Is the bad guy in your story just a bit too depressed and morose about being villainous? Pep them up with a reminder of just how fun it is to be evil! An upbeat and (at times) silly playlist for writing those chaotic antagonists that are having just a bit too much fun doing what they do best.
Voltaire - When You’re Evil Panic! At The Disco - Don’t Threaten Me With A Good Time
The Hoosiers - Cops and Robbers Pomplamoose - Bust Your Knee Caps Temposhark - Don’t Mess With Me Mayday Parade - When I Grow Up Mother Mother - Wrecking Ball Cage The Elephant - Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked Caravan Palace - Black Betty Lord Dominator - I’m The Bad Guy Big Time Operator - Big Bad Voodoo Daddy
Months have passed and Jon snow just can’t stay away from Daenerys targaryen the worlds best jewel thief and Daenerys can’t understand how she could fall for a cop. When passion soon turns to love Jon and Daenerys will find themselves risking it all to keep one another. But with both their worlds determined to tear them apart can Jon bring the woman he loves to justice? Can Daenerys put everything at stake for love?. They will soon find out that when it comes to love and duty there is always a price to pay.
This is the sequel to “If we ever meet again” My cops and robbers au. I wanted to dedicate it to the wonderfully supportive @luvd80s2 who always has the kindest words to say. Love ya darling! 😙
I KNOW it’s only been a couple of hours since the new Sims video went up, but bear with me. These are all just based on sad/shy Evan and forward/friendly Dab. Not necessarily shippy (because they’re toddlers!!)
- Evan is clingy towards Dab and whenever their parents take them out on a playdate, Evan holds onto the back of Dab’s shirt, following him from behind.
- Evan is the soft spoken one between the two, and is always happy to play games with Dab but he’s still quite shy every time. They play Cops and Robbers, Saving The Princess in the Tower, etc.
- They keep their drawings of each other posted on their bedroom walls. Dab’s favorite one is a crayon drawing of them as Prince and a Knight, standing on top of a scribble of a slain dragon.
- Someone at daycare hurts Dab by telling him his semi-curly long hair makes him look like a girl. Evan throws his butterfly toy at the kid’s head and they both get into trouble. When their parents arrive to pick them up, Dab is sniffling into Evan’s shirt with Evan consoling him.
- Dab introduces Evan to his first friend the large dinosaur stuffed toy in his room. Evan gets childishly jealous and comes to their next play date in a dinosaur onesie.
“Colonel Martin, you’re looking ravishing as ever.” Stiles plastered on his best smile in the face of her ruthless stare. He stopped just in front of her, ignoring the frantic shaking of Scott’s head in command. Allison had her head in her hands and General Finstock was actually doing work instead of yelling for once. A private lingered nervously near Lydia’s elbow. The poor guy was probably trying to get her to sign off on something. Man, had he picked a bad time.
“You needlessly risked yourself–”
“Hey, it’s not my fault Greenburg’s charges malfunctioned. Everything was going, and did go, perfectly.”
“My shoe will go perfectly down your throat if you ever interrupt me again.” Lydia said sweetly.
Stiles swallowed, “Noted.”
She sighed, and snatched the pad and pen from the private, “Stiles, you’re our best field operative.” The private ran for the hills as soon as the pad was back in his hands. Stiles was almost sure he peed himself. “You’ve got a ninety-eight percent mission success rate and consequently you’re the only member of Division that the Hale’s not only know by face but also by name.”
Something cruel and slick curled in his gut “It’s not like I’ve got anyone to protect, Colonel.” Stiles bared his teeth, a habit he probably picked up from Scott.
Lydia’s impeccably lined eyes narrowed. “You’ve got yourself.” She said lowly, stalking closer to him so their faces were inches apart. “And if you think for one second there aren’t a dozen people waiting for you to come back you’re more idiotic than I thought.”
He softened again, the last of his guard from being outside coming down at her firm but not unkind tone, “Gee, Lyds, you always know how to make a guy feel loved.” Despite the flippant words his tone was soft. Stiles kind of wanted to hug her, but even when they were dating she hadn’t been a fan of PDA.
Plus, he still smelled like the sewers.
“Go take a shower, you stink.”
