#He didn’t want to risk being seen by any of the patrons (including their respective kin) but he also wasn’t going to

[writerswhy]

Davos once caught Aeron helping a stable boy with the horses at some random inn they were all staying at and got so jealous he later set all the horses free. The place was scrambling with riders trying to corral their steeds (and with the occasional Blackwood/Bracken scuffle breaking out). Davos took advantage of the distraction and hauled Aeron away from the chaos and back to his rooms :)

[electricshoebox]

writing tag

Tagged by the lovely @adventuresofmeghatron, thank you!

Tagging: @junemermaid, @molliehaswords, @desynchimminent, @valkyriejack, and @mercurymiscellany​, if you’d like to do it!

1.  How many works do you have on AO3? 

39. Holy shit. 

2.  What’s your total AO3 word count?

533,274 words. Holy shit.

3. What are you top 5 fics by kudos?

How to Share a Bed Without Killing Each Other: a Love Story (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, 5 Chapters, Complete) The trials and tribulations of literally sleeping together.

Rivers in the Sand (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) The Hissing Wastes unsettles Bull’s memories, and when he and Dorian are trapped together by a fallen pillar, Dorian helps him deal.

a soft place to land (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) When a letter from his father sets him off, Dorian turns to Bull for a distraction.

Always Good at Bad Ideas  (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) Bull gets injured fighting a dragon, which leaves Dorian frantic enough to blurt out the one thing he was trying to keep to himself.

Flashpoint (Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dorian/Iron Bull, Oneshot, Complete) “One time he got so excited he set the curtains on fire.”

4. Do you respond to comments?  Why or why not? 

Yes, always! I’ve seen various opinions on whether authors should, but to me, engaging with and getting excited with readers is half the fun and half the point. I also just really want people to know how much it means to me not only that they read, but that they take the time to leave a comment. Comments are hard to write. I completely sympathize with that, sometimes you just don’t know what to say or how to say it, and I absolutely don’t begrudge anyone that doesn’t. It just means a lot to me when people do, even when it’s literally just “This was cool!” or something, and I want them to know that it’s appreciated!

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hmmm. I guess that sort of depends on your definition of angsty. None of them have directly tragic endings, it’s just not in me to write that way, but I have one or two with open or less definitely, obviously happy endings. The rarepair DA2 oneshot I wrote for Merrill/Orana, Counting the Cost, has the most open ending, left completely up to interpretation. The Inception AU DAI fic I wrote for Dorian/Bull, In the Shadow of Dreams, has what I think of as an optimistic ending, and less a happy one. I tried to end that one with more romance, but it just didn’t fit the tone of the rest of the fic, so a quiet ending that signals a road to recovery was what I chose instead.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Most all of my oneshots have pretty happy endings. I guess I’m tempted say A Line in the Sand, my Deacon/MacCready start-from-scratch slow burn novel, just because it goes from antagonists to lovers and has the longest road with the most earned happy ending. I feel like the long struggle to get there makes it feel happier. 

7. Do you write crossovers?  If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not really. Instead I’m sometimes tempted into AUs based on other media, but not full blown crossovers with actual different characters meeting. Even then, I’m really picky in what I enjoy. I’ve only written one, the Inception AU for Dragon Age that I mentioned above. Honestly, it requires no knowledge of Inception at all. I really just stole a bunch of concepts from it and then made my own modernized Thedas around them.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Thankfully no! I’ve received one or two kind of odd comments, but otherwise I’ve been very lucky and everyone’s been really nice.

9.  Do you write smut?  If so, what kind?

Hell yeah! I’ve written many kinds, really, whatever I feel like or whatever fits the fic. I’ve done plenty of your typical smut. I branched out into light BDSM with several of my Dorian/Bull fics, as well as waxplay and praise kink. I’ve also done some roleplay in the vein of “established relationship pretending to be strangers meeting at a bar” for Deacon/MacCready with By Any Other Name.

10.  Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of. 

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have! Two of my Dorian/Bull fics, Wishing Stars and No Patron Saint of Silent Restraint, both by the same lovely person: landanding on AO3. I don’t think I stopped flailing for a solid day when I got the request for permission either time.

12.  Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not since pre-AO3 days, beyond collaborating in a tabletop setting. I’m not completely opposed to the idea but it would have to be someone I felt really, really comfortable with and with whom I have really good communication. I’m really particular about my writing, and I’d need to know someone’s emotional comfort level with trading and changing and even eliminating ideas.

13.  What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Oh god that’s honestly really hard. I’ve written the most for Dorian/Bull and that ship will always have a special place in my heart. But I did write my first full-length novel for Deacon/MacCready, and they’ve already got me in the middle of my second. So they’re the ship that taught me I could do that, and they’re my beloved rarepair. There are a few more I absolutely love, but I think those are my top two right now.

14.  What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Definitely Uprising. It was the first time I tried longform fic, and it was meant to be an entire retelling of DA2 with Velanna as the Justice-bearing character, rather than Anders, because after learning the developers almost took DA2 in that direction, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I had a lot of plans for it, for how Justice might develop differently, for what it might have looked like if elves had been more of the battleground issue instead of mages vs. templars, for some angsty bittersweet long distance Nathaniel/Velanna and some complicated Fenris/Hawke and Merrill/Orana. But I drifted away from Dragon Age fandom in interest a long time ago, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get the steam back for it. I’m proud of how far I did get, though.

15. What are your writing strengths?

I feel pretty confident with dialogue, I can usually make a scene flow with it pretty well and I spend a lot of time trying to be meticulous about character voice. I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback on my descriptions, which I appreciate and wouldn’t have considered a strength, but my readers have been kind. I think I’m pretty good at including body language, too, though maybe to a fault.

16.  What are you writing weaknesses?

Much as people have been kind on the feedback, I really feel like action scenes are a weakness for me. I don’t enjoy writing them and I struggle a lot to make them feel like they’re flowing over just bulletpointing. I also feel like I struggle to make them exciting. I feel like I struggle with exposition scenes as well, and keeping them interesting over info-dumping. 

17.  What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’m generally in favor of including them, but with the caution of doing thorough research if it’s not a language I speak. I shy away from it if I can’t be completely sure it’s accurate, because I don’t want to risk putting off a native speaker reader, or saying/doing something offensive. I’d expand that to include anything about another culture, really. For example, I’ve been slowly picking away at writing a Fallout fic for my Sole Survivor Anthony and Preston, and part of what has been slow going is just making sure I’m getting Anthony’s culture right. His parents immigrated from Vietnam, and I want his experiences with them and with his culture to be as accurate and respectful as possible, not falling into any stereotypes but also being allowed to be complicated. 

18.  What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Depends on what we’re measuring. The first fandom I ever wrote fic for of any kind was Sailor Moon. The first fandom I actually put fic on the internet for was Lord of the Rings, on good old fanfiction.net. The first fandom I published on AO3 for was Dragon Age.

19.  What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

God this is such a hard question to answer, my feelings on my writing change so often. I think it’s hard for A Line in the Sand not to be my favorite for the reasons I’ve already mentioned, it’s my first successful novel-length fic, I accomplished a lot with it and learned a lot from it, and it’s a rarepair I got to kind of develop from scratch in my own way. 

But if I look back at my whole repertoire so far, just to branch out from the usual answer, I’d say I’m also really fond of To Have and to Hold, which was the first time I ever participated in a minibang, or really any kind of writing challenge. It’s a Dorian/Bull established relationship fic set during Trespasser, and it’s kind of a meditation on Dorian’s past and present and how they’ve shaped his feelings on love and commitment and marriage, all while he’s trying to decide his future. I’m proud of how it came out, and I think my Dorian voice still holds up okay. Plus I had two incredible artists working with me who put together stunning work for it, and how could I not be super grateful for that? 

It’s funny, most of the top ones up there for kudos are ones that I don’t personally think are my best, it’s a lot of my very early offerings for Dorian/Bull that I think I could improve on a lot of if I tackled them now. I’m grateful people like them but I feel like they’re more an accident of timing, being published early in the ship’s popularity. 

[bubonickitten]

TMA fic: where there’s a will, we make a way

New chapter is up on AO3 here!

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 11 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 11: mild self-harm (brief instance of wrist banging/bruising to distract from intrusive thoughts; mention of scratching/skin picking); some Buried-related claustrophobic memories; mentions of Jon starving himself (wrt to consuming statements, but worth mentioning for anyone who needs content warnings related to eating disorders, restrictive diets, etc.; there will be more going forward of Jon being hungry and restricting himself, and I'll keep warning for it, especially in chapters where it features heavily). SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 11: Reaching Out

The tunnels are as ominous as they’ve always been, but at this point, Jon just might be growing accustomed to them. The creeping fear he’s always felt down here has faded to the background – an ambient sense of dread. It's almost tolerable, or at least less oppressive than the omnipresent sense of being watched that he’s long since accepted as his normal.

Here, he can compose his letter to Martin without the risk of Jonah Seeing exactly what Jon’s eyes see.

After the Watcher’s Crown, Jonah did not Watch through Jon’s eyes anymore. Whether that was because Jon was stronger than Jonah at that point or because Jonah did not bother to try, Jon doesn’t Know. Once the ritual was completed, Jonah no longer had any stake in Jon’s trajectory, no need to monitor his progress or ensure his survival. Moreover, Jonah’s inflated ego never allowed for the possibility that Jon could pose a threat to his reign. His Archivist – his Archive – had no further interest to him except as a source of entertainment, and he didn’t need to See through Jon’s eyes in order to behold the show. He could See all of creation from the Panopticon.

Jon is stronger now than he was the last time he was here, but he’s still nowhere near as powerful as he was during the apocalypse. He’s tried to Know how he measures up against Jonah now, but the Beholding seems intent on withholding that knowledge from him. Last time he made an attempt, the Eye treated him to a litany of statistics about the interactions between the human body and the venom of various species of spider.

Sometimes Jon thinks that if the Beholding is sentient, it might just be the pettiest of the Dread Powers.

In any case, Jonah Magnus is still as much of a gnawing question mark as he’s always been. It’s safest to assume that he has the advantage until proven otherwise – and Jon will take the tunnels over Jonah’s voyeurism any day, no matter how harrowing they may be. Even if he has to be down here alone – which he is.

Georgie is with Melanie, and Jon is reluctant to ask Basira for any favors right now. He wonders again if this is how Martin felt, living in the Archives, spending sleepless nights with himself and the scratching of a pen as his only companions. Just like Jon, Martin was never very good company for himself, especially back then – and back now. He was primed for the Lonely long before he started working at the Institute.

Speaking of which…

Jon sighs, puts his pen down, and begins to read through what he’s written.

I’m sorry I left you.

…now I’m here, trying to explain things –

– had changed since he left –

– it seemed he was alone –

– as far as I could tell, all alone in the world, and rather unhappy about the fact.

I will admit to taking a dislike to the man when I first met him – but –

– I’d say that – was a foolish act of past me.

Jon is still worried about starting the letter like this, but this is a point in time not too far removed from his early mistreatment of Martin. Jon had made his apologies and explanations at length in his future, but this version of Martin hasn’t experienced that yet. Jon can’t just jump into showing affection before taking accountability for his past behavior – recent past, from the perspective of this timeline.

He can only hope that Martin will read through to the end, and that Jon’s intention – his sincerity – will be understood.

Soon I was giving my account as a full confession –

– trying my best to fit this into a relatively coherent narrative.

