#I promised myself I would watch the whole campaign 1

[redisaid]

Beneath the Blue Moon - Chapter 1

Waning

Welcome to your community choice fic! To everyone who picked the Mid BFA scenario...thank you for making me remember I never played the Alliance campaign, and making me spend the weekend on Wowpedia fact checking myself. Oof.

Either way, please enjoy the first chapter! Of like, at least fifteen? Why did I do this to myself???

5160 Words

Read it on Ao3!

When the bitter creeps in, To bite you whole, A spectre unreflected, oh, It keeps you cold.

The dream was the same. It never changed, and neither did Jaina have any power to change it. She could try to rouse herself with every ounce of the tangential awareness she kept within the dream, but it would do no good. She could only watch. She could only feel and drift in and out of the same mixture of memories and fiction. Though each time she had the dream, it became harder to tell what parts of it her brain fabricated and what parts had been real. Perhaps it was easier to accept it all, or deny it. Jaina often chose the latter.

Because while the dream tormented her across the years, it had proven itself correct in many ways. And that was what made it so abhorrent.

At first, she’d relished this first part as a cherished moment. An escape. A respite. But as time went on, it became the worst part of all.

Jaina hated the lie it told. The safety it promised. The feelings she knew would twist and turn and fade into nothing but a hollow pit within her gut. Something of shame and guilt. Something of regret. Something, maybe, of an anger she never allowed herself to feel in its fullest form.

But the dream didn’t care. It began as it always did, fading into a scene of sunlit Quel’thalas. Perfect and unruined. Golden and glorious.

There, Jaina stood in the loose embrace of her soulmate, lingering. They were saying goodbye. It was all too soon. They’d only met a week ago, when Sylvanas had arranged for her to visit the land of the elves. Her sister had met Jaina in Dalaran, and had noticed how the soulmark on her hand so closely resembled her sister’s. From there, it had been a whirlwind. A thing Jaina didn’t think she would ever find, found and then given so freely, so wonderfully.

Her mark was on the back of her hand. It glowed fiercely as she cradled Sylvanas’ jaw with it--a bright and brilliant blue. They’d only just met, but already their bond had been forged so deeply that the glow was brighter even than Jaina remembered her parents’ being. It had only been a few days since they’d decided to seal it with the kiss. Sylvanas had been so sweet, so hesitant with her at first, and so cavalier as she took Jaina’s hand in hers and placed her lips on the swirling pattern that graced the back of it.

And Jaina had been so eager to return her own kiss to the inside of Sylvanas’ wrist, where her mark was. The inverse of her own--negative space to her positive--in a shape that Jaina always thought of as a moon. A crescent moon with symmetrical, geometric shapes that Jaina interpreted as snowflakes. How she’d laughed when she learned that Sylvanas’ family had a nickname for her because of that mark--how they called her Lady Moon.

“I don’t want to go,” Jaina would hear herself say each time. Her voice was so young. Only twenty-three, golden-haired, brave, and optimistic. That felt like it was eons ago.

“But you must,” Sylvanas answered, as she always did. She smiled into Jaina’s hand, turning just slightly to press her lips to the palm of it.

Her own voice was different, of course. She was alive. Her skin was warm. She had a bit of the high, nasal accent of the elves, but beneath that, the scratchy timbre of a soldier who shouted over battlefields. A Ranger General.

An archer with broad shoulders and whose bare back had been a sight that took Jaina’s breath away not too long before this. Her arms were strong and confident as they held Jaina around her waist.

She was nothing like Jaina had imagined her soulmate would be. She assumed it would be a man, for one, despite the fact that she found herself attracted to both men and women. She assumed he’d be human, like her. Kul Tiran, even. As a child, she would draw him as a hearty, rosy-cheeked sea captain, or a shy, bearded Tidesage who grinned at her from beneath the cowl of his robes.

But no, her soulmate was an elf of Quel’thalas. A beautiful and important woman, whose duty called her away just the same as Jaina’s did. She was stern and steady in the public eye, but mischievous with her younger sister and her favorite Rangers. She had confessed to years and years of loneliness in the comfort of Jaina’s arms, and went on and on about how glad she was to have finally found her. Jaina had waited twenty-three years for her, but Sylvanas was nearly two-hundred.

And now that Jaina had her, she knew she wouldn’t have it any other way. Sylvanas was perfect for her. She was determined to be just as perfect for her as well.

“I know,” Jaina lamented, thumbing her cheek again as Sylvanas turned her head back. “I suppose this will be our reality and I need to accept it.”

“I suppose,” Sylvanas offered in somber agreement. “But it won’t be forever.”

“When can I see you again?” Jaina asked.

She knew that Sylvanas didn’t know. She didn’t either. The Kirin Tor had called her to investigate this new plague that had been tearing through northern Lordaeron. Master Antondias had requested her specifically, and stated in his letter that it was a mission he only trusted to her, his brightest of pupils. Sylvanas, for her part, was due to meet with some other military leaders of the Alliance to organize a relief effort to the affected communities, and to oversee the contribution from Quel’thalas of highly trained elven priests.

It was a responsibility that would cut short their visit. They hadn’t even gotten to talking much about the future--how they would live and where. Jaina assumed she would have to spend much of her days in Quel’thalas from then on, but she hardly minded. Sylvanas’ Rangers had been wonderful and welcoming to her, and assured her they would take good care of their beloved Ranger General’s soulmate when she was busy in the field.

“Soon,” was Sylvanas’ answer.

And that was where the dream twisted--on the lie. It had been a lie even then. A lie they told themselves and each other. A lie that Jaina hated. A lie that haunted her now--over a decade later, nearly every night as she tried to rest. But it would never let her rest.

She watched now, pulling back from her younger self, becoming a ghostly spectator as she watched her own face contort in horror. Jaina watched as Sylvanas’ face melted in her hands--warm, sunkissed skin falling away to reveal a face pallid and cold. Her eyes melted too, then ran down her face in a streak of black tears, until they were replaced with glaring, angry red. And then she screamed. She screamed the horrifying, impossibly loud and piercing scream of a banshee.

It rent through Jaina and her younger self. It cracked the very fabric of this scene. The trees and their golden leaves withered and died. The sky and the golden sun cracked as if they were made of glass--shattering into a million, million jagged pieces. Twisting spires toppled and broke into rubble as if they were made of toy blocks.

And when everything faded away, there was Jaina, watching her younger self again. Months later, they didn’t meet again. The undead were razing both of their nations and there was no time. Soon was a thing that would never be. Because here, Jaina was kneeling on the streets of Dalaran, clutching her chest and screaming, unable to tell anyone who ran up to her what was wrong.

Because Jaina had just found out what it felt like to die.

Because she knew that there was something wrong after. The pain was sudden and terrible and brief, but then it lingered and lingered, throbbing--a heartbeat going out slowly. But after, there was an awful, awful pull. A wrenching that was beyond physical. That was all the words Jaina had for it still. And then there was nothing.

And then there was her, shaking, retching, gasping for breath on the street. Reaching out with a shaking hand that no longer bore a mark that glowed, but one that was fading, settling into a silvery sheen.

A memorial. That’s what people called them to be nice about it. But there was nothing nice about it. Jaina screamed again, because this meant that Sylvanas was dead.

And nearly a year later, on the shores of another continent, when she would learn that the woman she planned to love for all of her life still walked this world, the mark remained silver. It never glowed again. Because Sylvanas was undead.

Because one cannot have a soulmate that doesn’t have a soul.

It was only after she felt that death again that Jaina was ever allowed to wake from the dream’s clutches. Sometimes, it would be so cruel as to let her watch herself weep on the street for hours upon hours. Tonight, it was kind enough to release her.

Jaina woke with a gasp, clutching silken sheets to her chest. But she didn’t feel the pain of a sword threatening to rend her in two and ripping out her soul. She was fine. She was right where she’d fallen asleep--in her room in Boralus.

Though that was new enough that it took her a moment to remind herself of that fact. So much that she felt a need to say something to the darkness that shrouded her--a variation on a mantra she often had to repeat after this dream. “It’s only a dream. You always have this dream. You’re Jaina Proudmoore. You’re now the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras. This is your bedroom.”

She was still sleeping in her childhood quarters. Her mother had insisted on moving out of the Lord Admiral’s suite, but Jaina told her to take her time. She wasn’t in a rush. She just needed a bed to sleep in.

Or not sleep in. Exhaustion had been her constant companion thanks to this damn dream. Thanks to the same silvery mark that glinted on her hand in the moonlight. Of course, the moonlight. How poetic and awful that was.

Jaina tossed the blankets back and rose from her bed. She went to stand near her desk--the same one where she’d drawn the pictures of burly sailors and kind Tidesages--never an elven General. She leaned against the polished wood and looked out at the moon.

It was only a waning sliver. Tomorrow, there would be no moon, or maybe the next night. Maybe the dream would leave her alone and let her sleep. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe the woman who wore the face of the one she’d been meant to love would finally invade her city and they could end this prolonged suffering, this thirteen year long funeral march.

Jaina didn’t really want it, if she were to think of this all in her right mind. But for tonight, she would look at the moon and wonder how it might end--with Sylvanas’ arrow through her eye or her ice piercing that cold, dead heart of hers.

---

Shaw was a good man. Jaina valued his intelligence and his thoroughness. He was endlessly loyal to the Alliance as well.

But today, she didn’t particularly want to hear another word from him.

Still, Shaw went on, leaning over the war table toward her in his impassioned plea, “I know it’s a bit soon, but if we can just have you pledge the fleet to protect our attack--”

“Absolutely not,” Jaina cut him off, pushing the tokens that represented her ships back away from the shores of Zuldazar and its proud harbor of Dazar'alor. “We just got that fleet back, if you recall.”

“And the Alliance needs it,” Shaw insisted.

“And Kul Tiras has not yet pledged to the Alliance, if you recall,” Jaina reminded him.

“But you--”

“Must do what is right for my people? Very astute of you to point out, Shaw,” Jaina declared, pushing the tokens further, all the way to their home port in Boralus. “And since the Alliance was so kind as to continue the aggression in Zuldazar while I was imprisoned, and attempt to kill a great many of the Horde’s ranking members in the process--including Trade Prince Gallywix, whom you did not kill, mind you--then I believe the safest place for the fleet to be is guarding this very harbor.”

This, at least, stunned Shaw into silence for a moment. A blessed moment. Even more blessed by the fact that Valeera Sanguinar audibly laughed loud enough that it carried from across the deck of the ship, where she stood with arms crossed at the cabin door.

Even more blessedly so as Anduin joined her with a chuckle of his own, placing a hand on Shaw’s shoulder and offering him a consolation pat as he agreed, “Jaina has every right to be concerned, and every right to refuse.”

“You’re supposed to be helping me to convince her, my king,” Shaw muttered.

“I would be remiss to make Auntie Jaina do anything she didn’t want to do,” Anduin told him. “And a fool. If she doesn’t think it’s time to strike at the Horde, and that the risk to Kul Tiras is too great for them to aid us, then I would say we should consider waiting. Jaina is merely advising that this is too risky a move now, not necessarily later.”

“The risk of a swift offensive is far less than any you might take with waiting for them to attack,” Alleria Windrunner chimed in.

Her voice was clipped and stern--deeper than either of her sisters. She glared at Jaina with blue eyes that swirled with the void. Nothing like the soft grey that Sylvanas’ had once been. A streak of blue tattoo covered one, while a silvery mark that resembled a sun with an arrow piercing it covered another. Jaina knew that Alleria had never met her soulmate. They had died before she could meet them. Alleria never knew the pain of that death, or the loss of anything but possibility. Her mark only spoke of what could have been, and her husband didn’t seem to mind it, as he bore a similar mark from a person he too had never known.

Wars had taken the opportunity from many people, lest Jaina forget. Wars that happened thousands of years before she was born, even. But at least Alleria never had to see the matching mark to hers on the face of her enemy.

And yet, she always had a special glare for Jaina, and always made it known she was watching her with it every time they met. She seemed to be searching for weakness, hesitance. And Jaina would look back at her hard, trying to convey that no one in this room hated what Sylvanas had become more than her. Though Alleria probably was a close second. She’d give her that.

“Alleria has a point,” Shandris noted. She was slumped against the table, looking deeply exhausted. No doubt due to the early hour that was an affront to her nocturnal nature, and the fact that she had worked tirelessly to ensure the Horde was weak enough for this attack to be possible. “We don’t know what they’re capable of. Well, at the very least, Jaina hasn’t seen their latest tactics.”

“Jaina is well aware,” Jaina answered for herself, taking a moment to rub her temples. In public, she always wore gloves, so that her mark was not on display. These days, she wore another layer on top of it, a golden gauntlet on only the marked hand.

If asked by anyone who wasn’t aware, she would say it was to protect her casting hand. In reality, it was just another piece of armor to protect not from what was outside, but what was within it. A shame. A rot that would spread through her heart if she thought about it long enough, or caught herself looking at the silvery mark.

“All I’m saying is that attacking them is a better option than just sitting here, and we’re not going to be able to do it without your ships,” Alleria protested, reaching out to the command table to flick over the figurine of a Kul Tiran frigate.

Overhead, the gulls chattered. Jaina disliked having a tactical meeting aboard the open deck of a ship, but apparently this was what the Alliance had chosen as their command post while they curried favor with her mother and attempted to rescue her. She’d have a chat with them about moving this kind of meeting indoors, where it belonged, when they were not trying to get her to turn around and immediately bring the nation she’d just been handed into a war in any official capacity.

Because, like it or not, their actions had already brought Kul Tiras into this war, and extended it upon their own eternal conflict with the Zandalari. And apparently, asking to take a week’s respite to get started on governing her nation and recuperating from her time in Thros was too long for Jaina to absent in their efforts to drag her further into all of it.

Alleria’s jaw clenched in the relative silence. The harbor was never silent, and though no one spoke, they were surrounded by the noise and liveliness of a busy port. Waves crashing. Sailors laughing. Cargo being loaded and unloaded. The docks creaking and sails straining against their lines.

All sounds familiar and foreign to Jaina at once. No wonder she’d had the dream every night for a week. Things were quite stressful. Well, things were always quite stressful for her. Enough that she often wondered why she’d bothered to come back from her self-imposed exile during the battle against the Burning Legion.

The elder Windrunner sister couldn’t take it anymore, though, and burst out with, “Think about what good sitting and waiting has done you before. How well did it work at Theramore?”

White hot anger seared through every bit of Jaina’s nerves, setting them alight. She was certain that Alleria could feel the gathering of mana, the ice that wanted very much to form at her fingertips. But Jaina didn’t let it. She banished it.

“I think I’ve heard enough,” she hissed through clenched teeth, clinging onto civility.

But she had no other choice but civility. Because as much as she wanted to slice Alleria’s head clean off with a blade of ice for that remark, it wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t let her rest. It wouldn’t keep Kul Tiras safe, or the Alliance satisfied. It wouldn’t stop the Horde from attacking.

It would only be more loss and blood. More grief. And Jaina had had enough of those things to fill many lifetimes--even one as long as Alleria Windrunner’s.

“Alleria,” Anduin whispered, reaching over to take her arm. “That was uncalled for.”

“Jaina’s cowardice is uncalled for,” Shandris offered, standing up straight and moving toward the other side of Alleria.

“Please,” Anduin tried, reaching out his free hand to Shandris.

His mark was also on the back of his hand, not too far off from where Jaina’s was on her own hand. It was still unchanged from when he was a boy--just a slightly darker patch of skin, not unlike a birthmark. Anduin had not yet met his soulmate. He still had time--the grace of potential.

Shandris batted it away, taller and stronger than her High King enough to make it seem a foolish gesture to begin with, and turned back to Jaina. “Do you want history to write Kul Tiras into its annals as the cowards that stood in the way of the defeat of the Horde? To stand in the way of the vengeance my people deserve? Do you want all of my work to be for nothing?”

“I want none of those things,” Jaina assured her, willing the bile in her throat back to where it came from. Trying with every ounce of control she had to be the calm that Anduin needed. If nothing else, she could be that. “I want time. I do not want to lead the charge as an aggressor when we have done just as--”

“Just as much?” Shandris spit. “Tell me, Jaina. Did we burn their people? Did we set flame to all they loved, all they cherished?”

No. They had not. But Jaina had seen Sylvanas’ eyes, that day she took her ship to defend Anduin and his army at Lordaeron. She’d seen something in them--a bitter shame she felt gnawing at the edge of every waking moment, echoed behind bright red rage.

She’d known then that losing the Undercity was as grievous a blow as it was meant to be. She knew then that she would rather be anywhere but there, and that facing other past crimes in Kul Tiras was far preferable than casting another look in the direction of that cursed place and the shade of the woman who she’d run off from it.

Jaina clenched a gauntleted fist, but said nothing. There was no correct response. That was the whole problem with what was being asked of her this morning.

“It’s as Alleria says,” Shandris needled even as Anduin reached for her again, still pleading. “You are unwilling to attack their Warchief directly. You won’t touch Sylvanas.”

“Shandris!” Anduin shouted this time. “Please! Is this what you call diplomacy? Jaina is our ally, and our friend! Remember that, please!”

The boy king cast a worried look at Jaina. No doubt he saw the glow of arcane pooling in her eyes, threatening to whiten them out. She could blow this ship up. She could level these docks. She wanted to. A part of her wanted to. A part of her always longed for an end. Anything final, not always death, but something.

But not today. Not today. Jaina’s will was iron. Her heart was not, but she tried her best.

“Why would either of you worry about what I will or will not do with Sylvanas?” Jaina asked her, voice quiet and low. “After all, Shandris, one cannot have a soulmate that has no soul. She hasn’t been anything to me since she died. Of anyone here, it would be the greatest relief to me to put an end to the banshee who wears her face.”

No one aboard the ship had anything to offer in reply to that. And why would they? Who would challenge her, the greatest Archmage of her age, eyes burning with unspent arcane as they’d burned with unshed tears all these years. They all knew. It was no secret. No, Jaina’s shame and grief had always been a public affair. That was precisely what she’d hated the most about all of it.

“As I said before, I've heard enough for today. We can discuss this again tomorrow,” Jaina told them. “Inside the keep. I will have my mother prepare an appropriate room for your command post. As much as we enjoy ships here in Kul Tiras, such sensitive matters of state are best discussed behind closed doors and not on the deck of one.”

---

That evening, Jaina had hoped that only darkness would greet her from the night sky. But still, a sliver of the moon lingered, mocking her from the window of her bedchamber. The larger one, of course. Azeroth's second, dimmer moon rose later in the night, and never seemed so mocking as its sister.

Her mother promised to be finished moving out tomorrow. Jaina cautioned her to take her time still. While the Lord Admiral’s quarters were rightfully hers now, it felt odd to steal her parents’ bedroom from her mother. So many things felt odd about this place. Boralus was so like what she remembered, and yet also so very different.