“I love you too.” Too much like a sister for everything to have been easier.
She rolled her eyes as she walked away, a cluster of personnel scattering like pigeons in her wake. Stiles made his own way to command so he could debrief and finally head to bed. Or maybe to the dining hall. Or the Speakeasy.
“Greenburg, show yourself so I can kill you.”
Greenburg’s laugh sounded from the speakers, “Not a chance, Stiles. I like my orifices mountain ash, mistletoe, and wolfsbane free. Especially the one you were threatening.”
“Coward,” Stiles said poking a speaker angrily.
“Don’t take it out on the tech dude!” It squawked.
“I’m going to find you someday, Greenburg, and when that day comes you’re going–”
Several voices from around the room and even some passersby chimed in, “To regret ever breaking into Finstock’s email in the first place.”
Stiles couldn’t help the grin that split his face, “What, am I repeating myself?”
“Almost every day. Welcome back, dude.” Scott extracted himself from where he was obviously hiding from Lydia’s wrath to clap him on the shoulder “Nice exit by the way. Very dramatic.”
“Greenburg’s fault, not mine!” Stiles gestured at the dozens of screens Greenburg was operating from wherever he was. Paranoid freak. Although, was it paranoid if they really were after you?
“Not the explosion, Stiles. Derek Hale.”
“Oh,” Stiles blinked, one hand swinging back down to his side and the other going to the back of his neck to rake through the hair finally growing out from his buzzcut. He remembered a moment later to reach into his wet and rather smelly pocket and pull out Hale’s wallet.
Scott’s eyebrows winged up and he cocked his head, “Is that his wallet? Why’d you take that? Another trophy?”
“I don’t know. I guess. It’s not like he can’t get another one.” Stiles shrugged, fingering the wallet open.
Scott twisted his head around to try and get the words right side up on the ID Stiles slid out, “Derek S Hale. Wonder what the S stands for.”
“Probably something stupid like Samuel or Shelby.” Stiles frowned down at the ID.
“Simon, after his father.”
“Shut up, Greenburg.” Scott and Stiles said together.
Allison giggled from where she was organizing the next hundred missions or so. “Are you going to come debrief anytime soon Stiles? Or should I assume you didn’t manage to get the data. Should I send Mason?” Ignoring the fact that the Hale’s would beef up security now.
“Now you’re just being insulting.” Stiles pouted, sliding the wallet and ID back into his pocket. Instead he extracted the USB from the other one and handed it over. “I have placed information vital to the survival of the Rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit.” It’s funny because the drive really was in the shape of R2. “Please Obi Wan Kanobi, you’re my only hope.” Well, Scott laughed.
Allison rolled her eyes but smiled fondly, “Come on Princess Leia, let’s find out how to bring down the Death Star.”
Stiles’ face melted into an expression of admiration, “You are wonderful. Does Scott ever tell you that?”
“Not often, but actions speak louder than words.” Wolf whistles (ha) from a number of the terminals rang out inside command. Scott’s cheeks might’ve turned red but it could’ve been the crappy lighting.
“Back to work!” Finstock barked, scaring a terminal worker into spilling her hot coffee all over herself.
Several hours and a shower later Stiles fell into bed. He planned on getting at least eight hours of sleep before he needed to be back in command researching his next target. Instead he stared at the worn black wallet sitting innocuously on his desk where he’d thrown it before tossing his pants in the laundry chute.
Why would a Hale have a worn wallet? They were the richest ‘weres in the Beacon Hills territory especially since Peter came into power. They could’ve afforded a new leather wallet every thirty seconds if they’d really wanted one. And why had Derek Hale been in the sewers when his uncle and the rest of the police force were busy chasing Stiles through the alleyways and up to the roof?
Stiles heaved a breath before rolling out of his comfy bed and over to the desk. He emptied it onto the tabletop; ID, a couple of bills (which he takes), four photos, and a few contact cards. Who carried contact cards anymore? What a dork. Stiles zeroed in on the photos.