It’s plenty of things I’ve done I couldn’t explain to you. I mean, I’m constantly – looking back at my past self and thinking, what an idiot. How the hell could he have done such an obviously stupid thing? How was I surprised it went so badly? What a relief I’m now so much older and wiser.

I’ve never really been the social type – I’ve always just been happier alone. Well, maybe happier isn’t quite the right word. I did get a bit lonely sometimes. I’d hear laughter coming from other rooms in my building, or see a group of friends talking in the sun outside, and maybe I’d wish I had something like that, but it never really bothered me – I didn’t need another people and they certainly didn’t need me.

Jon looks down at the words with a dissatisfied scowl. Does this come off as too self-centered? As more as an excuse than an explanation? This would be so much easier if he could just say what he means. Then again, Jon’s always struggled with discussing emotional matters, hasn't he? He can’t blame it all on the Archive.

These thoughts, these feelings were always in my mind – until – I realized the deeper truth of it all.

I tried to put it into words, but without any real success. Even here, with the time to compose it properly, I’m not sure I’ve caught the essence of what I felt –

– I had a look through my library, and couldn’t find anything that matched it –

– those are musings for poets, among whom I do not number –

– it’s all very well to say ‘write down what you saw,’ but what if you don’t have the words?

I suppose I’ll just have to try.

I’ve always been more comfortable alone –

– had few friends – reluctant to make the sort of connections that might lead to –

– the prospect of being genuinely loved –

– fully and completely known –

– having people be genuinely lovely to me, I didn’t know what to do with those feelings –

– I could never bring myself to try. It felt more comfortable, more familiar, to be alone.

It is the fear of being watched, and judged, and having all your secrets known.

Ironic, in some ways –

– being what I am –

– an Archivist pleading for knowledge –

– to feed the sick voyeur that lurks in this place.

Eventually, I opened my eyes –

– feeling absurd about how terrified I was about being seen –

– kicking myself for having been so stupid –

– it wasn’t natural for people to live in isolation – we were creatures of community by nature.

Soon enough, I could no longer fool myself –

– the man I loved –

– who was by all accounts such a kind and gentle soul –

– when I – saw him standing there waiting for me – I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than in that moment.

He spoke words I thought existed only in my heart, and I loved him as the soil loves the rain –

– and it seemed he felt the same way –

– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.

Everything about being with him felt so natural that when he told me he loved me, it only came as a surprise to realize that we hadn’t said it already.

…to say – “I love you” – honestly it’s one of the few decisions I’ve ever made that I completely understand.

It’s… woefully inadequate. Too devoid of context. Unlikely to reach Martin through the fog. But maybe it will be enough to at least convince him to talk to Jon. To keep the Lonely at bay, at least for now.

After leaving the hospital, the next thing that is properly clear in my mind is –

– I need him to be okay.

I couldn’t see him or hear him –

– I didn’t even get a chance to speak to him – asked what had happened, he was just gone. And I was alone again.

I wanted to say something reassuring, to reach out and let him know I was still there –

– I wanted to act, to help, to do something, but – I felt helpless to do anything but watch as events progressed.

I think he might be part of something really awful, and I don’t know how to make him see that – of course I did worry. I knew that, secretly, he was as well.

I know how that sounds – but – I ask you to read on.

For a split second, the memory of the ritual flits through his mind – Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading … – and Jon brings his wrist down on the side of his chair, hard. The pain jolts him out of the recollection and brings him back to the present. He watches halfheartedly as the discoloration fades before his eyes, frustration with his overreaction itching in the back of his mind. Stupid.

With a longsuffering sigh, he rereads the previous section again. The borrowed words sound patronizing, without the qualifying context he wishes he could provide more explicitly. He isn’t just nitpicking – it’s crucial that Martin knows that Jon isn’t underestimating him, despite a history of doing exactly that for far too long.

The first time around, he trusted Martin – more than he trusted anyone, including (perhaps especially) himself – and even knowing what he knows now, he doesn’t regret it. He heard the tapes.

“But if I could just explain,” Martin had said.

“And how do you think Jon’s going to react to that explanation, hm?” Peter had replied. “You think he’ll accept it calmly? Come through with a well-considered, rational response?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Or would he assume he knows better than you and do something rash?”

“I don’t like being manipulated.”

“That’s fair. But I’m not wrong.”

“No.”

In Jon’s original timeline, he had proven Peter wrong. He had trusted Martin, respected his boundaries, followed his lead. This time, though… Jon won’t be able to demonstrate that with non-interference, and not being able to use his own words doesn’t help him explain that this isn’t just another instance of Jon just assuming he knows better than everyone else, that he actually does have special knowledge, and – well, truthfulness aside, that sounds condescending, too, doesn’t it?

He doesn’t blame Martin for agreeing with Peter. For a significant portion of Jon’s life, it would have been a fair assessment. He didn’t trust people. He didn’t trust himself, either – not really – but at least he knew his own intentions. That bone-deep fear of being manipulated, of being rejected, of not having control… it never played well with the concept of trust.

And when they first started working together, Jon made no secret of his knee-jerk judgment of Martin as being incompetent, clumsy, and unreliable. In retrospect, he couldn’t have been more wrong – and he knows now that he was only seeing what he wanted to see, projecting his own insecurities and fear of failure onto Martin to distract from his own floundering.

After learning that Martin had lied on his CV, Jon readjusted his initial opinions. He was impressed. Martin was remarkably capable for someone with no prior qualifications, no experience, no degree. What he lacked in experience he more than made up for in effort. He was clever, and resolute, and dependable, and genuine, and… and god, wasn’t Jon a fool for taking so long to notice? And then for never saying as much until it was almost too late?

This version of Martin hasn’t heard that apology just yet – or the corollary apology for waiting so long to apologize. Georgie had told him years ago that he needed to use his words, that people needed to hear directly that they were acknowledged and appreciated. Jon himself struggled with reading between the lines. Just because he had low tolerance for receiving direct praise – despite craving it deeply – didn’t mean that other people had the same hangups.

He’s since taken that advice to heart, but he should have done sooner. Georgie had been right about a lot of things.

Jon did eventually say as much and more, during those brief few weeks they had in the safehouse. Peter hadn’t been all wrong when he questioned how much they really knew one another. Between Jon’s early irascibility and the distance he felt obligated to keep given their employee/boss relationship; between preventing apocalypses and being in such constant life-or-death peril that it started to feel normal, so normal that Jon didn’t know what to do with himself when he wasn’t being chased or held captive; between the coma, and descending into inhumanity, and the Lonely… they hadn’t had a chance to get to know each other outside of a crisis situation.

Jon didn’t even know himself anymore. He wondered if he ever had.

For the first time, they finally had the time and space to remedy that. Both of them were changed and would never be the same, but they had each other. They were both willing to put in the effort, to learn how to communicate and accommodate and navigate boundaries, despite neither having much experience with a healthy relationship. And for a little while, it had seemed that they could both learn how to be present in the world again – starting with their own microcosm, one day at a time, encouraging one another to be more patient and kind with themselves.

It wasn’t fair, how abruptly that hesitant, hopeful attempt was stolen from them. Jon didn’t feel like he deserved comfort and contentment – he still doesn’t – but Martin… Martin deserved – deserves – to be safe and cared for and loved. Martin deserves to be happy.

Jon desperately wants to help him See that.

Don’t… misunderstand me, please –

– I trusted his instincts almost as much as I trusted my own.

More than I trusted my own, Jon amends in his head – but the Archive isn’t cooperating.

But I knew that I – knew the future –

– the promise of secret knowledge, of seeing something that no one else was privy to –

– there was – a lot – we were missing.

Please. All I ask is that I be allowed –

– a chance to express myself –

– said something about knowledge being a good defense here –

– so here I am, pouring out my lunatic story on paper in the hopes that you might eventually read it.

Statement of Georgina Barker regarding –

– travel through time.

Jon still has to ask Georgie if she can explain the situation to Martin, but he doesn’t think she’ll mind. It won’t be as comprehensive as Jon wishes it could be – he still struggles with explaining the fine details of the apocalypse to the others given his current limitations – but he’s done his best, and he can trust Georgie to do the same.

Some fears can only be endured for so long. I remember every second of that fall. Like it was happening in slow motion. I was certain I was about to watch him fall like I had.

That knowledge I had gained – could finally be put to use.

I shall do my best to explain, and hope that any revelations contained here in me sway you from the path you have started upon.

I wanted to tell him to stop, to warn him – because I knew –

– the Extinction – while I have seen evidence of its influence in other powers –

– there was no sign of – imminent arrival – I resolved –

– its emergence as a true power of its own –

– wasn’t a threat.

Whatever he was planning –

– to try and rescue those trapped –

– trying to protect me –

– defending the world from the darkness…

…I know – to talk to other people about it –

– desperately wishing for another human being to talk to –

– to take too much comfort in – people – would go quite strongly against the spirit of the experiment – had to really feel alone. That at least didn’t take too long to set in.

All that remained was the fog – could wander there for years, and never meet another – utterly forsaken – there seemed to be no end to it.

But it didn’t need to be forever, did it?

“This too shall pass.”

I tried to explain but all I could manage to get through the shaking sobs was, “I love you.”

By then it looked like he was on the verge of tears,

Jon stops reading for a moment, realizing that, aptly enough, he’s on the verge of tears right now. He swallows them back and continues.

By then it looked like he was on the verge of tears, but I couldn’t leave it alone – just couldn’t let it go.

I have tried to write it down, to put it into terms and words you could understand. And now I stare at it and not a word of it is even enough to fully describe the fact that –

I cannot lose him.

I – cared deeply about his well-being.

I know he didn’t deserve what happened to him.

He deserved to –

– to be – beloved –

– cared for – trusted –

– being wanted and appreciated –

– being genuinely loved –

– no matter how wrong it might feel –

– when you’re at your lowest point, when you’re your most emotionally vulnerable.

I need him to be okay –

– and the world is so much better for –

– the easy, charming man I’d fall in love with –

– being in it.

Please. All I ask is that I be allowed to –

– talk to you, before it all comes to an end –

– and I swear to you that –

– if you decide to do it – if –

– you want to be alone – and –

– didn’t say much to me after that –

– I made sure to keep – distance.

There’s so much more Jon wishes he could say; so much that he wishes he could say in his own voice, rather than the stolen words of survivors recounting the most traumatic moments of their lives. It still feels perverse, to use their statements like this. It might not be as bad as feeding directly on a victim, but it still falls on a spectrum of appropriating the torment of others for his own use.

At the end of the day, it really doesn’t feel all that different from Jonah’s brand of dehumanization. It’s just one more way Jon is complicit in the evil that thrives in this place –

“Hey,” comes Georgie’s voice from just a few yards away. Jon startles, sending his pen clattering to the floor. He had been so lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t even heard her descending the ladder. “Sorry,” she says with a wince. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Retrieving the fallen pen, Jon waves the apology off – it’s okay – and Georgie comes to sit next to him.

“Finished with your letter?”

“…I’m vague on the details,” he says. “I have to be.”

“Want me to take a look?”

Jon nods; he had been planning on asking her to read it through. Even if it was in his own words, he would likely run it by her. He trusts Georgie’s judgment regarding relationship matters far more than he trusts his own, and he knows she’ll be straightforward with him if he’s said something… well, stupid. He’s gotten better at communicating, but that doesn’t mean his tendency to put his foot in his mouth has disappeared entirely.

