look away. 

“I know you're not,” he said. “You did what you had to do to survive.” 

She couldn’t make out his expression. Her mind flittered back to that shared nightmare and his own hands digging into her too. 

“But?” 

He took a deep breath.“Do you trust him?”

“Now I know you’re deliberately insulting my intelligence.” 

“That’s not a no.”

She huffed out laugh. Cassius came to her because she was desperate and just clever enough to be useful. He told her only what she needed to know and not always then. He was also there for her when no one else was. He gave her comfort and power and someone to turn to when she found herself scared and alone. 

“No,” she said. “Only a fool would trust a devil.” 

Markus didn’t say anything, but kept looking at her in a way that made her feel as if every burn and cut she had received in her youth were marked across her skin. 

“Look if you’re worried about me turning on you or the rest of the party, I wouldn’t be,” she said airily. “It would still be one against four, or four and a half as the case may be.”

“You planning on turning on us,” he questioned. 

“You haven’t given me a reason to. Journey is still not over yet though.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“I’m at my most serious when I’m joking.” 

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy him as he shot her a skeptical look. 

“Fine,” she conceded. “Honesty. Our brothers are waiting for us in that temple. Once we enter, it will be just us. I don’t want to go. I know you don’t either. But, we are going and we’re going to kill them. Right?”

His face hardened, his shoulders set as he gave a firm nod. “Right.” 

Her mind flickered, just for a moment, as it always did when, on those rare occasions, someone decent wandered their way into her life. 

What if I met you sooner?

It was a childish thing to think. She was smarter than to linger in such flights of fancy. So she tucked it away in the same place she put her belief in prince charmings and cosmic justice. 

“Well, best get under way then.” 

She turned, moving towards camp as Markus followed in step beside her. 

This whole affair was getting trickier by the day. Devils and brothers and vampires on top of it all. Still, fool or not, she was clever. One more complication wouldn’t derail everything. Maybe, this time, the dog didn’t have to die. 

[seasonal-depression-of-punk]

Ritualistic sacrifice

Chapter one:

the beginning of the end

Rating:mature

Summary:After clash at the castle, Drew McIntyre has been furious at CM Punk for taking another win away from him. With all of these emotions, he has been struggling with dreams of this man.

Punkintyre fan art based on the chapter included

Tags: @thlayli-ra @salemshotspot if you want to or don’t want to be tagged in the next chapter, tell me in the comments or anywhere else

____________________________________________

The day CM Punk came back and dared to show his face, was the day Drew knew that he’d do anything to take that taunting and infuriating smirk off of that already annoying face and never let it return there. He knew he was destined to be the reason for Punk’s misery.

Only after few months, he had already broken one of Punk’s dreams by injuring his arm. The dream he had been always talking about. The thing that would finally make people know that his worth in life was acknowledged. That he wasn’t just the bratty asshole the world tried to paint him to be. That CM Punk deserved to be in the main event of the most popular wrestling event in existence. That it wasn’t too late for Phil Brooks to finally achieve his childhood dream and main event Wrestlemania.

And Drew shattered that chance. He took that pathetic old man’s dream that was as frail as the man himself, held it in his strong hand and crushed it with all the power he had in his body. Oh the joy he felt the day after, when he heard how bad the damage had been. That day his prayers had been answered. That was the day he truly began to believe in god.

He should’ve remembered what kind of a person he had wronged. He should have known what that man would do. He shouldn’t have forgotten that, that petty old man would bite back. To talk back. To kick back! That old asshole has begun a hateful revenge campaign against Drew!

He ruined a Wrestlemania moment that should have been beautiful, joyful and unforgettable. He was supposed to be the world champion even after leaving the event. But no. That no good man, who brings even more bad luck than broken mirrors, ravens, horseshoes with their ends pointing down and black cats together. Black cats aren’t even bad luck!

This hasn’t been enough for Punk. Of course not! Punk would never be satisfied and Drew knew that way too well. The people in other companies and his own experiences pointed to that. That petty man could find something to be mad about in everything. No matter what, there was always something that could be better.

It wasn’t enough that Punk had taken credit for ruining Drew’s Wrestlemania moment. He also needed to ruin Drew’s homecoming. The moment where he was supposed to win back what he lost. But instead, he lost it again because of the same reason.

The smug grin of acknowledgement on Punk’s face made Drew’s emotions shoot through the roof. Pushing him in the corner, wanting to rip his face off then and there. But the older man had expected a reaction like this from him. Of course he had. The kick to his crotch happened so fast that Drew only could register it when he was on his knees, trying not to get affected too much by the pain. It took him so long that Damian Priest had recovered enough and took advantage of the situation, making Drew lose again.

After all of that, Drew was ready to give up. He was ready to quit. He had gone to RAW and said “I quit” in front of the crowd only two days after Clash at the Castle. Everyone tried to stop him. “What do you mean you quit? Drew you can’t!” Guys like Adam Pearce and Hunter had said to him. “No. I’m serious,” he had told them and walked out of the building. Ready to never return.

Drew had locked himself in his house and decided to become a hermit. He deactivated all of his social media, made his distance to other people lengthen and decided to dedicate all of the energy he used to use on social interactions to his cats. All of them were so happy he was staying home, purring and nuzzling against him no matter what he was doing. It was very comforting. To just pretend that everything was fine and his life goals hadn’t been destroyed. Everything was fine until he felt himself fall asleep.

~

Drew was at home in his bed when he heard something. He wiped his eyes and got up to see what was going on.

He walked to his living room and looked at the direction of his couch. He could see a shadowy figure sitting on it. This made him really concerned. He looked around for his cats. Why none of them meowed or let any sounds?

“Oh Drew. What are you looking for?” He heard a smug very familiar voice speak to him. Drew quickly turned on the light and saw exactly what he thought he’d see. “Phil wha-“ Drew started but was stopped by a finger in front of his mouth. “Shhhh… no need to open your mouth. I know anything that comes out of it is just bullshit” the man who proved to be Punk whispered into the taller man’s ear. He could feel the hot and moist breath next to his face. He felt his ear being licked which sent shivers down his spine.

This made Drew quickly push Punk away from him, making him fall on the floor. The tongue hadn’t felt like a normal tongue. It was slimy like a reptile. It disturbed Drew. Nothing felt real. The man fallen on the floor had a sinister smile across his face. His pupils were like snake’s. Drew stared at him with wide eyes and started to walk backwards further away from this creature.

This wasn’t a human. This was a demon. A succubus. A devilish creature from the deep depths of hell. The laugh of the creature that tried to look like Punk continued to get more loud and sinister. A guttural laugh like a horror movie villain-

And that’s when Drew woke up and sat up panicked.