Time could change a lot. Jaina reminded herself of this every day. Time was said to heal all wounds. And it healed some. She’d done her best to forget, even as her dreams reminded her over and over. She’d had her share of lovers over the years, those who either had already lost their own soulmate or hadn’t found them yet or just didn’t care. She’d watched the marks of others wink out and silver as her own had. She’d held Sylvanas’ younger sister through her grief at the loss of her own soulmate at Theramore, and watched the tears fall onto the silver mark that now occupied Vereesa’s cheek.

But she’d spent most of her nights alone. Even when she entertained suitors, she would make excuses not to spend the night. She’d tired of explaining why she tossed and turned at night, or would wake at odd hours to distract herself with a book or some paperwork.

Jaina changed into her nightdress, hoping for a reprieve. Even just a few hours. Just a little rest. She needed it so badly.

And she needed to be thinking of anything but Sylvanas right now.

She’d given up praying years ago, or she’d try that too. Whatever gods there were would not be so cruel to her if they were as supposedly benevolent as their advocates insisted. The Tides, the Light, and all of their subsidiaries didn’t seem to carry the same weight to her. At least, not when Jaina knew they never seemed to answer any of her prayers.

So instead, she just hoped. Hope was all she had. She was all she had. And she knew she could be a better version of herself for tomorrow’s meeting if she just got some goddamn sleep.

But still, she looked at the moon. That damn moon. Maybe she ought to pray to Elune. She’d given Tyrande the strength to take her vengeance. Maybe she’d grant Jaina the strength to find that end she was looking for.

And maybe then, she could rest.

Jaina turned her back on the crescent moon--the sliver of silver that hung in the night sky. She dimmed her magelight lamp with a snap of her fingers, and crawled into bed.

She pulled the covers over herself. Silk, deep green. Kul Tiran colors. She wondered how long it would take her to get used to waking wrapped in green. How many more times would she have to remind herself where she was?

It was better than Thros. Anything was. Where every regret played out endlessly for her, every failure. There, she was damned to wrap herself in an eternal comfort of the worst days of her life. At least she was back now to just having the dream. It was vivid, but far less so than all those things she’d repressed, all the sweet memories of Sylvanas laughing with her Rangers, of how good her warm skin felt against Jaina’s, of the equally warm sensation of her growing love and fondness for her, shared across their bond so that Jaina could feel it too.

No. Jaina promised herself that she would bury those things again. And she could. She knew she could.

She counted, as she often did. Backwards from one-hundred. Then two-hundred. Then three-hundred. Some nights, she’d get all the way through one-thousand and still not be asleep.

But she tried. Every day, every night, she just tried, knowing that it was very likely the same thing awaited her, the same dream, the same pain.

And when she started the four-hundred count, pain was exactly what Jaina felt. A dull throb in her shoulder, to be exact. Not unheard of, of course. She was thirty-six now. Things were starting to hurt. Her mother had joked with her that it didn’t get more fun in her sixties, so she should enjoy the fact that her pains were only occasional. But it was a little odd.

The mattress was soft and piled with pillows. It had been comfortable and hadn’t bothered Jaina any other night she’d slept on it. She shifted from lying on her back to her side in an effort to banish the pain.

But the throb remained. If anything, it began to slowly intensify. Jaina lost count in the four-hundreds and sighed, reaching up to rub her shoulder to no avail. Great, yet another thing to keep her up at night. Just what she needed.

And then it became bad enough for her to let out a grunt. Jaina kept rubbing at the offending shoulder and cursed, sitting up. She draped her legs over the side of the bed, bare feet touching the cool stone of the floor. She ought to get a rug--autumn was just about here and would be cold in Boralus.

And then it was white hot and searing, a flash of sensation that Jaina wasn’t at all prepared for. A flash of burning pain that certainly was not like anyone had described any sort of familial arthritis or anything like that to be.

With it, and after it, came a flood like a damn breaking. A rush of adrenaline that caused her to start panting as if she’d just run a marathon. Confusion beyond measure. Fear too. Wave after wave of all of these, crashing into her.

Was it another dream? A new terror for her to enjoy?

But no, Jaina was pretty sure she was awake and aware and in control.

So she started her nightly mantra in the middle, just to be sure, “You’re Jaina Proudmoore. You’re the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras. This is your bedroom.”

It was. She was. The moon peered into her window, as if watching her and laughing. Always watching.

Jaina dug her fingers into her shoulder, trying to dispel whatever this was. Maybe it was her end. Maybe she wouldn’t lose to an arrow in her skull, but to the madness she was most afraid of. The stress of it all was too much. She was so tired. And she was so tired of trying.

But the pain remained. The emotions washed over her again and again. Relief joined them. Exhaustion was somewhere too. Oddly enough, a giddy sense of victory as well. Dread was chief among them, though, as if she’d just seen a vision of the very world’s end.

And as Jaina squinted against the pain again, her eyes opened just a bit. Just enough to see that the hand she held her shoulder with was glowing a dim, but distinct blue.

A blue moon, beset with snowflakes, was glowing on her hand for the first time in thirteen years.

It was only then, when she saw it, that Jaina screamed.

#Sylvanas Windrunner #Jaina Proudmoore #sylvaina #beneath the blue moon #fanfic #soulmate aus are trash and i am trash for them #rolling around in my trash like a little raccoon

[saintguard]

I had some big ol' hyperfixation this weekend that actually got me to write some stuff (and lose some sleep, because apparently the best time to have ideas is in the middle of the night).

This kinda midnight revelation-style of creativity has happened before, when I ended up writing a whole fan rewrite of the Legend of Korra at 3am on my phone. It's kinda wild and remarkably coherent, but I'll leave that for some other time.

This weekend's hyperfixation that I'm going to focus on came out of two places:

Some worldbuilding I'd done on a stream back in August 2022 using some of the campaign/worldbuilding guidelines from Beam Saber by Austin Ramsey (it's a wonderful game, highly recommend it). I'd created two settings in it, one of which was a manufactured war between megacorporations taglined as "Imagine if the Tour de France/Formula 1 was mech battles". The other, which is actually important for this, takes place in an unnamed region on an unnamed planet with an overall cold climate, currently split between three factions who are all trying to get their hands on some old (and sealed) super-technology. The region has the incredibly unlucky distinction of being the place with heaviest indication of said super-tech, so these three offworld factions rushed in to try finding the tech first, sovereignty and the concerns of the millions of people living there be damned.

I've been trying to get myself back into drawing lately, and I had the idea for a scene that turned into a short (at this point just sketched out) comic. It goes something like this: Pilot: "Again, why are we doing this?" Handler: "To keep us going another day, Mai." Pilot, watching a battle unfold in front of them from their obscured position: "...right."

My brain turned out to be very fond of this idea, to the point where I started thinking of scenes and characters for a whole comic. I ended up with a page of notes on my phone and another page on a doc on my computer. I'm fairly pleased with that, after being so creatively burnt out this year.

Here are some highlights from those notes:

I've come up with eight characters, but only two of them are named: Mai-Lin, aka Mai, a local mech pilot and our protagonist, and Kestrel, a Vraskan mech pilot who might be a lab experiment (the Vraskan State is one of the offworld factions, a military dictatorship ala Starship Troopers).

That comic I was sketching out would actually function at the beginning of the comic, with Mai and her squad third-partying a fight between the Vraskans and the UFL (different faction, a stratified democracy).

The cold climate means lots of cold weather clothing, including greatcoats for the Vraskans and a whole variety for the UFL. Not too decided on what the local fashion is yet.

One of the main throughlines would be Mai and Kestrel continuing to encounter each other, with Mai trying to break Kestrel's programming. They kiss at some point. Is it a good idea? Who knows!

I wrote not one, but two separate flashbacks for Kestrel. I'm really starting to understand the writer thing of "I love this character! I'm going to have absolutely terrible things happen to them."

Outlines of a few other scenes, with the highlight being just before a diplomatic summit. Kestrel's CO, a violent, domineering sort in a violent, domineering society, is accompanying a Vraskan diplomat who's also a military officer. The CO makes a comment about how much of a waste of time this whole summit is, to which the diplomat shows their full displeasure, culminating with “Your rank may be higher, but I outrank you. Are we understood?”

I love all of this, with one caveat - I don't know if I can deliver on my own promise. I can see in my mind's eye what all this stuff should look like, but I'm not sure if I could put pencil to paper and actually make it happen. Still, it's nice to gush about it, especially after all this time of feeling creatively empty.

#worldbuilding #mecha #hyperfixation

[kudamono94]

Hello everyone!  As promised in my last post I made prior to the premiere of the 1st episode of the new Futurama revival, I have decided to share some of my favorite screenshots I took since watching it myself~  That said, I have seen some of these scenes already shared but I still wanted to post all of what I had taken in one place for myself just for fun, so if you see something in this post that you’ve already seen 1000 times by this point feel free to ignore lol

Tbh I’ve never tried live blogging anything before, let alone tried to edit and share screenshots I didn’t plan on keeping for myself, so I hope these turned out okay!  I did my best to clean them up and crop to what I wanted, so if they don’t show up well I apologize in advance ^^;

Otherwise, if you’re interested in reading past this point, I hope you enjoy what I have to share as well as what little commentary I have to accompany my pictures :3 

Okay, so just to get this out of the way first and foremost, while I have seen mixed reviews in regards to the first episode, imo I honestly thought it was pretty good!  A lot of the jokes definitely landed and even had me laughing out loud, and with the easter eggs scattered throughout combined with seeing all of these characters once again, I couldn’t stop smiling at several points just because I was so happy lol

That said, while I wouldn’t say this is up there as one of my fav episodes of all time in the series overall, I say it definitely did what it set out to accomplish as far as bringing the series back after 10 years off the air in terms of animation, voice acting, etc.  So to anyone that felt as if The Impossible Stream was a let down, I would recommend giving it a few episodes into the new season before coming to a solid conclusion on whether the revival lives up to the hype or not/forming a firm opinion on the new season as a whole.  Again, as far as plots are concerned, this episode isn’t anywhere in my top 10 list, but at the same time, it was pretty good and served as a nice welcome back to long time fans since 2013 when Meanwhile aired, so I want to believe things will only get better from here~

Any who, with all of that out of the way, on to the screenshots:

1. First, Idk if this has been pointed out already, but since I haven’t seen anyone else post this, I thought I’d do it myself~  I honestly thought this was pretty cute lol, and considering that the new season is on a streaming service as opposed to tv (meaning that they most likely can have both the OP and ED be as long as they want without it being cut off by ad time), I hope they include new stuff like this in the OP in addition to the cartoons being displayed on the jumbo tv Leela always crashes into again :)

2. This scene right here was too cute for me~  I love these two so much, and I’m so happy to see them again :3  They just want each other to be happy, and it’s precious :3

Also Fry looks so adorable here (´◡`)  Look at him! 

3. I know this scene speaks for itself, but still enjoy this quote none the less :3

4. If I had a nickle for every time one of my special interests was cancelled because of corporate incompetence/bad judgement, I’d have at least 2 but it’s weird it happened twice - let alone that it happened to two shows that technically aired on the same block (I.E. adult swim, Metalocalypse I’m looking at you :( ).

And yes, I know this is prob a jab at streaming services like Netflix but I think my point still stands, you know?  I wish things were different but...

5. Hey, at least we’re getting Futurama AND Metalocalypse back this year, right? I guess that’s a small victory, at least for me?  Idk, the fact both these series ended back in 2013 just to be revived in the ye old year of 2023 seems like fate to me tbh, so if the latter’s direct-to-dvd film does well, here’s hoping it can get picked up on Hulu alongside Futurama so I can get back into my high school era~  In the meantime, have this which reminded me of the revival campaigns I have seen over the years dedicated to bringing these 2 wonderful shows back:

Too bad Leela’s not a Dethklok fan :(

6.  I figured we’d see Calculon come back sooner or later, but I sure as hell wasn’t expecting him to return like this in the first episode no less XD That said, I’m not a huge fan of either him or the Robot Devil, but this scene was gold~

And last but not least:

Once I learn how to make good quality GIFS, this is the first scene I’m uploading as a GIF ｡^‿^｡

7. Oh!  Speaking of Calculon, over these past 15+ years of my life, I had always figured he was either Bi or Pan, so alongside my ship with him and Bender potentially being given more fuel, it was nice to see the writers had the same idea :3 In this house we stan a Bi and/or Pan Calculon~

And let’s not forget about this:

Idk man, I think I might reconsider my Calculon dislike if this continues O////O Never thought I’d say that after reaching my 20s but ye, this was pretty good

Also, this scene was another gem in my opinion:

Technically, yes

Bender x Fry x Leela parallels aside, it’s always nice to see this as a multi shipper~  Keep in mind, as well, that this was originally also written BY BENDER HIMSELF, so ye, a lot to talk about another day 

8. I almost choked on my drink watching this lol Looks like the old man yaoi group of Farnsworth, Hermes, and Zoidberg has trouble in paradise (this is a JOKE, pls don’t take this seriously!)

His face is priceless XD

9. Finally, I know this last scene was prob meant to be a tongue-in-cheek joke about both reboots and the writers, but at the same time all I could think of was that one quote from Fry in When Aliens Attack when Leela asked him about his script writing?  Idk if it was mean to be a call back to this scene too, but was I the only one reminded of this during the end?  Also, Bender sure is one to call the kettle black XD

Compare these exchanges and see what I mean:

And that’s about it tbh, so if you’ve read this far, thank you so much!  As thanks, here’s some bonus screenshots of Leela and Fry being cute, and I can’t wait to post again about next week’s episode :3  Have a great day and good night~

#Futurama #Kudamono94's Texts #To everyone who decided to read this through all the way thank you so much! #I'm hoping that I will get better at this as we go along with the season #so pls bare with me lol #Also please feel free to use any of these photos if you want! Again like I said before I'm still not 100% these are all good quality but I #tried so if you see anything you like go right ahead and feel free to use as you like! Just pls give me credit if possible is all I ask ^^; #See everyone next week~

[unfortunatelyevent]

🥺

#I tought I could learn wich episode my boy vax dies before watching it so I could be prepared before it happened ik #but turns out I fckin can't #I started watching c1e102 and I completely accidentally was looking at the cr tag and of course today there was a post saying #THAT WAS THE ONE #I thought I could keep watching #but I just can't #I'm not ready to watch my boy die I'm really not #I wanna cry already #why Liam keeps making me get so attached to his sad bi characters #I hate this #I promised myself I would watch the whole campaign 1 #and then I couldn't #may delete later

[lubdubsworld]