He jiggles his leg restlessly as she reads, increasingly self-conscious the longer the silence goes on. He resists scratching at his hands – Georgie is sure to reprimand him if he starts that up again. It isn’t that she has a problem with his fidgeting; she was actually one of the first people in his life to tolerate it. Encouraged it, even. She pointed out quite bluntly once that whenever Jon tried to force himself to sit still, his restless energy didn’t go away, it just came out as waspishness instead.

But she had a rule: no self-harm, no matter how mild. Personally, he didn’t categorize the scratching as self-harm, but she was firm about it. Lately, the scratching is limited mostly to his burned hand, and he’s tried explaining to her that it doesn’t even hurt – the scar tissue doesn’t register much sensation anymore – but she won’t hear it. For the past couple weeks, whenever she catches him at it, she gives him a look until he stops.

“I think it’s good,” Georgie says. “But…”

Jon tenses, but then he glimpses Georgie’s playful grin.

“It’s nothing bad! It’s just… well…”

He can hear the spark of mischief in her tone and somehow that makes him more apprehensive than the prospect of criticism.

“See, you say you’re not a poet,” she says, pointing at the letter, “but this part here…”

He spoke words I thought existed only in my heart, and I loved him as the soil loves the rain –

– and it seemed he felt the same way –

– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.

“You go and use a sappy metaphor – and I know,” she says, seeing him ready to protest, “they’re not your words and you’re using what you have available.”

Yes, he wants to say, and my vast library comprised solely of people’s retellings of their supernatural trauma isn’t exactly forthcoming with declarations of love, Georgina.

“But,” she says, goading now, “then you go and rhyme the first and last lines.”

Jon squints at the letter, and…

Fuck. It does rhyme.

He moves to snatch the paper away and Georgie stands and holds it out of reach, dancing backwards.

“No, nope, absolutely not,” she says, laughing. “Jonathan Sims, I refuse to let you change it. You’re leaving it exactly as is.”

“…being used against me in a cruel joke,” he huffs, glowering at her – but her laugh has always been infectious, and he can’t fight it as his lips twitch into a smile.

She hands the letter back to him after a minute, still grinning when she takes her seat again.

“I’m teasing you. You can change it if you want, but I think it’s adorable and you should leave it. Besides, Martin’s a poet, isn’t he? He might get a kick out of it.”

Honestly, it doesn’t bother him enough to rewrite the entire thing. And if there’s a chance of it coaxing a smile out of Martin…

“On a more serious note – this part here, ‘statement of Georgina Barker’ – I’m assuming you want me to try to convince him that you actually are a time traveler here to stop the apocalypse?” Jon nods. “Probably easier than trying to write it all out. I don’t mind, but are you sure he’ll listen to me?”

Jon shrugs. He has the same worry, but…

“As for myself, I must cling to –”

“– that most insidious of emotions: hope.”

“Somehow both unexpectedly sappy and predictably ominous,” she replies, “but I’ll take it. Better than despair, anyway.”

Despite the light teasing, the smile she flashes is genuine. Fleeting, though, as she continues.

“Oh, and one more thing – that one bit, capital-E Extinction? One, don’t like the sound of that, and two – should I know what that is? Melanie hasn’t mentioned anything like that before.”

“I’m sorry – it won’t let me say the words,” Jon says with a frustrated sigh.

“Will Martin know what it means, though?” Jon nods. With any luck, Martin can be persuaded to fill the others in on it. “Good enough.”

She watches him for a few moments as he chews at his thumbnail, leg still shaking, staring at the floor.

“Something’s on your mind.”

Jon sighs and closes his eyes.

“I could feel hunger gnawing at me.”

“You still haven’t had a statement?” Georgie says, frowning at him.

“Something he could salvage from the whole situation,” he mutters, not looking up at her. “Just a way of getting some control over his life, you know?”

“Jon, you can’t just starve yourself –”

“Running was pointless,” he agrees sullenly. “To try to escape from my task would only serve to fulfill another. I finally understood what I needed to do –”

“– some hungers are too strong to be denied –”

“– you have to feed it – or it will feed on you.”

“So why haven’t you?”

“Even as I did so, in the back of my mind I hated myself –”

“– to feed the sick voyeur that lurks in this place.”

“I’m not saying you should… go hunting, or whatever you want to call it. This is an archive, there are plenty of statements lying around.”

“…you’ve got all this… all these people’s experiences listened to and filed away.”

“Right. They’re already given. They can’t be taken back. You’re not going out and hurting people, you’re just… reading what’s already here.”

She thinks he was just agreeing with her, he realizes – she didn’t comprehend his true meaning there. How could she have? He hasn’t properly explained to them that he is the Archive. He already Knows all of the statements housed here. Old statements were stale even when he hadn’t read them yet. Now, they’re even less fulfilling.

As a child, he hated reading anything that he felt like he had read before. It seems morbidly fitting that the Archivist in him is much the same way.

“Think of it like… like harm reduction,” Georgie is saying now. “From what I can gather, abstinence just isn’t an option for you, at least not right now. The next best thing is to meet yourself where you are. Even if you can’t stop, you can still take steps to minimize the harm – and that includes harm to yourself. Reading the statements that are already here – I think it’s justifiable, if the alternative is starving to death.”

“I am not sure how long this might continue for. Maybe years. Maybe forever.”

“Maybe. But right now, you need to take it one step at a time. You’re getting ready to hurl yourself into danger. You should be at full strength for that. If you aren’t going to sleep, you at least need to eat something.”

She has a point. There is one other concern, though.

“It seems I cannot avoid the ceaseless gaze of – Jonah –”

“– still there, still watching me –”

“– eyes were always focused on something, always watching. And – I always felt afraid –”

“– being under constant scrutiny and observation –”

“– it may be worth your while to keep an eye on the statements – in case he finds his way here –”

“– my mind has always been receptive to the thoughts that lurk in the written page –”

“– that throw out strange or sometimes even dangerous things –”

“– a simple ruse or deception –”

“– quietly waiting for you to lose your footing, to slip up and fall.”

“You’re afraid of getting tricked into reading the wrong statement again.”

Jon nods, not quite meeting her eye. All of the statements housed here are already catalogued in the Archive. He can recall them on his own word for word, if he concentrates. But something about that doesn’t feel right. Physically reading the statement, speaking it into the tape recorder… it’s like its own little ritual – like there’s an order of operations that has to be followed or it doesn’t count, somehow.

“…I outlined basic checks in due diligence –”

“– checking and double checking –”

“– before I finally felt safe enough –”

“– to read a statement – hitting record and speaking it aloud.”

“Well… we can probably vet them before giving them to you?”

“…they were also there as a backup in case something went horribly wrong – in case –”

“– it tried to read me back.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll let Basira know.”

Her expression is concerned, but there’s something else underneath it. It doesn’t seem like judgment, or suspicion, or any of the other reactions he’s come to expect when discussing his reliance on the statements. It’s definitely not fear; this is Georgie. Pity, maybe?

Whatever it is, it makes him feel small and exposed and uncomfortably seen.

“Jon, look at me.” He does, with hesitation. “I know things are bad, and I’ll admit I was skeptical when you first said you wanted to change, but based on what I’ve seen over the past few months? I believe in you. It’s okay to have a little faith in yourself, too. I think you’ll need to, if you want to get through this.”

His gaze drifts to the floor, self-conscious.

“Anyway, it's probably best that Elias doesn’t see us pre-screening statements for you, right? Might make him suspicious. I can just gather a box of them and bring them down here. I’ll bring Basira with me, and we can explain the situation.” She stands and starts to walk toward the ladder, then stops abruptly. “Wait.”

She does a half-turn, not quite facing him, watching the floor pensively.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for. Is there something particular – like, do you have preferences, or – are there… nutritional requirements or something?” Jon can’t help it; he smiles at the absurdity of it all. “Do you need variety? Does a balanced diet even apply in this –”

Realizing he isn’t replying to any of her questions, she finally looks up, sees his amused smirk, and pauses mid-flustered gesture. He chuckles softly and shakes his head, mortified by the idea of cultivating a preference for statements as if choosing from a menu, but also just a bit shamefully, morbidly endeared at her thoughtfulness.

“Well, I don’t know!” she says indignantly, but she grins back. “Fine. I’ll grab a bunch at random then, and you can just deal. Ass.”

God, he missed this easy, playful banter even more than he had realized.

Jon watches as she climbs the ladder, preparing for the customary anxiety that tends to hit him whenever she leaves his presence – that conviction that it will be the last he sees of her.

When she pulls herself up through the trapdoor, though, he’s pleasantly surprised to note that the fear doesn’t come. He’s even more surprised that a half-hour later, when Georgie sends Basira with a box of statements but doesn’t accompany her, the fear still doesn’t overwhelm him. It shouldn’t be that surprising – he does trust Georgie – but intellectually understanding something isn’t the same as emotionally assimilating it. It seems that for once, his emotions have caught up with reality.

“Melanie needs company right now, so Georgie couldn’t come with. She didn't say exactly what you needed help with, but I think I have an idea.”

“…to keep an eye on the statements –”

“– they were also there as a backup in case something went horribly wrong.”

“Figured as much. Anyway, Georgie said she’ll come see you before she goes home today.” Basira drops the box on the floor in front of him. “I told her you probably wouldn’t want her present for the statements anyway. No need to expose more people to them if we can help it. I thought you’d agree.”

Jon nods, thankful that Basira is on the same page and he didn’t have to bother explaining it himself.

“So, any stand out to you?”

May as well get it over with, Jon thinks with a heavy sigh.

He leans over the box and sifts through them, eyes skimming over the case numbers until one catches his eye. CASE #0020312, the label reads. Figures, he thinks to himself with a grim, humorless smile, and he hands it over to Basira for her to inspect.

She skims through it quickly – she’s a fast reader, Jon notes – and at several points her eyebrows raise and furrow.

“Seems normal enough – for a statement, anyway,” she says, handing it back to him. Then, meeting his eyes: “A bit on the nose, though.” Jon shrugs. “You want me to stay while you read it, right? Go on, then.”

The tape recorder clicks on in his pocket, as if to voice its agreement. Jon removes it and takes a moment to glare at it before turning his eyes to the statement, clearing his throat, and beginning his monologue.

“Statement of Tova McHugh, regarding their string of near-death experiences. Original statement given December 3rd, 2002. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. Statement begins…”

The Coffin sits where Breekon dropped it, hungry and waiting. It’s the densest, most solid thing in the room, as if it has its own gravity, a sort of metaphysical black hole. It’s not as bad as the rift at Hill Top Road, but it has a similar feel to it: oppressive, wrong, its existence impossible but unavoidably present all the same.

Jon stands at the threshold, blocking the entrance, Basira and Georgie standing behind him.

“So this is it, then,” Georgie says. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

“…as you can imagine, getting out of there proved – difficult –”

“– but they did return.”

She still looks uncertain, watching the Coffin as if it might move on its own.

“…try to keep you far away –”

“– didn’t want a good look inside that room – stopped at the threshold –”

“– make it very little distance over the threshold before – swallowed –”

“– you must trust me on that and not come looking –”

“– supervise from a distance –”

“Jon,” Basira says, cutting him off, “we get it. It’s dangerous, stay away, et cetera. I can feel the compulsion from here; you really don’t need to tell me twice, let alone five times.”