It was all a dream…

Drew sighed in relief and wiped his hair away from his face. And that’s when he noticed…

He was hard.

Second chapter

[lya-dustin]

Shock and Delight

Chapter 11

Cw: mentions of childbirth, parental neglect, murder, westrosi culture is its own warning

“Rhaena has a headache, I hope you do not mind me for today, mother.” The girl poured their cups with watered down wine just as Rhaenyra did for her father before being made Princess of Dragonstone.

After Rhaenyra one of Alicent’s Hightower cousins had filled the role until Aegon was old enough to pour the cups, only Aegon took that for granted and eventually Helaena did it until she married.

Aemond had yet to master living with only one eye and by then Vicky had become her cupbearer.

Bethany had replaced her and now Aemma only had to appear to make the painfully shy girl melt into the shadows.

It wasn’t her fault, Alicent knew the girl never did it on purpose.

Much like the sun, it was merely her nature to outshine anyone beside her, even when she was born eight and ten years ago.

There had been a tourney to send Rhaenyra into her confinement and as Criston seemed to be winning his last tilt the twinging the princess had been hiding turned into a worse pain.

Criston had become distracted by the sight of his former lover clutching her large belly in pain and been knocked off his horse by his opponent, Ser Harwin Strong.

But the tourney went on so the people could celebrate the birth of the heir or all be gathered there should it end as it did five years ago.

Rhaenyra had cried for her mother and in her delirium mistook Rhaenys for Aemma, she had also cried for Alicent, but Alicent refused to go to her and claimed her children needed her.

It was a quick thing, a girl born with a bloody caul on her little head like a crown as the crowd cheered for Ser Harwin who proclaimed to crown Rhaenyra his queen of love and beauty.

The baby girl had scarcely been named Aemma when her brother was born with his plain looks. The Andal blood of the Arryn and Baratheon lines had shown through Jacaerys with only the dark Velaryon eyes to confirm his paternity.

And much like Viserys with her children, he promptly ignored the boy and held up the infant girl as the dragons roared.

The word for prince and princess is the same, he had said later as he rambled on and on about the babe he envisioned and butchered the first Aemma for.

I was wrong, it was never a prince I had seen, it was a princess, he had laughed as if Alicent hadn’t been forced to bear him child after child because Alicent just had to tell her father about the strange dream Viserys had had the day he killed Queen Aemma.

At first the queen believed he kept Rhaenyra as his heir out of guilt and shame for his actions ---murdering her mother and marrying his daughter’s best friend to satisfy her father--- but then she learned he truly believed in dreams and in the words he whispered as he looked at the plain Valyrian dagger.

Alicent had come to know that her suffering was not divine in nature no matter how much she tried to make herself believe it was.

It was then that she began to let her resentment truly take root, and if the gods would not make her suffering be for something, she would.

And now she had to make a deal with Daemon of all people to make sure her son doesn’t burn himself and them as he courts the girl filling her cup.

“Prince Daemon has requested we see if there is any way he could have the funds to support his campaign at the Step Stones. Seeing it will give us a temporary truce with Dorne and keep them from encroaching on our borders and keep the islands under our rule, the King wishes we approve of his petition.” The queen wants to get this over with and knowing her father will be against it, she had approached Beesbury beforehand and Tyland as well.

Her father believes her to be working for his goal, but they are not. As the end of Viserys’ reign comes fast, Alicent has decided they are doing things her way to achieve her goals and if Aegon wishes to keep her father as his Hand, she will make sure her father knows he is not the one with the power.

Not anymore.

There are few private yet public places in this keep, as far as people know Aemond and Aemma are merely promenading in the Godswood and not planning their false courtship to end before he goes to the step stones with Daemon.

Mother will say no, but eventually she will relent just to keep them away from each other thus giving Aemma the chance to find a perfectly suitable husband while he becomes the first of his brothers to become a true warrior.

Really if he must endure Maris Baratheon saying Baela is twice the man he is because she has fought in battle any longer, he will have to kill her.

“You haven’t sent me flowers.” The princess points out as she steers them towards a group of eligible young men.

“Didn’t you get enough this morning, there was queue outside your family’s wing of the Holdfast.” Aemond knew it was expected of him to woo a lady, but he had hoped he wouldn’t need to woo Aemma.

They knew each other already and it wasn’t a real courtship anyways.

He’d never even gotten Jena flowers and they have been involved since they met three years ago.

“If you wish for us to sell the ruse you have to look as if you are really courting me, as horrid as it might be for you.” She answered as if she was an expert on the subject.

And between the two of them, she likely was.

“Any flowers of you would like?” Aemond asks knowing she will ask for anything that symbolizes love or desire or anything like that.

“Surprise me, I’m sure all your book-reading has to help you out there.” Aemma answered with a teasing lilt.

“I could end up giving you yellow carnations, Aemee.”

[my-head-is-an-animal]

What She Deserves

Toby Ziegler x OFC (Kaitlin Stone)

Rating/Warnings: Implied Domestic/Sexual Abuse, Some Depictions of Violence, Smut 18+

Summary: Kaitlin Stone works with CJ, Toby has loved her for eight years, since the beginning of the campaign trail. Kaitlin's abusive boyfriend is the only thing standing in his way from getting what he wants and giving her what she deserves.

Chapter 19

Toby understood why Kaitlin might have disliked drinking so much in the last few years, but he had seen her drunk a couple of times and she was always merry and up for a good laugh. He wouldn’t say it out loud just yet, but he did miss seeing her so carefree.

     The next morning CJ was suffering from a bad hangover, but Kaitlin seemed perfectly fine. He gave her a small smile when she walked past his office to talk to Sam but avoided her for the rest of the day.

     He couldn’t stop thinking about her and it was distracting him. The way she had told him about her conversation with Dr Whitmore, the fact that she was considering whether she had feelings for him as well, it was all swirling around his head over and over again.

     Toby dreamed about her often enough, about her confessing her own love for him, allowing him to kiss her, laughing with him, one dream even saw them married. He would have given so much to make that a reality. But in truth, she needed to figure things out for herself.

     He had now found himself at the point where he could see a life without the two of them together. Maybe it was for the best, maybe she should have fallen in love with someone else, someone who would treat her right. He had to be okay with it. But everything she said the day before had him igniting with hope, and he needed to reign it in before it took over his life.

     Christmas was approaching and he still hadn’t decided on what to get Kaitlin just yet, he had a few ideas, some were a little riskier than others, but he still wanted her to have something that meant something.

     ‘Toby.’ Leo shouted from the hallway. ‘My office.’

     This probably wasn’t good.

     The walk to Leo’s office was always nice because it sent him past Kaitlin’s, he glanced in and saw her rushing around packing her bag.

     ‘You going somewhere?’ Toby asked doubling back to her office.