Better Man.

~~~~~~~~~~~~`Just to see you smile, I’d do anything. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taehyung x Oc

Rated 18 +

Post Divorce, Getting Back Together, Second chances, Angst.

Chapter 1    Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Do you ever truly know what someone is feeling?

You could spend decades , breathing the same air, hands held , your fingers brushing ....connected physically and even mentally but a person’s emotions, they’re hidden away. 

You only ever know what they’re willing to show .

And yet, 

all of us build relationships, convinced that we know exactly what the other person will feel when we act a certain way. Buying her flowers will make happy....visiting him at work will take away that little bit of stress.

But sometimes, what we think someone feels, may not be what they truly feel.

And that’s when your actions, well intended actions..... end up with disastrous consequences. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So....last night...” Jungkook’s teasing voice did nothing to ease the pounding in my head.

“I do believe you promised not to tease me about it if I drank two glasses of water, which I did by the way.” I told him firmly, trying to bring the words on my planner into focus as i squinted. Three meeting. Each two hours long. 

kill me now. 

“I wanted to ask HR to give you the day off but you have quite a schedule today. “ He said casually,  leaning over me to peer into the planner . I glanced at his wrist resting on the table, the expensive rolex showing that it was a little past 9. 

“ We’re planning out the Christmas campaign first and I have a meeting with Taehyung’s team in the afternoon so we can go over the contract see if they have any requirements and then the social media team in the evening at four to discuss promos and revamping the website.” I glanced up at him. 

He gave me a smile before casually leaning down, lightly gripping my chin and tilting my face up. I felt the brush of his lips against mine, fleeting and gentle. 

‘You’re beautiful.” He smiled. 

I blinked.

And then took a deep breath.

“Your wife...” I said softly. “ I saw her today.” 

Jungkook went completely still at that. 

“She was waiting in the lobby on my way up. I didn’t know who you were married to and I was a little shocked and also little upset because....” I glanced at him. “ She was my best friend in college. “

Jungkook swore. 

“Fuck.. I told her to stay the fuck away from my company. Did she say something to you?” 

i shook my head.

“I didn’t greet her because I wasn’t sure if she remembered me. And I wasn’t sure if i was remembering her right. i didn’t know she was your wife till i heard someone mention it in the elevator on my way up. Did you know that she and i knew each other?” 

Jungkook looked just a little guilty.

“When you first joined the company, she saw your resume on my cvomputer. told me a lot about you. She remembers you. Fondly. She wanted to come meet you but...things happened.  “ He shrugged.

Things like infidelity and divorces . 

“Ahh...” I smiled. “ Tell me i wasn’t another way to get back at your ex wife, Jeon Jungkook ssi...” 

He made a noise of protest.

“no... No of course not Christ...it’s just...I’ll admit she made me curious about you. She spoke of you being spontaneous and fun and wild and I’d seen you as this demure, elegant woman in the office. i was curious. I wanted to know which one was the real you. “

“Were you curious before she cheated....or after?”

“ Jang Mi...this isn’t what it looks like .. I’m done with her. She fucked my best buddy and ruined my fucking life...” He sounded pained. 

I frowned. 

“It’s hard to believe she would do something like that. The Aera i remember had a very strong moral compass.” 

“Yeah well, apparently, you can live whole entire lives with someone and never really know the person. Listen, do we really have to talk about my ex wife?” He asked, eyes shining with discomfort. 

I shrugged.

“I’m not fond of drama. I won’t tangle myself in a relationship that risks hurting a lot of people Jungkook. That’s just not the kind of person I am. I’m sorry.” 

He made a noise of impatience, shaking his head. 

“We won’t be hurting anyone... We have fun together. We like each other. We’re attracted to each other...that’s all that matters....” He said sharply.

“ If we were in our twenties , without kids ....maybe. But that's not how it is now. I have a son, you have a daughter and I think I’m not completely over my marriage yet.” I said softly. 

He froze.

“And i don’t think you’re completely over your wife either.” I smiled.

He glared at me. 

“Ex-wife.” He snarled.

“She makes you feel things, Jungkook. You need to sort that out before you start something new with someone else. I’m only saying this because we’re old enough not to 

He growled and punched the desk. 

“God, how can she keep ruining my life even when she’s out of it.” He muttered, stepping away from me and moving to the door. 

I watched him storm out of my office and bit my lip. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By the time evening rolled around, I was exhausted. But the day had been productive and I was happy because the contract had been finalized, the theme had been decided and we’d also spent an amazing three hours redesigning the website. Although it wasn’t in my job description I had studied web design in college and the creative department always welcomed my inputs. 

“You’re in a good mood...” Taehyung’s voice was a complete surprise and I turned to him, shocked. He was dressed in a black t shirt and blue jeans and sneakers and looked a whole decade younger. 

I felt affection rise up my throat so fast I nearly choked. 

“What are you doing here?”

“My agent told me you guys were incredibly cooperative today. She also told me you were quite possibly the loveliest woman she’s ever met and that I’m an idiot to have let you go.” He smiled. 

I laughed, shaking my head and my gaze shifted to the small bunch of tiger lilies in his hand. 

I felt warmth bloom in my chest. 

“You remembered.” I said softly, pleased. 

“Thirteen years since our first date.  The lily to my tiger. ” He held the flowers to me and I grinned, pressing the flowers to my chest. 

“Man I feel old.” I muttered.

“You are old.” Tae grinned and i grimaced, before tossing him a glare. . 

“You’re supposed to say I still look as beautiful as i did thirteen years ago.” I said. 

“But you don.t” He grinned impishly. “ You look a billion times  more  beautiful.” 

I felt the atmosphere shift, the air charged with something dangerous and i looked away. Usually, this was when I would laugh and throw my arms around him. Pull him close and press my lips against his , slip my fingers into his t shirt and trace the skin of his back. Feel his hands on my waist as he lifted me up to twirl me around and kiss me just like that. 

How often had we kissed that way? Thirteen years is a long time to count the number of kisses we’d shared. 

We both stayed quiet, looking anywhere but at each other.

“I...there’s a reason I came.” He said finally.

I glanced at him.

“Oh?”

“The lawyer. Ms. Lee she ... recommended a relationship counselor”

I blinked, my breath catching in my throat. 

“Taehyung we’re-”

“Just hear me out. Its not mandatory and it won’t affect the divorce in anyway. its just something the court offers all couples going through a divorce and we’re free to refuse it. “

“Did you?” I asked. 

“Did I what?”

“Refuse it. Did you tell her no?” 

He stared at me. 

“No.” He said finally.

I exhaled sharply.

“Wow.” I whispered, feeling jittery and unbalanced. He sighed and came closer, reaching out to lightly grip my wrists. I let him tug me closer into a hug and held him tight, my heart pounding with anxiety.

“Mia.... I just... I’m not saying we should try to fix this.... relationship.” He said softly, eyes gentle and pleading, “  I just think this whole thing has taken a toll on both of us and maybe we can heal better if we get the help of a professional. Come out of this with closure. Instead of battling guilt and regrets everyday. Just ....it could help us move on. Don’t you think?”

You could never really tell what the other person is feeling. 

I couldn’t tell what Taehyung was feeling right now? 

Hope ?

Hope that we would fix our marriage....

or maybe hope that he would finally move on from me.. Maybe this whole thing was his final attempt to end things with me for good. So he could walk out of my life forever without any lingering guilt or regret. 

I would never know. 

I clung to him harder and somehow the pain of the entire two years we’d been apart, rammed into me at once. 

I choked on a sob. Breathing became difficult and I felt myself gasping for air. 

“Mia?” Taehyung’s panicked voice was the last sane thought that registered. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay? I can stay the night if you want. I’ll sleep in the spare bedroom . ” Taehyung whispered,  seated on the warm fluffy blanket that he’d managed to dig out of the closet in the spare bedroom. i was already tucked into the bed, fingers clutching the satin lined edges . 

i shook my head.

“I know how much you need your gazillion pillows. Go on... I’ll be fine.”

“i feel terrible. i pushed you into a panic attack.”

I waved off the guilty words. 

“You didn’t . i was already a little frayed and i guess i haven’t really been processing all the stuff between us the way i should have. i just got a little overwhelmed.” 

A panic attack. At the age of 32. The last time i had one I was twenty four. I wanted to crawl into the bed and never resurface. 

Taehyung’s gentle fingers , stroking my cheek brought me out of my own head. 

“I was so scared.” He said softly and my heart ached.

“I’m sorry i scared you.” I said apologetically, gripping his wrists lightly and stroking the skin there with my thumb. 

“I really want to stay. i don’t think I’ll be able to sleep if I go home right now.” He whispered. 

I bit my lips. 

“Okay... but... You need to hug something. To sleep. “ 

He grinned at that. 

“I’m old enough to survive one night without a pillow, Mia .” he chuckled. 

I flushed, sinking deeper into the covers.

“Okay.” 

“You don’t have to worry about the counselor thing. I’ll tell Lee we don’t want to do any-”

“No!!” I said quickly, a lot  louder than I’d intended. 

Taehyung blinked.

“I just... I realized that I haven’t been dealing with any of this...the right way. I’m so confused and disoriented all the time and I .. I don’t mind getting some help. To sort things out. Just for myself you know...without the pressure of trying to fix...well us.” I finished .

Taehyung gave me a wide smile before bending down and kissing my forehead.

“ Okay, Mia mine. Sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

#taehyung fic #taehyung smut #taehyung fanfic #bts smut #bts fic

[trentaafcsblog]

Writing Challenge - Angst

“I just want the best for you” - Jack Grealish

Thank you to the gorgeous @macybeckham7 for this one 🤍

Your whole body felt numb, your heart was completely shattered in your chest and you had just lost any kind of feeling. You hadn’t loved someone so much that you did with him, he promised you that he’d never hurt you.

Everyone told you that you were stupid for thinking that he would be loyal, he was young and good looking and had everyone throwing themselves at him, to not have his eye wander.

It took him a while to hit the walls around your heart, and you fell hard.

‘YN?’ a voice appeared. You heard the Brummy accent and instantly knew who it was, you rolled over and pulled the blanket over you. ‘I’ve got you some food, have you eaten?’ he asks.

You and Jack met when you started dating his friend, he always treated you like a sister and promised you that he always had your back.

You could hear him rummage around behind you but you didn’t open your eyes. A small furrow was on your face as you tried to stop yourself from just shouting at him.

‘Have you showered? Shall I get you a bath? Maybe we could go for a walk?’ he suggests sitting down beside you. ‘Are you alive?’ he jokes.

He looks at you, he gently caresses your cheek and wipes away the tear that escapes your eyes. You weren’t giving him anything back to him actually trying to look after you.

He leans down and gently kisses your forehead. ‘I’m sorry mate, he didn’t deserve you, you are an angel and I promise you’ll find someone who wor-’

He gets cut off, as you open your eyes, he could see that there was just pain behind them that used to have some much love in them.

‘What are you even doing here? Didn’t I tell you that I didn’t want anything to do with you’ you snap.

‘I just want the best for you’ he says as he watches as you stand up and move away from him.

Your bottom lip quivers as you nod. ‘Best for me, that bullshit’ you say with a dry laugh. ‘If you did, you would of gave me a heads up and not make me find out myself, bet everyone was laughing at me’ you say with venom in your voice. ‘Poor YN’ you mock.

He walks towards you slowly and hugs you as you burst into tears. ‘I know I said I’ll look after you and I have failed, but this right now, even though it hurts, is for the best and I promise you’ll shine better without him’ he whispers as he feels your grip on his jumper tighten.

This imagine is in collaboration with CoppaFeel! 💗 please feel free to follow the link if you would like to donate, but as always, there is no obligation 🦋 if you have the time, then please have a little look at their website and check out the amazing work that they do 🤍 they also have a free text reminder service where you can receive a monthly reminder to check your boobs, as this is something that is often forgotten about 🍒 a lot of celebrities are also ambassadors for CoppaFeel! - Perrie Edwards, Giovanna Fletcher, Frankie Bridge - so keep your eyes peeled on their social media accounts for any campaigns or fundraising events that may be coming up (they trekked through the Himalayas in 2019 and raised over £1 million!) x

#hnrfc writing challenge #jack grealish #jack grealish blurb #jack grealish imagine #submission

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Game Master Akuma AU by  crisisdparity

Xavier Duchamp was rather proud of himself. What he had before him was an absolute masterpiece of a campaign if he did say so himself. The product of over six months of study, research, and rebalancing efforts followed by two weeks of discussion with his five players to hash out schedules, meeting times, characters, backstories, potential character arcs, and getting them set up with a messaging app that was really good for sending discrete messages between the GM and the players. Valentine and her boyfriend Justin were onboard in an instant. Within days, he’d greenlighted their Half-Elf Bard of the College of Glamour whose spell list was 100% Illusion spells and Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) who was focusing entirely on Abjuration as Rena Rouge and Carapace respectively. Olivia had spent a few days coming up with a Halfling Rogue and debating subclasses with him until settling on Scout. Along with some discussion over how her special magic item’s stunning and paralysis effect would work with Sneak Attack, the campaign had its Vesperia. Jeanette had gone back and forth with him for a week looking at various homebrew subclasses for her Gnome Artificer before they both agreed on one particular Master Tinkerer entry that would be balanced and do the character justice. And with that they had their Ladybug. Even Matt was on board with a stealthy human Chat the Barbarian using the Path of the Beast. The class choice was something Matt had insisted on (and that Xavier would have suggested anyway just for the high hit point totals given Matt’s history with characters dying) and he’d even come up with a backstory that Xavier felt was quite compelling compared to Matt’s usual efforts. Morally ambiguous, likely to be tempted by promises of power, but with a great deal of story potential to work with. Which was a relief. Getting a new player into their group to replace Matt was not something Xavier really felt comfortable with. There were too many unknowns with introducing a new person, far too many for him to risk his masterpiece on an unknown factor. He knew Matt. He could work with Matt. Despite the history. He’d put everything he had into this. Every known Akuma ever fought by the heroes had been made into a boss-tier foe. He’d carefully documented each and every power the heroes had shown to craft special legendary magic items based on the Miraculous. Hawkmoth and Mayura themselves were going to be the final bosses of his campaign. In response to criticism about the difficulty of his campaigns (he tried to make them fair, but still challenging enough to be memorable), he’d made several guest NPCs based on every other hero that had ever been called upon, statted out like player characters that might show up in a pinch to help. He even had a genuine Deus ex Machina that he was ready to use to get the players out of a truly impossible jam if they found themselves in one. Not always, but a few times at least. Enough to get them to the point where they wouldn’t need it anymore. —– It was thirty minutes in, right in the middle of exposition from the Guardian NPC, when Xavier got his first message on the app. Matt/Chat - Chat’s going to wait until everyone breaks up and follow Ladybug stealthily. Xavier/GM - Starting party conflict on the first session? Not what I’d advise, but it’s your character. Go ahead and make your Stealth roll now. Matt/Chat - <photo> 17 Xavier/GM - Yeah, that beats everyone’s passive Perception easily. You’ll sneak off handily without anyone noticing. —– “Jeanette, Ladybug is grabbed from behind by an unknown assailant. Roll to resist the grapple.” “Geez, already? Okay, what did my assailant get for their grapple? How screwed am I?” Xavier pretended to roll a die while consulting the message from Matt. “19.” “Okay, difficult, but not undoable… Crap.” “What’d you get?” “Nat 1…” “Hah! I rip off her earrings and claim them for myself! The Wish is mine!” “Seriously Matt?! What the hell?!” “Because it’s payback time! Payback for every character of mine killed in these hellish

campaigns!” “Oh, come on! You’re not the only person whose had a character die at this table! <GM> runs some pretty challenging campaigns, but they’re always fair!” “What about the time he killed Allric the Allmighty in a single round of combat?” “Dude, you tried to Leroy Jenkins straight into melee with a 4th-level Wizard that had a CON penalty. Even at full health you had like 10 hp.” “14!” “Not much better, dude.” “Guys, it’s fine. I can handle this. Okay, Matt. Chat the Barbarian managed to get the earrings-” “Yeah, Ladybug screams bloody murder when he rips them out. Good luck getting out of this in one piece.” “The moment Rena hears Ladybug scream, she bolts for the sound.” “So does Carapace.” “Vesperia too.” “-and with their current locations and movement speeds, I assume you’re all using the Dash action?, you’ve got maybe one round to decide on your Wish before they’re all over you, so choose carefully. And be aware that I plan to grant whatever you wish for in the worst possible way, just as I would if any of the others pulled this.” “Rena screams ‘What the HELL, Chat?! We’re supposed to protect the Miraculous, not use them for our own selfish purposes! Didn’t you listen to the Guardian? Such actions always bring misfortune upon those who misuse the Miraculous!’” “Because I am Chat, avatar of Destruction and I WISH THIS WORLD NEVER EXISTED!” There was dead silence at the table. “Matt… What… just… WHAT?!” “Hah! You like that?! How does it feel now that the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?!” “What the hell is your problem, Matt?!” “My problem? MY problem?! Do you know how much time I’ve spent making characters for these shitty campaigns only to have them turned into paste in one session?!” “Because you made primary spellcasters and played every last one of them like a barbarian, charging in headfirst without thinking! All of us breathed a sigh of relief when you revealed that your character finally matched your playstyle!” “I HATE BARBARIANS! THEY’RE BORING! I SHOULD GET TO PLAY CHARACTERS THAT CAN AT LEAST CHUCK FIREBALLS!” “THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP RUNNING THEM FACE FIRST INTO ENEMY SWORDS!” “NONE OF YOU COULD EVER HANDLE THE FACT THE I MAKE MORE AWESOME CHARACTERS THAN ANY OF YOU, SO YOU JUST LET THIS DOUCHEBAG KILL THEM OFF SO YOU WOULDN’T GET OVERSHADOWED BY HOW AMAZING I AM! WELL NOW I KILLED SOMETHING YOU ALL WORKED HARD ON, SO SUCK IT! I’M DONE WITH ALL OF YOU FOREVER!” “MATT! HEY! GET BACK HERE YOU JERK! MATT!” “Crap, I think Olivia might actually kill him this time…” “It’s going to take all of us to stop her from getting arrested at least.” Xavier just watched numbly as the rest of the group ran out of his apartment. Over six months of work. Gone in less than an hour. He’d given so much to making sure this would work. He’d apologized to Matt at least twice for every character of his that had died to get him to come back. He’d agreed to demand after demand just to keep a familiar face on board, never dreaming he’d pull something like this. He’d nearly gotten fired from his job trying to rearrange his schedule to fit with everyone else’s. They’d somehow, miraculously, gotten the whole day with no other obligations among any of them and decided to make the first session a true marathon. They’d meet in the morning after breakfast and eat both lunch and dinner at the game table before calling it a night late in the evening. It was barely 10:00 in the morning and the whole campaign he’d slaved over for months was kaput. He never noticed the butterfly landing on his custom Miraculous-themed Game Master screen and being absorbed into it. “Game Master, I am Hawkmoth. Few people appreciate the kind of effort that goes into making something truly grand and memorable. I shall give you the power to bring your entire world to life and in return, I ask only for a few simple things.” This was wrong. Hawkmoth was the worst of the worst. The kind of person who would be at home among all the final bosses he’d ever made for his campaigns. Heartless, manipulative, cruel. “Not