Jon barely hears her, his mind already entirely occupied with what he’s about to do. He stands paralyzed, knees locked, hands trembling just slightly, pulse thundering in his throat. Already his breath feels constricted, and he hasn’t even opened the thing yet.

“Do you need more time?” Georgie asks gently.

Jon shuts his eyes, swallows around the lump in his throat, and shakes his head no. The longer he puts it off, the harder it will be to take the plunge. And Daisy has waited long enough.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Jon breathes out, opens his eyes, and turns to face her. She opens her arms slightly, offering an embrace – but he shakes his head, giving her an apologetic look. Pressure is usually good, grounding him, but right now – well, he’s about to have all of creation pressing in on him, and any reminder of that is only going to send him spiraling.

“Okay. You have everything you need?”

He nods, trying to project whatever thin veneer of confidence he can muster – more for himself than the others, really. He holds up the tape recorder with Daisy’s statement tape in it, then gestures vaguely at the tape recorders littering his desk.

“…like breadcrumbs taking us home. Home, in this case, was –”

“Martin,” Georgie says with a knowing smile. “I’ll make sure he gets your message – and yes,” she says, seeing him about to interject, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t read it outside the tunnels. And I’ll explain… the situation. Don’t worry about things over here. Just focus on what you need to do on your end.”

Jon nods again, clenching and unclenching his fist at his side, stuffing the tape recorder back into his pocket with the other hand.

Time to stop dithering, he tells himself firmly.

“Tell Daisy I –” Basira blurts out, then pauses, struggling for words. “Tell her…”

She breathes out a short exhale and looks up at Jon. He nods at her: I understand.

“Tell her I’m waiting.” She pauses, biting her lip. “And Jon?” He makes a questioning noise. “Come back safe,” she says, then turns on her heel and walks briskly away down the hall.

“We’ll see you home soon, Jon,” Georgie says. She pours every ounce of reassurance into it that she can manage, but he can feel that she’s still apprehensive. “Don’t get lost.”

“…I’d – get out of there as soon as possible,” he says, trying to mirror her composure.

“You’d better. I doubt I’ll be the only one cross with you if you stay away too long.”

The tape recorders fill the room with a low, static-leaden murmuring – dozens of overlapping tones, unbroken streams of phonemes rendered nearly incomprehensible, discrete parts unable to compete against the cacophony of the whole. Although it sounds like the background noise of a crowd to Jon, he Knows every word being said: a litany of horror and dread unspooling in the air around him.

He also Knows that they will continue running, replaying each statement on a loop until he returns, no batteries required.

A notebook sits on his desk, battered and careworn. It’s Martin’s, half-filled with poems and works-in-progress, many of them from the weeks he was living in the Archives. He left it here when he went to work for Peter. Whether it was meant as a deliberate symbolic gesture – leaving the past behind him, sacrificing this sentimental part of himself in order to become what Peter’s plan required him to be – or was simply an oversight after months of having no time or mind for writing, Jon still doesn’t Know. He never asked. In the future, after Martin started writing again, Jon felt it was best not to reopen old wounds for the sake of satiating his own curiosity.

If only he could have learned that lesson earlier in life.

Jon has never been a fan of poetry. It’s never really resonated with him; he’s never understood it, and he… doesn’t have much patience for things he cannot understand. But then, Martin went to work for Peter Lukas – and the last time Jon was here, he had burned every other bridge between himself and humanity.

When he was a child, he had convinced himself that he didn’t need friends, didn’t need affection. He found human connection in books, and he told himself that it was enough. It wasn’t, in retrospect: he entered adolescence and then adulthood with stunted social skills, and practicing didn't seem worth the risk of failure. Between that and being the Archivist, it was no wonder he had chased everyone away.

By the time he woke up from his first coma, he knew that books would be no replacement for actual companionship, but he thought it might at least take the edge off, like it used to when he was a child. It backfired terribly. He would always Know how the story ended before even finishing the first chapter, and it would demolish any motivation to continue reading. It wasn’t just that his reading habits now tend to be as particular as they were when he was young, having little patience for anything that felt like he had read it before. It was that he couldn’t have a moment of peace from the knowledge of what he had become.

One day he stumbled across Martin’s notebook in Document Storage, along with some spoken word recordings that Martin had made while living in the Archives. At first, Jon didn’t know what the tapes were, and listening to any tapes that turned up had long since become automatic for him. Once he realized what was on them, he probably should have stopped, but he listened to every second of that handful of tapes, over and over and over again. He felt guilty – he had already violated Martin’s privacy once before, when he was deep in the throes of paranoia – but he justified it to himself because he… well, he'd needed to hear Martin’s voice.

The poetry was… well, Jon still didn’t get it, not really. But he found himself liking it anyway, because it was Martin’s voice and Martin’s words and Martin’s story, and Jon didn’t have to understand it for it to have meaning and value and warmth. He should have been content with the tapes, but he kept stealing glances at the notebook, itching to open it and start reading. Part of it was that simple curiosity that was always leading him astray, but for once, that wasn’t the loudest part of him.

It wasn’t a need to Know. It was a need for closeness.

So, he pushed that guilty voice in his head aside and… he read. Unlike the fiction stories he had been trying to lose himself in, he never once Knew anything about a poem before he finished reading it. He rarely Knew anything about it even after reading it, and then rereading it, and then rereading it again. For the first time in his life, not having answers was… refreshing. Freeing, even.

It didn’t take long for Jon to memorize every word, cover to cover – and he never grew bored of them, despite their familiarity.

Gingerly, almost reverently, Jon turns the pages. There are a handful of poems in here about him, and even now, indelibly etched into his memory, reading them on the page still makes him feel seen in a way that is all at once terrifying and comforting. Affecting, certainly, but in a way he could appreciate, once he gave it a chance.

You’re stalling, Jon tells himself, closing the notebook and placing one last tape on top of it.

He closes his eyes and forces himself to take several deep breaths – it’s the last chance he’ll have for the next few days – and he checks his pocket for the tape recorder with Daisy’s statement in it. Pointless, really; he already Knows it’s there, same as it was the last dozen times he checked.

Swallowing hard, he finally turns to look at the Coffin. The moment he lays eyes on it, the static rises in his mind.

Oh, shut up, Jon thinks tiredly. The Dread Powers are like cats yowling at overflowing food bowls, insisting that they haven’t had supper yet. At least cats are endearing. The Fears are noisy and intrusive with none of the charm. You’re all so goddamn needy, you know that?

The Coffin carries on, and Jon rolls his eyes. Wrapping himself in annoyance does little to drown out the fear, but it offers a slight buffer. He’ll take it.

You’re still stalling, he reprimands himself.

With trembling hands he picks up the key, fits it into the lock… and he opens the lid. It lifts easily with only a slight creak, no heft or resistance to it: it wants to be opened, like so many of the other hungry doors lurking around this world, bear traps and snares and spiderwebs all lying in wait for somebody foolish and curious enough to ignore all the alarm bells for just one… peek… inside.

Knock-knock, comes the intrusive thought.

Shut up, Jon shoots back.

The tape recorder clicks on, whirring impatiently in his pocket, as if to urge him onward.

You too, he snaps – but as much as his knee-jerk impulse is to be contrary, he has put this off long enough.

Jon steels himself, takes one last deep breath – savoring fresh air, full lungs, airways clear of dirt and grime and debris – and he begins his descent.

Martin is in Peter’s office, tending to some tedious administrative tasks. His brain feels fuzzy, thoughts sluggish and stunted from the lack of stimulation. The tick-tock of the wall clock drones on and on. He’s considered removing the batteries, but it’s the only company he’s had in days. Complete silence might be worse. Besides, the longer he sits here, the less and less the noise scrapes against the edges of his consciousness – and even when it does penetrate the fog filling his head, he can’t bring himself to care.

If Peter intends for the monotony to highlight his isolation and desensitize him to the absence of… well, everything, it’s working.

Then, between one moment and the next, there’s a shift. It crashes into him, tears through the quiet, and the world around him comes rushing back in, a sharp and blinding and cacophonous flood of sensory input.

There’s a palpable void where one shouldn’t be, and he knows with certainty that it’s distinct from the general sense of absence that he’s grown accustomed to over the past few months. The Lonely feels soft, quiet, gentle – natural, like a cocoon tailored specifically for him. This feels like a knife to the gut, a gaping wound, alarm bells screaming in his mind that something is wrong, wrong, wrong –

“Something’s happened,” he says to himself. He flinches at the sound. It’s jarring, hearing his own voice, raspy as it is with disuse.

Before he even realizes that he’s moving, he’s out of the office and hurrying down the hallway, not bothering to close the door behind him.

“Jon,” he whispers with a passion and urgency that feels alien to him now, thoughts no longer muffled and detached. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he does: Jon’s done something drastic, and given his track record, it can’t be good.

The only thought running through his mind is Jon, playing on a loop like a stuck tape; like the nervous stammering of the person he used to be, intimidated by and enamored with the man in equal measure; like a – like a prayer: Jon.

Martin picks up his pace, making a beeline for the Archives.

End Notes:

The Buried, Round Two: BEGIN.

I might not have much free time to write this weekend, so the next chapter probably won't be ready until next weekend at least. It will have some Martin POV though, FINALLY. This story hasn't had enough Martin screentime yet and that is entirely a hell of my own making, but I WILL remedy it. Also: ACTUAL DAISY CONTENT SOON, I SWEAR.

Citations for Jon's letter to Martin are as follows: MAG 040; 112/007/029/102; 007/150; 020/019; 150; 013; 135; 048/144/007/021; 021; 013/002/032/147/153/013; 161/091/101/089/135; 048/028/067/013; 143/150/008/013; 135/048/009; 013; 150; 013/117; 085/052; 063/124; 123; 011; 123/133; 070/154/123; 133/019/036/011; 094/088; 075; 135; 127; 124/157/050/157/130; 143/107/012/056; 122/012/057; 013; 145/121; 150; 042; 042; 032; 037/136/110; 152/008/101/153/032/129/153; 117/155/013/155; 133/112/152/154/013/051/049.

Citations for Jon's dialogue are as follows, broken down by section: Section 1: MAG 064; 019; 138/139; 019; 058; 148; 121/014/089; 066/135; 043; 096; 138/060/154/060/113/017/005/116/121; 054/022/054/147; 057/091; 155. Section 2: 150/096; 095/006/023/157/139; 125; 047. Section 3: None. Section 4: None.

The cited dialogue between Peter and Martin is from MAG 126. And it probably goes without saying but the Jonah/Elias statement quote is from MAG 160.

As always, you can also just ask if you want to know where a particular line comes from. c:

[syntaxeme]

One Good Turn ch. 3

[Read on AO3] | [First Chapter] | [Next Chapter] Rating: T Story summary: Angel’s clean streak is broken when Val forcibly calls him back to the studio. On principle (and not at all out of concern for Angel's wellbeing), Alastor takes it upon himself to free Angel from Valentino's control. But what started as a simple favor becomes something much more complicated, all because of an innocent thank-you kiss.

— — – 

Some part of Alastor knew it wasn’t entirely fair to judge a person—or a demon, as the case may be—by the company he keeps. That is, the fact that Valentino chose to associate with that tasteless hack Vox did not necessarily mean that he too was uncultured vermin. It was damning, certainly, but not definitive. This was a moot point, however, as there was already sufficient evidence to prove Valentino was trash, his friendship with Vox notwithstanding.