     ‘What?’ She panted, still rushing around. ‘Ashley, I need the numbers before I leave!’ She yelled.

     ‘Where are you going?’ He said again, calmly, hoping it would slow her down.

     ‘Um, New York. Ashley!’ She called again. ‘CJ was supposed to go this morning to meet with a reporter who may or may not have a story about some women who tripped over the Presidents pen.’

     ‘The Presidents pen?’ Toby tried not to laugh.

     ‘Look, I really don’t have time to talk to you about the pen, I have numbers to look over with the environmental stuff that’s just come in, Josh is trying to get me to convince CJ to put out statement about some painting that was stolen last weekend from a museum that I can’t remember the name of, and now I have to get myself to New York to ask someone why they are writing a story about a woman tripping over the President's pen, that we don’t actually know for sure that he dropped.’ She inhaled suddenly, covering her face and letting the breath go.

     Toby shifted between his feet while she took her hands away from her face.

     ‘Is it okay to say that was kinda hot?’

     Kaitlin finally laughed and it warmed him.

     ‘Good luck in New York.’ He said, smiling. ‘Let me know when you get back, yeah?’

     ‘Okay.’ She was still laughing, shaking her head.

     Toby nodded, smiling to himself and leaving her in peace.

     He walked into Leo McGarry’s office and felt his body flood cold. The DA.

     ‘This is Toby Ziegler.’ Leo stood between the two men. ‘Toby this is John Cranston, the DA and Daniel Thomas’s old boss.’

     The DA held his hand out for Toby to shake, he hesitated but obliged because Leo looked like he was asking nicely.

     ‘It’s good to meet you, Toby.’ He said, he had a charm that was perfect for a DA, but Toby despised it.

     ‘To… what do I owe this… meeting?’ He replied, tightly.

     ‘I came here to speak to Miss Stone actually, but I was told she wasn’t even in town, so Leo said you would be the next best bet.’

     ‘Why did you want to meet with Miss Stone?’ Toby ignored the fact that Leo had put him in this position, he just wanted to know why the DA was standing in front of him.

     ‘I wanted to explain my office’s position,’ he started. ‘Concerning the death of Daniel Thomas. He was an exceptionally bright and daring young man who had a great future ahead of him, and these ridiculous charges against him should now be dropped.’

     ‘Ridiculous charges?’ Toby could feel his temper flaring. He knew himself far too well and a part of him hated himself for what he was about to do.

     ‘Well yes, she’s clearly very distraught since their terrible break up, but I don’t think soiling the memory of her long term lover is the right thing to do here.’ The DA was winding him up and Toby was ready to take his head off. ‘Did you ever see them together? They were a very happy and very wonderful couple-‘

     ‘What did she wear?’ Toby asked, calmly.

     ‘Excuse me?’

     ‘What did she wear?’ Toby repeated the question.

     ‘What does it matter?’

     Toby held his gaze and stepped up to the DA. ‘Every day she has worked in this office I have seen her wear turtlenecks, long sleeved jumpers and dark tights beneath her skirts, and that’s if she ever felt brave enough to wear a skirt.’ Toby felt his temper fuelling him, this was his forte, this was what he was good at. ‘Everyday I sat next to her in the press room watching a speech, spoken with her in an office, had lunch with our colleagues and friends. During those moments, I watched her temper her own movements to cover large bruises on her neck and arms. There was a day she limped into her office and didn’t leave for a cup of coffee even though she was exhausted. I know that because I went to her office and watched her struggle to stand having forgotten about whatever daily injury she was hiding, only to sit back down again and tell me she was fine.’ Toby took another breath. ‘A year ago, if you asked Kaitlin how things were with Dan, dropping it in casual conversation, she would retreat into herself, she would shake in terror at the mere mention of his name. This brilliant young woman who has the world at her feet, who can hold a room with fantastic words and ideas, a woman who is an integral part of your President's advisory team… she deserves to be given the world, and it still wouldn’t be enough for the things she suffered. And you dare to call him a lover. He was the exact opposite of that. Do you understand what I am saying?’

     ‘You’ve got some nerve-‘

     ‘No, I have an audio recording of your supposed best and brightest trying to murder his girlfriend because the President of the United States decided to take a stand and make a speech about domestic abuse.’

     ‘You don’t know that it was him on that recording-‘

     ‘I was the one who found her bleeding out on the kitchen floor.’ Toby stepped all the way into his space. ‘I used a torn, blue shirt that was ripped off of her during the struggle, to stop her dying… and you know something? I failed. She died on the operating table for two minutes. Your bright young man killed a woman that… that a lot of people here love and care for.’ Toby steadied himself, he almost showed far too much of himself and he couldn’t do that. ‘I would suggest you think very carefully about the next thing you say in front of myself and Leo Mcgarry. Your position is not as stable as you may believe it to be.’

     ‘Are you threatening me?’

     ‘I am.’ Toby didn’t hesitate. ‘But let me be clear: my threats and the way you feel about them, are nothing compared to the eight years she suffered with that animal.’ He dared him to say something else. ‘I assume I’m done here, Leo?’

     ‘Yeah, I think he gets the message.’ Leo nodded.

     Toby turned on his heel and left Leo’s office without another word. He watched Kaitlin rush out of her office and head towards the lobby, struggling with her bag and coat and the file she was carrying. He didn’t even hesitate for a second, before jogging over to her and gently taking her bag and adjusting her coat for her to slide into while she spoke with Ashley about New York.

     ‘Okay, just make sure that CJ has a copy,’ she said, still flustered as he adjusted her bag making it easier to carry. ‘And make sure you call if anything changes with Josh’s thing. Thanks Toby.’  She suddenly saw him and stopped. ‘Hey, you okay?’

     The urge to kiss her had never been so strong, he knew it was irrational and probably unwelcome at best, but he didn’t know how else to tell her that he would be there for her every second she allowed him to be.

     ‘No, I’m not.’ Toby cleared his throat. ‘But you have a flight to catch, and I’ve got work to do.’

     ‘Are you sure? I might have a couple of minutes-‘

     ‘Kaitlin.’ He stopped her. ‘Please get on the plane and find out what happened with the Presidents pen.’

     She rolled her eyes playfully and left, rushing out the door. He went with Ashley back to the office and asked her what Kaitlin was working on. He felt a need to do something for her, but what was escaping him.

If you liked this, please consider supporting me ☕ thanks for reading!

