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luxlisbons · 4 months

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Voulez-Vous? - part ii

Mencken's ego takes a hit when Harriet's eye wanders to the newly elected French president. In response, he engineers a grand state dinner, turning diplomatic affairs into a battlefield of jealousy.

part i

part of the "before there's hell to pay" universe: part i - part ii - part iii

pairing: jeryd mencken x original female character. 4k

warnings: affairs, unhealthy relationships, dubious morality, explicit language, age difference, smut, religious imagery & symbolism, unprotected sex, pov first person, the french

Read on AO3

ATN Breaking News: President Mencken to Host French President Reynaud in Historic State Visit

WASHINGTON — The White House announced on Monday that it would host President Marcel Reynaud of France and his mother and acting First Lady, Brigitte Sadier, in December in the first state visit of President Mencken’s administration. This marks a significant diplomatic move, bringing together leaders with differing political ideologies. The event is poised to shape the narrative around international relations, with both leaders expected to discuss a range of global matters.

Vera Schultz, the White House press secretary, highlighted the unprecedented nature of the visit. "This state visit reflects President Mencken's commitment to engaging with leaders across the political spectrum, fostering open dialogue despite ideological differences.”

While specific information about the agenda remains undisclosed, the visit is expected to cover various topics of global importance. Observers anticipate discussions on diplomatic cooperation, international crises, and potential areas of collaboration between the United States and France.

As the world eagerly awaits further details, this historic state visit has already sparked intrigue and speculation. It represents a departure from conventional diplomatic norms and underscores President Mencken's approach to engaging with leaders whose political perspectives diverge from his own.

_____________________________________________________________

When news of President Reynaud's impending visit made headlines, the gears of the Mencken administration started turning to prepare for this diplomatic spectacle. The announcement, strategically made in late August, granted us a three-month window to navigate the intricacies of hosting the French president.

Fresh off my Italian adventure, I wasted no time informing Tom that I would resume my role as the chief liaison between ATN and the White House, effectively taking on the responsibilities of a press secretary in all but name. The coordination of the media team became my domain, ensuring that the narrative surrounding Mencken was meticulously crafted.

"Glad to have you back, Harriet," Tom greeted me.

"Cut the shit, Tom. You knew exactly what I was getting myself into."

"Yeah, well, you too. Or better said, what you let Mencken get into when you let him stick it in you. I mean, my God, it's so high school—the popular guy finally seeing the weirdo girl for who she is, and, well, you know the rest. Well, not really, because trust me this does not end with him taking you to prom.”

“But it does end with the rich girl happy with the nerd?” I replied, knowing exactly where to salt the wound.

“Ouch, harsh!” Tom chuckled, acknowledging the sting of my retort. "Alright, you've made your point. But you can't deny you're relishing every moment of this."

“You got me there, Tom Tom. And for the record, I don't need a running commentary on my personal life.”

Tom leaned back in his chair, his gaze locked onto mine. "True, true. Apologies for the friendly banter. But seriously, Harriet, you're handling this like a pro. It's almost... admirable. I’m glad you put your big girlboss shoes on. Keep it up, and keep Herr Fuhrer happy. Maybe soon enough, you’ll be making the calls in the White House."

I arched an eyebrow, intrigued by his cryptic remark. "Are you offering relationship advice now, Tom?"

His lips curled into a knowing smile. "Perhaps, in my own peculiar way."

I couldn't help but glance at the framed photograph on his desk. It showed him, Shiv, and a baby girl with a head of dark hair. I hadn't asked about Logan before, knowing it was a topic best avoided. But now, with the picture in front of me, curiosity got the better of me.

I nodded towards the photograph. "Logan, huh? That's an interesting choice. Must have some deep meaning, right? Daddy issues, perhaps?"

Tom chuckled, his voice tinged with amusement. "You could say that. It's a family name. Shiv picked it." Of course, she did.

I couldn't resist a playful jab. "Well, let's just hope little Logan doesn't need too much therapy when she's older.”

Tom laughed and added, "Ah, therapy. It's practically a family tradition at this point."

Tom leaned back in his chair, his gaze locked onto mine. "Circling back to the main point of this meeting… Do we have you back one-hundred percent? No more pussyfooting? You're brilliant at what you do, and having you closer to the action, well, it could benefit us all."

A subtle, knowing smile played at the corners of my lips as I added, "In more ways than one, perhaps." Finally, I nodded, a determined glint in my eyes. “Yes, Tom. I'm in."

_____________________________________________________________

In the following weeks, as the anticipation for the historic state visit grew, my days were a whirlwind of meetings, strategy sessions, and keeping the ATN team aligned with the White House agenda. The city buzzed with excitement, speculation, and an air of preparation for an event that promised to be a departure from the usual diplomatic routine. We needed this to be perfect, not just to avoid any potential diplomatic hiccups, but to not tick off Mencken’s fickle temper. It was during one of those hectic afternoons that a text message popped up on my phone, disrupting the chaotic rhythm.

M: “So Frenchie’s First Lady is his mom… mommy issues much?🤱🏼”

H: “Be glad for those types of issues, they are the reason why I’m fucking you in the first place 👨🏻🦳”

This tidbit of information made me curious enough to kill the little free I had and go into a Google fuelled rabbit hole. In my deep dive into Marcel Reynaud's life, I uncovered the juicy details that make him more than just a politician. A divorced bachelor who embraced fatherhood at 26 with a fellow activist, he quickly realized that the institution of marriage wasn't his cup of tea. Unlike some people I know, he managed to navigate a divorce amicably and is currently co-parenting a fifteen-year-old boy, Pascal.

But what intrigued me more was the unconventional First Lady setup. Marcel's mother, Brigitte Sadier, a feminist activist and a signer of the Manifesto of the 343, plays the role of his First Lady (Mencken would have a field day with that fact “ Hey, she’s part of your club Mrs. Abortion” ). It seems like the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, and the Reynaud family has a penchant for shaking up norms.

The more I read about him, I could feel a warmth spreading in my chest, a little bit of affection if you will. Everything that Marcel Reynaud represented was the complete and total opposite of Mencken. The stark contrast fascinated me, and I couldn't help but acknowledge a growing sense of affection for the French president. It was a sentiment that danced on the edges of my consciousness, like an unexpected guest at a well-planned party.

As I delved further into Marcel's life, the nuances of his character painted a different picture—one that stood in stark juxtaposition to Mencken's brashness and often self-centered demeanor. The warmth spreading in my chest wasn't just from the interesting tidbits of his personal life; it was a response to the realization that, in Marcel, there existed a leader who embodied a different kind of strength.

If there's one thing I'm consistent about, it's my ability to be inconsistent. The unpredictable currents of my emotions seemed to be steering me in uncharted waters, like an unmoored ship. I reached for my phone and found myself dialing my White House contact.

“Hey, June? How are you? That’s good. Look, can you do me a favor? Set up a dinner in the agenda for me and Marcel, I want to explain to him all the key details and prepare him for the President. I don’t want him to be caught off guard. Yeah, yeah, make it discreet. Maybe a small gathering at one of those quaint French restaurants. No, nothing official—just a casual dinner. I'm sure Mencken won't mind; he's got his own affairs to attend to. Great, thanks, June."

As I hung up, I couldn't help but wonder about the path I was treading. It wasn't just the professional interest anymore; there was a personal curiosity, a desire to understand the man behind the political persona. My thoughts swirled like leaves caught in a gentle breeze, and I found myself questioning the nature of this newfound fascination.

My mind wandered briefly to Mencken's potential reaction. I could almost hear his gruff voice in my head, questioning the motives behind this seemingly casual dinner. It wasn't that Mencken disapproved of diplomacy; it was the clandestine nature of the gathering that might not sit well with his penchant for control.

A few hours later, as I navigated the White House halls, I found myself face-to-face with Mencken, who was deep in conversation with his assistant. The stern furrow on his brow momentarily softened as he glanced in my direction before returning to his usual mean stare.

"Harriet," Mencken called out, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and authority. "A word."

I followed Mencken in a more secluded part of the corridor. His sharp eyes fixed on mine, and I could sense the gears turning in his mind.

"I heard about your dinner plans with Marcel," Mencken stated bluntly, wasting no time with pleasantries. "Care to explain what game you're playing?"

His tone was measured, but there was an underlying intensity that hinted at a mixture of curiosity and caution. I met his gaze directly, my response poised and calculated.

"It's a simple dinner," I replied, injecting a note of nonchalance. "Just a way to ensure a smooth interaction between Marcel and the President. No hidden agendas."

Mencken's gaze lingered, a silent exchange of understanding and unspoken challenges. "Keep it professional, vögelchen. This isn't a social club; it's politics."

A sardonic smile played on my lips as I met Mencken's gaze head-on. "When have we ever played by the rules, Mencken?" I retorted, injecting a touch of mockery into my tone. "Politics is just another game, and I'm simply playing my hand."

Mencken's expression remained unreadable, a subtle acknowledgment of the unspoken truth. With a nod, he continued down the corridor, leaving me with a sense of defiance that simmered beneath the surface.

_____________________________________________________________

The days leading up to the anticipated dinner were filled with a mix of excitement and trepidation. It was as if I was preparing for an unexpected rendezvous, unsure of what the encounter might reveal. The rational part of me scoffed at the idea of a simple dinner having any profound impact, yet the subtle flutter in my chest suggested otherwise.

When Marcel Reynaud's arrival day came I found myself at the airfield, playing the role of the welcoming committee. My task was to explain the media aspects, subtly weaving ATN's interests into the narrative of the state visit.

Mencken stood beside the First Lady, extending a welcoming hand to Marcel and his mother, Brigitte. "Welcome to the capital, President Reynaud, Ms. Sadier. We're honored to have you."

Marcel shook Mencken's hand firmly, and Brigitte exchanged a few words with the First Lady, which was a miracle. She lately has been speaking of such irrelevant and unexpected subjects that it was impossible to get to the bottom of what was worrying her.

At moments she was cheerful, but for the most part, she was thoughtful, though she did not know herself what she was thinking about. She would suddenly begin to talk of something and then she would suddenly break off and cease speaking, responding to further questions with a vacant smile, without being conscious herself that she was being questioned or that she was smiling. It took an entire task force of uppers and therapists to get her ready for this. By the looks of Brigitte, she was not all impressed.

As the group engaged in polite conversation while nearing me and the team, Mencken's eyes occasionally flickered in my direction, a subtle acknowledgment of my presence.

"Bonjour, President Reynaud. Welcome to Washington," I greeted him with a smile, adding a subtle flirtatious tone to my words. “I’m Harriet from ATN, and I’m glad to be finally meeting you in person.”

"Ah, Harriet, the pleasure is mine. Please, call me Marcel. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he responded, reciprocating with a charming smile that didn't escape Mencken's watchful eyes.

"Now, let me walk you through our media strategy during your stay. We want to ensure this visit is not only impactful but also strategically covered."