“It looks like after several months supposedly on the straight and narrow, adult film star and well-known coke whore Angel Dust has finally fallen completely off the wagon!” Katie Killjoy’s aggressively cheerful voice blared from the television set up in the hotel’s lobby, where all the hotel’s residents had gathered for news of their missing compatriot. Alastor could just imagine that vicious smile plastered on her face as she commentated over a video of Angel in a darkened club drinking himself to sickness, Angel doing lines and laughing coldly as a demon at his side passed out, Angel knelt in the darkened interior of a limousine and flipping off paparazzi while Valentino held him close with a ubiquitous grin.

Valentino was a common factor in all these scenarios, in fact, whether pouring liquor down Angel’s throat, handing him off to a…client, or simply watching in amusement while he drowned himself in sin. It had been three weeks, nearly four, since that limo had arrived and whisked Angel back to his old life of leisure and pleasure, and it seemed clear that Valentino was intent on keeping him there. Perhaps all the drugs and alcohol were meant to keep him compliant. And it seemed to be working a treat.

“It just goes to show that every soul here in Hell is here for a reason,” the reporter went on, “and that no misguided attempts at redeeming them will ever bear fruit. Looking at you, Princess Charlotte!”

Charlie’s eyes were locked on the TV, both hands covering her mouth, and Alastor could see tears starting to well in her eyes. Vaggie tried to console her, but she simply shut her eyes tight and dropped her head, withdrawing into herself rather than showing all the pain she must be feeling. That was a smart move, strategic, but not at all aligned with her personality.

“Damn it, Angel was here longer than any of us,” one of the other patrons complained loudly. “If he couldn’t hack it, what chance do the rest of us have?”

“Oh, come now, my good fellow, that’s hardly the spirit of self-improvement we strive for here at the Hazbin,” Alastor crowed, waltzing over to drape his arm over the pessimistic demon’s shoulders. “Have some confidence! Have some fortitude! Why, I assure you no one is more distraught over our dear friend Angel’s defection than I, but I refuse to allow my melancholy to keep me from progressing toward—”

“Alastor, will you just…save it?” Charlie barked, surprising everyone in the room into silence (other than the television, unfortunately). She looked up at him with a tearful snarl, fingers curling into helpless claws. “I know you don’t care about any of this, I know you think of it as a joke, but losing Angel isn’t something to laugh about. He was doing so well. I really thought he…” She took a deep, shuddering breath and shut her eyes. “I feel stupid enough already. You don’t have to rub it in.” She left the room with her head down, and as usual, the others followed her lead, dispersing to their respective rooms and leaving Alastor alone with 666 News’s mocking jingle.

Well. That certainly hadn’t gone to plan. If Charlie thought he was intentionally digging at her for Angel’s unfortunate regression, she was sorely mistaken. Much to his own surprise, he truly was quite bothered by Angel’s absence, either because he disliked the hotel’s naysayers having any further ammunition against them or because none of their other patrons had such a defined and entertaining personality. He also didn’t much care for the knowledge that the very independent and unfettered Angel Dust was evidently being toted about like a marionette, with Valentino holding the strings.

With some reluctance, Vaggie had shared with him the stories Angel had told of his relationship with Val. There was no secret in the fact that Valentino used him for sex and money, no pretense of fair play or equality between them. It was with far more trepidation that Angel admitted exactly how imbalanced in power they were, how insistent Valentino could be on controlling his every move. And if he disobeyed, if he rebelled, if he refused any order, the Overlord wouldn’t hesitate to ‘lay down the law.’ Alastor could only guess, based on how frightened Angel had seemed when they’d last seen each other, exactly what that implied.

He had since done some further research on exactly who Valentino was and what function he served in Hell. How many associates he had. Who might seek revenge if some unfortunate accident were to befall him. That was, of course, how his association with Vox had become clear, which complicated matters a bit more. Slaughtering one Overlord for the sake of bringing Angel back into the fold and restoring his autonomy was one thing; Alastor had killed people for less. Murdering an Overlord to whom Vox had some ostensible connection was another entirely. Was Alastor willing to risk a genuine threat for the sake of this farce, this naïve, hellish sitcom Charlie was staging?

Difficult to say.

…

Later in the evening, while Alastor sat awake in bed contemplating his options, a faint scratching from downstairs caught his ear. It was unlikely any of the others would hear it, but being so attuned to the sounds of his surroundings as he was, it didn’t escape his notice. He sat a few moments longer, wondering if it might be another drunken imp crawling home after a few shots too many. But the sound persisted, a scratch scratch scratch, as if of claws scraping the front door’s flawless enamel.

With a sigh, he slipped through the shadows and down the stairs to open the door, shocked to find a disheveled Angel Dust collapsed on the doorstep. Or maybe ‘disheveled’ was too mild a word. His face was bruised and smudged with blood, his torn clothing even more revealing than usual, his breathing shallow as if every inhale caused him further pain. To be plain, he looked rather like shit. And his condition was utterly fascinating.

“Angel?” Alastor knelt to observe him more closely: his hazy eyes, the blood leaking from the corner of his mouth, the way his hand still absently scrabbled toward the door. He almost seemed unaware that he was no longer alone. When Alastor rested a hand on his shoulder, he flinched away.

“No!” he said weakly. “No, I’ll be…I’ll…” He blinked quickly, trying to clear his vision, and the fear on his face faded into confusion. “Alastor?”

“That is my name; don’t wear it out,” Alastor chuckled, unsure of how to approach this situation with anything other than his usual nonchalance. “Are you all right? I’ll be honest: you aren’t looking your best.”

“Yeah, thanks, jackass,” Angel grumbled, struggling to push himself up, all four arms shaking under his slight weight.

“May I ask what happened?” He was terribly curious. It must have something to do with Valentino, but what? It was clear Angel had been beaten, but by whom?

“Doesn’t matter. Just help me get to my room, will ya?”

Alastor remained exactly where he was, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, are you back to stay? Is this a pattern you’re developing, spending some time ‘clean’ before relapsing and leaving us without a word for months or longer? A classic cycle for addicts, I’m told.” If Valentino had truly been holding him against his will, these accusations would hardly be fair, but Alastor got the feeling that wasn’t exactly what had happened.

“Fine, don’t help me then.” Angel managed to force himself to his feet—which were bare—and clung to the door to take one shaking step inside. As he tried to take another, he wavered and collapsed. By reflex, Alastor moved to support him. But Angel surprised him by shoving away, so roughly that he threw himself to the ground.

“Keep your fuckin’ hands off me!” he shouted, leaving the lobby in charged silence thereafter. Despite the unexpected reaction, or maybe because of it, Alastor’s smile widened slightly at the edges. He did enjoy a good surprise, if he was honest, and it was interesting to imagine what might have happened to make Angel of all people averse to being touched. After a moment of stillness, the tension melted from Angel’s body, and he lowered his head slowly. “Sorry. I ain’t had the best luck with men lately.”

Oh, do I fall under that category? “Think nothing of it. Though it’ll be harder to help you upstairs if you don’t want me touching you.”

“It’s fine. Just don’t get fuckin’ handsy,” Angel muttered, holding out one hand and allowing Alastor to take it to help him up.

“I’m sure you know already that I wouldn’t dream of it.” Again, he laughed, helping Angel slowly and cumbersomely across the lobby to enter the elevator.

“Ya know, for once, I appreciate that about you.” Angel had chosen a room at the very top of the hotel on his initial arrival, determined to be as far from the others as possible, citing ‘beauty rest’ and ‘mind your business’ as his reasoning. Regardless of his absence, Niffty had still included the room in her usual cleaning schedule, possibly in the hopes that he would be back. When they reached room 723 and he managed to locate his key, he swung the door open to a room decorated in shades of pink rather like Angel himself. While he stumbled inside to seat himself on the bed and let out a sigh of relief, Alastor lingered in the doorway, his curiosity unsatisfied.

“Where have you been?” he asked, making a conscious effort at sincerity in his tone.

“Ain’t you been watchin’ the news?” Angel scoffed. “I been everywhere. Didn’t even fuckin’ know half the time, Val kept me so—” He stopped himself, wrapping his arms around his lengthy body and staring down at his lap. “I bet Charlie’s pissed.”

“Now, I’m sure you know her better than that.”

“Yeah. But ‘disappointed’ is even worse. I didn’t want…” He shook his head in frustration. “It’s Val. I can’t think straight when he’s around. He gets in your head, y’know?”

“In your head, maybe,” Alastor agreed. “Yes, that’s how it seems.”

“You wanna talk about ‘cycles’? You wanna talk about ‘patterns’? It’s him. It’s always fuckin’ him.” Even with his mouth set in a furious sneer, a tear streaked down his face, and he quickly brushed it away. “He’s been real careful about keepin’ his eye on me this time. Keepin’ me happy or strung-out or shitfaced enough that I can’t argue with him. Guess he slipped up tonight.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Alastor stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him, then went to lean against the wall opposite Angel and watch him closely. It almost sounded as if he wanted to talk about what he’d just gone through at Valentino’s hands, and if that was the case, Alastor was happy to listen. “What happened tonight?” he prompted. “If Valentino has made such an effort to keep you under control, how did you come to be back here at the hotel?”

“Luck, maybe? I mean, if you can call it lucky to get the shit kicked outta you,” Angel said with a mirthless laugh. His eyes lingered on Alastor, studying him as if trying to guess what ulterior motives he might have for staying in the room. “I dunno. Val had some business to take care of tonight. The kinda business he doesn’t like me gettin’ involved in. So he…loaned me out to a buddy of his. Vox. He—”

Angel’s tale cut off with a cringe as the usual ambient buzzing about Alastor’s person jumped into a harsh screech of static. His sharp smile stayed fixed as firmly as ever, his eyes wide as he tried to process this new information. He hadn’t realized that Vox was personally involved in all this, but the knowledge muddied his feelings on the entire subject somewhat. Where was all this anger coming from, he wondered? Was it the idea of Vox enjoying anything that he so resented? Was it the concept of Angel Dust being passed around between Overlords without any say in the matter? Maybe it was the thought that he was somehow enabling Vox to take advantage of Angel by not confronting Valentino sooner.

Very difficult to say.

After several seconds of tension, he managed to subdue the scratch and static back to its typical lingering presence. “I’m sorry, please continue,” he said pleasantly. “You’ve been…involved with Vox, then?”

“Sorta.” Angel was still watching him warily, like he expected another sudden outburst at any moment. “You know him?”

“We’re acquainted.” Another brief crackle of static. “We’re of different minds on a few issues. I didn’t know he was a part of Valentino’s business.”

“He’s not exactly. Doesn’t like gettin’ his hands dirty; he just likes to watch,” Angel explained. Yes, that fit the understanding of Vox’s character that Alastor had developed over the years. Always watching, observing, storing information for later use. Parasite. “It’s not like anything was different this time. It’s how he always is. Him and his guys. Usually four or five of ‘em. But I guess he didn’t like Val’s plan to keep me drugged and drunk all the time. What’s the point if I don’t scream, right?” His voice had turned hard, cold, and his clawed fingers dug into the bedspread beneath him.

Realizing that this topic had become an unpleasant one for both of them, Alastor began, “Angel, if you’d rather not—”

“Oh no, you started this,” Angel snapped back, shooting him a glare. “You wanted to know. The least you can do is let me finish.” He was right, of course. Alastor inclined his head and gestured for Angel to go on. “Anyway, those demons that work for him ain’t really the gentle type. And I was comin’ down from like, three different highs at once, so I already felt like garbage before they got their hands on me. Guess I complained one time too many.” He absently reached up to touch the bruise on his cheekbone, wincing slightly at the pressure.