Masterlist

[utilitycaster]

I was reading your posts about interesting moments in CR3 and different possibilities that could’ve added positively to the campaign and the party split was an interesting point. Honestly I can’t help but wonder that if we had one party who

1- met guests who had a positive relationship with different gods (there are 12 Primes right? Why did both parties end up interacting with Pelor) to broaden the knowledge through player-player interactions

2- were sent to a place with a mix of religion and culture and explore a region with NPCs offering a different viewpoint

Because honestly as much as I enjoyed the split, I felt kinda bummed out that both parties experienced even more negative feedback re: the gods: Deanna forced to come back by a god or the village being taken over and forced by a religious group. Even more so when it was Pelor in focus both times and he is one of the harshest ones.

If one party had a different experience, because none of them had any personal experience and were mostly working off their own hurts when asked ‘should the gods be killed’, then maybe the debate when they reunited could’ve been different. Instead of Orym being the only one to say ‘Ludinus is bad guys.’

It felt like having someone be horrified at their gods being killed would be a good shock to the ‘meh’ reaction the party was constantly having. Or the guests being meh about it too (or it just being a weird comedy improv moment).

I wasn’t on tumblr, but were people wondering why both instances were negative religiously? Do you think it could’ve impacted the group positively if Matt had made the encounters different?

Hi anon, I mean this as kindly as possible but I have repeatedly been saying for literally over a year at this point that the issue is not that Bells Hells lacks a pro-god member. I feel like I get questions like this every few months and I say something like this every few months and I know it's a fandom and I don't expect everyone to read every post on my blog but like, I do have to read every post on my blog and it's getting tiresome.

Bells Hells had a pro-god member in FCG and were frequently pretty belittling and unkind to them about that, frankly, until the moment of their death. I also think (and iirc Aabria has clarified out of game) that Deanna is not in fact mad at Pelor. She has a lot of issues with the actions of other worshipers, and she has complicated feelings, but I would not under any circumstances say her perception of the Dawnfather was negative. I also think she is something of a Keyleth case, of "if I do not let out this anger towards a deity, it will be directed towards the person I'm actually mad at, whom I love, and that's much harder to face and process, so I will be shaking my fist at the sky instead." I also think that the character of Bor'Dor is a great example of the awful manipulation that the Ruby Vanguard took part in and how like most cults they destroy the lives of their followers, rendering them unable to see outsiders as anything but the enemy, and that most people don't escape.

If you are dealing with people whose genuine reason for enabling what amounts to either genocide or extinction of a species, depending on your perspective, is "I asked for help from them [in a vague and indirect sense] and never received it", having someone else say "well I had help and it was great" is not going to change their minds. The thing that would have fixed Bells Hells is, as someone else said, having significant ties to the world outside of each other, who they've at most known for 2 years and change. As is they have little investment or care for any of the other people of Exandria while claiming to be their voice. You do not need a love of the gods to make, as Caduceus said, the kind choice. You do need a love, or at least an effort made in the direction of love, for the mortals of Exandria and Ruidus, and they do not have that. And from an outside perspective again we can discuss that this is largely a failure on the DM-ing side but within the context of the story that is the problem, that this is the behavior of people who spend more time arguing in favor of people who are long dead (after uh. trying their own genocide) than in the presence of the many common people on Exandria and Ruidus who are alive.

[serenasoutherlyns]

let go when you give it - chapter one

Serena and Abbie fail to have a one-night stand. (A (smuttier) re-telling of from the dark with you above me )

I've wanted to revisit this fic for a little while and have finally had inspiration for it. I'm looking forward to writing this. This story will be more explicit than the original.

ao3. 1.5k words.

Abbie was surprised at how mild her hangover was, at least for now. Maybe it would catch up to her in a few hours. She would do her absolute best to fend it off, she had things she wanted to do today. Go to the farmers market, and then the grocery store for what she couldn’t find. She wanted to go running at the reservoir. The weather was gorgeous, even this early, she had seen the sunrise lying in bed next to Serena, working up the energy to rise. She wasn’t going to stay for breakfast. That wasn’t her style, yes, but Serena was likely to be an absolute mess based on the vodka sodas she was downing the night before. So, she was drinking a glass of water in the kitchen and taking an Advil from her purse quickly before leaving. She heard a door click open and footsteps. Damn. So much for slipping out quietly. The footsteps went into the bathroom and she heard a faint rummaging. She readied herself for what she would make a quick conversation.

The person who emerged from the hallway was not, in fact, Serena. Abbie was surprised to see Alex Cabot, dressed in a perfectly buttoned satin pajama set, with a wrinkled forehead, rubbing her temples. Though they had seen each other briefly last night, she and Serena had left Penelope’s before Alex did, and she had not heard someone else come in. Plenty of ADA’s lived with roommates, but Abbie knew neither of them needed to. Alex jumped.

“Why are you in my kitchen?” Alex asked after they acknowledged one another. Couldn’t she guess? Though, Abbie realized, she should give the obviously-ill woman some slack. She cleared her throat.

“Serena, uh, let me stay over. I didn’t know she had roommates.” Alex was clearly too tired to moderate her reactions, because the shock registered on her face, like the thought that Abbie had sex with Serena was unthinkable. Oh please. It wasn’t like she made a great effort to conceal her sexuality, she just didn’t explicitly say it. Alex was subtle, but out: she kept small enamel rainbow flag on her desk, and Abbie had heard her discussing attending an LGBT event with the Bar association. Serena was similar. At any rate, Abbie thought, surely Alex would’ve remembered seeing her at Penelope’s-- which should leave no ambiguity. Manhattan’s premier lesbian bar really didn’t attract straight clientele. Even if it did, was Alex’s gaydar that bad?

Alex laughed in her face. Abbie almost couldn’t believe how impolite she was being. Surely her upper-class upbringing would’ve included etiquette training. Alex tried to hide her smile, which only made it worse.

“Sorry,” she said. “I just wouldn’t think Penelope’s would be your scene.” Abbie wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“Yeah, well,” she said, and gestured with her free hand, “I’m here, so.” Abbie resisted elaborating. She couldn’t get out of that apartment fast enough. Alex said something about kissing Serena goodbye, and the thought made her shudder.

“Not really my style,” she said, placing her glass in the sink and raising her keys in the air. “See you, Alex.” ---

Sunday dinner found her at Elle and Lisa’s more often than it didn’t. She’d checked off everything on the list: running, followed by the farmer’s market, then the grocery store, and after that she had gotten a pain au chocolat and a latte and prepared a few things for the work week. She called her mother and got an earful of Where is my son-in-law Abbie? Come on, both your younger sisters are married, what are you waiting for? Are there no eligible bachelors in New York City? Why are you still living there anyway, Dallas is cheaper and warmer and your whole family is there. And you could help Dad campaign. I mean, your father and I aren’t getting any younger, Abigail! And what about my grandchildren?.