Marcel nodded, his attention unwavering despite the diplomatic pleasantries. "I appreciate the effort, Harriet. Your insights will undoubtedly make a difference."

As we concluded our briefing, I noticed a shift in Mencken's demeanor. His eyes narrowed slightly, a silent plea for subtlety. Ignoring the unspoken request, I gestured toward the waiting motorcade.

"Shall we? The convoy is ready to take us to the heart of the capital."

Brigitte gracefully entered the car with the First Lady, leaving Marcel and me to follow suit. As we stepped into the vehicle, Mencken's voice, low and tinged with jealousy, reached my ears.

“Can you at least try to be subtle? It’s childish and pathetic.”

I smirked, catching his gaze. "Subtlety is overrated, Mencken."

Ignoring his disapproving stare, I settled into the car. The air crackled like a brewing storm with unspoken thoughts and veiled intentions.

_____________________________________________________________

In the intricate tapestry of diplomatic engagements, Marcel Reynaud's visit to the United States unfolded like a grand theater production, each scene brimming with political intrigue and subtle flirtations. As I waded through the sea of formalities, the air crackled with anticipation, ripe with the promise of Franco-American collaboration and the undercurrent of personal connections.

Amidst the polished halls of power, Marcel, a master of charm and wit, engaged in discussions with our Vice President, Samuel Bennett, at NASA's headquarters. Accompanied by the enigmatic Brigitte, his unconventional yet captivating First Lady, Marcel ventured into the vibrant heart of Washington's cultural scene. At the Duke Ellington School of the Arts, Brigitte's presence infused the air with an aura of elegance and intrigue, her effortless grace drawing admirers like moths to a flame.

Meanwhile, our conversations during a working lunch on climate and biodiversity with US Climate Envoy Richard Thompson took on a playful tone, punctuated by quips and innuendos that danced on the edge of propriety.

"So, Mr. Reynaud, while we save the planet, do you have any guilty pleasures to confess?" I teased, a mischievous glint in my eye.

Marcel chuckled, his response dripping with subtle flirtation, "Ah, Mademoiselle Harriet, the most tempting indulgence would be to explore the hidden delights of Washington with you once our work is done."

As the day unfolded, Marcel's visit to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at Arlington National Cemetery was a poignant reminder of the shared sacrifices that bound our nations together. Amidst the solemnity, a shared glance between us spoke volumes, our unspoken connection weaving through the somber silence.

At the French Embassy, Marcel's impassioned speech about the US role in World War II stirred the depths of our shared history. After he awarded the Legion d'Honneur to deserving veterans, our banter continued, a playful reprieve from the weight of the moment.

As the veterans, now adorned with the prestigious medal, mingled with the dignitaries, Marcel and I found a quiet corner away from the ceremonial spotlight. The room seemed to fade away while our whispered French words hid beneath the symphony of polite conversation.

In a more relaxed manner, I leaned closer, the scent of his cologne mingling with the fragrant aroma of the room. "Your words tonight were truly moving, Marcel," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the soft murmur of conversation.

His eyes, alight with passion, held mine captive. "Thank you, Harriet. It means a great deal coming from you," he replied, his tone sincere yet tinged with a hint of something more.

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he cast a playful glance towards Mencken, who observed the proceedings from a distance. "Unlike some, I prefer speeches that speak to the heart, not just the ego," he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Our laughter, a shared symphony, resonated through the embassy. Mencken, relegated to the sidelines, watched our interaction with a growing sense of frustration. His eyes, usually sharp and assertive, now betrayed a hint of jealousy as he observed us.

Meanwhile, my phone buzzed with a message. Glancing discreetly, I saw Mencken's name on the screen. The message read, "A bit too cozy with the French, aren't we?”

I couldn't help but smirk. Ignoring the message, I continued my conversation with Marcel, our laughter carrying through the embassy like a secret shared between conspirators.

As the guests began to disperse, Mencken approached, a forced smile on his face. "Quite the performance tonight," he remarked low enough for me to hear, his tone attempting nonchalance but failing to mask the underlying tension.

Marcel, ever the diplomat, extended a hand to Mencken. "President Mencken, a pleasure to be in your country."

Mencken's handshake was firm, but his eyes bore into mine. "The pleasure is ours, President Reynaud."

Marcel's departure was marked by a subtle yet lingering glance, promising more encounters. Once he and his entourage left, Mencken turned to me with a raised eyebrow. "A bit too friendly, don't you think?"

I responded with a shrug, "It's called diplomacy, Mencken. Something you might want to learn."

#succession #jeryd mencken #jeryd mencken x reader #succession fanficion #succession fanfic #justin kirk #succession hbo #swann arlaud #is the french prez

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vvxgs · 7 months

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𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗦 𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗜𝗡 ── CHARLES L.

°˖✧˚ SYNOPSIS — ❝Y/N understood quantum physics, but Charles Leclerc was a true mystery to her.❞

°˖✧˚ PAIRING — Y/N && Charles Leclerc.

°˖✧˚ WARNINGS — mentions of guns and drastic interrogation methods.

°˖✧˚ A/N — i might turn this into something (full fic maybe?), but for now, enjoy whatever the hell this au! is. please remember that english is not my first language! errors and weird senteces might appear.

The chilling silence hung in the air, freezing blood in their veins. The room was consumed by an eerie stillness, broken only by the muffled sound of a shooter's boot hitting the floor. It shattered the tangible silence, disrupted by uneven breaths tainted with nervousness. Nothing was disturbing the lethargy, driven by the desperate determination to succeed in the operation. Not even the urge to reach for the rifle slung over the shoulder. Clouds of smoke accompanied the men, dispersed by the retreating night and replaced by the pinkish hue of the rising sun on the horizon. The exhaled air left behind only a fleeting, foggy memory, devoid of any imagery.

"Clear.", came the slightly distorted voice, illuminated by the red glow of the dashboard. A makeshift map with blood-colored markers denoting soldiers from his unit, was displayed on a small screen, about a dozen inches in size. All eyes in the vehicle turned to him, a gaze he could feel even without acknowledging anyone. Without hesitation, he nodded, opening the side doors and pushing his hair away from his forehead.

"Get inside and make sure the target doesn't call for help.", he replied coolly, extending his leg out of the black van. Its makeshift ordinariness was merely a cover, a tiny detail in the grand scheme of the clandestine operation. He felt no scent of doubt, no impulse of weakness that could shake his unwavering confidence in his abilities. After all, infiltrating the enemy's capital to abduct a few local geniuses was not extraordinary, right?

Just a few swift, measured steps brought them to the emotionally charged house, practically a mansion, bestowed upon another nerd by the state in exchange for silence and obedience to the law. The thought of all these geniuses devoid of any values, selfishly envisioning a future tainted by the state's poison, filled him with pure disgust. The morality instilled in him by growing up among revolutionaries could never comprehend such behavior. This community was dying at the monarchy's behest, and those who could help traded their skills for a comfortable and prosperous life. They had indeed set an interesting price for human life.

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, which bore no resemblance to the navy blue uniform adorned with badges. In a moment, he crossed the threshold of the building. It wasn't his first time intercepting a 'genius,' so the exclusivity failed to impress him. Besides, the Empire sent enough money to silence their power, balancing the environment he moved in. Soon, he heard the hurried footsteps of one of his subordinates, which turned out to be accompanied by others. Female, he noted after a while. The only thing that amused him was shooter's glove in the hostage's mouth.

He measured her with a stern look, leaning in and grimacing in displeasure.

"Year after year, they make less of an impression, Ms. Y/S.", he remarked, referring to the mediocrity of the woman . "I hope your mind isn't as dull as your face."

His forearms unconsciously crossed over his chest, while his index finger, supported by his elbow, rubbed the space between his brows, expressing his dissatisfaction with the current situation. It was so straightforward yet convoluted that his desire to be here vanished faster than ever before, if one didn't classify the obvious reluctance that emerged beforehand.

"Mr. Leclerc, you are in serious trouble. My father won't be pleased when he finds out about everything.", Y/N said.

"I'll blow your brains out and damage your organs so severely that no doctor will be able to help you before he does anything."

"I'd like to see you try to pull the trigger, Charles."

Y/N knew him too well. How could he shoot his first love? His beloved who, after breaking his heart, made his whole life feel like he was inhaling flowers that had no scent?

#charles leclerc #cl #charles #leclerc #charles leclerc ff #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x female reader #formula racing #scuderia ferrari #ferrari

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wrath-ruin-reddawn · 2 years

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Genuinely cannot get over how perfect Halbrand as a name is I would like to give the writer who came up with it a huge kiss.

Like, in the most common Sindarin interpretation, the name consists of the elements hall- "exalted, high" and brand "noble, admirable, fine." HOWEVER, hall- can also mean "veiled, hidden, or shadowed." Already, just at first pass, it's a great name for a Sauron in disguise, because it captures a duality and ambiguity that keeps you guessing, just like the character himself. It's also a callback to Sauron's first name, Mairon, which means "admirable."

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!

Tolkien often took name roots with Germanic origins for his human characters, particularly the Middle Men. In Old English, hal can mean "a secret place" or "whole, undivided" and brand can mean either "torch" or "sword"--a good combination of meanings, given that the entire Southlands arc revolves around a "lost king" uniting his country, only for it to be consumed in fire by a sword being put in a secret lock. Plus, there's the combination of "torch" and "sword" in brand that evokes smithing, especially with the more Modern English use of a "brand" being a mark that is made with heated metal.

And we're not done yet!

In Old Norse, the name element hall comes from hallr "stone, slab," and much like in Old English brandr means "sword, torch." Again, "stone sword" is a very apt name given that putting the hilt in stone is the way to open the floodgates. AND, I don't think it's any coincidence that there's another famous lost king who pulls a sword from a stone... yeah, they snuck a King Arthur reference in there!

Some linguistics nerd on the team really went, "I am going to give this dude the NAMIEST NAME THAT HAS EVER NAMED. It is going to be multilayered and work in several languages and remain just ambiguous enough that even if people [read: me] are crazy enough to look up its meanings they won't get a definitive answer." And that was so sexy of them, my hat is off to them for doing a fantastic job.

#the rings of power #trop #trop meta #HALBRAND #WHAT A NAME I AM STILL NOT OVER IT #I'm thinking I should do a series breaking down the name meanings for all of the show only characters what do y'all think?