enough? Ah, but what is a game without players? How would you like to have the Miraculous heroes themselves run your great campaign? Surely they would be far more appreciative than those ungrateful peons that left you alone with nothing but the broken remains of your efforts.” He knew all these things, but the allure of bringing the world he’d spent so much time on to life… What creator could ever turn down an offer like that? “I, the Game Master, accept… Hawkmoth.” “Excellent. And in exchange, you shall bring me one of two things: The Miraculous, or the identities of their wielders.” “No.” Hawkmoth was silent for a moment. “I beg your pardon?” “I said no. I am the Game Master. I make the world. I craft the challenges. I decide the rewards. But I do not do anything for anyone. If you want these things, get them yourself.” “If you refuse me, it shall be very unpleasant for you.” “No. As Game Master, I decide the limits of all powers within my realm. And I decide that you have none over me.” And with that, he unleashed his creation over all of Paris, drawing everyone and everything within into his sphere of influence. —– Ladybug blinked the spots (ha) out of her eyes as the flash of light died down and looked at herself. She didn’t remember transforming, but she was clearly in her spots. Except her red and black superhero uniform didn’t usually look like it was headed to a steampunk convention. Looking around, she tried to figure out what had happened and her eyes landed on a familiar belt and pants combo. Problem. Whoever this was, their groin was at eye level for her. She looked up. And up. To find a grinning Chat Noir, sans anything resembling a shirt and having put on at least a foot of height and apparently a hundred pounds of pure muscle, grinning down at her. “How’s the weather down there?” Chat Noir chuckled as he flexed his unfairly attractive muscleman physique. “I WILL END YOU!” the heroine snarled, already 100% done with whatever new insanity Hawkmoth had cooked up. Characters: Ladybug - Gnome Artificer (Master Tinkerer - Homebrew) Chat Noir - Human Barbarian (Path of the Beast) —– Vesperia had to admit, as Akuma attacks went, this was pretty dope. She was currently a halfling. A halfling! If it wasn’t for her fantasy ensemble being yellow and black, she’d have thought she stepped straight out of Lord of the Rings. Of course, fantasy setting or not, there were still things she’d have rather left back in the real world. Like racism. And stigma against mixed couples. Not directed at her, but rather at the two walking down the street next to her. “You know, people are staring…” she said as she craned her head to look at her companions. “Let them,” the Half-Elf Rena Rouge (who looked like a cross between a musician and a belly dancer) said from her perch atop the shoulders of the heavily armored (and surprisingly buff) Half-Orc Carapace. “They’re just jealous because their boyfriends can’t carry them everywhere.” Characters: Vesperia - Halfling Rogue (Scout) Rena Rouge - Half-Elf Bard (College of Glamour) Carapace - Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) —– Ryuko blinked as she studied the apparent snake-man-thing before her who claimed to be Viperion. She lifted a hand to study it and found what appeared to be bronze scales covering every inch of her skin. She sniffed herself, smelling the sharp tang of ozone. What was she? And why did she appear to be wearing wooden armor? Characters: Ryuko - Dragonborn (bronze) Druid (Circle of Storms - Third Party) Viperion - Naga Sorcerer (Divination Magic - Homebrew) —– Polymouse giggled as her friends ran over her. Okay, she’d freaked out a little to find a swarm of mice (with hair like hers no less) crawling all over her surprisingly mouse-like body when she’d come to in the middle of some forest somewhere. But she’d gotten over it pretty quickly. It helped that her new friends were adorable. It might help more if she could figure out where she was. Or find another person. Characters: Polymouse - Kobold

(rodentlike) Ranger (Swarmkeeper - Reskinned) —– Purple Tigress sighed as she felt the hair (fur?) on the top of her head being shifted around and twitched her new catlike ears in mild annoyance. “Are you quite done?” “Almost!” Pigella’s cheerful voice answered. “Your fur is so comfy!” Tigress sighed. Of course Pigella would end up being a fairy, and having her normal cheerful enthusiasm cranked up to previously unimagined levels. “I love you dearly, but if you start shouting 'hey listen’ I will stick you in a bottle.” “Aw, I love you too! Hey, what’s that?” “I think it’s my character sheet?” Characters: Purple Tigress - Tabaxi Paladin (Oath of Glory) Pigella - Fairy Cleric (Order Domain - Reskinned) —– “According to my analysis, we have been placed into what appears to be a Dungeons and Dragons campaign under 5th edition rules,” Pegasus stated in a mechanical monotone. “I am apparently a Warforged Wizard using the School of Conjuration whose spells create portals to bridge dimensions and summon or banish my intended targets. You are what is known as a Simic Hybrid, with the class of Monk, following the Way of the Drunken Master.” “Aweshum,” King Monkey slurred, his generally human appearance clad in monk’s robes marred by his monkey-like hands and feet as well as the monkey tail swishing behind him. “Why do you keep slurring like that? According to my sensors, your gourd is filled with only water.” “Gotta keep up appearanshes!” King Monkey grinned as he continued faking drunkenness. Characters: Pegasus - Warforged Wizard (School of Conjuration - Reskinned) King Monkey - Simic Hybrid Monk (Way of the Drunken Master) —– Hawkmoth studied the dark red horns growing out of his head in the mirror. The change in appearance was disconcerting, but he felt a rush of power in this new form that he’d never felt before. “Hmm… perhaps I can work with this…” “Speak for yourself…” Mayura muttered off to the side, ruffling her peacock-like feathers in annoyance as she tried to glare at the beak on her own face. Characters: Hawkmoth - Tiefling Dark Lord, Warlock Patron, Contracted by Lila Rossi, Volpina, Queen Wasp, and many others. Mayura - Kenku Assistant to the Dark Lord, Creator of Monsters —– “Oh, come on!” A figure in a cyan and white hooded robe complained as they waved a similarly colored umbrella around angrily. “Everyone else gets to be part of this adventure, why can’t I join them?” “Because you’re too OP. You’d completely break everything and remove all challenge from the adventure.” “But sitting around is no fun at all!” “If you like, I can put you in the position of the main quest giver. Your job would be to direct them towards their enemies and means of becoming stronger.” “That’s it?! I’m on 'mysterious hooded figure’ duty? Boo! Why can’t I fight with them?!” “Because you’re too OP. But if you insist, I’ll allow some Deus ex Machina interventions.” “YES!” “Five.” “I’m sorry?” “I’ll allow five interventions at your discretion to aid them when they are in peril. Once you have come to their aid five times, I will allow no more meetings save to impart quest information.” “That’s it?” “Yes. Choose your interventions wisely.” “So… if I manage to save one for when they fight Hawmoth and Mayura in the final battle…?” “Then I would allow you to join them of course.” “Score!” Characters: Bunnyx: Mysterious Hooded Figure, Deus-ex-Machina (5) Game Master: Akuma Lord of the Miraculous Campaign —– Addendum When the Game Master is finally purified and the damage reversed, it turns out that he took the effort to trap all of Paris in a temporal stasis bubble so that no matter how long passed inside no more than a few moments passed outside. Meaning that after what seemed like months in the bubble, it’s basically less than a minute after he was akumatized when everything is put back. All his friends, minus Matt, come back in bringing a new person named Zack that they vetted themselves to take Matt’s place in case he pulled something like what he did. And while he

has a similar playstyle to Matt, he’s savvy enough to know what kind of characters that is suited for and he loves playing barbarians. They all sit back down and restart the game they were all looking forward to.

—-

oh wow- that’s- wow. good job dude, seems like you worked on this a lot. Next time You should post this on your own account though, as this isn’t getting tagged or anything. Thank you though, you did a good job with this.

#submission

[mmvalentine]

Home is Where You Are pt 3 | Feysand

Girl next door AU. CW: abusive relationships. Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

The next time Rhys saw Feyre was at the wake.

Back in his apartment, Rhys tried to settle into his normal routine. But the idea of having Feyre back in his life was intoxicating, after having imagined it for so long. He tried to concentrate hard on his work in order to prevent him from texting her everyday. Especially because it turned out that in the city, the did not live far from each other at all.

A few days later, Rhys put on a black suit and went to Feyre and Tamlin's apartment. She looked so tired, with black circles under her lovely eyes and a slight tremor in her hands. The fluttery feeling he had had in anticipation of seeing her again was replaced by a solemn concern.

Feyre met him at the door. She smiled at him, and clasped his arms. Rhys searched her eyes, questioningly. "I'm okay," she said quietly. "Don't spend too long with just one person," Tamlin said to her. "Make sure to greet all the guests." Rhys rolled his eyes. "Do whatever the hell you want," he whispered, once Tamlin had walked away.

After the service, through which Nesta and Elain did very little and everything seemed to fall to Feyre, the people fanned out through the small apartment. Rhys found Feyre sitting in the walk-in pantry.

He had gone looking for a glass for get some water, and now shut the door behind him before sitting down next to her.

"Okay?" he asked. "Yeah. Just tired." Feyre leaned her head back against a shelf. "Have you eaten today?" "Not much appetite." "Do you want me to tell you stories about your dad?" Feyre smiled. "Yes." "Okay. I haven't told anyone this before, and it's a sort of heavy story. But did you know my dad used to keep a baseball bat by the door. Self-defence, he said, in case of home invaders.

"Well, this one time he was going off at me, you know, really laying into me. And your dad, every so often, when my old man was just shouting the whole house down, would knock on the front door at an opportune moment. Sometimes it would just break his rhythm, and that was enough to stop the screaming. And usually your dad would make up some excuse and then leave again.

"Anyway this particular time, my dad had the bat in his hands when your dad knocked. He opens the door, and spits what in your dad's face. I remember so clearly, your dad's going from my dad's face, to the bat, to me behind him. And then he says, 'You know I think there were some teenagers scrabbling around my porch last night. And I've been thinking I should get myself some protection.' And my dad says, 'that's the problem with you lot, you're soft and they know it.' 'well,' says your dad, 'I've got four women in the house and they suddenly feel unprotected. Do you think you could give me a hand?' and next thing I know, my dad's handing over the baseball bat. 'Hold onto this for now,' he says, 'then get yourself a decent rifle.' Then your dad left and he had to whack me with a newspaper roll instead.

"The point is, I'm pretty sure on more than one occasion your dad saved my ass. And I'll always be grateful."

Feyre stared at him. "I didn't know he used to go over there," she said. "Not sure I'd be here if he didn't," Rhys responded. "At least, I wouldn't be nearly this pretty." He grinned at her, and Feyre laughed. The sound of it released some of the tension in Rhys' stomach, and he leaned over and kissed Feyre on the cheek.

A few weeks later, Feyre came around to Rhys' neighbourhood. She had agreed to design something for a campaign Rhys was working on, and they decided to meet at his place to discuss the brief. Over the past fortnight, it had been the perfect excuse to be able to talk to her.

What are you making at the moment? he had texted her. Ugh, nothing, she replied. I've had no inspiration since my last show ended. Maybe you just need some better source material, Rhys wrote. You could always paint me, if you like. Har har, Feyre wrote back. Don't flirt with an almost married woman. Sorry, Rhys texted back. I do it with no hope or agenda. But seriously, if you like working toward things, my company is looking for an artist for an upcoming project, I could throw your name in if you'd like. I'm not in charge of who they pick but I think they'd love you. That would be amazing! Feyre said.

And then they had loved her, not surprising Rhys at all after years of following her on social media. So he picked up the brief and invited her over.

Rhys had torn around his place all evening, trying to get it to look the right balance of homely and inviting, and immaculate. Ridculous, he told himself, trying to impress an engaged woman. Still, even if she wasn't interested in him romantically, he still cared about her opinion.

Finally there was a knock at his door, and Rhys tried not to throw it open too enthusiastically. But when he saw her, the smile fell from his face.

"Feyre," he said. "I... come in." He stood aside, and Feyre smiled. She looked awful. The bags under her eyes that Rhys had attributed to her father's funeral were somehow worse, and she had definitely lost weight.

"Thanks," Feyre said. "How are you?" "I'm... good, how are you? Are you okay?" "Yeah, I'm fine." "Okay, you look..." he trailed off. "Are you sure you're okay?" Feyre brushed him off with a laugh. "Yes mother hen, I'm good. So tell me about this project."

Rhys led her to the couch, and looked sidelong at her. If she didn't want to talk about it, he didn't want to push her. "I was going to order some food first, what do you feel like for dinner?" he said. But Feyre shook her head. "Nothing for me. Tamlin has me on this cleanse, says it's good for stress." She pulled out a bottle of green-brown liquid and took a long drink. Rhys watched her, and held his tongue.

"Okay," he said. "Well I'm going to get some pizza and if you decide you're hungry you can have some." "Sure, whatever," Feyre said. "Now tell me about this project! I'm so excited, when they reached out to me they only gave me this really vague outline."

So they sat and talked about work, and even though her face was gaunt and her skin a little sallow, the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about her ideas made Rhys' heart squeeze. If he could just make her a tiny bit happy, that'd be enough.

Over the next couple of months they exchanged texts and emails, mostly about work, but sometimes about life, too.

Nesta's a pain in my ass, she wrote once. Nesta's a pain in everyone's ass, Rhys replied. Hadn't seen the woman in a decade and when I asked her how she was at the funeral she said 'oh you're back' and then walked away.

Rhys I'm giving up on this project, I quit, she sent another time. Tamlin says what I've made won't resonate with the modern audience, but I don't have any other ideas and I can't bear to start again. We didn't pick Tamlin out of twenty applying artists, we picked you, Rhys wrote back. And personally, I fucking love it as it is. If you change it you're fired.

And then one day, The house sold. I can't believe it's really happening. Congratulations, Rhys said. That's great news. It went for more than I expected, Feyre said. Then, I guess I'll have to go back down and get all that stuff out before the new owners move in. Want company? Very much.

This time, Rhys drove. He picked Feyre up at her place, and his knuckles went white on the steering wheel with effort not to comment on how she had lost even more weight, and her beautiful honey hair looked dull and lank around her face.

"Hello, Feyre darling," he said as she climbed into the car. "How have you been?" "Just fine Rhys dear, and you?" "Good," Rhys said carefully. "That Tamlin treating you okay?" Feyre made a face. "He's pretty stressed out lately. He finds it difficult to work with new people, so I've been modelling for some of his advertising stuff. You know how it is, running your own business." "Sure..." Rhys said. "And... is there a certain... aesthetic they stick to?" Feyre frowned. "Of course, he's a personal trainer." "Okay..." "So are we going to drive or are you going to ask weird questions all day?" "Sorry ma'am, right away ma'am," Rhys said, flicking his sunglasses onto his face and pulling out of his driveway. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Feyre. She was slumped in her seat, and had started to chew on the nails of her left hand.

"Welcome to Archeron Airlines," Rhys said, in his best pilot voice. "My name is Rhys and I'l be your captain for the day, on behalf of us all here thank your for flying Archeron."

Feyre stared at him. "What are you doing?"

"It's a fine day for flying, the weather looks good and minimal turbulence is expected. We are cruising at an altitude of 0.75 feet, your expected fight time is four hours."

"It's six actually," Feyre corrected, the corner of her mouth pulling up. "I know," Rhys said, leaning toward her conspiratorially. "But I drive like a maniac."

Feyre laughed out loud then, and Rhys' heart glowed in his chest. He could do this. He could make her laugh all the way to Velaris St, and make those frown lines disappear. If only he could see her everyday, he thought. If only he could make sure she was okay.

Because she wasn't saying anything, but he was so sure this had something to do with Tamlin.

****

I was going to try keep this very separate from COD but also I want to get the heavy angst out of the way. Because you guys, I promise this one gets so sweet and fluffy if you can just stick with me a little longer.

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #acomaf #acosf #rhysand #angst #fluff #mine

[kindness-bliss]

New Beginnings

Timothy Thatcher x OC

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: None for now (but will make sure tag triggers if presented)

It was just another day, another day of pointless photoshoots for Maya. Photoshoots that meant nothing to her but having to look pretty and pose in front a camera for hours. To her it all just meant a job that paid her bills and kept her from having to rely on her parents. A job that paid for her college, got her an apartment in sunny Florida and got her to leave that past life.

“These are gonna look great for the campaign, your face truly pops out in them” Jasmine her photographer smiled as she shot “you’re living every girls absolute dream”. Maya chuckled “well thank you, I try hard to look and feel the best. After leaving Europe, I finally am starting to feel like myself”. Europe, a place that held the most beautiful memories for her yet caused her years of pain and self doubt. Florida represented home for her, a sense of comfort she hadn’t felt in years. She sat and fixed her hair as she looked in the vanity at herself, in no way was she vain but she knew she was beautiful. Her long brown hair that cascaded over her shoulders, her lips that were plump and proportionate, her button nose, the cheek bones girls at her agency fawned over. To put in simple terms to everyone around her called her perfect.

“Okay this has to be the last one because I promised my friends I’d meet them for dinner and drinks, I’ve been here 2 whole months and have yet to see them” Maya chuckled as she came out in her dress “we’ve got lots and lots of catching up to do”. God it had been so long since she had seen them, work never let her have a social life or even live life actually. The second she turned 17 and signed her contract she knew it meant the end of things being her choice, but the money. The money she earned, oh man that’s what made it all worth it. By 20 she owned an apartment and was able to buy her own car, something she never even thought could happen. “We got it, we got the shot for the campaign” Jasmine grinned as she showed her the camera “IMG is gonna be so happy, I think you’re getting that cover. No way they’re gonna deny this one”. Maya blushed as she felt that rush go through her veins, it never felt real to see herself on magazines or billboards. To her it was always a shock, it was a shock and feeling of pride seeing herself when she shopped and ran errands. It never felt real, nor would it ever. “Oh shit, it’s 7 I gotta go before I’m late ! Thanks again Jas you’re an angel !” She smiled as she left in her dress and heels to the restaurant and sat and chatted with her friends chatting away. “Him ?” She chuckled as looked towards the bar “oh god no, no way in hell unless I’m getting paid”. It’s 2021, humid florida weather and the man had on dickies.....dickies. She could see from afar he had on a plain black shirt and some form of ripped and faded vans. “You get him to be yours and the vacation house my parents gave me is all yours for the entire summer” her friend Veronica grinned “deal ?”. Maya looked at her and then at the man and bit her lip as she looked ahead, offering her hand “deal, he’ll be mine. I’ll make absolute sure of it”. She took a drink and headed over as she fixed her hair and dress and sat next to him and smiled softly “Hi, oh I love that book. Read it in college for my political science class”.

“And when was that ? Last month” Tim retorted as he didn’t bother to lift his head. “Excuse me ?” Maya scoffed “is this how you treat every girl who talks to you or am I just the exception ?”. Tim chuckled as she closed his book and turned his stool around “listen, I’ve seen your kind around okay. Pretty girls who come to bars and want guys to fawn over them, it’s not me sweetheart”. He looked her over discreetly and gulped, he’d dated his fair share of women but never had he seen one like her. Never. “First of all I graduated 3 years ago and I actually have a masters, and second of all I read The Socialist Manifesto during my 2nd year. I majored in Politcal Science and minored in Psychology” she said as she sat down next to him. “You want an applause ? Balloons ? A celebration ?” He said back. Jesus the attitude, the attitude of this man, the audacity. She looked at him trying to hide her dismayed expression as she studied him over, crooked nose and some wrinkles that showed age but overall handsome. He had soft brown hair, nice deep brown eyes and a dimple on one cheek. Perhaps the biggest thing she noticed was the chipped teeth, sure maybe a bit ugly but it definitely showed character. But even then his huge attitude was a turn off for her, no one had ever been so rude to her before. “Have a nice night...whatever your name is” Maya muttered as she got up from her chair and left back to her friends table

“Veronica Rose you owe me money, no way in hell that.....thing is coming by me” she shook her head as she took a shot to forget about the denial. “Jesus that bad huh ? I thought someone looking like him would be easy” Veronica laughed. “Yeah well no, I felt talked down to and like an absolute dumb ass. I’m going home” Maya sighed as she grabbed her purse and walked away bumping into a body as she felt herself get soaked “watch it idiot !”. Tim widened his eyes as he turned a bright shade of red “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there”. “Oh please, you’re like 6 feet, you really didn’t see me ? Is this some kind of sick joke I need to laugh at ? Open those big bug eyes you’ve got and control your lanky legs next time” she spat out as she left the bar furious.