She hung up as fast as she could after the Are you still going to church? question, and, by then, the sun was going down. September always brought Abbie a touch of sadness, the crisp that the air was beginning to hold made her melancholy. Maybe it was nostalgia, or the way people began preparing to hibernate for the cold that she still hadn’t quite completely adapted to. The leaves were starting to change, though, she noticed on her walk to her friends’ place, and that was nice.

“So, you hooked up with a coworker?” said Elle, mildly scandalized. “That’s not very much like you!” Lisa poured herself a second glass of white wine and topped off Abbie’s. Elle was right.

“I know,” said Abbie, pondering her reasons. “I like her,” she said, “we don’t work in the same bureau, so I don’t actually see her all that much at work.”

“I see,” said Lisa. “That’s nice then! Do you think there’ll be a repeat?” She said.

“Probably not,” said Abbie. “Never say never, I guess. But, I’m not looking for attachment.” Elle rolled her eyes. Abbie gave her an annoyed look. “Besides, you know how much I work, I don’t have time and neither does she.” Lisa nodded, acknowledging the truth. Elle pulled the roasted asparagus and crispy tofu out of the oven.

---

Abbie saw Alex and Serena across the street from the office, ducking their heads under the awning of a food truck, escaping the not-light rain for a moment. None of them were in the same bureau, so Abbie guessed she shouldn’t be surprised that she didn’t know they lived together. Working with Alex had made her notice just how close they were. Look, Alex, I hope I can count on your discretion. It hadn’t been Abbie at her most eloquent. She shouldn’t have had to clarify, and honestly, she knew Alex probably wouldn’t spread rumors about her. It really was more a way to get the conversation about anything other than work to stop.

Serena tilted her head up, laughing. Alex covered her mouth with her hand. Abbie wondered what they were talking about. She didn’t have a long time to think, though, because Jack joined her on the steps, a newspaper atop his head.

“How was your weekend, Abbie?” Said Jack, slightly out of breath. He opened the door for her and held it. Abbie shook off the droplets that had made it on to her suit and Jack rolled up the newspaper.

“It was good,” said Abbie. “Yours?”

“You seem to be in high spirits,” said Jack. “Get up to anything fun?”

“I guess so,” said Abbie, “yeah, I had a good weekend.” Jack didn’t pry anymore.

---

Abbie got home late, but not too late, not uncharacteristically late. She was very glad not to live with roommates. She left that life behind after law school, even though it was hard on her first salary. She valued solitude over cable, for example. She listened to a Liz Phair CD while she cooked, letting the sounds of the two mix. After she ate, she read for a while, then finished up some work she brought home. Her sister called, apparently her twin niece and nephew were starting second grade the next day. She folded some laundry with the news playing, did the dishes, and went to sleep.

Her mind wandered. She had been thinking of Serena off and on. She hadn’t had sex in a while before that Friday. As a rule, the longer she went without, the less she wanted it, and Abbie knew that the opposite was true. She was mildly regretting having not left her phone number. Not that Serena couldn’t contact her-- she knew where her office was, after all-- but leaving her phone number (or even saying goodbye) may have gotten her a repeat. Yes, she had told Lisa and Elle she wouldn’t, but the more she mulled it over, the less sure she was about that.

She let her hands follow her mind, breathing in the cool breeze coming in through the cracked window. She was starting to feel the autumn in it. When she touched her cunt, gently, her two fingers were cold amid the soft wetness. She shifted, sleepy, as she circled her clit. Her eyes closed, and she pictured Serena. First, her at Penelope’s. Serena was a slightly awkward but enthusiastic dancer, she had the gangliness of a significantly taller woman. Abbie found it endearing. Her lack of rhythm hadn’t stopped her body from arousing Abbie, and she had been glad to follow her into the cab back to her apartment.

Then, an image of Serena on her back underneath her. Abbie could almost hear her moan. She felt herself getting close as she pictured Serena coming, the particular way her pink mouth wrapped around her gasps.

Finally, she found herself imagining Serena in the cocktail dress she had worn to the office Christmas party last year, Serena’s first. It was dark green, velvet, and long; and she remembered the way it moved on her. She was just remembering it now. It was pleasant. She could stand to see something like it again. Abbie sighed as she came, then yawned.

[goldenlaurelleaveswrites]

I've Got These Friends...

2. Hug

I've Got These Friends (AO3)

Aimée - aged 18 Luka - aged 18

_____________________________________________________

"And remind me why Bri and Mari aren’t helping us with this, again?” Aimée asked as she squinted at the miniature she was holding, before delicately dabbing a bit of silver paint onto the dagger it was wielding. Once satisfied, she looked up to glance at Luka. 

He was staring intently at the dragon miniature he was holding as he delicately brushed bronze paint onto the spikes on its back, seemingly blissfully unaware of the streak of paint on his cheek. “Bri has a shift-‘

“Which I know, but we could have waited until she was done-”

“And you know she would have spent the rest of the week messing with Dingo and Darrel, and about how they’re going to get their butts kicked during the next session,” he said, not once looking up from the dragon he was staring at so intently. It was a little worrying, how intently he was staring; it couldn’t be good for his eyes. “And Marinette…” 

It was like a switch had flipped the second he said Marinette’s name. 

He finally looked up from the dragon as his entire face softened, and a small, dopey grin slowly curled itself across his face. The one Juleka was always calling ‘disgusting.’ She had thought he had had it bad before he and Marinette had even gotten together—how it had taken them this long to actually get together was still a mystery to her because, well, it was them—but he was somehow even more lovesick now that they were together. Normally, she would blame it on the honeymoon phase, but they had been together for months at this point. It didn’t really feel like the ‘honeymoon phase’ label still applied… 

“I don’t want to spoil the campaign for her,” he said as het gently set the dragon down on its stand, and sat back a little to look at it before turning his attention to her. “She’s been having so much fun since she joined- you’ve seen her costume.” 

“I’ve more than seen it,” she laughed. Marinette had begged her to take some pictures of her in it. 

“And you should have seen the way she figured out the puzzle I set up for our last session! See, there were all of these chests, some of them were filled with treasure but the rest were traps that would detonate different spells…”

She set the miniature she had been working on back and its own stand, and sat back as Luka regaled her with stories from the last D&D session, and how brilliant Marinette was, both in D&D and in general. 

His eyes were lit up with a light that was usually reserved for when he was playing music. His music, not the music he was asked or told to play. The funny thing about Luka was that he was a quiet kind of guy; he tended to let his music speak for him. He wasn’t what she would call shy, but he was… reserved. People were always so shocked when she—or anyone else for that matter—mentioned in passing what an enormous dork he was. It took him a while to fully open up to people. 

But around Marinette… heck, even just talking about Marinette was enough to bring him out of his shell. 

And according to Juleka, it had been that way between Luka and Marinette right from the start. 