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burninface · 8 days

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Weekly Tag Wednesday - the Google Search Edition

Thank you for tagging me! @creepkinginc and @lingy910y

name: face

where in the world is carmen sandiego? (or you) I know there's an animation called this name but I had never seen it so idk

ok, so this week we are going to snoop into your google search. type in wach phrase and tell us what the first suggestion is that google gives you!

what is the best way to… learn a language? This looks like a question I'd like to ask but I didn't search this.

where can i… get a money order? I'm not traveling to another country so it's unnecessary for me to know🤨

how old is… taylor swift? guess this is the most frequently asked question by people around the world haha

how long does it take… to meaning. never searched this but as a non-native speaker I do often search some english phrases + meaning...

how many… weeks in a year? 365/7≈(350+14)/7=50+2=52. and the answer is ≈52.177457 weeks, ok I'm that nerd🤓

who set the record for… the longest rock concert in the united states? Bruce Springsteen, oh ok got it

when did… when did vnl 2023 start. finally something I truly ever googled😌

what does it feel like to…fall in love reddit. hey as a litho I have no chance to fall in love so I can only look for references from time to time.

can you… drink distilled water? pretty sure you can!

when you… finish saving the world. don't know this movie at all🤔

why do… baby owl sleep face down. actually I knew the anwser (cause their heads are too heavy), I googled this two days ago only because I want to find the original article to get this cute picture: (hey s1 mick are you a baby owl?)

is there a way… to save karlach. this is everyone's default preferred question, but I love karlach and do want to save her if I play bg3 that much.

how old do you have to be… to gamble

where do the… warriors play

what is the best time to… post on instagram. it said between 7 a.m. and 8 a.m. on weekdays, really?? where's 7 a.m. and 8 a.m.??

and to finish us off… what comes up when you type in shameless? shameless gallaghers ages. it's for my 6 Gallaghers + 2 Milkoviches dessins d'enfant project haha (and I still got it wrong😅

tagging @em-harlsnow @thepupperino @deathclassic @piefrans @mmmichyyy @spookygingerr @deedala @blue-disco-lights @mickeym4ndy @doshiart @atthedugouts @vintagelacerosette @ms-moonlight-inn hey my mutual friends! <3

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thepringlesofblood · 11 months

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An Incomplete Collection of Calorum Etymology Shenanigans

A Crown of Candy has a LOT of food puns, and with more presumably on the way with The Ravening War, I don’t think it’s possible to catalogue them all.

However, if we take the ones in plain English as given, (e.g. Oliver Onionpatch is an onion, Primsy Coldbottle is a bottle), that lightens the load significantly enough that a catalogue of Calorum wordplay becomes possible.

This will be a (non-comprehensive) list of characters, place names, and more that have hidden meanings or food-related etymology

spoilers for ACOC and TRW, naturally.

disclaimer: I am not an expert on words, but I do know a lot of weird nerd shit, as well as a decent chunk of ancient Greek and Latin as I’m majoring in classics (the study of the ancient mediterranean). I might not get everything right, but I’m doing my best. verify your sources, kids

I actually made a post like this before, but it was mostly place names, so I’m sorting this one into categories

Locations

A Crown of Candy

PCs

NPCs

Etc.

The Ravening War

PCs

NPCs

Etc.

LOCATIONS

Ceresia - this is the one that genuinely impresses me the most. Ceres is the Roman goddess of wheat, the harvest, and agriculture. English has her to thank for the word “cereal”. Each nation is clearly themed for a specific real-world country, with Ceresia being Italy. So, Brennan used the Roman version of the goddess (w the Greek version being Demeter). That’s dope as hell.  

Calorum - you probably can associate this with the word “calorie” but it goes deeper. The word “calorie” refers to the unit of energy, and derives from the Latin calor, caloris meaning “heat” or “warmth”

-orum is the genitive plural in latin - so, calorum lit. translates to “of heat [calories]”, but you could totally translate it as an adjective meaning “made of heat [calories]”

TLDR: the name of the food land is “made of calories” in Latin, that’s AWESOME

Fructera - kind of obvious, but if you want to know the Latin, this is from fructus, fructus which can mean many things, including “produce” “crops” and “fruit”

Dulcington - dulce, dulcis is a word for sweets/a sweet drink in Latin

Sucrosi - sucrose is a main chemical compound in sugar, w the word deriving from the French word for sugar, sucre.

Glucian Road - from glucose, a simple sugar that’s in most living things statistically.

Frucian Road - from fructose, a very similar simple sugar present mostly in fruit. I think it’s kind of cool that the crossroads of the road to Fructera and the road to Candia emphasize the thing they have in common - sugar.

Pangranos - “pan” is bread in several languages, and the “gran” part likely alludes to words derived from “grain,” like “granary.”

then the -os ending recalls ancient Greek naming conventions and grammar (think “Alexandros” or “Mykonos”) many of which carried over into Roman times (though many were also changed to -us for alphabet reasons, hence why we normally see “Patroclus” “Dionysus” and “Hephaestus” instead of the more literal spellings “Patroklos” “Dionysos” and “Hephaistos” it’s a big ol fuckin controversy in ancient Greek translation)

Lacramor - here’s the thing. we all know lactose is in milk (coming from the Latin lac, lactis for milk). but lacrimal means tears, or related to tears (coming from the Latin lacrima, lacrimae for tears).

(update: I went DEEP in the paint on this one, and there’s a protein called lactoferrin that exists in all human secretions (gross) including milk, tears, and saliva. intriguing…) 

(updatier update: fuck. he probably just meant amor like Spanish & Latin for “love” so the milk city is called “love of milk.”)

Carn - a more obvious one, especially if you speak Spanish or any of the other romance languages that use this word - carnis, carnis in Latin and carne in Spanish mean “meat”

Uvano - they’re. they’re grapes. and. uva is grape. both in Latin and Spanish. nice one

Comida - the Spanish word for food. it will forever irritate me that they pronounce it like it’s an English word (COM-ih-duh) not the Spanish word that it is (coh-MEE-da) but it makes sense - Brennan mentioned in a  n interview that it’s an allusion to how colonizers (specifically the English) would bastardize local place names until the original pronunciation is lost.

The Verduran Forest - straight up a location from pathfinder. also, “verdure” is an English word meaning “growing vegetation”, or the color of it, or the condition of health and liveliness it implies. comes from old French verd (green) by way of Latin viridis (green). Spanish also has a hand on this ball with verde (green).

The Sangre - Blood! sangre is blood. In Spanish. And French.

Gristlemar - “mar” is a Latin root used in a lot of things to mean the ocean (deriving from mare, maris = sea/ocean), so it’s a sea of gristle. gross! I love it!

Saprophus - likely either from “saprophyte”, something that feeds off the dead, or “saprophagus”, an adjective meaning “feeding on decaying matter”

Greek roots!

sapros- = rotten, putrid

-phyton = plant/“that which is grown”

-phagos = eat/consume

A CROWN OF CANDY

PCs

The Rocks Family - One thing that’s not Latin exactly but is really cool is that almost everyone in the Rocks family is named after an actual rock - like, a gemstone - and most of them are rock candy (or of course poprocks in Amethar’s case)

Archmage Lazuli - pretty obvious, lapis lazuli is a beautiful blue gemstone

Sister Citrina - citrine is a yellow gemstone

Princess Sapphria - sapphires are usually blue but can come in a bunch of other colors which i didn’t know! fun fact

King Jadain - jade - a lovely green gemstone

King Amethar - amethyst - p obvious, he’s purple and all (credit to Lou!)

Princess/Bastard Ruby - i don’t have to explain this one to you (credit to Siobhan!)

Princess/Bastard Jet - I was surprised to find out that Jet is actually a type of lignite - it’s like coal, but so compressed it becomes a gemstone. hence the phrase “jet-black” (credit to Emily!)

the exceptions to this are Cumulous (which like, that’s a cloud and he’s a cotton candy man, makes total sense) and General Rococoa - I can’t fault Brennan for the pun there, and technically Rococo is a style of jewelry (among other things) that can include a lot of different gemstones so there’s a loose connection there.

Queen Pamelia Rocks was Fructeran and from House Pomegrana originally so like. she gets a pass from the rock puns.

however...you ever wondered why its “Pamelia” instead of the way more common “Pamela”? they actually changed it in TRW so that “Pamela” is one of her nicknames bc straight up no one calls her Pamelia at the table.

2 thoughts, one more likely than the other

1. this is Brennan making fun of George RR Martin for minutely altering a common name to make a Fantasy Name, which he’s done before, e.g. Belizabeth, Bonathan.

2. the ancient Greek μέλι, μέλιτος (meli, melitos) and the Latin mel, mellis both mean “honey” or, when used as an adjective, “sweet”, usually translated as “honey-sweet”, famously the adjective used to describe the pomegranate seed that Hades gives Persephone. hehe pomegranate

so. th.there’s strength in sweetness amiright fellas?

update: thank you to @trans-leek-cookie for the info that "pomegranate” and “garnet” share a few root words! in fact, it’s possible that the gemstone was named because of its resemblance to the fruit!

pomegranate etymology

Latin granatus, granata, granatum = an adjective meaning “containing many seeds”, used in conjunction with pomum (fruit) to mean “pomegranate”, which later leads to:

Medieval Latin granatum, granati = pomegranate (a fruit with many seeds in it)

garnet etymology

Old French grenate, gernatte, granate = garnet/of a dark red color

which comes from the same Medieval Latin granatum used as an adjective to describe something dark red like a pomegranate seed

conclusion: you are not immune to rock puns just bc you’re a fruit

Chancellor Lapin Cadbury - bet you didn’t think this was anything, right? Lapin is the French word for rabbit. Hence, why it’s pronounced la-PAN not LAP-in. And of course Cadbury, like the chocolate brand that is primarily famous for its eggs & rabbits & easter stuff. (credit to Zac!)

Sir Theobald Gumbar - as far as I can tell, the only funny bit here is the whole gummy bear = gumbar bit. I will say that he is a knight of North Gumbia, which is likely a reference to Northumbria, a medieval Anglo-Saxon kingdom. (credit to Murph!)

update: thank you to @sanguidge for pointing out the Theo - Theodore - Teddy - teddy bear connection! to borrow Gooey’s words, Sir Theo is in fact a big soft squishy bear.

Liam Wilhemina - Wilhemina is a brand of peppermint from the Netherlands ^v^ (credit to Ally!)

Queen Saccharina Frostwhip - references the word “saccharine” meaning “overly sweet” from the Latin saccharum meaning “sugar” (credit to Emily!)

Cumulous Rocks - we mentioned it earlier, but “cumulous” refers to a kind of cloud that is very puffy and fluffy and white and looks, tbh, like white cotton candy. hell yeah. (credit to Zac!)

NPCs

Commander Constano Grissini - grissini is literally the Italian word for breadsticks (not the big soft olive garden ones, the thin crispy ones). Constano is a very ancient Roman name, which fits.

Pontifex Belizabeth Brassica - refers to the genus (Brassica oleracera) that broccoli belongs to , and “Pontifex” is a Roman title, given to basically a high priest who is the political and religious power and representation of the gods will - they’re the ones who make sure everyone’s worshipping the right way, sort of like the pope but for ancient Rome.