“Hey ! Wait wait !” Tim walked after her “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t do that on purpose just please stop walking !”. Maya stopped and turned around “what ? What do you want ?” She snapped “what is it ?”. Tim gulped as he took in her face against the lighting of the street lights, he had never seen someone so beautiful, even drenched in beer. “Here” he said quickly as he took his hoodie out of his backpack and offered it “i-it’s a bit cold and I don’t think you wanna be wearing that dress out”. Maya gave him a look wanting to say no but taking it as she noticed her skin begin to get goosebumps from the chilly winds. “Thanks” she said softly as she put it on “I’m Maya” she offered her hand to him

“Tim, I’m Tim” he took her hand into his rough calloused one and gently shook it “Listen I’m sorry for how I treated you, I just-it wasn’t on you. I acted like such an asshole towards you” he apologized. Damn he could be such an asshole sometimes and it was always when he wasn’t trying to be. Time after time he was told to stop being the way he was, to not be uptight butt here he was at 1 am in the middle of a street apologizing to some girl he had just met for being an asshole. Not a typical night for Timothy Thatcher, the one time he decided to grab a beer after training this happens. The one time he wasn’t at his apartment in bed by 9 pm he insults a girl he didn’t even know and now there she stood 1 foot away from him wearing his favorite hoodie and smelling like beer. Just his own damn luck.

#timothy thatcher x oc #timothy thatcher fic #timothy thatcher

[expelliarmus-percabeth]

An Explanation Of All The Songs In My TLH Emotional Support Playlist

1. champagne problems by Taylor Swift

Everyone has said this already but this song really hit different after the end of COI. The song as a whole doesn't really relate, but individual lines fit so well.

You booked the night train for a reason

So you could sit there in this hurt

[...]

Because I dropped your hand while dancing

Left you out there standing

Crestfallen on the landing

2. Collar Full by Panic! at the Disco

This song just gives me Matthew vibes, idk why.

I've got a collar full of chemistry from your company

So maybe tonight I'll be the libertine

3. Everybody Talks by Neon Trees

Anna vibes, idk

I find out that everybody talks, everybody talks, everybody talks too much

It started with a whisper

And that was when I kissed her

And then she made my lips hurt

I can hear the chit chat

4. G.I.N.A.S.F.S. by Fall Out Boy

The Thomastair song.

I've already given up on myself twice

Third time is the charm, third time is the charm

Threw caution to the wind, but I've got a lousy arm

And I traced your shadows on the wall now I kiss them whenever I'm down, whenever I'm down

Figured on not figuring myself out

[...]

Born under a bad sign

You saved my life

5. ivy by Taylor Swift

Matthew/Cordelia, if that's your thing, about Matthew's walls breaking down when he's around Cordelia, but knowing that he can't have her.

Oh, goddamn

My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

Taking mine, but it's been promised to another

Oh, I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland

My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I'm covered in you

6. Line Without A Hook by Ricky Montgomery

This is the gracelet!James x Grace song. The painful longing without happiness. The intense infatuation and the subsequent falling out.

All my emotions feel like explosions when you are around

And I found a way to kill the sound, oh

Oh baby I am a wreck when I'm without you

I need you here to stay

7. Little Talks by Of Monsters And Men

The Jesse/Lucie song, I don't make the rules

You're gone, gone, gone away

I watched you disappear

All that's left is a ghost of you

Now we're torn, torn, torn apart

There's nothing we can do

Just let me go, we'll meet again soon

8. Mr Loverman by Ricky Montgomery (feat. chloe moriondo)

THE matthew fairchild themesong....

I'm headed straight for the floor

The alcohol served it's tour

And it's headed straight for my skin

Leaving me daft and dim

[...]

And she's trying anything she can do

Telling me things I know aren't true

But I can't stay afloat, there's rocks in my throat

So I'll sink deeper into the blue

'Cause what else can I do

Without you?

9. The Nerve by The Brobecks

Post-gracelet song. The scene at the end of COI where James is just yelling at her.

The careful, careful lies you tell

And the campaign that your body sells

Is the careful carriage ride to hell

Enjoy yourself!

See I don't even care to know

The parts of you you never show

You'd think a liar like yourself

Would go and bother someone else

So go, go away

Take your things, leave today

Finally get what you deserve

Oh, you have got a lot of nerve!

10. Soldier, Poet, King by The Oh Hellos

Cordelia is the soldier, Lucie is the poet, and James is the king. Enough said. It even follows the order they appear on the book covers!

There will come a soldier who carries a mighty sword

(S)he will tear your city down, oh lei, oh kai, oh Lord

11. Sweater Weather by Joel Sunny (Violin cover)

No lyrics. I just enjoy the 1900s ballroom vibe this cover gives off.

12. This Is Gospel by Panic! at the Disco

This is like the obligatory song I assign to everything.... The angst in this song.....

This is gospel for the fallen ones, locked away in permanent slumber

13. With Me by Sum 41

Tbh I just picked this song for the raw Jordelia angst vibes it gave off. No lyrics in particular

#the shadowhunter chronicles #tsc #the last hours #tlh #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #anna lightwood #lucie herondale #jesse blackthorn #grace blackthorn #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #taylor swift #panic at the disco #neon trees #fall out boy #ricky montgomery #of monsters and men #the brobecks #the oh hellos #sum 41 #folklore #champagne problems #ivy #matthew fairchild #line without a hook #mr loverman #patd #collar full #everybody talks

[phynali]

more spn discussions, just skip this post y’all

 @queerbluebird​ thanks so much for engaging with my post/reply! i really enjoyed reading your response and i have a long reply here.

i’m responding to your post/reply here rather than reblogging it because honestly that thread is - so long. so very long. 

so first - 

i agree there is a difference between entitlement and what i would call, not promise, but instead “narrative follow-through”. A story that completely lacks narrative follow-through does end up feeling disappointing, or frustrating, or rage-inducing, depending on what’s happened. to me there’s a fundamental difference between critiquing a story based on follow-through and bad storytelling (which your post aims to do), versus say, creating hashtag campaigns about a character being silenced because and spreading conspiracy theories about a bad dub (among other things honestly).

and also - queerbaiting totally sucks, we definitely do agree on that.

where we disagree, i think are these two core points:

i do not see the narrative build-up that demands a follow-through. i do not see supernatural as having built up to the story that many destiel shippers seem to think was there, and no one has ever been able to point out to me any actual textual reasons that do craft that narrative build-up  

i fundamentally do not believe that destiel was ever a queerbait. queerbait involves active intent on the part of creators to tease a ship or queer representation in order to draw in $ from queer audiences without ever making it canon, so as not to alienate straight audiences. so, refering to point 1., i do not see the canon text as having laid the groundwork for a queerbait and those romantic tropes, at least not at any point in the past 7 years. and beyond the canon, the writers and producers and jensen ackles all indicated dean was straight, and that they were not writing a romance. if anyone queerbaited the fans, it was misha collins who kept teasing the possibility, and personally i would argue that was irresponsible of him. but that’s a different discussion altogether and tends to piss people off when it’s framed as such, because misha means a lot to them and it hurts to see the man who validated their feelings get criticized for the manner in which he validated them. so i’m gonna leave that aside.

beyond that, I want to engage with some of your specific quotes:

Supernatural loves to say “wait for it.” And I don’t think it’s entitled to feel betrayed if an author uses their story to say “wait for it” in order to convince you to stick with their story and then delivers the opposite after you do.

May i ask, where was the “wait for it” with destiel? this ties in directly to the queerbaiting. i indicated in my post/reply that while i see it from cas, there’s been little to no hint of any reciprocation of feelings from dean, and if anything the past 7 or so years have driven the point home that it isn’t happening. i personally am not able to see the “Wait for it” and that was the point of my question. without the “Wait for it”, i also can’t see the queerbait. 

I asked for specifics and while i totally get not having the spoons, you provided a few:

(off the top of my head for Dean though, the mixtape, his response to Cas’ death at the end of 12, subsequent grief arc, and reaction to Cas’ return in the front half of 13 rank highly. His reaction to Lucifer’s prank call in 15x19 might rate, but maybe just because it’s so recent.)

not trying to be unkind here, but i quite genuinely don’t see any of these examples as framing cas and dean in a romantic light, or as hinting at a “what if”. the mixtape is like.... okay, maybe. i had read that as being symbolic of something else, but i can see wanting to read it from a shipping lens. (i don’t however think i’d read it as baiting or “what if” - it was quite textually not framed that way. shipping, 100%, but canon build-up, not for me).

for the other examples -- grieving for someone you consider family? and being happy when they come back? that’s not shippy to me. i mean - contrast the grief he showed over cas’s death compared to his grief over, say, mary? or, less extreme, charlie? and nothing compared to how off the rails he goes when sam is dead or he thinks sam is. so i -- i just can’t see those as creating a narrative that demands a follow-through. and when your friend who is dead calls your phone? of course you hop to the door - i don’t know what is romantic about that. sam would’ve hopped just as quick if “cass” had called his phone instead.

and look - i see what is fun to ship about all that. if i shipped it, i’d be happily collecting these moments with a smile and grinning to myself about how cute they are and much they mean. but shipping it vs. it being romantically framed in the canon are two fundamentally different things. shipping doesn’t imply narrative buy-in or deliberation from the creator.

moving on, you also spoke at length about 15x18:

15x18 made the sort of statement that drew back even people who did exactly what OP said they should do, turning off the TV years ago. It wasn’t a quiet “if you’re still watching, keep waiting,” so much as a shouted “hey we’re gonna do this thing, watch this!”

i guess destiel fans vs. those of us who don’t ship it really see this as fundamentally different. because you discuss that moment as one which requires follow-through, and say that if this were heteronormative m/f love declaration, there would be that expectation of follow-through. not necessarily reciprocity, but more - more conversation, more acknowledgment, more something.

(i mean - if there was more, but that more was “hey i love you too but only platonically, sorry man” would that be better?)

but no - i actually just... disagree with your point on that front. i can see why you feel the way you do and i acknowledge that it can be read as the start of a conversation. to me though -- and clearly, now that the finale is out, how the writers saw it -- that was actually the end of a conversation. the end of, like you pointed out, 12 years. a 12-year conversation that ends in a gorgeous declaration of love, and specifically how love isn’t about being together, it’s simply about being - it’s about the fact that you love someone, and that feeling alone is the most beautiful thing in existence.

to me, that declaration can only be written and interpreted as an ending.  a sacrifice, a declaration, and a goodbye. so - while i kind of expected seeing more people in episode 20 and realize that didn’t happen largely due to covid - i’m not disappointed we didn’t see cas, because that culmination of his narrative (and then knowing he was with jack, after, rebuilding the heaven that he rebelled against and finally completing his narrative circle by fixing all the problems with it alongside the good god he sought to find all along) is kind of perfect. 

and i genuinely don’t think if cas was in a female vessel this entire time that that would change. maybe some audience members would feel differently, but i think many of us would see it for the end it was nonetheless. there’s plenty of stories with m/f ships that are one-sided and that character sacrifices themselves for the person they love, so i don’t see why this would be any different (except the bury your gays issue, but that’s a whole other and very real conversation about media tropes).

moving on to the series finale.

As many people have pointed out in praise of 15x20, Sam is the absolute most important thing in Dean’s life, his priority above anything and everything… And yet there, at the actual end of the world, Dean ignores Sam’s call and instead cries over the loss of Castiel. Dean’s loss of Castiel plays in tandem with the loss of literally the whole world. But we’re not to take that as a promise that Castiel means more to this story, or to Dean, than a couple seconds of wistfulness after the dust settles?

I... yeah. i don’t see what this even is arguing. that dean taking a minute to himself to grieve his best friend, who just died in part because dean decided to go hunt down billie (who was literally dying anyway). he’s hurting. there’s nothing about this that’s a promise - it’s an end. it’s grief. it’s the horror of losing someone you care about, and the silence that comes after. it’s fundamentally human in it’s pain. and we, the audience, are invited to grieve with dean.

so I mean - of course cas means more to this story. of course he’s meant more than a few seconds of grief, after 12 years. but just because that’s the last time we see him on screen doesn’t mean we don’t value his story, and celebrate how it too came full circle.

You mention cas as a sort of avatar for a different potential ending for the brothers, and highlight him representing:

An ending where higher powers stop yanking them around and they get to actually live in the life they’ve built for themselves.

So while i never considered cas an avatar for that, i do think we all wanted the brothers to have their freedom. “finally free.” so we can agree on wanting that end. but we disagree on whether it was delivered, i guess? because i feel it was.

you also talk about what you and many other fans conceivably wanted a happier ending to look like. can i -- i’m going to be totally honest. i have not seen a single person who’s critiquing the end saying “i just wanted sam and dean to grow old hunting together with their dog until they retire together and die of old age.”

would that be satisfying to those who are mad about the end? i personally don’t think so, but maybe my opinion is being coloured by the most vitriolic fans i’ve seen. if sam and dean got to have the life they wanted free of chuck, and dean didn’t die, and they kept going (or retired and opened a bar together!). maybe sam still had a kid, but again because romance wasn’t the point, the wife wasn’t important and they left her blurry still so we could interpret ourselves if she was a wife or a co-parent or a surrogate or what. maybe dean has a kid too, with a similar question-mark-wife. maybe we get a few images of them having a holiday with jodie and the girls. and then getting to heaven together in old age, greeting bobby with a beer, and going for a drive.

would that be an end that wouldn’t cause fandom uproar? i would enjoy it, soft an slightly discordant as it would be to me. i prefer the ending we got, bittersweet and heartbreaking though it was, but i wouldn’t be taking to social media to yell about it if we got a softer epilogue, so to speak.

on the other hand... would that still not be enough, at least not for so many of the angry fans? i’m genuinely unsure. it seems to me that so much of the ire is about destiel itself, even if people are pretending it’s about more and other things than that. not everyone, but like, a big portion of them. which leads me to believe that nothing short of dean and cas at least interpretable as together is what they wanted. if every other single thing about the existing finale was the same except that cas was the one to greet dean instead of bobby, and even with the same basic dialogue, without discussing the confession, but they have a lingering smile, and dean leaves to drive and wait for sam with the promise he’ll see cas later - 

if everything else stayed the same except who greeted dean, i genuinely don’t believe i’d be seeing almost any critique of the finale on my dash. maybe i’m cynical, but that’s where i’m at.

which is part of why i really struggle to believe that people are engaging in good faith when they critique the finale. because i feel like if it offered them either a) everything they’re purportedly asking for but still no cas and zero hint of destiel, vs. b) every other thing they claim to hate stays the same except there’s a wink and nod to destiel - i believe they would take the wink and nod. 

   On to some other things you raised:

But how can you know to walk away from a tragedy if the tragedy says “the end won’t be a tragedy, keep watching” right up until it ends in tragedy?

Oh i Get this. I hate thinking i’m consuming fun media only for it to rip my heart out at the end. i’ve literally - well, i’ve had a very unpleasant and distressing experience of this, actually. so i get it. also the opposite: i sometimes feel disappointed when i’m consuming media that is gripping and intense and painful, but then the end is too easy, too soft and happy?

BUT - supernatural never pretended it would have a happy end? the end was so. much. happier. than i ever expected. the Swan Song end was going to have Sam in hell being tortured by lucifer for eternity. according to something i read which i am fundamentally too lazy to link because who knows if it would have turned out this way but -- kripke was apparently going to have Dean jump in the cage with him at that end, if the series ended on S5? the ‘horror’ ending. completely devastating sacrifice for mankind (sam), and completely devastating sacrifice for his brother (dean). just -- oof. even if that wasn’t the plan and the series would’ve ended as the episode did - sam was still in the cage and cas was off waging war in heaven and dean was living every day knowing he was alive and his brother was being tortured.

i’m sorry if you thought you were watching a happier show. i know how much that hurts. that doesn’t mean the story was actually that happy though. sometimes, it’s on us as consumers to acknowledge we were misreading the media. i’ve had to do this. it’s hard, it hurts, but it helps you consume things healthier. i’ve had to do this growing recently, and i’m better off for it.

regarding the specific manner of dean’s death - that’s really not what my post was about and i’m not gonna address it here. i’ve talked about it elsewhere and so have others, and @lovetincture‘s original post spelled it out beautifully, in how human it was. i have feelings on how and why i loved dean’s death, and why it was the absolute opposite of what Chuck’s ending was and what he wanted (no blaze of glory), but i’ll leave those for another time.

They cast aside all the relationships they’ve built. [...] They lost/walked away from the life and home they built in the bunker. Dean got a season 1 death. Sam got a season 1 life.

I feel that there is a very huge difference between regression and progression when it comes to cyclical storytelling. And that difference seems to be missing from the ongoing discussions i’ve seen about this in fandom.

Coming full circle to season 1 does not at all mean that the development is ‘undone’ or that the story has regressed or that anything has been lost or destroyed. It can mean that, if the storyteller doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing, but in this case i don’t (personally) feel it’s a fair critique.

Dean’s death might parallel his s1 not-quite death from Faith, but the s15 result of that death is night and day. Dean is no longer alone. Dean does not go up to a lonely heaven filled with bittersweet memories, where even his canonical soulmate and him have wide gulfs between the memories they fill their shared heaven with. Dean dies a hunter, but he dies a hunter who literally saved earth and changed heaven and gets to spend eternity with his brother, side-by-side and together without all the pain and miscommunication, and he gets to see his family and loved ones too. he died having literally made the world so much better.

even without that though?

his story comes full circle, but dean’s character development isn’t about his death, it’s about the fact that in the first several seasons dean could hardly admit he cared without acting like his teeth were being pulled. he was too afraid of abandonment to ask for someone to be by his side. he was too afraid of rejection to let anyone in. and in the end? he asks sam to stay. he tells him that he loves him. he pours his heart out and says all the things that 15 years ago were stoppered in his throat, words trying and failing to claw their way free but his hurt and fears were too deep.

dean is free.

the point of dean’s story coming full circle to season 1 parallels was specifically to highlight this incredible development, not to undermine it. he is different. he is free. 

god it makes me tear up just thinking about how happy i am for him despite how gutted i was by that scene??

(i could write a similar analysis for sam, about how he left for stanford to escape his life and how his finale life montage bits were the opposite of that, but honestly this post is long enough already).

Destiel is loosely a part of that promise in the sense that Castiel is a part of that promise. The symbol of free will

You make a super interesting argument about Cas being a symbol of free will. I don’t have much to say about it, because I’m gonna mull it over, because I think it’s kinda cool and I’ve never thought about it.