She liked seeing Luka like this. It wasn’t really that he was different. He had always been a dork. He was just more forthcoming with it now. More open. Lighter. 

Happier. 

He deserved it. He was always looking after everyone else. Keeping Dingo from being… well, no one could keep Dingo from being Dingo… But Dingo was still alive and in one piece, so that had to count for something. And he had kept Bri sane all these years and always had her back. He was always there to comfort and encourage Nadine when she was being too hard on herself. She couldn’t count the number of times he had been a shoulder to cry on when she had gotten her heart broken. And he was always there, ready to pull them out whenever any of them got themselves stuck in a creative slump. 

To say nothing of the way he was his family’s anchor, keeping them steady. 

He deserved someone who made him light up like a kid on Christmas morning. Who supported him in his music and dorkiness. Who sewed him custom guitar straps and brought him his favourite pastries to split at lunch and be disgustingly cute with. Who was sewing him custom dungeon master robes for his birthday— not that he knew it. 

“…and because you know how Darrel and Dingo get when there’s gold around-” She reached over, cutting his words off as she pulled him into a hug. “Aimée…? Is everything… ok?” 

“Yeah. I’m just happy to see you so happy.” 

Luka was silent. But only for a second. And then she heard the chuckle in his exhale as he returned the hug. 

“Thanks, Aimée.” 

“You’re such a dork,” she murmured. “And you have paint on your cheek.” 

[the-himawari]

A3! Promotion Event Translation - Haunted Western-style House (9/9 Epilogue)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

Horror House Talk

Tsumugi: Ah, Masumi-kun. Are you heading to the rehearsal hall right now?

Masumi: Yeah. The same as you since we have an instelive.

Tsumugi: I can’t wait for the stream.

Masumi: What a pain…

Tsumugi: Now, now. Don’t say that. Let’s announce the next issue of “VELUDO” to our fans.

Masumi: …I guess I have to.

Tsumugi: Ah, that’s right. I’ve been wondering this for a while…

Masumi: What?

Tsumugi: What did you think about the Horror House as a date spot with Director?

Masumi: Well, I think it works. But when were trying out the Horror House, she went along with all three groups, so I decided I’m not going to invite her.

Tsumugi: Right, I suppose after going around three times, she’d know where and what all the tricks are…

Masumi: Exactly. That’s why I’m searching for a new spot now. Let me know if you know of any good places.

Tsumugi: No problem. I’ll tell you if I come across any information.

-pause-

Tsumugi: I wonder if everyone else is already here… Oh, there’s a bunch of drinks?

Izumi: Ah. Masumi-kun and Tsumugi-san.

Tsumugi: What is this about?

Izumi: We’re promoting a special drink campaign that’s going on at a café near the Horror House in our stream today… I just went to pick them up with Kazunari-kun.

Kazunari: You can get a drink from their limited Halloween menu for half price when you show them your ticket to the Horror House!

Tsumugi: I see. I’m sure the visitors will love that.

Masumi: That’s not fair. I wanted to go to a café with Director too.

Izumi: You were out during the day though, weren’t you?

Masumi: I would’ve went if you called me.

Izumi: That wasn’t something to call you over!

*door opens*

Tsuzuru: Hey, guys.

Kumon: I can’t wait to do a stream with nii-chan!

Juza: I’m lookin’ forward to it too.

Izumi: Ah, it looks like the whole gang is here. Everyone will be having these drinks in today’s stream. Are you all ready?

Kazunari: Yessiree!

Izumi: Alright, pressing play! Start the stream!

-pause-

Tsumugi: Hello, everyone.

Troupe Members: It’s MANKAI Company!

Tsuzuru: Woah, a flood of comments came in…! We’re happy that you all came to watch us.

Kumon: The main topic of today’s stream is… TAH DAAAH! It’s about “VELUDO”!

Juza: We’re gettin’ more comments. “I can’t wait”, “yaaay”… “Is it a special feature”?

Kazunari: The next issue… will be special feature on a Horror House! All 6 of us here were part of the photoshoot!

Masumi: Kazunari and I are on the cover. I think we fit the vibe well enough.

Kazunari: Our costumes popped off. Check us out when it’s announced, ‘kay~!

Kumon: Me, Masumi-san, and Tsumugi-san were wearing the same clothes as the staff members at the Horror House. It'd be awesome if you could check that out too!

Tsuzuru: Lots of comments are saying they’ll take a look for sure. Great to hear.

Tsumugi: Moreover, in order to take the pictures that are going to be published in the special spread… We were asked help out as staff members on the Horror House’s opening day.

Kumon: I wonder if anyone who happened to be guided by us are watching right now?

Masumi: …Ah. There was someone.

Juza: Where?

Masumi: The comments are flowing too fast, I lost sight of it.

Juza: I see… Thanks to that person who came on the first day.

Kazunari: Hm? It looks like everyone’s curious about the drinks we’re having~? Glad you asked. These are original Halloween drinks from a café next to the Horror House!

Juza: Do they taste good? Mm… yep, they’re tasty. They’re a bit sweet, but even those who don’t have a sweet tooth should be able to drink them no problem.

Masumi: If you show them your Horror House ticket, you can get these limited drinks from that café for half price.

Kumon: Wait, really!?

Tsuzuru: Is that why these drinks were prepared today?

Tsumugi: That being said, please do drop by this café after you visit the Horror House.

Tsuzuru: By the way… starting today, videos of our own trek through the Horror House will be uploaded to SNS one by one for the next 3 days.

Masumi: Watch them if you’d like.

Juza: There’s comments sayin’ they’ll check all three days.

Tsuzuru: There’s also lots of comments saying they can’t wait! Thank you, everyone.

Masumi: It looks like it’s about time.

Kumon: Eh, we’re wrapping up already!? The time totally flew by!

Masumi: Alright, our instelive today will go up to here.

Juza; Thanks for tunin’ in today.

Kazunari: Make sure you pick up the next issue of “VELUDO” with Massu and I gracing the cover!

Tsuzuru: Thank you very much for watching until the end today.

Troupe members: That’s all! It’s been MANKAI Company!

Tsumugi: Please tune in again.

---

previous |

[mikaela-granger]

The Long Wait (Season 5) Chapter 13

Map of the Seven Knights

Fandom: Grimm

Pairing: Sean Renard/OFC

The Long Wait Masterlist

A/N: The group get their hands on some more keys.

***Lorelei’s POV***

The next morning, Sean and Lorelei checked out of the hotel and went in their separate directions. Sean headed to work, while Lorelei had to get her iron infusion done before heading home. After being hooked up to the IV, Lorelei pulled out her phone and was checking her email when Nick called.

“Hey bro, what’s up?”

“Hey, uh, did you have a good weekend?”

Lorelei nodded. “I did. But I get the feeling you aren’t calling me about that.”