Basha Myaso - myaso is Russian for meat, though the Meatlands are supposedly based off of ancient Celts. Much like with Belizabeth & Bonathan, Brennan likes to change one letter of a common name to make fun of George RR Martin. This could easily be him changing “Sasha” to “Basha”

Sir Keradin Deeproot- that fuckin carrot. so you’re probably thinking huh that sounds like keratin, the stuff our hair and fingernails are made out of, right? guess what. “keratin” and “carrot” share a common root word - keras, the Greek word for “horn” that’s a DEEP cut, brennan.  

Dracoria Azucar (aka Cinnamon) - azúcar is Spanish for “sugar” which is cool bc Cinnamon is inspired by Mexican hot chocolate. then draco = dragon in Latin, like the constellation

Spearia Mentha - its spearmint. mentha = the genus for the mint plant.

this one’s a stretch and probably not intended but just for funsies: mentha is from the Greek μίνθα, which comes from an interesting not very well-known myth about a nymph/naiad named Minthe.

nymphs and naiads are representations of nature, naiads being spirits of water and other nymphs represent trees, plants, and other organisms in nature, which to me really evokes Spearia’s whole vibe. there’s other stuff with Minthe and non-monogamy but not in a particularly positive way :/

ETC.

“Senator” and “Imperator” being used for Ceresia parallel the Roman system of government - as does the country swinging b/w ineffective democracy and destructive imperatorship lol.

Plus Senator Ciabatta being a war hero turned senator who then got popular enough to make himself emperor/tyrant/imperator is extremely Roman - that shit happens ALL THE TIME in ancient Roman history.

This might be nothing, but I think it’s funny that the Concord was founded by a grape. You know, like Concord grapes?

update: like a year after posting this I finally figured out what the Ramsian Doctrine and the Prophidian Heresy are from.

“Ramsian” is a reference to Gordon Ramsey, a popular TV chef who famously promotes the use of fresh, farm-to-table ingredients.

“Prophidian” is a shortening of “pro-ophidian”, with “ophidian” meaning “snake-like” or “relating to snakes”. The Christian devil is often represented as a snake, due to the myth of the Garden of Eden, and the Hungry One is Calorum’s version of the devil, so it’s basically “pro-Hungry One” because the Prophidian Heresy states that the Hungry One is as powerful as the bulb.

(personally I’ve always thought snakes got the short end of the stick here, they’re very chill and interesting creatures and the whole devil iconography thing kind of ruined their reputation. I am personally Prophidian in that I am pro-snakes. snake rights!)

update: forgot about backup PCs lol

Sir Amanda Maillard - the Maillard reaction is the name for the reaction food does when in contact with heat where it gets crispy and good - like smores, like she is. 10/10

Bitternight Darknibs - since her thing is she sold her sugar for power and is thus unsweetened cacao, the “darkness” theming alludes to how we rate chocolate according to how “dark” it is based on how much sugar and milk is added.

chocolate with 0 sugar (aka baking chocolate) is “100% dark” and is not good to eat with your mouth, being very bitter. hence, “bitter” “night” and “dark”

“nibs” alludes to chocolate in an less processed form - cocoa beans get roasted and cracked open to create “nibs”, which get ground up and melted and separated and recombined and things are added to make chocolate (this is where it makes a difference how much sugar you add).

Murdo Brer - our molasses necromancer has “Brer” most likely as a reference to the brand Brer Rabbit Molasses. the fact that he’s a necromancer who lives in a swamp is also interesting to me.

cw: discussion of dead bodies, enbalming, & mummies in the links

swamps are extremely good at preserving dead things, which is a little like necromancy, which I think is cool.

for some reason I had it in my head that putting a dead body in molasses preserves it really well, but when I went to get sources I couldn’t find shit. maybe I was conflating the great molasses flood with how honey has historically been used in enbalming? lmk if you know what I’m thinking of, I was like fully convinced of this fact until I went to find info on it.

murph’s bubblegum monster wasn’t named sadly :/

THE RAVENING WAR

PCs (I went through some of this in another post but that was in reaction to the trailer before episodes started actually coming out lol)

Colin Provolone - Provolone is a kind of cheese. Colin is a name of Irish/Scottish origin. It’s nice to have one simple one. I will say I’ve seen several people point out that provolone goes really well on a pastrami rueben (which our boy below is!) so that’s fun! (credit to Zac!)

Thane Delissandro Katzon - Thank you @blueaerin (among many others) for your post about how this is most likely a reference to Katz’s Delicatessan, a famous deli in NYC! I never would’ve know that. I’m also told they specialize in pastrami rueben on rye, which we now know is what Deli is, since Lou’s description in the first episode! Then we have “thane”, which in Anglo-Saxon culture, is a title of a landowner, specifically someone who was gifted land by a king. y’all who read Macbeth know this one! (credit to Lou!)

Bishop Raphaniel Charlock - the scientific name for wild radish is Raphanus raphanistrum, so that’s probably where Raphaniel came from. wild radish has two other names - “jointed charlock” and “white charlock”. So there we go. Your typical red radish (as Brennan described his character to look like) is a subspecies of Raphanus raphanistrum called sativus. but! even MORE interesting! you know what order and family radishes are in? the order Brassicales in the family Brassicaceae! This could be 100% unintentional, there’s a LOT of vegetables in the family Brassicaceae, but I remain optimistic. also thanks to @tenoroutoften for the info that Raphael Warnock is a senator & religious leader in Georgia rn! (credit to Brennan!)

Lady Amangeaux Epiceé du Peche - She is a mango! French for mango = la mangue. Amangeaux = sounds like “a mango”, and does contain the French word for “I eat” (mange). Epiceé = spicy (can be used as slang for y’know. spICY) and du Peche = of peach (her house prior to marrying King Cardoon) (credit to Anjali!)

Karna Solara - we know now (thanks @quiddie!) that “Karna” refers to her being a Carolina Reaper pepper! For her last name, chili peppers do come from the order Solanales in the family Solanaceae. there’s also solar -> sun, which makes for some interesting implications, given that generally The Bulb = the sun and her power is extremely not Bulbian. lots of fun sun imagery this campaign! (credit to Aabria!)

NPCs

King Arthur Cardoon - Cynara cardunculus, also known as the artichoke thistle or the cardoon, is a flowering plant from which the artichoke is cultivated. people eat cardoons too though.

also, his name being Arthur could be an allusion to his wife being unfaithful (see: the whole Arthur/Guinevere/Lancelot love triangle of Arthurian legend), as well as being alliterative with the word “artichoke” itself.

Ja’Crudite/Jacques Crudites - it’s spelled both ways in the subtitles in different episodes. Crudités = French appetizers that are mostly raw vegetables, sometimes sliced or cut, usually with dip. Carrots feature prominently, but usually as carrot sticks, not the whole carrot, in an interesting departure from other carrot-based characters in Calorum. Also interesting since carrots are traditionally Vegetanian and his French name implies that he’s Fructeran.

if it is “Ja’Crudite”, it’s probably a pun off of the phrase “J’accuse!” which is French for “I accuse!”

Dammit, now I’m curious - does Ja’Crudite have “hair” (leaves) like Keradin and the infamous zealot from TRW e5, if he’s a carrot stick rather than a full carrot?

Senator Enzo Carbano, Tribune of the Fusilli

Enzo - Italian name

at first I was like ‘wait is that a pasta?’ nope I was thinking of orzo

Carbano - likely derived from pasta carbonara, or from “carbohydrates” in general.

Fusili - a twisty noodle. Not famous for carbonara but you can very much use it that way

Tribune - another ancient Roman government title. typically, a tribune is a representative of the plebeians, sometimes from a specific area. It’s usually a way lower ranking role than senator, mostly bc it was one of the only ways a plebeian could get into goverment. seems like they combined it so each senator gets a little area to rule over represent - v cool!

Senator Ariana Gemelli, Tribune of Triscutia

Ariana - Greco-Roman name

Gemelli - another fun twisty pasta

Triscutia - could be referring to Triscuits. if you’re wondering about the Latin, a scutum is a kind of shield, so with the tri- bit, maybe thrice-shielded? I think it’s the Triscuits.

Sir Allium Goldring, Knight of the Burning Basket - I included the burning basket bit bc it implies an order of deep-fried veggie knights, which is hilarious. “Allium” is the name for a genus of plants including onions, garlic, shallots, leeks, chives, etc.

If you’re thinking “but wait, isn’t that a flower?” you are correct, another name for the allium flower is “ornamental onion”. it’s one of those classifications that applies to a bajillion things, like Brassica.

ETC.

they don’t mention “Pontifex” as a religious title in the ravening war.

The highest ranking Bulbian church official we run into is the Archbishop Camille Colliflour. Which is interesting, considering that we run into a whole bunch of Archbishops in ACOC (Alfredi, Onionpatch, Radicca Rutabaga who you probably forgot about), all of who seem to be high-ranking but nowhere near the level of the Pontifex

But what’s interesting about that, is. “Pontifex” is a very Roman title. and the church doesn’t start using until a. they grow more powerful and b. Vegetania allies with Ceresia under Imperator Focaccia during the war. So it’s a Roman loan-word bc Ceresia = Rome = Empire. fuck dude.

update: thank you to @trans-leek-cookie for pointing out a brief mention of the Pontifex in ep 1!

Colliflour mentions consulting the Pontifex about Tomaté’s claim to the throne, and Tomaté himself mentions the “plight of the Pontifex and his followers” earlier on in the episode while talking to Raphaniel.

so there is a Pontifex, but we know extremely little about him, except that he is a him, and doesn’t seem to be very involved in the goings-on of the Ravening War. it probably became a more important position post-war as the Bulbian church rose to power.

update: forgot about backup PCs lol

Lady Melys of House Manuka - like I said before, the ancient Greek μέλι, μέλιτος (meli, melitos) and the Latin mel, mellis both mean “honey”, and manuka honey is a special type of honey from the manuka (or mānuka) tree in New Zealand. mānuka is a Māori word, hell yeah, break the chokehold that romance languages have on food puns!

Zhyr Kaban - another rebel against romance languages, in the BTS Brennan mentions that this means ‘boar fat’ in Ukrainian (жир кабан), and as far as I can tell, he’s right! dope

Kahfeer Activian Balfour - “kefir” is a kind of probiotic yogurt drink (though pronounced like keh-FEER), and he a yogurt man. in the BTS Lou mentions they weren’t sure if he could be named Activia like the yogurt brand, so they had a backup last name “Balfour”, which may allude to Balfour farm dairy in Maine, which sells yogurt and cheeses (though not kefir).

Granny Pom and Flaky Smuthers are pretty straightforward etymologically speaking, though excellent names in their own right of course.

hmu if you can think of any other fun ones or if i fucked up anything or if any of the links are busted on this monster of a post lol

#dnd #d20 #dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #d20 spoilers #trw #trw spoilers #the ravening war spoilers #the ravening war #acoc #acoc spoilers #original post #ongoing #etymology

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dutifullynuttywitch · 2 months

Text

Close Call - Part 1

Wake the Dead

Pairing: Eva Archer x Troy Hassan

Rating: Teen (cw swearing)

Word count: 2,000

Summary: Eva is terrified that something may have happened to Brynn while out scouting.