That’s - all i’ve got. thanks again for engaging. i’m happy to continue the convo if you have questions or want to reblog/reply 

(though my followers might hate me omg, i’ve been spamming long spn meta posts for weeks now, it’s just been so confronting to see the ongoing fan reaction on twitter and how divided it is...)

#spn meta #supernatural #supernatural meta #spn #fandom discussions #uhhh what do y'all want me to tag this #it's not wank? #it's an open discussion which i like a lot #hmmm #discourse #i'll just go with that #destiel #kind of #this won't show up in the ship tag because that's not in the first 5 tags so i'm safe i hope #don't wanna be a dick and put this in the ship tag #long post #long post for ts #sorry if there are typos it is almost midnight and i am sleepy

[staggeringsmite]

ooh, top 5 moments you've had/witnessed as a DM? (please use this an excuse to hype yourself up if you want!!)

my players make dm’ing beyond worth it, so i really have to give credit to them for the joy of what they bring to a lot of these scenes <3 (also this is all wandering isles bc it’s been my most narratively satisfying and invested dm experience) Buckle Up it’s a long one!!!

bonus: i’m very proud of my individual character moments! throughout the campaign we’ve had about four of these (the intro session scenes, two dream sequences for every pc, and a set of individual trial scenes). we’re a pretty big party so it’s hard to narrow it down, but i just love writing and running those longer narrative moments bc i think it’s a v interesting insight into each character and gives them each a separate moment to shine <3

5. “promise you’ll come back to her” / burning of contingency letters

i put these moments together perhaps to cheat a little bit, but also because they deserve it. xarus, the party’s barbarian whose family was abandoned by his mother at a young age pulls theresa, a forge knitting cleric about to board the airship he is a quartermaster of in order to find a cure for her sick wife. he asks theresa to promise him one thing, that no matter what she will come back to her wife. along the way they write contingency letters to their loved ones in and outside of the party as their adventures grow more and more dangerous, and eventually, exhausted and worn, theresa and xarus find each other in the den of a safehouse to talk. recognizing each other’s willingness to self-sacrifice, their conversation ends with them burning the contingency letters they’ve written, committing to life. these scenes come together because it shows how far they have come together, and the theresa and xarus relationship will always be a highlight of the wandering isles to witness. sometimes the players do all the best work for you, and it’s so wonderful to sit back and watch <3

4. miles is missing

damien returns to the university he works at after an unprecedented amount time away to check on his office before he heads back out on another adventure with the party. while there he moves to put a sticky note (canonically a magical item in the wandering isles universe) on his rival colleague’s (and gay lover/roommate of 20 years) door only to find it entirely emptied without a trace. despite their bickering, miles and damien are very close, and miles would never pack up his things and go without telling damien.

this was a more subtle cliff-hanger for the session, but it was made so much fun as a dm because the players were excited and joking the whole session about miles’ second appearance (and only since the very first session) so his sudden disappearance was made much more severe based on everyone’s anticipation of meeting and having a light-hearted interaction with him.

3. the infamous sex rave

sometimes things go very right as a dm and sometimes things spiral out of control when a pc mislabels a situation which becomes a running joke of the campaign. either way i love being stubborn in my defense of “it isn’t a sex rave!!” whenever they bring it up (and immediately playing an npc who also calls it a sex rave). basically the players had a heist encounter in which they were hired to break a group of pirate prisoner’s out of a secret underground information center (where magical artifacts were also being held and studied, and there was pertinent information stored for the party to take a swipe at). the group split and one subset of party members were forced to hide from guards on the outskirts of a large, gladiatorial style ring within the compound, in which prisoners were competitively battling in order to test the abilities of certain unknown artifacts for the entertainment of anonymous nobles in masquerade getup. based on the magical lighting effects, the strangely dressed noble onlookers, and the,,,, Fighting Noises being some of the only things the pc’s perceived from the level of the auditorium they hid at, it was unfortunately misnomer’ed the “weird sex rave” and has only been referred to it as that ever since.

2. mother abel’s goodbye

hmmm am i making players cry again? yeah maybe. mother abel was an elder cleric of nosa crossing, the starting city of the campaign. she’d lived through its settlement, destruction, rebuilding, and given her all not only to the city but also to the jilted creed (a secret society dedicated to disrupting geline, a large and dangerously powerful island-state which is one of the campaign’s greatest evils). in the last use of her strength she took on a role as a conduit for a powerful plane shift ritual to transport the residents of the city to safety in the feywild as nosa crossing began to be overrun by potent wild magics in the prime material plane. as a low-level cleric, the spell took its toll on her, and as the party arrived in the feywild via a similar ritual to find the inhabitants, they were led to her side. theresa, a native of nosa crossing now reunited with her wife yodean, went to abel’s side with yodean. as yodean sat on the foot of the bed, theresa kneeled as though praying to hold abel’s hand cleric to cleric, confessing her gratitude but admitting that she cannot give as freely as mother abel did, that she and yodean deserve to live for themselves as much as they choose everyday to live for other people. with her final words in a soft, weak message, mother abel comforted theresa in her decision. the scene as a whole was so wonderfully sad, and the best dm moment of something so raw as telling aj, theresa’s player, that while there was no way to confirm it in any real capacity, something in theresa felt that perhaps mother abel held out a little while longer to make sure she was safe one last time and make sure she’d truly gotten everyone home.

1. rosa’s betrayal / lian’s resurrection

enough of that sad shit let’s get mean babey!! aslkjglfk i will be riding the high of this session for an eternity, but it’s quite a lot to break down. rosa rucksaw is the captain of the crew the party rescues in the heist sequence, who eventually reveals herself to in fact be xarus’ mom who fully left to assume a new identity and is Pretty Horrible as a person. at the safehouse, the party is asked by the people they were hired if they would be willing to take the crew to a longer term safehouse island, and the decision is left to xarus. not wanting to be like his mom, xarus agrees to endure a little more time with them in order to them this service out of convenience and kindness. a few hours from their destination, rosa finds xarus on the deck and honestly? kinda begins to admit some amount of guilt for all the shit she did,,,, literally seconds before she reveals that when her and her crew were caught by geline, she struck a deal in order to keep them alive, saying to her biological son “out on the cloudsea your crew is your family, and son, believe me, i’d do anything for my family” before her crew on the deck anchored the ship to an invisible gelinish war vessel and we snapped to roll20 for combat. the look of horror and betrayal on everyone’s face as her monologue hit those final lines, ugh and the fact that no one was super suspicious made it even better!! sometimes it Really Works, and this was one of those times!

flash forward in the battle, and an npc (it’s miles, the gay lover from a few numbers ago) being held hostage by the gelinish vessel is killed, as he is resurrected by two party members (damien and theresa) damien reaches for his soul, as theresa, who multi-classed into divination wizard after a pc named lian died (with failed attempts from theresa and xarus to hold her back) feels another presence in the grey, misty beyond. lian died in session four, and when i said her name to reference jack’s character everyone lost it mostly out of confusion before i began to narrate lian feeling restless in the afterlife, eventually reaching out and forming a celestial warlock pact with miles through his connection to damien and being called upon by her goddess sune as theresa reached out, offering lian the chance to go back. theresa returning to that moment with both her clerical and divinatory abilities, with the blessing of sune, lian emerging on the battlefield, now a vengeance paladin instead of life cleric, with a flaming sword and celestial wings at her back was such an incredible highlight to set up and run,, i just, <333 very proud of myself (and very thankful jack was on board for her coming back) for this moment

thank you so so much!! this was a long ramble, but i hope it was somewhat interesting to people not in the wandering isles <33

send a top 5 or 10?

#ask #thats-the-moon-grey #thank you!!! #dm'ing is so...good

[crisisdparity]

Game Master Akuma AU

(Note: Originally submitted to @justanotherpersonsuniverse, on their advice I will be using my own tumblr for anything in the future related to this AU.)

Xavier Duchamp was rather proud of himself. What he had before him was an absolute masterpiece of a campaign if he did say so himself. The product of over six months of study, research, and rebalancing efforts followed by two weeks of discussion with his five players to hash out schedules, meeting times, characters, backstories, potential character arcs, and getting them set up with a messaging app that was really good for sending discrete messages between the GM and the players.

Valentine and her boyfriend Justin were onboard in an instant. Within days, he'd greenlighted their Half-Elf Bard of the College of Glamour whose spell list was 100% Illusion spells and Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) who was focusing entirely on Abjuration as Rena Rouge and Carapace respectively.

Olivia had spent a few days coming up with a Halfling Rogue and debating subclasses with him until settling on Scout. Along with some discussion over how her special magic item's stunning and paralysis effect would work with Sneak Attack, the campaign had its Vesperia.

Jeanette had gone back and forth with him for a week looking at various homebrew subclasses for her Gnome Artificer before they both agreed on one particular Master Tinkerer entry that would be balanced and do the character justice. And with that they had their Ladybug.

Even Matt was on board with a stealthy human Chat the Barbarian using the Path of the Beast. The class choice was something Matt had insisted on (and that Xavier would have suggested anyway just for the high hit point totals given Matt's history with characters dying) and he'd even come up with a backstory that Xavier felt was quite compelling compared to Matt's usual efforts. Morally ambiguous, likely to be tempted by promises of power, but with a great deal of story potential to work with.

Which was a relief. Getting a new player into their group to replace Matt was not something Xavier really felt comfortable with. There were too many unknowns with introducing a new person, far too many for him to risk his masterpiece on an unknown factor. He knew Matt. He could work with Matt. Despite the history.

He'd put everything he had into this. Every known Akuma ever fought by the heroes had been made into a boss-tier foe. He'd carefully documented each and every power the heroes had shown to craft special legendary magic items based on the Miraculous. Hawkmoth and Mayura themselves were going to be the final bosses of his campaign.

In response to criticism about the difficulty of his campaigns (he tried to make them fair, but still challenging enough to be memorable), he'd made several guest NPCs based on every other hero that had ever been called upon, statted out like player characters that might show up in a pinch to help. He even had a genuine Deus ex Machina that he was ready to use to get the players out of a truly impossible jam if they found themselves in one.

Not always, but a few times at least. Enough to get them to the point where they wouldn't need it anymore.

-----

It was thirty minutes in, right in the middle of exposition from the Guardian NPC, when Xavier got his first message on the app.

Matt/Chat - Chat's going to wait until everyone breaks up and follow Ladybug stealthily.

Xavier/GM - Starting party conflict on the first session? Not what I'd advise, but it's your character. Go ahead and make your Stealth roll now.

Matt/Chat - <photo> 17

Xavier/GM - Yeah, that beats everyone's passive Perception easily. You'll sneak off handily without anyone noticing.

-----

"Jeanette, Ladybug is grabbed from behind by an unknown assailant. Roll to resist the grapple."

"Geez, already? Okay, what did my assailant get for their grapple? How screwed am I?"

Xavier pretended to roll a die while consulting the message from Matt.

"19."

"Okay, difficult, but not undoable... Crap."

"What'd you get?"

"Nat 1..."

"Hah! I rip off her earrings and claim them for myself! The Wish is mine!"

"Seriously Matt?! What the hell?!"

"Because it's payback time! Payback for every character of mine killed in these hellish campaigns!"

"Oh, come on! You're not the only person whose had a character die at this table! Xavier runs some pretty challenging campaigns, but they're always fair!"

"What about the time he killed Allric the Allmighty in a single round of combat?"

"Dude, you tried to Leroy Jenkins straight into melee with a 4th-level Wizard that had a CON penalty. Even at full health you had like 10 hp."

"14!"

"Not much better, dude."

"Guys, it's fine. I can handle this. Okay, Matt. Chat the Barbarian managed to get the earrings-"

"Yeah, Ladybug screams bloody murder when he rips them out. Good luck getting out of this in one piece."

"The moment Rena hears Ladybug scream, she bolts for the sound."

"So does Carapace."

"Vesperia too."

"-and with their current locations and movement speeds, I assume you're all using the Dash action?, you've got maybe one round to decide on your Wish before they're all over you, so choose carefully. And be aware that I plan to grant whatever you wish for in the worst possible way, just as I would if any of the others pulled this."

"Rena screams 'What the HELL, Chat?! We're supposed to protect the Miraculous, not use them for our own selfish purposes! Didn't you listen to the Guardian? Such actions always bring misfortune upon those who misuse the Miraculous!'"

"Because I am Chat, avatar of Destruction and I WISH THIS WORLD NEVER EXISTED!"

There was dead silence at the table.

"Matt... What... just... WHAT?!"

"Hah! You like that?! How does it feel now that the shoe's on the other foot, huh?!"

"What the hell is your problem, Matt?!"

"My problem? MY problem?! Do you know how much time I've spent making characters for these shitty campaigns only to have them turned into paste in one session?!"

"Because you made primary spellcasters and played every last one of them like a barbarian, charging in headfirst without thinking! All of us breathed a sigh of relief when you revealed that your character finally matched your playstyle!"

"I HATE BARBARIANS! THEY'RE BORING! I SHOULD GET TO PLAY CHARACTERS THAT CAN AT LEAST CHUCK FIREBALLS!"

"THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP RUNNING THEM FACE FIRST INTO ENEMY SWORDS!"

"NONE OF YOU COULD EVER HANDLE THE FACT THE I MAKE MORE AWESOME CHARACTERS THAN ANY OF YOU, SO YOU JUST LET THIS DOUCHEBAG KILL THEM OFF SO YOU WOULDN'T GET OVERSHADOWED BY HOW AMAZING I AM! WELL NOW I KILLED SOMETHING YOU ALL WORKED HARD ON, SO SUCK IT! I'M DONE WITH ALL OF YOU FOREVER!"

"MATT! HEY! GET BACK HERE YOU JERK! MATT!"

"Crap, I think Olivia might actually kill him this time..."

"It's going to take all of us to stop her from getting arrested at least."

Xavier just watched numbly as the rest of the group ran out of his apartment. Over six months of work. Gone in less than an hour.

He'd given so much to making sure this would work. He'd apologized to Matt at least twice for every character of his that had died to get him to come back. He'd agreed to demand after demand just to keep a familiar face on board, never dreaming he'd pull something like this.

He'd nearly gotten fired from his job trying to rearrange his schedule to fit with everyone else's. They'd somehow, miraculously, gotten the whole day with no other obligations among any of them and decided to make the first session a true marathon. They'd meet in the morning after breakfast and eat both lunch and dinner at the game table before calling it a night late in the evening.

It was barely 10:00 in the morning and the whole campaign he'd slaved over for months was kaput.

He never noticed the butterfly landing on his custom Miraculous-themed Game Master screen and being absorbed into it.

"Game Master, I am Hawkmoth. Few people appreciate the kind of effort that goes into making something truly grand and memorable. I shall give you the power to bring your entire world to life and in return, I ask only for a few simple things."

This was wrong. Hawkmoth was the worst of the worst. The kind of person who would be at home among all the final bosses he'd ever made for his campaigns. Heartless, manipulative, cruel.

"Not enough? Ah, but what is a game without players? How would you like to have the Miraculous heroes themselves run your great campaign? Surely they would be far more appreciative than those ungrateful peons that left you alone with nothing but the broken remains of your efforts."

He knew all these things, but the allure of bringing the world he'd spent so much time on to life... What creator could ever turn down an offer like that?

"I, the Game Master, accept... Hawkmoth."

"Excellent. And in exchange, you shall bring me one of two things: The Miraculous, or the identities of their wielders."

"No."

Hawkmoth was silent for a moment.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said no. I am the Game Master. I make the world. I craft the challenges. I decide the rewards. But I do not do anything for anyone. If you want these things, get them yourself."

"If you refuse me, it shall be very unpleasant for you."

"No. As Game Master, I decide the limits of all powers within my realm. And I decide that you have none over me."

And with that, he unleashed his creation over all of Paris, drawing everyone and everything within into his sphere of influence.

-----

Ladybug blinked the spots (ha) out of her eyes as the flash of light died down and looked at herself. She didn't remember transforming, but she was clearly in her spots. Except her red and black superhero uniform didn't usually look like it was headed to a steampunk convention. Looking around, she tried to figure out what had happened and her eyes landed on a familiar belt and pants combo.

Problem. Whoever this was, their groin was at eye level for her.

She looked up.

And up.

To find a grinning Chat Noir, sans anything resembling a shirt and having put on at least a foot of height and apparently a hundred pounds of pure muscle, grinning down at her.

"How's the weather down there?" Chat Noir chuckled as he flexed his unfairly attractive muscleman physique.

"I WILL END YOU!" the heroine snarled, already 100% done with whatever new insanity Hawkmoth had cooked up.

Characters:

Ladybug - Gnome Artificer (Master Tinkerer - Homebrew)

Chat Noir - Human Barbarian (Path of the Beast)

-----

Vesperia had to admit, as Akuma attacks went, this was pretty dope.

She was currently a halfling. A halfling! If it wasn't for her fantasy ensemble being yellow and black, she'd have thought she stepped straight out of Lord of the Rings.

Of course, fantasy setting or not, there were still things she'd have rather left back in the real world. Like racism. And stigma against mixed couples. Not directed at her, but rather at the two walking down the street next to her.

"You know, people are staring..." she said as she craned her head to look at her companions.

"Let them," the Half-Elf Rena Rouge (who looked like a cross between a musician and a belly dancer) said from her perch atop the shoulders of the heavily armored (and surprisingly buff) Half-Orc Carapace. "They're just jealous because their boyfriends can't carry them everywhere."

Characters:

Vesperia - Halfling Rogue (Scout)

Rena Rouge - Half-Elf Bard (College of Glamour)

Carapace - Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight)

-----

Ryuko blinked as she studied the apparent snake-man-thing before her who claimed to be Viperion. She lifted a hand to study it and found what appeared to be bronze scales covering every inch of her skin.

She sniffed herself, smelling the sharp tang of ozone. What was she?

And why did she appear to be wearing wooden armor?

Characters:

Ryuko - Dragonborn (bronze) Druid (Circle of Storms - Third Party)

Viperion - Naga Sorcerer (Divination Magic - Homebrew)

-----

Polymouse giggled as her friends ran over her. Okay, she'd freaked out a little to find a swarm of mice (with hair like hers no less) crawling all over her surprisingly mouse-like body when she'd come to in the middle of some forest somewhere. But she'd gotten over it pretty quickly. It helped that her new friends were adorable.

It might help more if she could figure out where she was.

Or find another person.

Characters:

Polymouse - Kobold (rodentlike) Ranger (Swarmkeeper - Reskinned)

-----

Purple Tigress sighed as she felt the hair (fur?) on the top of her head being shifted around and twitched her new catlike ears in mild annoyance.

"Are you quite done?"

"Almost!" Pigella's cheerful voice answered. "Your fur is so comfy!"

Tigress sighed. Of course Pigella would end up being a fairy, and having her normal cheerful enthusiasm cranked up to previously unimagined levels.

"I love you dearly, but if you start shouting 'hey listen' I will stick you in a bottle."

"Aw, I love you too! Hey, what's that?"

"I think it's my character sheet?"

Characters:

Purple Tigress - Tabaxi Paladin (Oath of Glory)

Pigella - Fairy Cleric (Order Domain - Reskinned)

-----