All of them were of Derek and his family. The Hales were a pretty photogenic bunch when they weren’t pointing guns and ruining people’s lives. There was a picture of a teenage Derek with his sisters at a dining room table. Derek was glaring at the camera, eyebrows drawn into an impressive scowl while the younger of them mushed his face into a smile. He was wearing a spectacularly ugly Christmas sweater and a ‘Bah Humbug’ Santa hat. The rest of his face was blotted out by the glare of his eyes (no pun intended) but both girls had their eyes closed. The older one was dying of laughter on the other side of Derek. Two toddlers were in the background falling all over each other.
The second picture took Stiles’ breath away. Derek was downright beaming at the camera while his mother and father hugged him. Talia Hale, was just as beautiful as her children. Derek was wearing a cap and gown so Stiles assumed it was his college graduation since the High School colors were white and crimson. All three sets of eyes were squeezed shut but the happiness on their faces was so obvious it made Stiles ache for his father. Stiles squinted at the fine print on the certificate Derek was holding.
He had a teaching degree.
What the hell was he doing in law enforcement?
The third picture reminded Stiles of the before picture in a holiday series. The one where no one knew the timer is finished so they were still getting into position, the parents yelling over the chaos for the kids to just sit still damn it! It must have been just before the fire because Talia and Simon were still there and trying to hold down a set of twins. The girl and boy had their claws out. The girl had no shoes. Peter Hale was a sight to behold when he wasn’t a maniacal dictator. He had his arm around a woman with wild black hair and an Italian cast to her pale skin. They both had a hand on a twin from the second set, two girls this time.
Stiles moved on to the last picture and his heart clenched in guilt.
Because it was obvious there wasn’t another copy of this. It was one of those old Polaroids. Talia and Simon Hale were wrapped in layers and layers of clothing. Talia was laughing hysterically at something that had long since died with them and Simon’s smile was so sweet and loving it was embarrassing to look at. Simon’s eyes weren’t closed or reflecting the camera’s lights in this one and both of them looked so much younger than any of the old newspaper clippings Stiles had seen. The background was all snow with a little bit of forest. Simon had some snow in his hair.
Derek and his father had the same smile.
It was hella cute.
Stiles thought of the one strip of photos he had of both of his parents, back when they’d just met. Claudia was laughing her ass off as his Dad tried to figure out how the photo booth worked. If someone stole it he’d probably track the asshole down and make him suffer.
It sounded like a lot for a photo, but when it was all you had? It was worth it.
Stiles stared at the photo of the dead Alpha longer than necessary. Finally, he let out a growl that would make Scott proud before getting up and grabbing a hoodie.
“He’s going to make me regret this.”
The Hale house was in the preserve, the heart of enemy territory. After Taiia Hale died, Peter had gone a little nuts on security. There was no way Stiles would be able to get in and out undetected. Maybe if this had been a sanctioned mission and he had the full backing of the Division, but no one even knew he was outside base. If he tried to break in alone, he’d be caught or killed on sight depending on how Peter was feeling at the time.
Luckily, Derek Hale didn’t live at the house with his uncle.
He owned a creepy loft in the creepy part of town.
He also wasn’t home.
Stiles spent the hour before he heard Derek on the landing going through the guy’s tragic collection of movies. No DC movies. At all. Derek Hale was either a serial killer or an uncultured dog. He did have the Star Trek movies. Even the newest one, which Stiles hadn’t been able to go see for obvious reasons. He hadn’t even had the time to get Greenburg to illegally download it yet for movie night. Stiles was considering stealing it and just leaving the wallet when footsteps clomped and keys jangled outside the door.
Stiles jumped away from the DVDs like a guilty child. He fell onto the couch instead.
Derek wouldn’t have smelled him, Stiles kept an amulet on him whenever he went out to hide his scent. (It wasn’t, unfortunately, powerful enough to mask the scent of sewage earlier that night but Stiles had scrubbed that away already). Stiles couldn’t do anything about his heartbeat though, not for very long at least, so Derek shouldn’t have been surprised by the sight of Stiles relaxing on his couch.
And yet, here they are.
“Dude, you gotta invest in some better locks or some runes or something. This is pathetic. It’s like you wanted me to break in. Oh, and pay attention? Your ears are good for something you know. God.”
Derek stared at him for a whole minute before dropping his grocery bags to the floor and slowly going for his piece. “I don’t think anyone wants you in their house.”