Nick chuckled. “No, you’re right. Uh, I just left Monroe and Rosalee’s. Monroe got a call from his Uncle Felix in Germany about some Grimm books he got his hands on.”

Lorelei raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yeah. He contacted Monroe because he knew he was friends with a couple of Grimms. Thought we might be interested in buying them.” Nick sounded almost giddy. “He sent through a photo of one, and I gotta tell you. It looks really old. There were wesen in there that even Monroe and Rosalee had never heard of.”

“Do we know how many books? How much he wants for them?”

“No, not yet.” Nick replied. “He’ll get back to us once he’s appraised them or something.”

“Alright. Well, let me know and I’ll see what I can contribute.” Lorelei told him. “Maybe they can replace some of the ones we lost in the fire.”

“Yeah, that’s what Rosalee suggested. Anyway, I better go. I’ll keep you updated.”

As Lorelei ended the call, she felt her inner history nerd getting excited at the prospect of gaining access to some old books. How many hands had those books passed through? What new wesen would they learn about through them?

Less than an hour later, Lorelei was pulling into her driveway, eager to see the kids. Before leaving the hospital, Lorelei had called Adalind who advised her that her and Angela had the kids over at Nick and Adalind’s house. After setting their luggage under the stairs and greeting the pets, Lorelei headed next door.

“Mama, you’re back.” Diana greeted Lorelei as she entered the back door.

“Just in time for lunch.” Angela told her as Diana gave Lorelei a big hug.

“Mama!” Olivia squealed excitedly from the highchair she was perched in.

Lorelei pressed a kiss to the top of Diana’s head before moving over to Olivia and doing the same. “What’s for lunch?” Lorelei asked taking a seat beside Olivia.

“Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.” Adalind replied, placing bowl of soup and a sandwich in front of Diana.

“Sounds delicious.” Lorelei commented as Angela served up a couple of dishes in front of Olivia.

The women and children ate their lunch, with Lorelei helping Olivia with her soup. Angela asked Lorelei how she was feeling following her iron infusion. “Maybe a little bit of a headache and some nausea, but other than that. I feel ok.” Lorelei answered before finishing up the last of her soup. Thankfully, the nausea wasn’t so bad that she couldn’t eat.

“Perhaps you should go take a nap, make sure that headache doesn’t get any worse.” Angela suggested.

Adalind nodded. “Angela’s right. We’ve got the kids. Go and rest. I imagine you didn’t get a lot this weekend.” She said, waggling her eyebrows.

Lorelei snorted. “I suppose you’re right.” Lorelei said before glancing at the girls. “But I should spend some time with them.”

“They’ll be here when you wake up.” Angela reminded her.

After a short debate, Lorelei eventually conceded. She was tired and the headache had increased in intensity. Stopping in the kitchen to get a bottle of water from the fridge, Lorelei headed upstairs and got changed before curling up in bed. She was out like a light.

***Sean’s POV***

It was late afternoon when Sean had his meeting with Andrew, Jeremiah and Rachel to discuss Andrew’s campaign. “Polls have got a dead heat. If the election were held tomorrow, it could go either way.” Jeremiah explained to them.

Rachel looked at him. “We’ve taken the high road and Galligher hasn’t.” She pointed out as she looked at Andrew. “We have to stop being the nice guy.”

Andrew shrugged. “I’m not trying to be a nice guy. I just don’t want this campaign to be like every other campaign. I don’t want to get elected because I’m the guy they hate the least.”

Jeremiah scoffed. “Pointing out a couple of flaws about your opponent does not make you the bad guy.” Jeremiah told him.

“If you wrestle a pig –.” Andrew started to say.

“You get dirty, and the pig likes it.” Rachel finished. “But George Benard Shaw is not running for the Mayor of Portland.”

“And you don’t wrestle a pig. You take him to slaughter. And you make bacon.” Sean said looking at Andrew.

Rachel leant forward. “How do you suggest we make bacon out of Galligher?”

“Well, first you fatten him up with some youthful indiscretions, and then you slit his throat with a couple of covered-up drug charges.” Sean explained. “And finally, you gut him with gambling debts, some favours paid out to known associates of the mob.”

Andrew had narrowed his eyes and was looking between the other three. A smile had crossed Jeremiah’s face. “Is any of that true?” He asked Sean.

“All of it.” Sean answered. “It was discovered during an undercover operation and then later buried with political favour.”

Andrew sighed. “Look, whether it’s true or not, I still don’t like using it.”

“The public has a right to know who they’re gonna elect.” Rachel told him. “And it wouldn’t come from us; that’s what the press is for.”

When Sean entered his bedroom that evening, he found his wife laying down with a heat pillow resting on her head. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Just this headache that won’t go away.” Lorelei told him. “Apparently, it’s a common side effect of an iron infusion. That and the nausea.”

Sean sat down beside her, “They are also symptoms of preeclampsia.” He reminded her.

Lorelei looked up at him. “The headache isn’t severe. It’s just…there.” Sean pursed his lips and Lorelei grabbed his hand. “How about this? If I still have a headache in the morning, you can drop me off at the ER on your way to work.”

Sean gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I’d come in with you.”

“There is no point in both of us being bored. They’d just be doing tests.”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning.” Sean told her, pressing his lips to hand.

The next morning the headache and nausea was still present. Leaving the girls in Angela’s capable hands, Lorelei allowed Sean to drive her to the ER. There was a bit a debate in the car about Sean staying, but eventually he conceded in dropping his wife off and going to work.

***Lorelei’s POV***

Lorelei was grateful she didn’t have to wait too long before being called back in the ER. The nurse was understanding when Lorelei explained the sitation and got Lorelei set up in a bed. After obtaining a urine and blood sample, the nurse sent them off and Lorelei sat waiting in the bed for the results. As she was waiting, she received another call from Nick.

“How are you going? Sean said you weren’t feeling well.”

Lorelei sighed. “It’s just some side effects from the iron infusion. I’m fine, but I agreed to come to the ER for Sean’s piece of mind.” Lorelei explained to him. “Now, have you heard back from Monroe’s Uncle?”

“I did actually. Met him last night.”

“He’s in Portland?”

“Yeah. And he has 20 Grimm books.”

Lorelei let out a whistle. “Wow. How much does he want for them?”

Nick paused. “$100,000.”

“Holy crap, that’s like 5 grand a piece.” Lorelei sighed. “I figured they’d be expensive, but not that expensive.”

“I know. He says we’ve got less than 24 hours to give him an answer.” Nick paused. “I’m waiting to hear back from H.W. regarding whether they can provide any funds. Meisner is seeing what he can do. Apparently Black Claw may be interested in the books.”

“Why?”