A/N: Wake the Dead AU, takes place before WTD events. Can be read as a single shot, builds on my previous WtD fics Starlit nights, Sisterly Advice.

Art by the supremely talented @oh-so-youre-a-nerd 💛

Tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations @wakethedead-group-re-read

Eva paces back and forth nervously across the small room she shared with Brynn.

Her sister and her crew were out on a scouting expedition a days’ drive from the Tower. They had been expected back three days ago. It wasn’t the first time they’d been delayed, forced to lay low after encountering too many drones or car issues. But they’d always radio back.

Not this time.

Her mind hadn’t stopped spinning through increasingly dire scenarios as the hours went by. She’d gone through her pest control shifts on autopilot and spent the nights wide awake, too worried to sleep. Staring at that damned door, willing her sister to barge through it with her typical bravado and yet another hair-raising story to tell.

She feels a bubble of panic constrict her chest. She has to do something.

Squaring her shoulders, Eva strides across the crowded hallways over to the airlock entrance. She spots Andrew Scott, head of scouting units in a heated discussion with one of Blackstock’s goons.

“ – been having some radio issues but hopefully comms’ll be up and running again in no time. That damned antenna’s on its last leg…”

“Hey! Andrew! When the hell are you going to send a crew out there to help my sister?”

Andrew whirls around, a sympathetic look etched across his features.

“Eva –”

He’s interrupted by Blackstock’s lackey.

“Watch your language, you insolent brat. We’re not going to put another crew in danger because you decided to throw a little temper tantrum. Now run along unless you want to be put on waste disposal for the month.”

Furious, she rounds on the little man.

“Listen here, asshole, my sister and her friends are the reason the Tower even has resources like medicine, food, weapons. They risk their necks every day for this colony and you’re just gonna leave them out there?”

Andrew intervenes just as the now red-faced man signals over to two burly guards.

“Oookay, okay Eva, Melvin, let’s everyone take a deep breath. No need to escalate things, I’ll handle her.”

“Deal with her, Scott, or I will.”

The little man stares daggers at her before stalking away haughtily.

Andrew waits a beat before turning his focus back to her.

“Eva, how long have we known each other? Ya need to trust me to look out for my crew. I already asked a team to detour to Brynn’s last known location yesterday. But this, pissing off the higher-ups – not helping. You gotta tone it down. Especially if you still want to join our team in a few years.”

The towering man squeezes her shoulder sympathetically.

“I’m sorry, Andrew. I’m just really worried about Brynn… Please let me know as soon as you have news?”

“Of course. Now scram before you get us into any more hot water.”

Eva slowly walks back, dejected. She detours by the supply depot, hoping to run into Troy.

“Hey, Archer! Been wondering when I’d see your pretty face around here.”

Troy’s bright smile quickly turns into a concerned frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Brynn, she… they’ve gone missing.”

He steps out from behind the counter and wraps her in a tight hug. Eva melts into his warm embrace, letting his familiar scent surround and comfort her.

Troy’s heart breaks for her. He’s used to seeing her so strong, fearless. But right now, she feels small and fragile in his arms.

He tightens his hold on her, burying his face in her hair. She smells good, with just a hint of lavender from the contraband soaps he’d gifted her.

That scent had been driving him crazy for months.

He’s been captivated by Eva for years now, really, if he’s honest with himself.

Troy is not exactly sure when their friendship had blossomed into something more for him.

It had been gradual.

He first noticed those lovely dimples whenever she smiled. The way her blue eyes sparkled with mischief when she thought of a new prank to drive her sister up the walls.

He started getting unpleasant pangs of jealousy whenever Eva dated other men.

But it was that first evening he took her stargazing months ago, alone out on that windy balcony, Eva wrapped snuggly in his arms, he’d come to the realization he had truly fallen for his best friend.

And it had terrified him.

Eva and Brynn were the most important people he had in the world. Ever since he pantsed little Eva Archer back in first grade.

She had stolen his ration bar; Troy had reacted without thinking. After the initial shock had passed, Eva pulled her pants back on and ran after him like a little devil, yelling in outrage. Backed into a wall and terrified of this tiny red-haired tornado, Troy quickly apologized. She sized him up for a moment, then said “I’m not gonna hurt you, silly!” Little Eva wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug and gave him back the bar. He broke it in half, “Here, lets share.” From that moment, they had been inseparable.

Brynn, noticing their camaraderie and realizing Troy was all alone in the Tower, started looking out for him. She’d invite him along for meals, making sure he had his rations. Got him new clothes when his were becoming too worn down. Scolded him and Eva when they got into trouble – which was a regular occurrence. And, more recently, nagged him for his not-so-legal hobbies.

They had become his chosen family.

What if he fucked it all up?

He had a tendency to do just that, as his exes would point out.

Plus, there was the little matter of the side hustle he ran behind Blackstock’s back. God forbid they’d associate Eva too closely with him if things went south.

“Hey, watch it!”

The sudden bustle of people at change of shift snaps him back to reality.

Reminds him he’s standing in the middle of a busy hallway with an upset Eva in his arms.

He releases her clumsily, trying to clear the unwelcomed thoughts.

Troy ushers her into the confines of the supply depot, lowering the shutters for good measure. He sits her down on a tattered couch and settles in next to her.

“Eva, what happened?”

She looks down at her hands, eyes glistening.

“Andrew lost contact with Brynn and her crew three days ago. There’s another team out searching the area, but I’m worried, Troy. What if they don’t find her? What if they’re too late?”

“Hey now. Your sister’s the second most badass person I know, right after you. I swear the two of you are like fierce amazon warriors.”

Eva rolls her eyes, sniffling lightly.

“I’m not even gonna ask.”

“The point is, I know Brynn’s alright. She’s one of the best scouts the Tower’s got. And she’s careful. They’re most likely laying low somewhere. She'll be back in no time busting your ass for even worrying about her.”

“I… I’m sure you’re right, Troy. She is good at what she does. So are the others. I guess I... needed to hear it from someone else. Thanks for always being there for me.”

She forces a smile, her glistening eyes sparkling in the dim light of the cluttered room.

“Always, Eva.”

He gazes down at her, tenderness and concern reflected in his soft brown eyes as he pulls her closer into his arms, tracing soothing circles along her back. He wipes a tear from her cheeks, fingers lingering along her cheekbone.

Her breath hitches as she loses herself in his soft gaze and the warmth of his embrace.

Eva feels like a bundle of nerves from the stress, and the tingles she’s feeling from Troy’s caresses are messing with her usual self-control.

Right now, she wants to feel less the nerves constricting her chest, and more of Troy’s comforting touches.

On impulse she reaches up, tracing lithe fingers along his cheek and the dark stubble across his jaw. She unconsciously chews her lower lip.

He stares, entranced. God how he wants to reach out and kiss those lovely lips. He wonders what they’d taste like. Possibly those berry-flavoured ration bars she enjoys so much.

“Eva…”

Troy murmurs, lips ghosting hers.

She lets her instincts guide her, a need she’d been burying for so long. She closes the distance, soft lips meeting his.

Troy’s eyes widen in surprise. He cups her cheek as they kiss gently, tentatively, lips exploring in soft caresses. Bodies tingling with delight at the new but somehow familiar sensations.

“Hmm, Troy.”

He deepens the kiss at her inviting sigh, finally tasting her. Salt from her tears.

And cherries.

Troy loses the last of his self-control. His kisses become heated as he slips a hand below her shirt, skirting her lower back. Eva clings to him, responding to his every touch.

Just as their caresses become more feverish, they are startled apart by a loud banging against the shutters.

“Oi! Hassan! Open up! We’ve got crews reporting back with equipment.”

They glance at each other, eyes wide, breathless.

Troy is the first to recover, filling the awkward silence with his usual banter.

“Well, that was something, Archer… I knew you couldn’t resist this.”

He gestures at his handsome features, grinning.

Eva chuckles, cheeks flushed.

“God you’re insufferable…”

The banging against the shutters intensifies.

“Hassan!! What’s the hold up?!”

“Dammit! Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

Troy doesn’t want to let Eva go.

He’s scared that she'll realize how big of a mistake this was. Head still spinning, he quickly makes his way up to the counter.

Eva watches him go, flushed, heart pounding wildly in her chest.

Oh god, what just happened?

He pulls up the shutters and stops in his tracks, eyes wide with relief and a hint of guilt.

“Brynn!! Boy, am I glad to see you.”

At her sister’s name, Eva rushes up to the front and crashes into her arms.

“Brynn, you’re okay! What the hell happened? You had me worried…”

Brynn winces, and Eva lets her go quickly, giving her a once over. Her sister’s shirt is tattered, a dark bruise appearing to cover much of her right side. Dirk hovers protectively. Cassidy cradles an apparent broken arm as Brienne helps her stand.

Tony’s crew are right behind, carrying both teams’ weapons and crates of canned food and medical supplies.

“We were picking out meds in an outlet mall when the roof collapsed, must have been water damage. Bunch of drones fell on top of us from the second floor. Cassidy and I got trapped under a shelf. Dirk and Brienne managed to drag us out. We hid in a storage room hoping the drones would forget about the yummy human-sized snacks...”

“Looks like we got there just in time. There must have been two dozen of em’ packed into that little pharmacy. Had to lure them out to get to you.”

Tony chips in, dropping off the weapons and supplies onto the counter.

“We owe you one, Tony.”

Brynn pats him on the shoulder, grimacing through the pain.

“Nah, just glad you’re all still on the side of the living. You and Cass should hit the infirmary. You look like you’ve got a couple of cracked ribs and I’m pretty sure arms don’t bend that way.”

“You don’t say.”

Cassidy growls, clutching her bandaged arm.

“Come one, I’ll take you.”

Eva tenderly supports Brynn, avoiding the bruises.

She hesitates a moment, looking back at Troy, cheeks flushed.

“Talk later?”

“Yeah... sure.”

Troy rubs the back of his neck, dreading that conversation. He was an idiot to kiss her when she was at her most vulnerable, worried about Brynn. What if she regretted it? Hated him for it?

He sighs miserably and starts cataloguing the equipment.

The taste of salt and cherries lingers on his lips.

#playchoices #wake the dead fanfic #wake the dead #troy hassan #troy hassan x eva archer

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gentlyrowan · 27 days

Text

welcome to

THE EMBRACE

The heart and most secure enclave of the Nora tribe is All-Mother Mountain and the surrounding valley, known as All-Mother's Embrace. It's located southwest of Devil's Thirst, which we know from a Vantage Point to be Colorado Springs. I don't know whether any official sources confirm it, but I am strongly of the opinion (and the Horizon Wiki agrees) that All-Mother Mountain is

CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN S.P.

The mountain and park are named for the indigenous people group forcibly removed from Colorado's Front Range in the 1860s.