“Once they were done with me, once Vox looked the other way, I snuck out. I got a cab, but I didn’t have any cash on me, so…” He shrugged, leaving it up to Alastor’s imagination as to how he paid for the ride. This may have been the first time he’d seen Angel so blasé toward—even uncomfortable with—the subject of sex. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. Don’t worry, Val’s probably gonna send one of his guys to pick me up once he realizes I’m gone, so I won’t be here causin’ trouble for long.”

Alastor pushed off the wall and strode over to the bed to stand in front of Angel. Recalling how badly he had responded to being touched earlier, he made sure to move slowly and carefully as he trailed his fingertips up the edge of Angel’s chin to make him look up. “Is that what you want? To go back to Valentino?”

“Wh-what?” Angel was apparently having difficulty following the turn this conversation had just taken, his face flushed as he stared up at the Radio Demon with wide eyes.

“Do you want to go back to him?” Alastor repeated, absently licking the pad of his thumb to wipe the dried blood away from the corner of Angel’s mouth. Such a waste. Angel started to lean into the touch, but it ended before he could do so. “If and when he sends an escort to retrieve you, do you plan to cooperate?”

“What else am I gonna do?” Shaking his head, leaning back slightly, Angel pointed out, “You don’t know what he’s like, Al. He doesn’t like bein’ told ‘no,’ and he doesn’t like lettin’ go of shit that belongs to him. I ain’t got much choice.”

“Just humor me for a moment and suppose that you do,” Alastor insisted, gesturing airily as he spoke. “Suppose you had the option to either go back to his studio and live a relatively comfortable and indulgent life with few personal freedoms or stay here, focus on your rehabilitation, and work with us to support the hotel’s efforts. Which would you prefer?”

The answer was almost immediate. “If there was a way for me to not be Val’s little fuckin’ boy toy anymore, sure, I’d take it in a heartbeat.”

Alastor’s smile widened considerably. “That is exactly what I was hoping to hear. And as co-manager of the hotel, it’s my duty to eliminate any and all obstacles to our patrons’ recovery, is it not? Consider your account with Valentino settled, my friend, and try to get some rest. We’ll be expecting you back in sessions tomorrow.”

“Wait. Wait a minute!” Angel grabbed his wrist as he started to leave, and although he wrenched away from the touch, he did pause. “What’re you sayin’? You’re not gonna go after him, are ya?”

“I plan to have a conversation with him,” Alastor said honestly. “I’m hoping he’s a reasonable fellow and will understand the situation without the need for things to get messy. If he doesn’t, however…” The room darkened slightly, highlighting the glow of his eyes. “I̶ ̢w̸i̷l͡l m͞ak̸e ͘h͜i͏m ͝uǹd҉e̶rst҉an͠d.”

“Don’t.” Angel was visibly unnerved by seeing his cheerful demeanor slip, but it didn’t stop him from protesting. “Seriously. I know you’re supposed to be this big powerful Overlord and all, but Val is no joke. Whatever you think you’re gonna get out of threatening him—”

“Are you trying to protect him?”

“No. I’m tryin’ to protect—” He ran a hand through his hair with an irritated groan. “It’s not worth it. I’m sayin’ if he’s pissed at me, I should be the one dealing with it. I don’t want you or Charlie or anybody here to get hurt cuz of my personal bullshit.” As the words were coming out of his mouth, he seemed to slowly realize what he was saying, just as Alastor did the same.

“Why Angel Dust,” the Radio Demon purred, surprised but delighted. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that sounded very much like the virtue of Kindness. Maybe even Humility. You might be closer to redemption than I thought.” What an interesting development!

“Oh, shut the hell up!” Angel hissed, flushing even darker now and grabbing a heart-shaped throw pillow from the bed to toss it at Alastor. “Get outta my room, you dick.”

“Hmm, and just when we were starting to get along.” He dodged another pillow and swept out of the room, stealing one last glance at the blush on Angel’s cheeks before pulling the door shut behind him. As much as he appreciated the sentiment, he planned to ignore the advice not to approach Valentino.

It’s not worth it, Angel had said. I’m not worth it, was what he meant. That was likely another lingering effect of Valentino’s influence, one he would be better off without. Beyond that, Alastor had already said that he would take care of the problem, and he had a firm policy against the breaking of promises.

[supersoupedup]

The Abyss || Quentin Beck x Reader

wordcount: 3.6k

a/n: i’d usually include a summary, but i think it’s best if this one just unfolds.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He’d expected to see more children in attendance. After all, so-called “magic” was tailored to enthuse their small, undeveloped minds. The poor, gullible things. I mean, imagine believing that a quarter could really materialize behind your ear out of thin air, or being genuinely ecstatic because yes, the eight of hearts was indeed your card! Little idiots.

But who could really blame them? Not Quentin. He knew that the apple and the tree went hand in hand. Kids believed in magic, parents believed in CNN. Put them both together and it made for one big stupid, happy family. 

Still, the age demographics of the crowd slowly pouring into the dim auditorium took him by a bit of a surprise. No one looked a day under fifty. Quentin couldn’t help but cringe from his hidden corner in the dark rear of the theatre. He was already compromising his own dignity by sneaking into the place, but God these people actually paid to be fooled? Now that was downright embarrassing. 

Not that they couldn’t afford it.

Not only did the patrons appear to be older, but by the looks of their attire they had obtained quite the amount of wealth in the span of their years. The women dressed like modern-day flappers draped in real pearls and the men wore tailored suits like Gatsby, gold diamond cuff-links winking just as arrogantly as their wearers whenever they caught the smallest glint of candle light. 

And as if to really bring it home, the place they were all packed into was more hidden than a speakeasy. All dark alley on the outside, chandeliers and champagne within. There was even a goddamn secret password for crying out loud. 

Thanks to advanced AR technology however, that was one thing Quentin didn’t need to worry about. 

“Mr. Connaly?” The security guard in the alley had stared quizzically when Quentin appeared before him. He was thinking, but not really. 

Quentin knew that there was a little voice going off inside the man’s head, telling him that something wasn’t quite right. That there was something a little off about this Mr. Connaly. Perhaps it was his posture, or maybe it was his eyes. Didn’t matter what that little voice was saying though. Quentin also knew that he wouldn’t listen to it. 

“I thought you already went inside,” the man finally spoke.

Quentin tilted a head of gray hair, squinted a pair of brown eyes.

“Do I pay you to think?” he asked in a voice that wasn’t his own. More gravel. Connaly was a smoker.                                         

And just like that, the guard blinked away all of his doubt.

Quentin wondered if God knew that when he gave man intuition it would go to such waste. 

“Uh, no, sorry,” the man stammered, “step right in, sir.”

That simple.

You didn’t need a password when you owned the place -- or when someone thought you owned the place. 

Now there he was, illusion executed, standing as himself in the back of an auditorium where according to William, something amazing was going to happen. 

“It was unlike anything I had ever seen before!” He’d waved his hands in childlike astonishment. “Like real magic!”

Quentin frowned. “What are you, five?” 

The mousy engineer turned red with embarrassment, returning his hands to their usual thumb twiddling position. 

“No, not at all.” He cleared his throat before speaking again. “But whatever it is, if we could learn it, it could take what we do to the next level.”

Quentin scoffed.

“Learn it?” he mocked. “Learn what, sleight of hand? Equivoque? I developed the most cutting edge illusion technology on the planet, and you want me to go learn party tricks?”

“N- No, none of that, Mr. Beck, sir.” William shook his head fiercely. “This is quite more than that.” 

He took a step forward and handed him a laminated flyer. It was all black except for two white words typed in sleek, futuristic font: The Abyss. 

“You have to see it to believe it.” 

It was an ironic thing to say, but there Quentin was now. Eyes ready for the seeing. He just had to know what was so damned special that it could possibly build anything greater on top of his life’s work. And there were only eight more minutes until he found out. 

His eyes were so laser focused on the closed red stage curtain hiding what he came for that he was startled when he heard a woman’s voice nearby. 

“Is this your first time?” she asked, holding a glass of champagne that now held only a fourth of its original contents. Some of her lipstick had come off on the rim, leaving two red half moons on the inner and outer edges of the bubbling flute. She was an older lady like all the rest, but she looked like the kind who spent fortunes on anti-aging creams and the occasional Botox shot. 

Unless she was purposely going for the slightly creepy mannequin look, neither seemed to be working out too well for her. 

“Indeed it is,” Quentin answered, uncrossing his arms for the first time since he settled in. He hadn’t realized just how up tight he probably looked in this sea of people laughing, conversing, and getting tipsier by the minute. 

The woman laughed though nothing was remotely funny. 

“Well aren’t you in for a treat.” She then looked him up and down, unconsciously wetting her crimson stained lips. “Though you do appear to be on the younger side, so you mustn’t be a member. Are you a guest of Mr. Jameson’s? He said he had a nephew who was quite wealthy that he would be bringing soon. I was very impressed by how wealthy he sounded. Are you him?” 

Quentin was just about lie like he so compulsively tended to do when a disembodied voice boomed from the surrounding speakers. “Five minutes left until we enter The Abyss. Please find your seats now.”

The woman did a slight jump in excitement before finishing the rest of her drink and waving the question away. “Oh, never mind that,” she said. “I don’t want to be the last one standing. Have fun!” 

She scurried her way back toward the settling crowd while Quentin remained where he stood. He could stand just fine. He had come for one purpose and one purpose only and it wasn’t to get comfortable. 

People around him shuffled into seats, chattering giddily like children on a field trip. Quentin’s curiosity was an irritating itch that grew with every passing moment. Why were these grown men giggling like school girls? What the hell kind of show was this? 

Five minutes passed, and he was about to find out.

In one instant, without any prior announcement, the room went dark and silent. Every light, every candle, and every voice went out all at once. 

It was unsettling how quickly it happened. The contrast was stark. Not even a silhouette could be seen nor a whisper heard. It if weren’t for him being able to feel the ground beneath his feet, Quentin would have thought he was floating in the middle of, well…. An abyss. 

But he still wasn’t impressed. Anyone could flip a light switch and quiet a crowd. Whatever came next would have to be extraordinary for Quentin to truly consider it worthy of his respect.  

That’s when a warm voice cut through the silence and inadvertently sent goosebumps running all up and down his skin.

“Welcome to The Abyss,” it said. “Do not be afraid of the dark.” 

Quentin’s breath hitched. Not because he was in awe, but because the air around him had suddenly grown cold and he didn’t like that his body was reacting. 

He was only there as a detached watcher, but that didn’t stop the hair on the back of his neck from standing at attention, and his heartbeat was starting to quicken too. 

“My body’s biological response to the unknown,” he reasoned with himself. “It’s out of my control.”

“The universe began in darkness,” the voice continued, gentle and soothing. It was the kind of voice one would use in reading a bedtime story. “You began in darkness. When we close our eyes, we see darkness. The darkness is our friend. And from the darkness, comes creation. Darkness can be molded, folded, whittled, wielded, made into something... from nothing. It is a power all have, yet few master. Tonight, we unlock the power. Are you ready?”

Quentin expected this to be the part where the lights cut back on and the crowd erupted into loud, cajoling cheers, but no such thing happened. The silent darkness remained. It was so quiet he started to wonder if everyone else had left and if he was the last person remaining.