“To destroy them. Eve says that Black Claw wants to eradicate all things Grimm including Grimms.” Nick sighed. “I hate to ask, but how much would you be able to put forward.”

“I could do 25 up front, but I’d need some more time to get anymore. Even then, I’d probably still fall short. 75 max.” Lorelei told him.

“Would that completely wipe you out?”

Lorelei shook her head. “Nah. But a lot of my investments or funds are tied up in things I can’t access right away. Like the trust funds I have set up for all the kids, including Kelly.”

“Damn, you are doing pretty well with your investments.”

Lorelei chuckled. “Yeah. I guess so. Anyway, maybe Monroe’s uncle would be happy with some kind of written guaraentee he was going to get his money.”

“Maybe.”

Lorelei looked up as the curtain was pulled open and a doctor stepped in. “I gotta go. Let me know what happens.” She said before ending the call. “Hi. Sorry about that.”

The doctor smiled at her. “It’s not a problem. I’m Dr Rochester by the way. I’ve got the results from your tests. There is no sign of protein in your urine, and although your blood pressure is high, it seems to be in a normal range for you.”

Lorelei let out a sigh of relief. “So, the headache and nausea is probably just a side effect of the iron infusion.”

Dr Rochester nodded. “More than likely. Although considering your history, it’s better to be safe then sorry. I’m sure you know how quickly things can go bad.”

Lorelei smiled. “Indeed, I do. So, I can go home?”

***Nick’s POV***

The day had certainly been eventful, for a lack of better word. However, it had ended up with the trunk of books worth killing over, in their hands. Tragically, Monroe’s Uncle Felix had been one of the people killed by the men tracking the books for Black Claw. After taking care of Black Claw’s men, Nick and Monroe returned to the spice shop, trunk in hand, so to speak. In the basement of the spice shop, Nick, Hank, Wu, Trubel, and Rosalee stood around watching as Monroe picked the lock of the trunk. “Ok. That should do it.” Monroe mumbled under his breath. Setting his lockpick set to the side, he opened the trunk.

“Let’s get them out of there.” Nick told them.

“Gently, gently.” Monroe reminded the group as everyone carefully removed the books from the trunk.

“There a lot more stuff in here than just books.” Trubel said excitedly.

Nick turned around and watched as Monroe and Trubel removed the panels of wood lining the bottom of the trunk. The removal of the false bottom revealed an array of ancient weapons.

“Oh, that’s incredible.” Rosalee commented from beside Nick.

“That is a lot of stuff.” Wu said in awe.

“Looks like we got our trailer back.” Hank added with a smile.

The entire group was in awe of the contents of the trunk, from the books to the weapons. It was an incredible find. Nick couldn’t wait to show Lorelei. She was gonna go nuts. Old books and old weapons, so much history. This was right up her alley.  As the others were gathered around the table, Monroe was examining the trunk. “Something about this lock…” He commented quietly. “It’s bigger than it needs to be.”

“I still don’t understand why they would kill people for all this.” Rosalee said as she glanced around at their finds. “It’s only real value is to a Grimm.”

“Black Claw is trying to destroy everything that has to do with Grimms.” Trubel informed her.

Hank looked up from the book he had. “Hey. Look at this one. It’s not like the others. It’s like some kind of family tree, book of ancestory.” He explained as the others came to look at the book over his shoulder.

“That’s not a – a regular family tree.” Rosalee pointed out. “It’s only following a few individuals from generation to generation.”

“And some of them just dead-end.” Trubel noted.

Nick looked at Monroe. “What’s the name of the guy your Uncle got the books from?”

Monroe looked up from where he was looking at the trunks lock as Trubel answered “Uh, Joseph Nebojsa.”

Nick pointed to the surname at the top of the page they were looking at. “It’s the same last name.” Nick pointed out. “Uh, go to the end.” He told Hank, who carefully flipped a page out. “There he is. Joseph Nebojsa.”

“Oh my god.” Wu uttered. “There all Grimms.”

“That’s why this is worth killing for.” Rosalee told them. “Everyone in this book is a Grimm.”

“See if Burkhardt’s in there.” Monroe commented from his position by the trunk.

Nick shook his head. “No, uh, it’d be under my mother’s maiden name. Kessler.” Nick told Hank.

“Hey, I think I just…saw a Kessler.” Hank said, flipping through the pages. “Here.” He opened up another page. “Is Walter your grandfather?”

“Yeah.” Nick said looking at the page. “And there’s Aunt Marie, there’s my mom, there’s me, and there’s Lorelei.”

Trubel straightened up. “But if you’re in here, maybe I am too.”

“Nebojsa was keeping this book up to date.” Rosalee pointed out.

“This would be real dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands.” Hank said quietly.

Monroe spoke up from behind them. “We’ve got ourselves a secret compartment.” He informed them as he picked something up. “It’s probably just an extra trunk key.” He said, slowly wrapping the cloth. Nick watched as Monroe’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Nick. You gotta see this.” Monroe said in a hushed whisper as he stood up and walked over to the table, holding out his fine.

Rosalee rushed over to him. “Oh, my god, another key.”

Nick carefully took it from Monroe, looking at it in amazement. His eyes widened even more as Monroe placed the cloth on the table, revealing there was more than one. “Three of them.” Nick said, looking up at the others. The looks of amazement on their face reflected his own. Nick looked at Rosalee. “Go get the other two keys from upstairs.”

“I’ll bring those.” She said, turning around and running upstairs.

Nick picked up one of the other keys, looking at them closely. Trubel helped him to line them up. Once Rosalee had returned with the other keys, they used the keys to create the map. “It doesn’t all fit together.” Trubel commented, as they compared the map the keys created with an older map and a current map.

“No, we’re still missing two keys.” Nick reminded her.

“But maybe we have enough to figure out where it is.” Rosalee suggested.

“Wait a minute.” Monroe said slowly. He pointed to a spot on the older map. “These three hills here with the two rivers on either side connecting to the bigger river here, that’s an exact match for what the keys are saying.” Monroe looked at Nick. “And it’s in the Schwarzwald.”

“The Black Forest.” Nick confirmed.

Monroe nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I know these maps aren’t as accurate as like, modern day topographical maps, but this terrain.” He said, picking the image created using the keys. “Is a pretty good match for this terrain.” He pointed to the older map. “Which is outside of Wolfach, which is…right here.” He pointed to the modern-day map.

“So, we can figure out where they buried whatever it is they buried.” Nick stated.

“Exactly.” Wu said before pausing for a moment. “Well, not exactly, unless you have the classic ‘X marks the spot.’”

Monroe looked at Nick excitedly as he removed his glasses. “But, dude, we got it. And it’s right here. In the Black Forest.”

Nick nodded. “I’m going to the Black Forest.”

Next Part

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