A hundred years later, as a part of Cold War defense efforts, NORAD constructed a hardened facility inside the mountain – specially designed to be resistant to earthquakes, EMP, and nuclear explosions – for use as its command and control center. More recently, the Cheyenne Mountain Complex has additionally become a United States Space Force installation.

Fans of Stargate SG-1 will recognize the iconic entrance to the facility in which the show set the secret location of Stargate Command.

The Cheyenne people's history stretches from the Great Lakes to the Great Plains, with a large and influential role amongst the tribes of North America. Today, they make up two nations: the Northern Cheyenne in Montana and the Southern Cheyenne in Oklahoma.

The Cheyenne language is in the Algonquian language group, but the name Cheyenne derives from a Dakota Sioux exonym (a name given to a people, place, or language from outside that culture).

Learn more about the Cheyenne people here:

The complex is not open to the general public, but you can visit Cheyenne Mountain State Park if you're feeling nostalgic for the beautiful landscape of the earliest sequences of Horizon Zero Dawn.

Bonus "Personal Touch" Tour Guide Anecdote

My favorite thing about this location is how quickly my mom (not a gamer, but a Stargate fan and a word nerd) put it together when I told her this post-post-apocalyptic people group made their home atop a bunker in a mountain and were called the NORA.

1968 Public Domain Photo

#horizon zero dawn #nora sacred land #gaming tourism #horizon landscapes #horizon locations #guerrilla games #nora tribe #all mother #all mother mountain #all mother's embrace #aloy #varl #rost #sona #vala #teb

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viking-raider · 1 year

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Secret Santa 🌲

Summary: You're the new Detective in Marshall's station and he's cold towards you. But for Christmas, Rachel Chase devises a plan to fix all of that. With Secret Santa.

Pairing: Walter Marshall/Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

Warning: G - COTTON CANDY GOODNESS, Grumpus!Marshall, Language, Mention of Homicide, Fluff, Enemies to Lovers?, Shady Behavior, Workplace Romance, Alcohol, Christmas Fic, Cold Work Environment, Kissing

Inspiration: MERRY CHRISTMAS! If you know anything, Grumpus is a World of Warcraft monster! Nerds Unite!!

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy it! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

You had been transferred to what felt like the middle of frigid, bum fuck nowhere of Manitoba, from British Columbia, because your boss had thought it would be a good career move for you. Giving you experience outside of the department you had been assigned straight out of the Academy, four years earlier.

Of course, you felt differently.

Just becoming comfortable in your department, with the boys starting to respect you; and not giving you that extra cold shoulder, because you were a rookie and a woman. You had just been accepted as a cold case investigator a month before Captain Dueck handed over your transfer papers, uprooting you halfway across the country.

But even with that, almost all of the employees at your new station were charitable and accommodating towards you. They welcomed you on your first day, as if you had been working there with them for years. Commissioner Harper, the boss, was no nonsense, but he was still friendly and gave you a warm greeting, whenever the two of you met in the hallways or out in the parking lot. Rachel, the department's psychologist, was even more companionable, always popping into your office, if she didn't meet you elsewhere in the building to say hello. Sometimes bringing you a cup of coffee or a pastry.

The only unfriendly entity in the office, that always regarded you with a grunt, eye roll, lifted brow or a sigh, was Detective Walter Marshall. He was a hulk of a man, thick with muscle underneath his knitted sweaters and tight jeans. But underneath that was nothing but a grump of the highest degree. Rachel tried explaining that Marshall was really a good guy, but he'd seen a lot as a homicide detective and former SWAT leader. That he had a chip on his shoulder from a nasty divorce with his ex, Angie, how he was bitter with the little he saw his daughter, and the strained relationship between them.

Despite Fae being Marshall's light in the dark.

You called bullshit on most of it. At first, Marshall was just bitterly indifferent towards you. He'd speak to you, if and only, when he needed to. Other than that, Marshall's replies to you were guttural sounds and facial expressions. You were incredibly annoyed by it for the first several weeks, but after that you just got over it. Learning what each sound and look meant. It wasn't until you discovered a cold case had a connection to a case Marshall was on, that you saw things change between you and him.

It was the case of Monika Wagner, who had disappeared eight years before, in Headingley. There had been no solid evidence at the sight of her disappearance, other than three walnut beads found on the ground, with her jacket. It was when you saw the suspect in Marshall's murder case, rubbing at rosary that it clicked in your mind. You rushed to the evidence lock up, scouring the boxes for Monika's, and tore the red tape seal off of the lid, digging through the contents for the small baggy that held the three beads.

“Marshall!” You barked, out of breath as you bent forward, wheezing to catch your breath.

He stood there, waiting for you to recover, brow lifted at you.

“Your su-suspect...” You gasped, holding up the clear evidence bag. “He's ta-taken another girl before, I'm s-sure of it.” You gulped, straightening and looking up at him.

“Why do you think that?” He asked, taking the bag from you and studying the small, black beads.

“The rosary he's rubbing.” You said, licking your lips. “I'd bet my career they're made of the same walnut of these ones, and these are from a cold case, eight years ago, in the same city he murdered your victim.” You explained to him, staring expectantly at him.

Marshall stared at you for a moment longer, which you knew was just him making sure you weren't wasting his time, before turning on his heels and storming down the hall into the interrogation room, where the suspect was being held. You started to follow, but he put a hard stop to that, with a sharp side glance, before slamming the door shut. Huffing, you scurried into the viewing room and watched from there.

He set the evidence bag on the metal table, the middle aged, bald male was cuffed to and regarded him for a moment, judging him for any reaction. The man looked at the three beads, he seemed confused for a second, before a creeping look of surprise seeped into his eyes and he shifted uneasily in his chair, gripping the rosary in his hand. Marshall nodded his head, pushing his bearded jaw forward. It was all he needed to confirm you were right, before taking the bagged beads and walking out.

“I told you.” You said, meeting him in the hallway, proud of yourself.

“Yeah.” Marshall grunted back, moving past you.

You thought after that, Marshall would be a little warmer towards you. You had helped him put his suspect away, cementing even more evidence against the guy. But instead, he'd only gotten colder. In fact, you would have been warmer standing out in a Manitoba blizzard in your socks, than the chill Marshall started giving you. You didn't understand and you didn't know how to go about talking to him about it.

How do you talk to someone with an almost nonexistent vocabulary? You don't, that's how!

So, the two of you just started avoiding each other at all costs. You even took a different shift as Marshall. Which was an achievement, since the brute rarely took time off to go home, so he could sleep and shower.

But then, Christmas came around and Rachel, being her good nature self and a “need to fix it” psychologist, decided to do something about the elephant between you and Marshall.

“We're going to do Secret Santa!” Rachel declared as she popped into your office one morning, in mid-December.

“Oh.” You gulped, looking away from your computer monitor. “I've never done that before.”

“Your other precinct didn't do it?” She asked, stepping further into your room.

“No.” You shook your head, chewing on your lip. “If we were going to give each other presents, we just gave them to each other.”

“Well, we do it around here.” She explained, holding out a slip of paper to you. “This is your special person.” She smiled, a glint in her eyes as you took it from her.

“All right.” You answered, taking it from her and unfolded it. “Oh fuck.” You groaned, shoulders slumping as you read the name inside. “It got--”

“No, no!” Rachel cut you off, giggling. “No one is supposed to know. Just you. So, good luck on finding a gift for your person.” She smirked, before breezing back out of your office.

“Yeah, what do you get the biggest Grumpus in the office? Coal.” You sighed, tossing the paper on your desk and rubbing your face, already overwhelmed.

You had two weeks to figure out what to get your Secret Santa, which wasn't a lot of time. Two years wouldn't be enough time to figure out what to get him, let alone that short amount of time. You wrecked your brain all day for what you could buy, forsaking the report you were supposed to be filling out for Amazon Prime. But it was useless, you had no idea what would be remotely useful to him or peak his interest.

“It's hopeless.” You huffed, rubbing your eyes and looking at your watch. “He'll just have to settle for coal.” You mumbled, shutting your computer off and stretching to your feet, joints popping for sitting so long.

Grabbing your coat, you locked your office and headed down to the parking lot, gasping and shivering as the blustery wind wrapped around you at full force. There was easily two feet of snow outside, but thankfully the walkways were shoveled and salted. However, on your way to your car, you ran into the fruit of your current issue.

“Don't you wear gloves?” He asked, locking up his truck as you tried blowing warmth into your bare palms.

“No.” You answered, glaring at him. “My car is right here. It's not that bad.” You told him, hitting the unlock on your key fob.

“Hm.” Marshall grunted, before continuing towards the station.

“Coal.” You growled, getting behind the wheel and slamming your door. “I'm getting that Yeti coal for Christmas!” You hissed, watching him head inside, before noticing the hypocrite wasn't even wearing a beanie over those wild curls of his.

It was honestly two of the fastest weeks of your life, and that was saying something, since the Academy stressed you out beyond belief. But in those two weeks, you had finally figured out what to get Grumpus Walter Marshall for Secret Santa.

It hadn't been easy either!

Now, it was time to exchange it to him at the station's annual Christmas party, that you were in all truth, slack jawed to see Marshall attend. Though, you weren't shocked to see him in his signature black shirt and jeans, while everyone else wore something festive, like ugly Christmas sweaters, Santa hats or Reindeer antlers. Some of the gifts were sitting on a designated table, to be picked up by their person, whenever they wanted to stop by and grab it, while others happily and excitedly rushed over to their Secret Santa with their gift thrust out.

You had come with your gift in a small, brown colored bag with red reindeer printed all over it, sealed shut with a small bit of clear tape. You carried it around with you for an hour, trying to work up the nerve to move over to Marshall's broody corner, where he was sipping a paper cup of eggnog and glaring at everyone with a watchful eye. But you hadn't managed it. So, you went from one cluster of co-workers to another, wishing them Merry Christmas and giving out hugs, nibbling on homemade and store bought Christmas cookies, and nursing a cup of Spiced Cider.

“So, I see you still have your gift.” Rachel said, over your shoulder, as she came up behind you, taking a drink of her hot cocoa.

“I do.” You replied, biting your lip and fighting the urge to glance over at Marshall.

“Well, why haven't you given it to your person yet?” She asked, grinning like the cat about to get the mouse.

“Um--” You floundered, taking a deep gulp of your cider.

“Go on, before they leave.”

You looked at her. “How do you know they're even here?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at her, then finally saw the meaning to that glint in her eyes. “You rigged it.” You gasped at her, mouth falling open.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Rachel chuckled, shrugging her shoulders.

“You purposely made sure I got that grouch.” You scoffed at her, outraged.

“There's many grouches-”

“Rachel!” You barked, eyes flaring as you nudged her with your shoulder.

“Oh, all right!” She relented, laughing at you. “Yes, I made sure you got him as your Secret Santa. Big deal. Maybe it'll warm things up between the two of you.” She pointed out, pressing her lips together. “The aura around you two is palpable. The whole office feels it. I'm just trying to help fix it.”