Then the voice returned.

“Good,” it said. “Let us begin. Follow my instructions.”

There was a woosh, followed by the faint beginnings of a song that started off softly. A mellow lullaby, slow-tempoed with twinkling instruments that made Quentin feel relaxed. 

“Close your eyes,” the voice instructed. 

He chuckled. His muscles might have gone loose but that didn’t mean he was about to take orders from somebody he couldn’t even see. And he surely wasn’t going to close his eyes and risk missing anything. Something that could reveal whatever big secret was hiding in the darkness. 

“Uh oh,” the voice sounded, taking on the tone of a mother chastising a small child, “someone isn’t closing their eyes.” 

The chills came again.

“Follow my instructions. Close your eyes,” the voice repeated.

“Cameras,” Quentin thought to himself. “Night vision lenses. And someone must have opened the door. That’s why it’s so cold. In August. So cold.” 

The lullaby grew louder. Something was coming over him. He was so relaxed. So sleepy. He blinked a few times. Open, close, open, close, open, close. 

What came after close? 

The music was getting even louder. All the tension in his body, diminishing. 

And actually, he liked it with his eyes closed. He didn’t want to open them. He just wanted to hear the voice. That sweet, warm voice.

Then like an answered prayer, it came. Except this time it didn’t seem to be coming from any speaker. It sounded like it was inside him. Inside his head. Whispering. Soft.

Do you see it? it asked. 

Quentin tried to move his mouth to respond, but he wasn’t in control of his body anymore. Did he even have a body? He couldn’t see anything. Except for those tiny white specks. Were those stars? Where was he? Panic slowly started to arise, but then --

Sh, sh, sh, the voice soothed him. It’s alright. Relax. You don’t have to speak here. Just think, Quentin. I’ll be able to understand you.

How do you know my name? he thought, but he could hear the words just as clearly as if l had said them out loud. What was going on? 

The voice giggled.

I know everything about you, Quentin Beck. I know your name. I know where you grew up. I know your wants. Your needs. Your joys. Your fears. 

He tried to shake his head, but it didn’t work. He couldn’t shake something that wasn’t there.

How is this possible?

Another giggle, but he didn’t get the damn joke.

You’re a curious boy, Quentin. 

Those five words were the trigger. 

The tiny stars were vacuumed away and the darkness folded in on itself to create a new image. It was him, in the backseat of his parents’ station wagon. The one they got rid of when he graduated high school.

What is this?

His first perception was wrong. It wasn’t an image. No, he was there. Really there. He could smell the cigarettes. Feel the wind coming through the windows. He could twiddle the loose string from the seat between his fingers.

“Mommy, how do planes fly so high?” he asked in a voice so small; so not his own. But it was his own. Just a version from a long, long time ago.

“I’m not sure, honey,” his mother answered. His mother answered. He hadn’t heard her voice in so long. It was rough from all the cigarettes, but somehow she still sounded like an angel to him.

Quentin looked down at his lap. His jeans had grass stains on them and they were too small. You could see his socks. Those were dirty too. 

“Mommy,” he spoke again. “How do the people get in the TV?”

“Huh?” She ashed her cigarette out the window.

“The people on the TV. Like on Sesame Street. How do they get in there? Can they come out?” 

His mother laughed. It was the prettiest laugh he had ever heard. “You’re a curious boy, Quentin.” 

And just like that it was over. The scene crumpled up and tossed itself to the side like a balled up wad of paper. 

Did you see it? The voice returned.

If he had eyes they would be crying right now.

Y- yes. I saw her.

Do you want to see something else?

I- I don’t know.

He felt so exposed. So vulnerable. It didn’t feel like anything he would normally allow. But he wasn’t even sure if he was himself anymore.

I think you’ll like this. 

Another scene. He was flying over a city, a cape blowing behind him in the wind. People stared up adoringly. Kids pointed and jumped. A truck driver smiled and gave him a thumbs up while he sounded his horn. Quentin waved back down at his fans. The people. They loved him. And he was getting ready to fly over the ocean. 

When he reached the harbor he could see his reflection in the water, all suited up. He was a hero. He was the hero. The one that people needed. Nothing like Tony Stark. Better. Stronger. Smarter. 

Until he wasn’t. 

The scene ripped itself into a thousand tiny pieces and they all blew away. 

Darkness once again. 

Did you like it?

He fucking loved it. 

Yes. Yes!

I knew you would. 

The voice was proud of itself.

Show me again. Take me back. I want more. 

I can’t do that, Mr. Beck. All things in moderation. 

Bullshit.

No, no. Fuck moderation. I want to see. Show me.

The show’s over now, Quentin. You were never supposed to be here. Be grateful.

Fuck you. 

Another laugh.

We’ll see about that.

Wait, what?

Huh?

Before anything else could be said, he woke up. It was sudden and disorienting. The lights were back on now. Everything was too bright. Everyone was too loud. 

As reality slowly came back into focus Quentin realized he was no longer standing. He was on the ground and everyone else was just getting up from their seats. He was confused. Had they seen was he had seen? There was no way. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. He felt violated. Angry. He’d come for answers. Not for some invisible bitch to crawl inside his mind. For the first time, he left his safe little corner and began to push through the crowd.

As he maneuvered through body after body he caught bits and pieces of the conversations around him.

“... Oh, the most beautiful beach!” one woman gushed.

“He was there, my boy was really there!” another man cried. 

He passed the woman whom he’d spoken with earlier.

“Oh, I was young again!” 

Fools. How could they be so happy to have their subconsciouses breached to such an invasive extent? Idiots. He felt like an idiot.

No one seemed to be paying attention, all too wrapped up in relaying their own twisted fantasies. He figured that was the reason no one stopped him or said anything when he climbed up on the stage, pulled back the curtain, and started to shout.

“Hey! Who the hell is back here? What are you? What was that?” 

He walked around backstage and saw nothing. Heard no one. The not knowing was getting him more and more pissed by the moment. 

Finally, he heard something. 

The sound of heels clicking. The sound of his name.

“Quentin.”

The same voice from inside his head. From inside the speakers. He whipped around prepared to release his wrath but he stopped short. 

He wasn’t sure what or who he had expected, but she definitely wasn’t it.

For a moment they simply stared at one another. There was no other way for him to put it; if she was The Abyss lady, she was hot. 

“I knew you’d come back here,” she finally spoke through a cheeky grin. “I asked security not to stop you. I wanted to meet you.” 

His chest heaved up and down from the subsiding anger. He felt like he should be saying something, but he couldn’t. He was too focused on how she was wearing a slightly over-sized oxford with the top three buttons undone… and nothing else. Well, aside from the pink panties he could see through the translucent white fabric. And she stood there so casually. Cigarette and a glass of wine. Completely disarming. Fuck, what was he about to yell for?

She was beginning to grow impatient waiting for him to say something but then it occurred to her what the problem might be. 

“Ah, clothes,” she said as if it were a foreign concept. “Sorry. When you have an audience that doesn’t exactly need to see you, you tend to get pretty comfortable. The heels just make me feel sexy. Though I don’t get the double standard. I mean, guys can walk around in boxers right?”

Quentin cocked his head and looked at her like she was from another planet. Hell, maybe she was.

“T-this is insane,” he finally sputtered. His anger had turned into astonishment. Curiosity. “Who are you?” 

The woman took a drag from her cigarette and shrugged. “I’m The Master of The Abyss. I create from the darkness behind man’s eyelids. I show people what they want to see. Dead relatives. Naked celebrities. Did you see the man in the third row? He came in his pants.” She laughed like it was the funniest thing ever. 

Quentin just shook his head. “This is impossible.”

The Master rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. 

“Come on, you saw it with your own eyes. I made you a hero. That’s what you want, right? To be a hero?” 

Quentin flinched. He didn’t like her phrasing. She hadn’t made him anything. She’d taken images from the inner depths of his mind and turned them into some fucked up film. He was going to make himself a hero. 

“Yeah, well you shouldn’t have ever even known that,” he snapped suddenly. “I didn’t give you permission to go inside my head and make me anything.”

The Master set her glass down and snapped right back.

“I didn’t give you permission to enter my show for free. Just like no one gives you permission to fuck with their waking realities.” She was pointing a purple manicured finger directly at his face and inching closer. “And at least I have a system. A show with a set of rules. A moral code. My audience knows what’s real and what’s not. You don’t give people that luxury, now do you?.”

“Hey,” Quentin hopped on the defense, “I do what I do because people need to believe in someth-”

“Oh, save it,” The Master interrupted. “Let’s not pretend to be fucking saints here, we all have our own selfish motives. You have an ego. I have a lust for money. Do you know how much a married man will pay to fuck someone who’s not his wife without the guilt? Because it’s not cheating if it’s not real.”

Quentin scoffed. “Great, so you can conjure up a glorified wet dream and suddenly you’re better than me?”

The Master grinned at this. “Tsk, tsk, Mr. Beck. That’s no way to talk to someone you want help from.”

The man let out a huff. “We both know you won’t team up with me anyways,” he said in a low voice, “So what’s the point?” 

She sighed. “You’re right, I won’t team up with you.”

“So what’s the point?” Beck repeated.

And there went that giggle again. 

“What is it?” God, why was everyone so humored today? And why did she keep winding him up like some sort of game? “What’s so fucking funny?”

She batted her eyes and shook her head, feigning innocence, the greatest illusion of all.

“It’s nothing.” She shrugged, smiling, playing with the buttons on the shirt that barely covered her hips. “It’s just that, you’re an attractive man, Mr. Beck.”

Quentin froze. Every time he thought the night couldn’t get any more twisted, there came another curve ball. 

She was coming closer, tilting her voice to make it do seductive things. “And something about your mind is just such a turn on.”

He swallowed as they stood almost nose to nose. “So what now?” he asked huskily. “This is the part where you ask me to fuck you?”

He hadn’t planned on any of this and it was happening so fast, but hell. 

The Master’s smirk faded and for once she became serious.

“Only if you want to.” 

He could see down her shirt from here. One glimpse was all it took for him to suspend all circumstance. God, did he want to.

Fuck it.

He grabbed her by the waist and went in hungrily. 

Their lips pressed together, he closed his eyes.

He closed his eyes.

Suddenly the air went cold. 

Shit, shit, shit.

By the time he realized his mistake it was too late.

No longer could he feel her body heat. No longer could he feel anything at all. There was nothing. Just like in the beginning. Before heaven, before earth, before her.

All there was was darkness.

[tgreuniverse]

re: [quest] Chapter 4 “sponse”

Hello!! This chapter is about Hori Chie and Tsukiyama Shuu and is very cute (happy birthday the other day, 2/25, to Hori, btw!!)♥

This post has Part 1 of the chapter in full under the cut (mainly for mobile users). The next parts are underway and I’ll do my best to keep things organized to link up.

Click here for my compilation of translations of the light novel re:quest

Finally, a disclaimer: I’d encourage anyone invested in the Tokyo Ghoul series to buy the official copies of this light novel and any official translations when they are released in your area to support the authors and publishers.

Thanks everyone for your patience and don’t hesitate to send me corrections/suggestions/asks and messages! – koko♥

Chapter 4: Sponse Part 1 Part 2 TL: Occasionally Tsukiyama throws in English or French words when he’s speaking. Anything that’s written in Roman letters in the original Japanese text will be bolded to indicate that it’s in another language. All other emphatic markings are for conveying regular emphasis.