Stiles winced dramatically, “Ouch, that hurts. Don’t bother drawing that. I just came to return this.” He plopped the wallet (sans the twenty dollars he’d taken earlier) onto the coffee table as he stood. “I figured you’d want it back.”
Derek’s eyes flicked between the photos and Stiles. His hand still hadn’t relaxed from where it was poised over his holster. “Since when does Beacon Hills most wanted return the things he’s stolen. It’s not like it’s the worst thing you’ve done.”
“Speaking of crimes I may or may not have committed,” Stiles lounged against the bookcase with all the movies, “What were you doing in the sewers? Not exactly a favorite hangout for ‘weres.”
He could see the muscles in Derek’s jaw work, “I was under orders to patrol possible escape routes.”
Stiles didn’t believe that for a second. “Yeah, sure, because the first thing anyone thinks when a suspect is running around on rooftops is ‘huh, maybe he’ll swing by the sewer system on his way out.’” He laughed and turned back to the DVDs, “You have to get better movies. The Notebook? Are you serious? My commanding officer watches that crap, I’m forced to sit through it every time we throw a pity party.”
“It was – why am I still talking to you?”
“My charming personality?” Stiles struck a pose against the shelves. “And come on, look how adorable I am.” Derek just glowered. Stiles rolled his eyes and wandered over the breakfast counter. There were a few books and magazines spread out. “Can I ask you another thing?”
“What.” Derek ground out, punctuation obviously ignored in favor of utter loathing.
“Why would a teacher become a police officer?” Derek’s breath left him audibly. Stiles held his gaze still wondering why the hell he wasn’t hightailing it out of there and back to base. He’d returned the photos, he’d taunted the cute cop, time to go Stiles! But he didn’t jump out the window and into the night Batman style, instead he sat there, staring at this really, really hot man and imagining him in a sweater and glasses. Would he have been a high school teacher? A college professor? Or maybe he worked with little kids. Why leave something like that behind? Stiles knew why he, himself, had. Derek’s reason was probably the same. Dead family. Revenge. Etcetera. After a minute of angry glaring on Derek’s part and curious staring on his, Stiles blinked and shifted his focus to his scuffed shoes. “I, uh, I was going to be an Emissary. I even got into Deaton’s school before it was closed down.”
Derek’s ‘grr’ face changed into one of confusion and Stiles understood. They were the same questions he got every time. Why hadn’t he stayed? Emissaries were protected by the Hales. Especially young ones, just learning how to use their connection to the land. Well, Stiles would rather be free and hunted than being kept safe in a cage. Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek and picked up a Reader’s Digest. He flipped through it aimlessly while Derek watched him.
He was about to sigh and steal a few magazines before slipping out when the werewolf spoke, “The next in line to be Alpha shouldn’t be a high school English teacher.” That sounded an awfully lot like he was parroting something someone had told him.
Stiles snorted, “So what, they should be in the line of fire? Yeah, that’s smart.” Derek didn’t answer but the sound of rustling plastic bags spoke volumes. Derek passed Stiles to start putting things away in the kitchen. “You seem way too chill with a supposed terrorist in your home. Do you normally have people breaking in to your apartment?”
“I wasn’t going to let my groceries melt.” Derek said evenly as he turned away to shove things in the fridge and onto shelves.
That wasn’t an answer but Stiles was distracted by said groceries. The laugh that erupted from him couldn’t be helped, “You like butterscotch blondie ice cream? I totally had you pegged for the straight up vanilla kind of guy.”
“I can guarantee I’m not a vanilla kind of guy.”
The moment those words hit Stiles ear drums his brain stuttered. Derek obviously realized what he’d just said too because his back tensed up as he slid the ice cream into the freezer. Stiles ignored all the alarms and klaxons going off in the logical side of his brain, “But can you prove that?” Please say yes, dear god, please say yes.
After pushing celery into the bottom right drawer Derek turned to lean against the counter beside the fridge. “I won’t be proving it to a man wanted for terrorism, conspiracy, theft, and vandalism.”
Stiles groaned, thunking his head down on the countertop, “You know, that’s not the first time I’ve heard that? And it was only a little bit of vandalism! It wasn’t even permanent, and I have never hurt anyone, whether they deserved it or not.” He peeked at Derek, grinning, “Which one was your favorite?”