"According to my analysis, we have been placed into what appears to be a Dungeons and Dragons campaign under 5th edition rules," Pegasus stated in a mechanical monotone. "I am apparently a Warforged Wizard using the School of Conjuration whose spells create portals to bridge dimensions and summon or banish my intended targets. You are what is known as a Simic Hybrid, with the class of Monk, following the Way of the Drunken Master."

"Aweshum," King Monkey slurred, his generally human appearance clad in monk's robes marred by his monkey-like hands and feet as well as the monkey tail swishing behind him.

"Why do you keep slurring like that? According to my sensors, your gourd is filled with only water."

"Gotta keep up appearanshes!" King Monkey grinned as he continued faking drunkenness.

Characters:

Pegasus - Warforged Wizard (School of Conjuration - Reskinned)

King Monkey - Simic Hybrid Monk (Way of the Drunken Master)

-----

Hawkmoth studied the dark red horns growing out of his head in the mirror. The change in appearance was disconcerting, but he felt a rush of power in this new form that he'd never felt before.

"Hmm... perhaps I can work with this..."

"Speak for yourself..." Mayura muttered off to the side, ruffling her peacock-like feathers in annoyance as she tried to glare at the beak on her own face.

Characters:

Hawkmoth - Tiefling Dark Lord, Warlock Patron, Contracted by Lila Rossi, Volpina, Queen Wasp, and many others.

Mayura - Kenku Assistant to the Dark Lord, Creator of Monsters

-----

"Oh, come on!" A figure in a cyan and white hooded robe complained as they waved a similarly colored umbrella around angrily. "Everyone else gets to be part of this adventure, why can't I join them?"

"Because you're too OP. You'd completely break everything and remove all challenge from the adventure."

"But sitting around is no fun at all!"

"If you like, I can put you in the position of the main quest giver. Your job would be to direct them towards their enemies and means of becoming stronger."

"That's it?! I'm on 'mysterious hooded figure' duty? Boo! Why can't I fight with them?!"

"Because you're too OP. But if you insist, I'll allow some Deus ex Machina interventions."

"YES!"

"Five."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'll allow five interventions at your discretion to aid them when they are in peril. Once you have come to their aid five times, I will allow no more meetings save to impart quest information."

"That's it?"

"Yes. Choose your interventions wisely."

"So... if I manage to save one for when they fight Hawmoth and Mayura in the final battle...?"

"Then I would allow you to join them of course."

"Score!"

Characters:

Bunnyx: Mysterious Hooded Figure, Deus-ex-Machina (5)

Game Master: Akuma Lord of the Miraculous Campaign

-----

Addendum

When the Game Master is finally purified and the damage reversed, it turns out that he took the effort to trap all of Paris in a temporal stasis bubble so that no matter how long passed inside no more than a few moments passed outside. Meaning that after what seemed like months in the bubble, it's basically less than a minute after he was akumatized when everything is put back.

All his friends, minus Matt, come back in bringing a new person named Zack that they vetted themselves to take Matt's place in case he pulled something like what he did. And while he has a similar playstyle to Matt, he's savvy enough to know what kind of characters that is suited for and he loves playing barbarians.

They all sit back down and restart the game they were all looking forward to.

#game master akuma au #miraculous ladybug #fanfic #writings

[lady-plantagenet]

What hasn’t already been said: The Spanish Princess 2

Episode 1: CamelNOT

[Lively Music Plays]

I shit you not... that’s what it said in the CCs.

Tower of London (?)

*Catherine looks at the array of crowns like a museum curator and the proceeds to strut down the halls*

Wolsey: *gives her this strange look which is a mixture between damn girl and the eagle is my spirit animal.

Then Catherine gets fake detained and taken to Henry in what must be a strange variation of the whole Robin Hood/Maid Marian roleplay they historically engaged in.

... did she just call his erhm manhood his kingship? Well that’s original, I’ll give them that. Also funny how Bessie Blount initially looks on in fright... don’t worry girl that will be you soon.

———————————————————————

*the four ladies have a brunch friendship moment together*

I see Blount is among them... I see they are setting her up as Catherine’s friend in order to play up the whole betrayal.

Alright. Jokes aside, I realised how much I’ve played myself. I was inspired by @melusineloriginale ‘s sporks (which if all this TSP episode posts got you in the mood for PG show mockery I urge you to check out here - you’ll thank me later). In truth, Henry VIII’s early reign is a bit too late from my main area of focus for me to make intelligent jokes.

I’ll content myself with just bullet-pointing random thoughts that came into my head, and if some intelligent thought gets through, well that would be the pinnacle. In any case I’ll aim to not parrot some of the stuff that’s already been said, repetition can get annoying.

This image embodies this post, but maybe not the show. I’ve noticed those Starz productions get better by the end.

First Scenes:

- The recap just reminded me how much I will miss Margaret Beaufort in the coming episodes. I know her portrayal was innacurate but Harriet Walter just made everything better.

- They are making such a big deal out of this whole ‘we were crowned together, we rule together’ thing in this episode - it makes no sense. Catherine was an influential Queen but she was definitely no more than a consort and never saw herself as more.

- Ruairi’s new haircut is pleasing to my eyes.

- When she says ‘Abuelo’ it’s super adorable awww

The Ferdinand and Charles V scene:

- Bessie Blount looks so much like Ursula Pole lmao. Also they totally got the Pole children’s birth order wrong and UGH WHERE IS GEOFFREY POLE???

- I like Mary Tudor’s actress and her facial expressions. However, this whole polyglot image they are representing is innacurate. I am fairly certain she knew no spanish and I recall reading a contemporary account which said that she was not very learned.

- I’m pretty sure it would be considered bad luck to prematurely crown your son ‘Henry IX’ while you’re still alive.

- I actually like the whole Grape motif in this episode. It’s probably the smartest thing they’ve come up with so far for this episode. I know a lot of you will be all like ‘there’s no record of Ferdinand being abusive’ but this choice sort of makes sense when you recall Joanna’s treatment. Also I appreciate them for not being tacky and showing flashbacks of more overt abuse eg physical. The sugared grape is also fairly symbolic (the sugar is like a gilding, the grape easily crushable)

- OMG the guy from Garrow’s law is playing Thomas More!

- AND PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME IM NOT SEEING THINGS? Margaret Pole x Thomas More is happening?? Please god that is a historical crackship I am getting behind. Yes. This is what I’m most invested about.

Margaret Tudor and Scotland Scene:

- The whole ironic cutaway to Margaret being all depressed after Charles Brandon’s statement about her charming Scottish king is such a cliché movie technique.

- If this were a more artsy film I would think the whole setup resembling a stereotypical middle-class family breakfast was done on purpose for humorous effects or to create a link with the past. But here I don’t have as much trust in the producers. I think they just failed to capture the time period accurately.

- The modernisms continue: ‘Negassi please stop playing’ idk, there just something so modern about this for some reason ahaha

- Also again, I’m getting tired of all this ‘Catherine is basically queen herself’, ‘Catherine is a political genius’, ‘Catherine Catherine Catherine’ ugh. I don’t think the producers understand that Henry VIII was a very autocratic and traditional ruler. He didn’t make any show of joint-rulership (correct me if I’m wrong).

- The teeth thing is funny, smart and I liked it.

Back to Westminster:

- I like Ferdinand’s actor!

- Also Catherine’s response to ‘who are you loyal to?’ was not that smart. I feel like the producers wanted us to be impressed. What if Spain and England’s interests conflict, ey??

The Joust:

- I care too much for the whole Margaret Pole plotline. I’m so invested.

- I could watch a series of More and Pole just exchanging lines. I love the actors too and this is my hope for this series. The whole frustrated parents is SO CUTE.

- I didn’t know More tutored Reggie, I would be curious to know more.

- The way compton says groom to queen’s stool is freaking hilarious. He looks like a pervert.

- Henry Pole is a darling and must be protected at all costs.

- Oh Christ oh Christ that eyeball shot was just... good job on the special effects guys. Don’t know what the point of that choice was.

- I found the whole armour mentions after interesting, it looked so set up as a PR campaign because Stafford speaking about the armour just sounded like a statement agreed on beforehand ‘should have worn the same’ and the Catherine with ‘steel in the bones’ and Ferdinand’s impressed face (it was him playing them?)

- Am I giving this show too much credit?

- Also whats up with “God save the Queen?”

War Counsel:

- Henry VIII’s actor is quite charismatic in this scene. It’s almost as if Catherine is the hothead and Henry the wise one that speaks less but more significantly. It almost feels like they gender-swapped them.

The Bedchamber:

- Did Catherine breastfeed the baby? I thought it was Anne Boleyn. Doubtful... I’m tired of the trope of ‘you’re a good woman if you insist on breastfeeding the child yourself despite social conventions’. For a feminist show, the writers seem very attached to some 1950s perceptions of motherhood.

- I feel like the age difference between Catherine and Henry is well conveyed.

Scotland Again:

- ‘All the sheep were pregnant’ 👀 oh touché Margaret. oh my. Did she just?

- I know they are playing out this disenfranchised Margaret arc to reinforce how great Catherine and Henry are (cheap technique) and to build up to her involvement in Flodden (innacurate historically but I know what the show will do). But I will say this: the humour is pretty good in the Scottish scenes! But I know it’s unintentionally so... (I highly doubt they wanted us to laugh at Margaret hitting James or calling Alexander a pig).

Westminster and the baby chamber:

- What’s are those red splotches on the babies face??

- Oh that shot of Margaret and silent Reginald :((( it makes me sad.

- And now the Poles are at church! I just love the look of them.

- That scene of Maggie and Catherine was needed, as we didn’t get the best friends vibe much in this episode. The whole thing looked a bit pagan though, but it was nice :)

The whole Ferdinand’s betrayal segment:

- The grape motif again was fitting, him snapping the fruit right before she gets to it even despite her knowing what he’s like and what he’ll do, was a good parrallel.

- I’m tired of hearing of this ‘Camelot’. Even in the novel, Camelot was Catherine and Arthur’s dream and... can we just live it up with Arthur?

- Ursula Pole’s, Bessie Blount’s and Mary Boleyn’s actresses look way too similar.

- I fail to see why Catherine thinks she’s turning into her father... she doesn’t strike me as much of a game-player or subtle two-facer.

- I’m intrigued what will happen with Oviedo and Lina... I feel like they won’t stay in England long.

- He was made knight bannaret... nice... but why does he thank Catherine publicly for this? It was in Henry’s gift that he was made a commoner Knight.. if this transpired irl Henry would have been gravely insulter.

Catherine’s Dead Baby and thereafter:

- Guys. In all seriousness, I don’t think the TV series is trying to imply that Catherine killed the baby with her negligence. I mean, they are so bent on us liking her they wouldn’t do that. It would be a bit too ballsy anyway. Remember the red splotches I mentioned earlier? Could those have been a sign that he was already ill but no one noticed/was in denial?

- The pebbles in hands would have had more emotional payoff if it had been established earlier if you know what I mean. Basically, this episode is too fast and entire arcs begin and end within it which extinguished any build-up.

- Oh man Henry is so sweet in this, how will they build him up as the tyrant he was historically if they keep this up?

Scotland Again:

- I must admit, I don’t like all those nicknames they keep using. But somehow James calling Margaret ‘Meg’ is nice and seems fitting.

- What’s a hermana sister?

England Last Mourning Scenes:

- YOU DID NOT BUILD CAMELOT ughhh

- Why is Catherine giving the speech and not Henry?? It turns out Catherine was more emotional historically then the whole perception of ‘perfect queen of stone’ to which some people hold her. However, I doubt it would have been proper of her to give a speech in such a emotional manner.

Conclusion:

6.5/10

Some of the dialogue was stilted, the costumes are confused as to which era they’re supposed to be (aesthetically distracting) and many other characterisation issues.

I don’t have high hopes for this series in terms of cinematography or art but I sure as hell expect it will be entertaining. So far, everything is just getting set up and I find some aspects promising. As you can tell I am truly excited over how the Margaret Pole plotline. I am also interested in how Henry will be portrayed, with Catherine being so OTT and pushy this episode Im starting to Stan him more. In this show he appears sensitive and serene and kinda... adorable. Kind of like a little brother hanging onto his sister’s skirts.

But in a way that is a disservice to the real historical figure which would not tolerate such a representation. I am very irritated by this whole ‘joint-rulers’ thing which is just sooo innacurate. These STARZ shows have an obsession with showing women turn into men for the purposes of feminism - I see.

Catherine overpowers Henry too often and it sometimes feels like he’s HER consort. Of course, the feminism in this show is schizophrenic as we get the overemphasis of Catherine as a 1950s motherly ideal with the whole breastfeeding angle (“you’re better than other noble woman who would find this beneath them”, “they’re not as motherly as you”).

So the relationship dynamic between Henry and Catherine is a bit off at the moment, but oh well.

Mary Tudor is a bit distracting with her dark hair but I find the actress extremely endearing and promising. I know there will be emphasis on her storyline too and I hope they’ll not be clichéd with it.

#the spanish princess #the spanish princess 2 #lady plantagenet's series reviews #not my best #but I've been ill for most of the week and wanted to get this out before episode 2 comes tommorow #feel free to send me an ask if you you have anything to say #I'd love to see if anyone else thought some of the same things

[pigeon-princess]

!!! Did you play any more of the Tybalt campaign? What happened, how are things between him and Evris rn??? If you wouldn't mind sharing that is... I've somehow gotten very invested in the love life of your green boy ^^'

YES!! We’ve played two more sessions and OH my god wow a LOT has happened!! I’ll try and summarise but I know this is going to be a big info dump!! And just in case (tw: sexual assault) due to some of the events in the last session. 

Tybalt and Evris continued: Princes and Prejudice 

So what we know about Evris is that his mother Elrynn, who is a drow woman, married a halfling bard named Yir. Despite Yir’s family’s disapproval, the two were passionately in love and had two children and although Evris was a child from Elrynn’s previous marriage he was loved and raised just the same. Elrynn’s past was also never discussed in the family home. 

We heard from Evris that a few weeks prior, a noble-looking drow man he had never seen before arrived at their home, talked with his mother, handed her an amulet and left. This same amulet was the one that the Lamia was looking for and the reason why Evris’s family was attacked so we decided our best lead was to track down this mysterious drow. Our wizard Merlin overheard that the mysterious visitor's name was Andras and that he was from Ered Wethrin, the neighbouring country. 

In order to cross the border we had to make our way over a mountain range known as The Trespassers. The trip across the mountains was rough to say the least, after narrowly missing some giant spiders, we ended up falling unconscious due to some sort of toxic gas and woke up, naked, tied to a log and being roasted over a fire pit by some hill giants. After a WILD combat and two dead hill giants later, we decided to camp out in the caves for the night.

Evris pulled Tybalt aside for a talk and Tybalt apologised for his behaviour the last time they spoke. Evris said that although he was not sorry for what he said, he’s sorry that he didn’t know the effect that it would have on Tybalt. 

The situation with Evris’s not sleeping (he was taking points of exhaustion) was also brought up and Evris admitted that he was scared that if he fell asleep he wouldn't wake up again or that he would see this entity that brought him back to life and that scared him. He doesn’t know what it means to be a cleric and everything was just too much, with his family dead, missing or turned to stone. When he started tearing up, Tybalt pulled him into a hug which startled him, but he accepted it before pulling back quickly. 

Later on in the evening while on watch with our monk Yarou, Evris confessed a very traumatic event from his backstory, about how he was once in love with a boy called Fenton, and how one day Fenton and a group of his friends sexually assaulted him. The whole table listened in shocked silence, aND I WAS HAVING A FIT that myself as a player knew this but Tybalt did not, and how I had been constantly getting in Evris’s personal space. Yarou also told Evris that it seemed like Tybalt was interested in him (I WAS LIKE AAA YAROU!!??) and was probably harmless but if he did anything to hurt Evris, Yarou would stop him. But Evris assured him that he was well aware and familiar with Tybalt's type (the overly flirty playboy) and could handle himself (OUGH MY HEART,,, I promise he’s not using you Evris).  

During our watch, we were ambushed by the Knights of the Radiance, the military power of Ered Wethrin. We were knocked out by poison darts and we all woke up in a cell, chained to the wall while the guards were interrogating Evris in the next cell over, asking him about a smuggling group. 

After we saw one of the guards was attempting to sexually assault Evris our whole party went into an angry frenzy. Tybalt almost broke the bars down trying to get out of the cell, only managing to bend them heavily while our rogue managed to pick the lock to the door. We had a bit of a scuffle, tackling the guards until Evris announced that he was the son of Elrynn and he demanded to speak with Andras, the guards immediately froze. BUT hearing the name Elrynn they suddenly agreed?? and took us through a teleportation circle to the capital city A'latariel. 

All feeling very apprehensive, we were led into A CASTLE?! Where we met with Andras who turned out to be both a prince of Ered Wethrin and Evris’s birth father?!?! So it looks like Elrynn was married to the prince!! And ran away with her halfling bard lover!!! So Evris is technically a prince??? And in line for the throne?? It was all a lot for us to take in, especially for Evris, so we stayed in a very expensive inn, ordered a huge amount of food and alcohol and put it on daddy Andras’s tab. We had a very lively conversation about how many nuns it would take to defeat 1 stone giant, and Evris being the giant expert drunkenly calculated that perhaps 1000 arcane nuns would be an adequate number. 

In the meantime since we’ve been in Ered Wethrin none of us trust Prince Andras and we’re learning more about the real truth behind that amulet, we’ve also just learnt of an underground resistance group that we’re trying to get in contact with. Tybalt has been helping Evris attempt to send messages to his missing family members through sending spells. Because of this, they ended up having a heart to heart conversation while sharing a room in the inn, bonding over the shared prejudice they’ve faced for being a drow and a half orc in places where they are looked down upon unfavourably. Evris shared his personal backstory trauma relating to his sexual assault and Tybalt actually shared his as well for the first time in his life (The other players did not hear this either, but if people would like to hear Tybalt’s backstory I can to put the details in a separate under the cut post!) 

In the next session I have been putting together a plan to surprise Evris with a “Lady and the Tramp” style outdoor dinner date by the ocean, with the help our our party and our new half orc friends being the butlers. Despite Evris’s previous assumptions about Tybalt, after their talk I’m hoping that he’ll think of this dinner as a sincere romantic gesture but if not I hope it's at least an entertaining distraction for him considering all the stress he’s been going through. 

And that's a very brief description of what's happened since last time!! This romance is so slow-burn but I’m enjoying every minute of it. I definitely focused this recount around Evris and Tybalt but a lot has happened with the other players in the party as well! I hope you enjoyed the update and if people have any further questions I’m more than happy to answer!

#dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons #dnd stories #tw:sexual assault #Tybalt #Evris #d&d story #dnd story #SO MUCH DRAMA #long post #Anonymous

[blackaquokat]

The Song You Might Have Been (Chapter 3)

Link to Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 here!

A/N: Should I be putting Trigger Warnings for Attempted Murders? In that case, there’s one for this chapter.

Also, yes, this story does actually have an underlying plot, and it comes into play now.

---

It’s not until the end of Week 2 that the first attempt on your life is made.

You’re working at the dishes, sweating in spite of the cold water. Overall it’s been a fairly normal day. You sent out another letter, chatted with Yancy’s gang, spent some time in the yard. You’re finally settling into a routine. That worries you. Does that mean you’ve been here too long? Should you be letting yourself get comfortable?

You’re so lost in thought you don’t notice the shadow growing across the wall in front of you until you're setting aside another dish. You spin around just as a hand gripping a shiv aims for your stomach. 