“Is it that bad?” You asked, suddenly feeling aware of your co-workers closeness.

“It's not anything toxic. But people know something strained is going on between the two of you. Even the Commissioner commented on it.” She confessed, looking a little reluctant.

“Oh god.” You squeaked, glancing over at your boss. “All right, I'll go over and give it to him.” You sighed, gulping down the rest of your drink. “Wish me luck.” You grimaced, setting the empty cup on a table in front of you.

“You're going to need it, he's heading out.” Rachel replied, pointing to Marshall as he moved through the crowd.

“Crap!” You gasped, twisting around and going after him. “Excuse me! Pardon me! So, sorry!” You said, frantically weaving through people, trying to get to Marshall before he could leave, rushing to the door of the conference room the party was being held in just as it swung shut.

“Marshall!” You yelled out, dashing into the hallway.

Marshall stopped, just before rounding the corner to his office, and turned to the sound of your voice. He lifted a brow as you rushed towards him, your eyes bright from your cider consumption. He was about to ask what you wanted from him, before noticing the gift bag in your hand and his massive shoulders slumped, understanding.

“You're my Secret Santa.” He whispered, looking down at you with tired eyes, he clearly hadn't gone home after his shift.

“Yee-ah.” You nodded, biting your lip.

He rolled his jaw and nodded back, holding his hand out for the bag.

“Look,” You started, handing it over. “I'm not good with presents. I don't have—I don't do them back home. So, I'm sure you'll hate it and it was a stupid idea.” You rambled watching him break the tape seal and reach in. “I don't even know why I bothered making it. I should've just bought you a gift card for Timmy Horton's or something.”

Marshall didn't answer, instead he pulled out the black and grey umber, knitted beanie you had made him, with your own two hands. He didn't say anything, he just stood there holding it and staring at it for the longest time. You couldn't tell if the expression on his face was a good one or not either.

“I knew it was stupid.” You blurted out, your anxiety hitting the roof. “I'm sorry. Do what you want with it. Just forget about it.” You said, quickly turning on your heels and hurried back to the party.

As you ran off, you missed the look on Marshall's face, one of confusion and like you had punched him in the heart somehow. Gently putting the beanie back into the bag, he turned and carried on to his office, to the task he'd been on before you stopped him. He unlocked his door and set his gift down, going into the bottom drawer of his desk and pulling out a small box, covered in white and pink snowflake wrapping paper. He cleared his throat, holding it for a moment, feeling his palms clam up. Glancing at your gift on top of his desk, before leaving his office again, he carefully tucked the box in his back pocket.

He returned to the party, scanning the crowd until he spotted you, by the refreshments table, going for another cup of Cider. Taking a deep breath, he moved through the crowd and stopped beside you, startling you for a second.

“Jesus.” You gasped, composing yourself.

“Could I speak to you?” He asked, with his usual hard and guarded expression. “Privately.” He added, glancing at the few people close by.

You regarded him for a moment, before sighing. “Fine.” You nodded, brushing by him and heading towards the quieter side of the room. “What is it? Come to give me crap about my gift or something?” You asked, instantly defensive.

Without answering, Marshall pulled the gift from his back pocket and held it out to you, lifting a brow, when you didn't immediately take it from him. You were too shocked to realize you had apparently been his Secret Santa, to grab it from him. Your eyes darted around the gathered police force to spot Rachel, who was grinning at the pair of you.

“Sneaky.” You mumbled under your breath.

“What?” Marshall frowned, cocking his head at you.

“Nothing.” You replied, taking the box from him finally. “So, I was your Secret Santa.” You said, carefully peeling back the paper.

“Yeah.” He nodded, watching you carefully. “My daughter thought the paper was cute.” He said, offhandedly. “She even helped me wrap the gift, since I'm not great at it.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard. “It's really cute.” You answered, blinking at him, unsure what to do with that bit of personal information, as you continued unwrapping.

Marshall held his hand out, taking the paper from you, once you finished unwrapping his gift. His blue eyes shifting, they were soft and curious, watching you examine the present he had gotten you. It took you a moment to understand what the device was, but once you did, it genuinely made you chuckle.

“It's a rechargeable hand warmer.” Marshall explained, biting his lip. “Since you seem to refuse to wear gloves.” He grinned at you, for the first time since the two of you met.

You smiled up at him, laughing even more. “It seems we've both given each other practical gifts.” You pointed out, amused to no end.

“It would seem so.” He agreed, his face transforming into something so much more handsome, when he allowed himself to smile and be happy. “I do like my present, by the way. I've never had anyone personally make me something before. It's very thoughtful and will no doubt keep my head warm.”

“I love my gift as well.” You assured him, looking down at it. “I look forward to using it.”

“Ooo!!” Rachel called out, suddenly, catching your and Marshall's attention. “You and Marshall are under the mistletoe!” She chuckled, pointing to the sprig of plant above you.

You dropped your head back and gulped. “Oh fuck.”

A smirk tugged on one side of Marshall's mouth. “Well, tradition is tradition after all.” He said, looking down at you, a coltish look in his blue eyes. “That's if my Secret Santa will grant me one more gift tonight?”

“Hm, I don't know.” You cooed, narrowing your eyes at him. “You've been a right Grumpus this year.”

“I'll be better next year.” Marshall answered, the sparkle growing brighter.

You smirked at him, a fluttering in your stomach pulling you towards him, realizing he was in love with you. “I'll hold you to that.” You replied, lightly wrapping your arms around his hips. “Or it's coal, next year.” You said, offering your lips to him.

“Can't have that.” He chuckled, dipping his head to capture your lips, kissing you deeply, and hugged you snug against him.

The office hooped with excitement as you kissed, and Rachel laughed, knowing her plan had worked.

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kaddyssammlung · 5 months

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I want to nerd out for a few minutes here:

In his interview with Drumeo II said about the process of coming up with drum parts for the music:

“Most, if not, all of the time, I try to pay close attention to the vocals and figure out any specific syllables that can benefit from accents on the kit. I sometimes use the vocal line as a guide of sorts to dance in between what's being sung to. Filling in those gaps. Typically speaking, songs don't start from a particular drum part. Although, this isn't necessarily deliberate. Another element I look for when writing are any specific syncopations that the drums must match. This could be a pattern on the guitar, a breakdown of some sorts or something electronic. But I feel this takes away a lot of the guesswork when initially writing parts and provides me with a clearer idea of the song in question.”

This made me think of something.

I once saw a video by Adam Neely. It was about something in American Hip Hop Music called “scotch snaps”.

The way that we speak has something to do with the music that we write.

Here is some science stuff about what I mean. I took that from Adam's video which I will link.

This rhythm of a metrically accented sixteenth note followed by a dotted eighth note has a name. It's called the scotch snap, named because of its use in traditional Scottish song and dance, as well as the Lallans Scottish accent.

So why is this rhythm showing up so much now in American pop music?

Well, it might have something to do with how Americans speak English.

A foot is a basic unit of rhythm used in language.

A trochee is a foot that has a stressed syllable followed by a weak syllable. So, for example, Teenage, mutant, ninja, turtles. The stressed syllable in this case falls on what we might consider the musical Downbeat. In many dialects of English, the accented syllable is very short. One corpus study suggested that among European languages, English had the highest percentage of patterns with very short stressed syllables, many as short as100 milliseconds.

This number is significant in music making, because a hundred milliseconds corresponds to the length of a sixteenth note at 140 beats per minute. As L.A. Buckner on PBS Sound Field has mentioned, modern trap hip-hop tempos range from about 110 beats per minute to 140 beats per minute. So what this means is that by using the cadences of certain English trochees, we will naturally, in fact, tap trap rap Scotch snaps.

Now, the average distance between short and long sounds in a given dialect can be measured by something called the Normalized Pairwise Variability Index, otherwise known as the NPVI.

We alternate very quickly between short sounds and long sounds. Latin languages with lower NPVI, like Spanish, often use the foot of an Amphibrach, or a stressed syllable placed in between two unstressed syllables. For example, Lo siento, te quiero, el mundo, mañana. The rhythms used in modern Spanish rap follow that pattern, like in the song Mi Gente, which itself is an Amphibrach. (which leads to reageton) It would make sense that the rhythmic characteristics of languages would be reflected in the vocal rhythms of rappers and singers, right?

It just kind of makes sense.

But what's interesting is that those very characteristics might show up also in the music itself.

For example, consider the Dembo drum groove, characteristic to Caribbean-derived Spanish hip-hop and pop music. (reageton)

The English musicologist, Gerald Abraham, would write that the nature of a people's language inevitably affects the nature of its music, not only in obvious and superficial ways, but fundamentally. Some interesting new research has actually backed that up.

One study found that the NPVI of American jazz musicians and their speech patterns was reflected in their musical choices, how quickly they switched between different subdivisions.

Thank you very much Adam Neely.

I love his videos.

youtube

#music lovers #music theory #sleep token ii #sleep token #Youtube

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findmeinasunshower · 2 years

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𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝑩𝒐𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔: 𝑩𝒂𝒌𝒖𝒈𝒐 𝑲𝒂𝒕𝒔𝒖𝒌𝒊

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥-𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 : 2.7k

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 : prohero!bakugo x gender-neutral prohero!reader. get together fic, Halloween edition! 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 : “Fuck candy corn.”

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 : language (it’s bakugo), alcohol, gets a lil spicy at the end, but it’s sfw! :)

You walked into Bakugo’s life five years ago when he and Deku created Might Agency, and the nerd convinced him they needed to hire a sidekick. But not just any sidekick — no, as usual, the little asshole had a plan up his sleeve and gave him your resumé that same day. Upon one look, Bakugo immediately knew why Deku wanted to hire you.

“The Wonder Duo” had been involved in primarily high-profile crime since graduating from U.A. In order to expand, they needed someone who could work both in and out of the spotlight that comes along with the Pro Hero world.

You were fresh out of U.A., only a couple of years their junior, and had not only the perfect quirk for what they needed but the perfect skill set. You're basically a living battery — able to draw on the electricity around you and turn it into energy, where you then manipulate it and create glowing hot light. Not only that, but you took every business course U.A. had to offer on the side in case you ever had the chance to run an agency.

And so, fresh out of high school, you were stunned to be hired on to build the Undercover Unit at Might Agency.

Five years later, Bakugo knew you’d be the talk of the Halloween Gala before your glittering shoes even touched the red carpet.

The Halloween tradition started eight years ago as an excuse for Bakugo’s graduating class to dress up together and be assholes outside of the public eye. Ponytail hired a bunch of people to decorate her gigantic house, and their whole class got together to celebrate the holiday. But as they all rose to fame, so too did the event itself, until now it’s nearly at a Met Gala level of publicity in Japan.

Today’s dominating news story (masterfully planted by their agency’s manager) said it all: “After five years of groundbreaking undercover work, Pro Hero Celestial emerges to join the ranks above ground and train a new generation of underground heroes at Might Agency.”