“I don’t have a favorite.” Derek spat.
“Really? Cause I like the one where I replaced all of Peter’s billboard quotes with ‘I’m a racist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot’. But I have to admit it was all my CO’s idea. We’d just got done watching 9 to 5, have you ever seen that? Work of art. These three humans team up against their Alpha werewolf boss. Super funny.”
“I’ve seen it.” Derek grunted. Stiles beamed and perched his chin in his hands, staring expectantly. Derek growled. “It’s my sister’s favorite movie.”
Stiles manic grin softened, “Yeah? Cora’s? Or one of the younger kids? If it’s one of the younger kids you need to show them some Whedon dude, that should always be a kid’s favorite at least once. I’d say Firefly. We Browncoats know what’s up.” Derek snorted. Stiles counted it as a win. “What? What’s your issue with Firefly? Who has an issue with Firefly?”
“It just figures the terrorist would consider himself a Browncoat.” Derek had the sexiest smirk Stiles had ever seen. And he knew sexy smirks; he dated Lydia.
His mouth watered, “Well if I’m any Browncoat I’m totally Zoe. She rocked.” Derek’s lips might have curled in an honest smile. “Let me guess, Jane was your favorite character? Or Mal?”
“Kaylee,” Derek said, then froze.
Stiles ignored his inner freak out that he was chatting with a Hale about TV shows because he was sure Derek was having the same freak out. Except replace Hale with terrorist. Alleged terrorist. “Seriously? The perpetually cheerful mechanic? You literally couldn’t have picked someone least like you. Although, I guess it’s something to work toward. You could start with a smile? Or maybe just say ‘shiny’?”
Derek glared at him. But, what else is new?
“Although I guess I can see it,” Stiles narrowed his eyes, “Kaylee’s one true fault is that she’s intrinsically incapable of letting down her loved ones and if she does…” Stiles watched Derek’s jaw tighten and eyes flash. He didn’t say anything. Stiles filed that away for later and headed for the window. “Well, I guess this conversation is over. Next time I’ll show up with better movies. Maybe we can curb your unfortunate taste in romantic comedies.” Stiles blew a kiss to the statue that was Derek Hale and slipped out the window before Derek could say another word.
Which meant he was long gone when Derek pulled a black flip phone from his pocket and held down two.
“Hey, Isaac. Put the Sheriff on. His son just paid me a visit.”
Context: One of our players is basically trying to kill the rest of the party- either by his own hands or turning the town we’re in against us. This is the first campaign I’ve played in where permadeath is a possible thing. Fortunately for the party, he doesn’t seem to be that good at convincing the town to band together and kill us.
Event 1- Made of Stone
Our backstabber tries to convince the local blacksmith that we’re going to ruin the town’s festival. This is roughly the conversation that occurs.
Backstabber: A sorcerer [my character], wizard and rogue just came into town and they’re going to ruin your festival.
Blacksmith (DM): Okay. What proof do you have?
Backstabber: I was traveling with them and I overheard their plot to destroy your festival.
Blacksmith (DM): Okay. And if you were traveling with them, why shouldn’t I suspect you, too?
Backstabber: Um, I don’t approve of what they’re doing. So I’m telling you so you can stop them.
Blacksmith (DM): Shouldn’t you be telling the mayor something important like that? His house is right on the other side of the river.
Backstabber: *slinks away accomplishing nothing*
Event 2- Cops and Robbers
The backstabber character bumps into our party again, then thinks up a new scheme to get us all in hot water- by framing us as robbers who tried to attack him. Problem is, the only house in sight is up the road a ways.
Backstabber: Robbers! Help!
Backstabber: *runs up the road, still screaming for help*
An NPC passerby overhears long after he’s out of sight, but a quick explanation from our party assures her that we aren’t actually robbers.
The backstabber’s latest plan is to beat us to the mayor’s house and tell him that three assassins (i.e.- our party) are coming to kill him. Considering he hasn’t been doing too well in the diplomacy department, who knows if he’ll actually succeed.
Oh, and only the wizard suspects he’s trying to betray the party IC. My character and the rogue are just pretty darn confused.
This campaign is currently still running, so I will post more as it comes.