You grab at the hand by the wrist just in time, but your arms are wet from the sink water, so your grip slips. You manage to redirect the weapon enough that it just grazes your arm and then you punch the guy with your other hand. You aim a kick at his hand to knock the shiv out, but he moves at the last minute. When he tries to tackle you again, another figure barrels into him like a raging bull, knocking the shiv across the floor.

You go for the weapon as the other two struggle. When they break apart, your assassin punches at your rescuer (Yancy?!) and knocks him back to the ground with a bleeding lip. The assassin hurries to his feet, but when he sees you ready to cut him with his own shiv, he turns heel and starts running off.

A club comes from out of nowhere and cracks across the guy’s head. The inmate falls to the floor in a heap. 

You let out a shuddering breath and look up to see your terrifying boss guard of the kitchens, Rex, standing over him.

“Not about to let a perfectly decent dishwasher go to waste,” he comments with a twirl of his club. “Not when that dishwasher promised to include a new poetry collection in that library of theirs.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. It doesn’t stop until tears are running down your face (you almost died, you almost died) and that’s when you notice the throbbing in your forearm. You realize that the shiv cut deeper than you noticed before. Blood is dripping from your skin to the floor.

Shock, you think. I’m going into shock. 

“Hey, hey, Eagle.” Yancy climbs to his feet and approaches you not unlike one would a spooked horse. “It’s alright, it’s alright. Why don’t we get youse to the doc, yeah?”

You wipe away your tears with your unscathed arm and nod. “I...yeah.”

Yancy glances over at Rex, who twirls his baton again. “I’ll just take care of this guy. Permanently.”

“No!” you blurt out. When Rex and Yancy stare at you with blatant “have you lost your mind” expressions. “I don’t recognize him from court,” you explain. “Which means he’s killing me for another reason. I need to know why.”

Rex and Yancy exchange a glance. Rex shrugs. “I can live with that reasoning.” He grabs the unconscious inmate by the foot and starts dragging him away. “I’ll inform the warden of the near shish kebabing!”

Later, in the infirmary, after your arm is stitched and bandaged up, Yancy speaks up. “Youse would’ve let Rexy boy kill that guy if he didn’t have that info.”

You shut your eyes and sigh. “I...I guess so. Yeah.”

“Usually it takes more than three weeks before newbies are comfortable with murder.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t the first time someone tried to kill me. Only that time there was no one to help, so I…” You flex your hand and cringe at the pain the movement elicits. “I took matters into my own hands.”

Yancy’s looking at you with contemplation, his hand stroking at his chin. There are tattoos on his fingers too. “Youse full of surprising depths, ain’t you, Eagle?”

“I threw boring out of the window the day I was born.”

Yancy laughs and shakes his head.

“So what the hell were you doing in the kitchens, anyway?”

Yancy’s humor dissipates. “I, uh...I was stealing some bread rolls for the group. Then I saw that guy tip-toeing about and decided to see what the hell he was doin’.”

“You saved my life.”

He shrugs, suddenly looking sheepish. “Youse were doin’ just fine without my assistance.”

“Yeah.” The two of you smile. “But I appreciate it nonetheless.” A beat of silence passes. “You planning on telling me what you know about my case anytime soon?”

Yancy looks around the room. The doctor had left a few minutes ago to tend to someone else. “Not here.”

“When we get back to our cell then--”

“No, not there either. I’ll tell you tonight in my, uh...secret place.”

---

That “secret place” turns out to be the rooftop of the prison in the middle of the night. 

“Shouldn’t there be guards up here?” you point out through chattering teeth. Most romantic and dramatic novels fail to mention just how damn cold it is on rooftops at night.

“I’m owed a few favors,” Yancy explains simply. “Nothing gets a system going like favors.”

“That is true.” You plop down onto the floor and cross your legs. You immediately regret moving so suddenly when pain shoots up your arm. “So what have you got for me?”

Yancy sits down in front of you, his knees bent almost to his chest. “That dead attorney youse told me about? The one youse were framed for killing? He’s been here before. Talkin’ to another inmate by the name of Louie Winfield. We called him Scrawny Louie.”

You perk up. “You’re kidding me. Is there anyway I can talk to--”

“The guy was found bleedin’ out in the showers last week. Dead ‘fore anyone could blink.” 

Your shoulders drop. “Of course.”

“That bein’ said,” Yancy leans his head into his hand, “when I heard youse’s story last week, I thought, well, there’s no such thing as coincidences, yeah? A dead inmate and a dead lawyer who’d been chatting it up for months? Another lawyer with a spotless reputation takin’ the fall? I didn’t look forward to havin’ another dead inmate on my watch, so I figured I’d keep my two eyes on youse and see what I could see, you know?”

Your elbows rest on your knees. “Are you...you’re saying there’s an inside man here? And that he’s involved in my case somehow?”

“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. All I’m doin’ is pointin’ out a whole string of coincidences taking place in a very short amount of time.”

 “All these coincidences happening around the time I was investigating Connor Smith…” you bite your lip, “and Merrill Byron.”

Yancy’s eyes pop out of his head. “Youse just pullin’ my tail, right? Ain’t that the guy who runs that charity orphanage or whatnot downtown?” At your questioning gaze, he tacks on, “We get the paper every week, remember? I keeps up-to-date on the outside when I can.”

“He’s also best friends with the deputy commissioner and backs several other political campaigns in the city.”

Yancy slack-jawed gaze doesn’t let up. “Is youse crazy? Youse tellin’ me that’s the guy you was investigating that got youse in here?”

You lift your eyebrow by way of response. 

Yancy bursts into laughter and shakes his head. “Shit, Eagle, youse got a spine of steel, don’t you?”

You shrug and tighten your arms around yourself, wincing at the stabs of pain in your forearm. Damn, it is cold up here. “I have to. Someone like me, working with the District Attorney? The shit I had to deal with from the other attorneys in the office was worse than facing criminals in court.”

“Should I feels offended that criminals aren’t as much a bother as the people youse worked with under Lady Justice?”

The two of your share a laugh over that, before Yancy asks, “When we met youse mentioned that Byron was embezzling from that orphan charity of his?”

“And probably funding the newest drug empire in the city.”

Yancy strokes at his chin. Quite the habit of his, you’re noticing, for someone without much in the way of a beard. “That makes sense. Poor dead Scrawny Louie was a dealer on the outside and continued his operation on a smaller scale in here. Had to tell him to keep it on the downlow more than once, otherwise the Warden would catch on.” He must see the question in your eyes. “Not much for snortin’ myself. Makes me sneeze. I like to keep a clear mind, I do.”

A thought occurs to you. Something that somehow you didn’t think to ask earlier. “So what did you do to land in here in the first place?”

Yancy’s gaze darkens. “I thought we were talkin’ about youse and how youse ended up in here?”

Tender subject then. Maybe you’ll try to ask him again later. Or you’ll just look into it yourself when you get out of here. 

(You have to think in “whens.” The moment you start thinking in “ifs” will mean you’re starting to give up and you do not give up. Ever.)

“Okay.” Your shoulders feel stiff, so you roll them to loosen up the muscles and tendons. “So what do we do now?”

Yancy’s relief at your dropping the subject is minute, but you catch it nonetheless. “Well, youse came here to Happy Trails at an ideal time. Visitation is this Sunday. Youse could probably pass this information to whosever’s workin’ on youse’s case. Now, youse shiverin’ so much youse makin’ me cold just lookin’ at you, so let’s get back to the bunk, shall we? Next time we’ll bring blankets.”

“Next time?”

Yancy wiggles his eyebrows. “Youse think I was gonna let this slide? Nah, I’m gonna find the bastard who’s killin’ for the outside and make ‘em pay. I doubt your assassin is the only one in here.”

You can’t help the grin sliding across your face. “That mean you’re gonna help me out?”

“Our goals appear to be coincidin’, don’t they? May as well meet here to compare notes and investigative realizations, ya know?” He holds out his hand. “Whaddya say, Eagle? Youse too much of a goody-two-shoes to work with a criminal?” His tone is entirely teasing and it makes your grin widen. 

“Well, I’m in prison right now too, aren’t I?” You stretch your uninjured arm out and take his hand. “I know how to adapt and conquer.”

“That’s what I like to hear, Eagle.”

---

When you ask to interrogate your assassin, Yancy says it’s not necessary. 

“Youse let me worry about that amateur killer, hey Eagle? His face isn’t one you need to subject youself to again.”

Later, when he comes back to the cell with bloodied and split knuckles that you don’t ask about, Yancy reports that the guy was hired anonymously. A letter under his pillow with a bag full of contraband. The letter was tossed into the furnace, so there’s no chance at comparing handwriting or anything like that. 

Still, it’s something to report to Damien when you see him at Visitation.

“Somehow, I am not surprised to hear that you’ve managed to investigate your case from inside prison,” Damien says in response to your discoveries that Sunday  during Visitation. “I’ll pass it on to the people looking into your situation. I am, however, concerned about this attempt on your life. Do you want me to pull some strings with the Warden? Get you into protective custody?”

You shake your head. “It’ll be easier to gather intel if I’m out and about. No worries, I’ve got my own protection detail.”

Damien grins brightly at you. You hadn’t realized how much you missed your closest friend until now. “So you did manage to make some friends, huh? See, you don’t realize how likeable you are, my friend, I knew you could do it.”

His praise makes you straighten in your chair. “Well, I mean, it helps that I’m trying to get that library implemented. Which reminds me, are there any strings you can pull in that department to get things moving along?”

“It also doesn’t surprise me that you’re trying to improve a prison’s quality of life from behind bars as well,” Damien teases with a shake of his head. “I’ve put in a good word, made some members of the department read your appeals. You’ll be glad to know you are this close to annoying them into doing something about it.”

“That does make me happy.” 

“Even if you aren’t cleared for a full on library at some point, I’m sure you’ll at least get more books.” Damien gives you a knowing look. “Not that that’ll stop you from aiming for an actual library, I’m sure.”

“You know me.” You cross your arms and your ankles. “I’m all about an even distribution of knowledge across classes and situations.”

You and Damien sneak in a quick hug before a guard calls you out for touching the visitor. “Stay safe, my friend,” he calls out by way of farewell.

You wave until he’s out of sight.

“Ain’t that the guy gunnin’ for mayor?” 

You turn around to see Yancy staring at the space Damien just exited through. “Yeah. We’re University buddies. I wouldn’t be where I am today without him.”

“In a prison with a target on youse’s back?”

You punch him lightly in the shoulder (and then marvel at the fact that you’re comfortable enough to do that with him). “On the District Attorney’s team. I spent a lot of my time in law school in a nonstop puddle of anxiety, and he not only supported me through it, but he also put in a good word to the DA to give me a chance. It took a year and a half of interning before I got a job.”

Yancy stares at you as the two of you head for the yard. “Thought youse weren’t good at makin’ acquaintances.”

“I’m not,” you confirm. “But Damien is. He saw a lonely, cranky person who came from nothing and decided that person was worth getting to know. I didn’t trust it for a while, but eventually...I did.”

“How?” The pain in his tone throws you for a loop and breaks your heart at the same time. “How do youse trust that someone won’t leave you behind?”

You look at him. Hopefully he won’t interpret the sympathy in your face as pity. You heard that the last person who pitied him ended up bloody and bruised in the infirmary. 

“It...it takes a while. I’ve had a lifetime of experience with people leaving me behind in some way or another. I’ve only been able to really trust three people: my parents and Damien. There’s an element of...taking a leap of faith, when it comes to trusting someone. And I’ve hit the ground hard in the past.”

“What makes youse so sure you won’t hit the ground again?” Yancy challenges, insistent.

“I’m not.” You sigh and look out at the prisoners mingling in the yard. Yancy’s gang is in the corner, laughing and pushing playfully at each other. “But Damien’s been there for me for years. And...I realized how exhausted I made myself, waiting for him to let me down. But he doesn’t ask for my trust, doesn’t ask for me to give more of myself than I’m willing to give. He just...accepts me for who I am. Same with my mom. There’s not much more I can ask for than that.” 

You glance at Yancy out of the corner of your eye and pretend not to notice how misty-eyed he looks. “It’s hard to give yourself to other people. Especially if you’re used to relying on yourself. I have to say, though...I can’t regret finally letting someone in.”

Yancy doesn’t look at you. Probably doesn’t even realize you’re looking at him. Doesn’t realize what you’re saying.

I was you, once. Distrusting and isolated. Ready to leave people before they could leave me. I still am, in some ways. And that’s okay. It doesn’t make you broken. Just lonely. And you don’t have to be lonely if you don’t want to be.

“Yeah, well,” Yancy sniffles. Once again, you pretend not to notice. “That’s all well and good until it’s too late.”

You finally turn to him, the bitter sadness in his tone chipping at your chest, but when you reach out to comfort him, somehow, he pulls away and scurries back into the prison.

You can’t help but feel like you’re missing something important.

---

The fact that you don’t learn the reason behind Yancy’s imprisonment until you’ve been in jail for almost four weeks is impressive, honestly. 

No one is willing to talk about it. Not that Yancy is secretive. He’s blatant about so many of his crimes, from the murderous kind all the way to the not-so-harmful loitering kind, but funnily enough, Tiny is the one who finally clues you in when the two of you are alone in the kitchen together. Apparently Yancy thinks it’s for the best to have your inmate protection detail extend to your job, so Tiny has switched from laundry to dishes with you.

“He killed his parents,” Tiny tells you. “His dad was a piece of work, a total dick. Not sure about his mom, but...I don’t think she was supposed to die. I think she was collateral damage. It was a pretty bad situation. Not that he’ll ever admit that. It’s bad for his reputation in here if he’s seen as anything but the cold bastard who murdered his own parents.”

That...that makes a tragic amount of sense. (For all the other unfortunate happenings in your life, at least you had loving parents. Well, one of them. The other wound up six feet under far too soon than he deserved. But Dad was good to you while you were alive, and you never stopped missing his embrace.)

Tiny tugs on your collar until you’re nose to nose with her. “I wouldn’t mention that to him, you hear me? The boss gets really intense about his parents. It’s not pretty.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“And if you tell him I’m the one who spilled the beans, I’ll cut you myself.”

“My lips are sealed.”

She nods and releases your shirt.

You keep to your word and don’t mention your newfound information about the most important inmate in Happy Trails Penitentiary. But the information stays in the back of your mind.

You’ve already written up a mental list of things to do when you get out of here. Now you’ve definitely got one more thing, placed below improving the meals here in Happy Trails and getting that library implemented:

Find out what happened with Yancy and his family.

---

The prison mattress is not comfortable. At all. Most of your nights for the first few weeks involve staring at the springs of the top bunk and willing yourself to sleep.

At least Heap-Ass came through on the items you asked for. He slipped a bundle of ballpoint pens and paper under your pillow sometime when you weren’t in your cell. All it cost was six packs of cigarettes you’ve been hoarding. (It’s a good thing you don’t smoke, otherwise this form of currency would be much harder for you to handle.) Your lists are far more coherent, less smudgy, and less ink-splattered.

It takes about five weeks as well, since your arrival, to finally hear back from the state legislature about getting an expanded library collection. 

You’re summoned to the mail room by an equally eager Rex and grin like an idiot at the sight of four large boxes. Rex tears one open with extreme prejudice and the two of you stare in giddy delight at the books inside. You go for another box to open. 

“Is my poetry in there?!” Rex demands as you start sorting through the pile until you find the letter included with the packages.

“I’ve been asked to please stop my letter campaign,” you report to Rex. “And to stop heavily implying that I know enough dirty secrets to get some of them thrown out of the office, or at least in the tabloids for a few months.”

“Damn, Eagle,” yes, apparently the guards have picked up your nickname too, “you’re fearless, aren’t you?”

“They sure are,” Yancy declares upon his sudden entrance in the room. “So we got ourselves an expansion, huh?”

You victoriously hold up a copy of the Velveteen Rabbit. “I can’t wait to see Tiny’s face when she gets this.” You gesture at one of the still unopened boxes. “See if you find anything you like, Yancy.”

“What about my poetry?!”

“No worries, Rex!” You gather a pile into your hands and scan the spines. “Looks like we’ve got Pablo Neruda, T.S. Eliot, Yeats, oh!” Your grin stretches into something even brighter. “We got Langston Hughes and Edna St. Vincent Millay!” You pull out the Langston Hughes collection. “I wonder if I can talk them into sending over Lola Ridge next…”

“Wait, what?” Yancy steps up and pulls a copy of The Sun Also Rises from the box to examine. “Youse want more?”

“This is just the beginning, Yancy.” You take a moment to flip through the Langston Hughes book. “I’m hoping to get an actual library here, not just a bigger book cart or closet.” A page title catches your attention and you stop to read the contents:

“Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.”

You don’t realize how quiet the room has become until you mutter the last word. You look up and realize your little reading attracted the attention of passing inmates and a few guards. Rex is looking into the distance with a dreamy, glazed look, the Pablo Neruda collection clutched to his chest. 

Yancy, meanwhile, is staring at you like he’s never seen you before. “What...what was that?”

You flash the book cover at him. “It’s called ‘Dreams.’ It’s one of my favorite poems.” When he doesn’t stop staring, you hand him the book and return to your pile. “I don’t read Langston Hughes all the time, but he’s definitely someone people should be familiar with.”

“Why’s that?”

“There are plenty of renowned old-ass white male writers,” you respond. “People should be just as familiar with the ones who aren’t white. Or male.”

Yancy shakes his head. He still looks rather wrong-footed. “I’ll take youse’s word for it.”

He says that, but that evening, while you’re once again trying to fall asleep while every spring of the mattress presses into your back, Yancy’s head pops down again and he drops a book onto your lap. It’s a book of Yeats poetry.

“Read it.”

“I have, Yancy--”

“Out loud,” he clarifies. After a beat of you giving him a stern Look, he tacks on, “Please?”

A tender smile grows on your face, while your mind ponders on how the hell you’ve gotten to the point in your life where you’re going to read poetry out loud to the most feared man in the prison. And how you’ve gotten to the point where you can demand he speak to you more politely than he deigns to others.

“Um...was there any in particular you wanted me to read?” you ask when he disappears into his bunk again.

“Dealer’s choice, Eagle.”

You flip through the pages until you find “Reconciliation.” Before you start reading you find yourself muttering, “Life is already so goddamn weird.”

“Some may have blamed you that you took away

The verses that could move them on the day

When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind

With lightning, you went from me, and I could find

Nothing to make a song about but kings…”

The consistent mutterings echoing in the hallways quiet down as you read. If this kind of undivided attention keeps up every time you read out loud, it’ll get you spoiled for when (not if) you get back to the DA’s office.

“...My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone.”

“...I don’t understands all of it,” Yancy says suddenly, when you finish. “But youse make it sound nice.”

“If it helps,” you reassure, “I don’t always read poetry for the deeper meanings. It gets exhausting analyzing literature. Sometimes it’s good to just read for enjoyment. Comfort.”

“...got any others in that book youse’s fond of?”

“Yeah, do another one, Eagle!” shouts Shithole Hank from three cells down. 

“Speak up! We can barely hear you out here!” Jimmy joins in.

Jesus Christ, you’re going to get even less sleep than usual at this rate. “Okay, fine. What about ‘When You Are Old’?” 

To your surprise, Rex is the one who answers back. “That’s a good one!”

Why am I more accepted in a goddamn prison than my own workplace? Maybe better not to read too much into that one.

You clear your throat and start reading again. 

“When you are old and grey and full of sleep, 

And nodding by the fire, take down this book, 

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look,  

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep…” 

---

Link to Chapter 4 here!

Thank you for reading! Please relbog/comment! If you want to be tagged/untagged for the rest of this series or this pairing, please leave a message in my inbox!

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#ahwm yancy #ahwm #a heist with markiplier #prison attorney #kat writes #y/n district attorney #am i a sucker for poetry readings? #yes #it's my inner lit nerd jumping out