You’re the elusive sidekick-turned-partner of Pro Heroes’ Deku and Dynamight. So he isn’t surprised when he’s halfway down the red carpet leading up to Ponytail’s house, avoiding as much of the press lined up behind the barrier as he can, and he sees every camera within his field of vision turn to the entrance of the carpet. And somehow he knows you’re there.

And later in the night, when he slips into one of Momo's million supply closets to see you standing in the corner, part of him isn't all that surprised that you had the same idea as him. Even if he does shout a loud "Fuck!" upon seeing you.

You simply take a deep breath to calm your heart rate after his explosive entrance, then casually hold out a small cup of candy corn you must have snagged from one of the snack tables. “Candy corn?” you offer.

“Fuck Candy corn,” Bakugo bites back. He shoves himself into the opposite wall and watches as you pop a piece of the nothing-flavored snack into your mouth. “The fuck are you doing in here?” he asks.

“Three ‘fucks’ in under a minute? That has to be a new record,” you joke dryly around a mouthful of your prize.

“Twinkles.” The only indication that the use of your nickname has an effect on you is a single blink before you go back to eating. Bakugo sighs and yanks off the stupid pirate hat and eyepatch his stylist had given him this year so he can focus on you better. “Why are you in here?” he tries again.

Candy corn now gone, you toss the cup dejectedly to the floor and cross your arms. “Hiding,” you respond vaguely.

“Hiding? From what?” he asks.

You roll your eyes and fix him with a glare, and Bakugo finds himself momentarily stunned by having your full attention on him for the first time especially when you look like that. “What do you think, Bakugo?”

He raises his eyebrows at the use of his last name. You haven’t used it since your first year as a sidekick, nearly six years ago. At that time, you called him solely “Dynamight out of respect, before eventually graduating to “Bakugo-san” a few months later when you got sick of his grumbling. But ever since you officially came on as a partner of the agency three years ago and the two of you got into your first screaming match, you’ve insisted on calling him solely “Katsuki” just to piss him off.

So, you calling him Bakugo sets off every friendship red flag Shitty Hair has drilled into him over the years.

He’s careful as he matches your position, propping his leg up on the wall behind him and crossing his arms. You look at him suspiciously as he settles in to wait, and Bakugo rolls his eyes, waving his hand impatiently. “Well?” he prompts.

You fix him with a glare, and he fights the shudder that threatens to quake through him. Apparently realizing that he’s not going to back down, you hug yourself and mumble: “I don’t want to be a publicity prize.”

Bakugo raises an eyebrow. “A ‘publicity prize?’” he prompts.

You gesture down at your costume, the diamonds along your sleeves glittering in the darkness from the slight movement. “Some tabloids are already calling me “Shining Seven,’” you complain. “I only hit seven in the rankings last week.”

“Only reason you didn’t earlier—”

“—Is because I was undercover, I know,” you finish with a sigh. “I’m just…I’m not like you and Midoriya. I’m not used to being in the spotlight, you know? And I was thrust in so quickly, and debuting dressed like this, everybody suddenly thinks…I don’t even know, but I swear if one more sidekick asks for a picture with me I’m—”

“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down.” Your friend finally steps forward and grasps your shoulders firmly. “How do you manage to talk about everything and nothing all at once?”

“Probably hanging out with Midoriya too much.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Bakugo growls, and he’s relieved when you chuckle under your breath. A pair of laughing voices passes outside your hiding spot and you both go quiet as you wait for them to pass.

Looking at you as you peer through the crack in the door to the party beyond, Bakugo realizes this is the first time he’s properly looked at you today. You’re draped from head to toe in robes of midnight blue velvet, the color imitating the night sky perfectly. Hundreds of glittering diamonds are embedded throughout the fabric, making it look like you’re glowing from within, the effect emphasized by the luminescent lotion your stylist gave you to put on.

To finish the look, your features were dusted with just the barest hint of makeup, simultaneously enhancing your natural features and accentuating your heavenly appearance. Finally, a halo diadem of jewels and stars is laid to rest atop your head.

You look astral. Eternal. Your stylist had dressed you as a Deity of Light.

Katsuki clears his throat, and you turn your bright eyes on him at the sound, eyes immediately furrowing in confusion when he won’t meet your eye. You blink in surprise as he mutters, “I’ll be right back,” and sweeps the curtain aside.

His fiery blush has faded into a frustrated scowl by the time he reaches the open bar set up in one of Ponytail’s dining rooms and orders “two of whatever the most popular drink is.” The bartender nervously shoves the drinks toward him less than a minute later, and the hero grunts in appreciation before heading back to you.

You’re still there when he yanks open the door and shoves a large, neon green cup in your hands. It sloshes over with the force of his handover, splashing your overlapped fingers with whatever the mixed drink is made up of. “For you,” he insists.

You startle a little bit and wrap both hands around the cup, looking down at the mysteriously foaming purple drink, then back up at him with those cosmic eyes. “Did you put anything in it?” you ask with faux gravity.

Bakugo scoffs, “fuck off,” and crosses his arms, and you giggle into your drink. The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional comment on the music or harmless tease at each other’s costumes. You finish your drinks together, simply enjoying each other’s company and listening to the party booming throughout the rest of the house.

Eventually, the two of you find yourselves seated shoulder to shoulder on the floor, and you ask: “Bakugo…why are you in here?”

He scowls and cocks an eyebrow as he looks at you. Your face is starting to get a lovely flush from the drink he brought you. “What, I can’t be in here?”

“I didn’t say that. I asked why you were here.” You lift your head off of his shoulder so you can look at him clearly, and tilt your head to the side with a small smile at whatever you see. “Though I’m not complaining,” you tack on.

Katsuki’s eyes widen at the meaning behind your words, face going hot as your gazes hold. A smile spreads slowly across your features at his stunned silence, and the last of Katsuki’s brain cells go out the window at the sight. Your smile quickly turns into laughter, and Bakugo assumes that he’s probably never looked more like Dunce Face than he does right now.

“Shut up,” he insists, still flushed red and lacking his usual vitriol. “I can’t believe you’re not embarrassed to say that out loud.”

“If anyone else were sitting next to me, I would be,” you admit, settling back into the wall with a smile. Your voice is quieter, more hesitant when you say: “I guess I’m just comfortable with you.”

He blinks in shock, pulling away from you at that last, quiet confession. With the way your voice got small, plus the mild flirtation not only earlier but in the past, plus the alcohol running through his veins, the realization hits him like a truck.

A part of him has known he’s had feelings of you for a good while now, but it’s a part of himself Katsuki never acknowledged. He was always too busy, whether it be with the responsibility that is building an agency from the ground up or just hero work in general. The two of you have orbited around each other ever since you met, working in the same place and tasked with the same end goal, but taking different routes to get there. Katsuki was your main supporter when you decided to put anonymity behind and work on training the new generation of underground heroes. He was the one to talk to Deku and convince him to implement the Underground Unit so that you could come on full-time.

You’ve been an integral part of Katsuki’s life for years — a star in his galaxy.

Only now is he finally realizing why.

The only thing he can find himself saying as he looks at you in that dusty closet is: “You’re comfortable with me,” with disbelief stark in his flat voice. Your eyes are still so bright when they lock with his in the dark, and they widen as he leans across you, bringing his face closer to yours. “Same,” he whispers.

“What?” you ask, eyes flitting all over his face.

“I mean same,” he repeats, and you gasp as Katsuki takes your hand in his. He’s practically laying across your lap now, and his face is oh-so-close to yours. “I mean,” Katsuki sighs and fights the instinct to scowl as he searches for the right words. “I’m also comfortable. Around you.”

Your gaze on him doesn’t falter as he looks away and reaches for his empty cup, wishing there were still something in it at least to have something to do other than look at your all-knowing face. But eventually the feel of your attention on him pulls him back to you, and Katsuki blinks when he sees you smiling shyly.

“Dynamight,” you say in a teasing tone. “Are you hitting on me right now?”

Katsuki scoffs again and leans back into the wall. “I’m not not hitting on you,” he grumbles.

“You’re not kidding?” you ask, leaning into his space so he’s forced to look at you.

Your proximity sends his heart into overdrive, and he suddenly finds himself dropping his cup so he can pull you into him, nose to nose, breath to nervous breath.

“I don’t kid when it comes to you,” he breathes against your mouth.

And then it’s you who throws your arms around Katsuki and pulls him into a messy, clumsy kiss. A faint whimper escapes you at the first touch of Katsuki’s tongue on yours, and the sound shakes him right to his toes. “Fuck,” he growls against your mouth, barely able to breathe from the force of your embrace. “Come here.”

Your whimper is needier this time as Bakugo wraps his arms around you and fully hauls you against his chest, kissing you like he’s drowning and you’re oxygen. The only thing you can do is hold on, arms draped around his neck like a western damsel in distress. He holds you just as tightly, and you feel him shudder against you as he breaks the kiss in favor of closing his mouth over your pulse point.

“Yesss,” you hiss between your teeth and arch into Katsuki, closing your eyes and reveling in the feel of his solid, solid shoulders underneath your grasping hands. “Katsuki—”

“Baku-bro? You in there?”

You shriek and jump away from Katsuki at the sound of Kirishima’s voice, covering your mouth with your hands. Bakugo is already on his feet and reaching for the door handle, grasping it just in time to pull it closed as his friend tries to open it. “Go away, Shitty Hair! I’m busy!”

“...In a closet?”

“A stupid sidekick spilled their fucking drink on me,” he lies smoothly, glancing at you as you get to your feet in the corner. “Needed a quiet place to clean up.”

“For an hour?” A snicker sounds from the other side of the door, and Katsuki glowers deeply at the realization it’s Kaminari.

“Fuck off, Dunce Face! I’m not going out there fucking shirtless!”

“Alright, alright,” Kirishima says, ever the peacekeeper. “We’ll be in the main hall when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Bakugo takes a deep, centering breath as he listens to his friends walk away before he turns back to you. Your arms are crossed, leaning against the back wall with a hesitant smile on your face. That won’t do.

“Well,” Bakugo says, harnessing his worked-up liquid/adrenal courage one last time. He steps forward and wraps his arms around you, bringing your hips together in a small bump. This time, he doesn’t stop the shudder that runs through him when your eyes meet his, and he revels in the sound of your small, stuttering gasp when he runs his hands down your arms. “Should we rejoin the party, Twinkles?”

You shake your head in disbelief and reach up to fiddle with the frayed ties of the open white shirt of his costume. “Shouldn’t we talk about this?” you whisper.

Bakugo shrugs. “I mean, we could talk about it now.” You relax into his arms when he leans down to kiss you again, and you find yourself swaying slightly and blinking bubbles out of your eyes when he pulls away. “Or we could talk about it later.”

You hesitate for only a moment before you’re rolling up onto your toes and hauling Bakugo down to your height so you can kiss him properly. “Definitely later,” you insist against his mouth.

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