   “Alright, now take a picture, of me!”    “Nahh,” Hori replied, and the conversation was over in 3 seconds. She was watching through the coffee shop’s big windows at the shopping street where people came and went, housewives buying things for dinner and hoisting bulky eco-bags on their shoulders.    Hori looked like an uncomfortable elementary school student in the chic and relaxed coffee shop where she sat. However, inside, she was already at the level of a college student. Well, actually, she almost never went to college, as she roamed from east to west as a “free camera-man” with her camera, her one hobby, always by her side.

    “Well, seems we’re done around here,” Hori said, standing just as she finished eating her parfait.    “Wait, Hori!” She paused. What made her stop was the man with a well-arranged appearance, somewhat like a model, and a voice that if you walked through town you could take to be from an entertainment industry – the man most annoying in the eyes of someone like Hori – Shuu Tsukiyama.    A man who was always prideful and focused on attention from his surroundings – marked by the [CCG] with the title “gourmet” ghoul, he really didn’t have much of an understanding of the world.    Indeed, the situation of such a ghoul known as Tsukiyama, having a face-to-face conversation with the human Hori Chie, was one you wouldn’t find anywhere else. Due to the strange situation, the two pretended to be high school students simply going out to the local coffee shop.    In high school, Hori’s evaluation of Tsukiyama’s pride did not come from second-hand gossip, but from her own deep curiosity about his differences from others. It came from her simple thought “well, this looks interesting” as she peered through her camera’s viewfinder. The result of which, it turned out, was her taking pictures of the gourmet ghoul’s predatory scene. One thing leading to another, this resulted in a pretty strange relationship.    Today, like most others, since a while ago, Tsukiyama had gone on and on about some favor he wanted to ask, and since Hori couldn’t exactly refuse as it became more and more annoying, well, here she was.    “Hori! Why on such a whim? It’s a favor from an old friend, so just sit for a bit and tell me what you want to eat, you little mouse.”    “Tsukiyama-kun, you always treat people like pets, don’t you? Hot cake.”    “Haha, so you were aware of being my pet! That lady right there, let’s ask her for a most supreme hot cake!” With that, Tsukiyama snapped his fingers and signaled the female server across the room. While Hori sat back down, he suddenly exclaimed, “Hori! Listen until the end of what I’m saying. This is business.”    “Business, huh?”    Hori had finished her drink, and with her straw, clinked around the milkshake’s ice at the bottom of her glass. With nothing better to do, Hori went back to listening.    “That’s right. In fact, this time, I want you to go to a villa.”    Hori released the straw and tilted her head. “Huh?”    Tsukiyama sighed. “Have I at last both been thrown away by Kaneki-kun and become dismissed by you?”    He, always pursuing some gastronomic meal to satisfy the tongue itself, was fascinated and obsessed with this one-eyed half-ghoul named Kaneki Ken.    Even after having had a relationship with Tsukiyama for a while, Hori had never before seen him stick to a single ingredient in such a way. Even now, he was working hard to earn Kaneki’s trust, but Hori believed he was still just trying to eat him. Since he was separated from his precious villa, Hori wondered if Kaneki was finally disgusted and had kicked Tsukiyama out.    “Haha! That’s nothing, nonsense. I am his dagger, and my heart is always his bedside.”    “You’ve prepared everything up to your house but everyone’s being removed from your circles?”    “If you were the patron like me, would you be concerned about everyone? This is a taste of being god.”    “I’m full. That story sounds long so I’m gonna go home”    “Wait wait, food is something that should be enjoyed at your leisure. Would you like some kind of after-tea?”    Hori sighed. “My orange juice is fine.”    With this Tsukiyama let out a cough and returned to what he was saying.    “I have a garden party at my villa on my next holiday, and I’m supposed to give a speech. I want you to put capture it with your camera.”    “Wha…?”    Tsukiyama was a ghoul of a respectable family, the descendent of the Tsukiyama Group that everyone had heard of at least once.    “Along with that, although this will be a surprise, I’m thinking of expressing everyday gratitude towards the servants in the house. To leave memories, you know?”    The Tsukiyama family, of course employees included, had a large number of people. I knew it, Hori thought, as she ate the hot cake that had finally arrived. The aspect of self-righteous egoism is often looked down on, but consideration for things one likes or for one’s self is fine, as such things have the potential to help one feel better in their own skin.    “Of course, you’ll be compensated. How is it, Hori? You’ll take the job, right?”    As a reply, Hori only groaned, “you really are annoying.”    “Haaaaaahn?!”    At Tsukiyama’s desolate voice, Hori said, “I’m not interested.”    Hori's photography activities were actually quite selfish. When she thought about taking photographs of an event of such high social value, she realized that would mean taking pictures with no real substance, and only taking work for the value of money. She definitely wasn’t one to be so influenced by money.    Right now she wasn’t in the mood to take pictures of things she wasn’t in the mood to, and wasn’t up for the tension of working for money at all.    At this point Tsukiyama, who knew from personal experience not to press Hori as she would continue to refuse (even in a case where it seemed likely she’d be killed), simply mused “hmmm.”    It seemed her orange juice was all gone, too. His time was almost up.    “Ahh, well then. Let’s see, Hori, do you have any interest in flowers?”    “Flowers?”    “Yes! At my family’s villa there are many varieties of flowers in bloom, in a vivid wide space, and it’s . . . it’s something like a utopia!!”    Tsukiyama, spreading both hands, began to gestured and gestured as he started explaining.    “There are many rare and valuable varieties, and the roses are particularly superb! The garden party this time will be done according to the season of the roses. There are so many scenic sights that you can see as you pass through.”    Hori stabbed her last piece with her fork. “. . . oh, ok. . . . I’ll go then.”    Tsukiyama’s unexpected palm hung open in the air. “So . . . you’re not against it anymore . . . then?    “I said, I’ll go,” Hori repeated.    Tsukiyama, who obviously hadn’t expected Hori to accept yet, seemed confused. “I wonder where this wind blew in from?”    “I just want to take pictures of flowers, and if Tsukiyama-kun’s place has roses, then that sounds good to me.”    Tsukiyama’s family paid attentive care to its rose garden, and although the rose garden was the only thing Tsukiyama recommended, Hori thought that maybe she could see ever more amazing things. Since she ended up deciding to go, she thought it would be interesting to go on a walk with Tsukiyama.    However, there was still one problem. “There will probably be ghouls at this party, right? Won’t I end up getting eaten?”    Although they did go out and talk ordinarily face-to-face, there was a clear border between Tsukiyama and Hori, that of being a person and a “ghoul.”    While Hori was greatly aware of the risk to her own life that she put into her photo activities, she didn’t particularly want to live a rushed life, and didn’t think anything like “I would die for my craft” or whatever.    In the moment, she had just gone with what she had wanted to do. But now she needed to tend to her safety.    “There’s no need to for you to worry about that. The servants will be told by me personally, and it will be arranged so that the guests know as well, that they must not lay a hand on you.”    “Okay. Well, it seems like there will be plenty of preparation, so I’ll take pictures of the good stuff, and I won’t when nothing happens. It will be done suitably.”    Hori stood up while stretching very much. “Well then, the next consecutive holidays. This time advanced payment would be nice, in the usual account.”    “Oui, I definitely won’t miss that. In return, I’m expecting amazing photos. Capture the moment when I shine the most!”    “The moment you shine the most, huh,” Hori repeated. With that, she slid the bill across the table to Tsukiyama and left the cafe.

[starrnobella]

Forever and Always - Chapter 12 - Important Questions

Fanfiction | AO3 | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11

A/N: Hey all! Here's the next piece of Forever and Always that just so happened to accidentally play perfectly with what happened this past Sunday on the show! I do hope you enjoy this chapter. I had so much fun writing it!

Song Recs: Marry Your Daughter - BRKN RBTZ; My Girl - The Temptations; Unconditionally - Katy Perry

If you enjoyed the chapter please be sure to leave me a review!

Love always, ~starr

Killian knew that before he could proceed with any of the plans in Operation Swan he had to talk to Dave and Snow. If he was going to propose to Emma, then he wanted to do this right. He had already gotten Henry's blessing, which was the most important in Killian's opinion because he did not want him to feel like he was trying to replace his father. Killian would never try to do that. Neal would always be Henry's father. Killian just wanted to be an important piece in Emma's life and since Henry was an important to her, Henry needed to be in the loop. Killian couldn't have been happier that Henry volunteered to help him with everything.

However, before he could even start thinking about the perfect ring, he needed to talk to Dave and Snow. He had to make sure that he had their blessing to marry their daughter because the old fashion nature in him meant he said that to do this right. He hoped that it would be easy to get Snow on his side. She was already so encouraging of their relationship because it made her happy to see Emma happy. Dave, on the other hand, would be a little more difficult. Killian thought there was still a part of Dave that did not trust him to be what Emma needed in her life. Even though it may have been an irrational thought, the first conversation he had with Dave about Emma was still lurking around in the back of his mind.

Killian: What would you like to yell at me about now, Dave?

Charming: Stay away from my daughter.

Killian: Well, she can't take care of herself. She doesn't need your parenting, which is a good thing.

Charming: What does that mean?

Killian: Means you're gonna die in a day or so anyway.

Charming: Nothing I can do about that, but if I do die,

Killian: When

Charming: It'll be in helping my family. And that's something someone like you can't understand.

Killian: What if I told you there was a save you?

Charming: I'd say no because anything that takes us off course of saving Henry is being selfish, but of course you would think that was the way to go.

Killian: Bugger off, what you think I'm being selfish? I'm risking my life for all of you. Every moment I'm here aligned against him.

Charming: Please, you're not here for any nobility. You're here for Emma. And let me tell you something else. You're never gonna get her. I'll see to that.

Granted, Dave hadn't stood in his way like he had said, but at the same time Killian knew Dave wasn't thrilled with the idea of his daughter dating a pirate. He couldn't help wondering how he would take to having a pirate as a member of the royal family. Not that the royal family was perfect. Snow became bandit after being exiled for sharing a secret, who spent her days in the Enchanted Forest running from the Evil Queen. The Evil Queen happened to be the adoptive mother of Emma's son. Dave was a lowly shepherd forced into royalty when his twin brother died trying to kill a giant at the demand of King George. It wasn't like Emma was perfect either, but in Killian's eyes she was pretty damn close and he would spend the rest of his life trying to prove that to her.

All of these thoughts were running through his head as he stood outside the door to the Charmings' apartment after his run in with Belle. Henry had volunteered to come with him, but Killian knew he had to do this himself. He didn't want Henry there in case it would make his grandparents feel obligated to say yes because they didn't want to disappoint him. If he was going to get an honest answer from them, it had to be just him.

"Here goes everything," Killian mumbled as he knocked on the door. The thought of being rejected by Emma's parents still haunting his every thought.

As Killian stood on one side of the door trying to muster up the courage to knock, Charming was having an internal debate of his own inside as well.

Charming had barely been able to sleep since Hook asked him for a moment of time to talk to him and Snow with some privacy. There were a number of possibilities that could be discussed. The first thought to come to mind was that Hook was about to tell him that Emma was pregnant. Not that a new baby would be upsetting news, but Hook and Emma had only been together a short time and there was no marriage plans in the cards. Or at least that's what he forced himself to believe. When he brought up his concern to Snow, she shrugged him off because if she were then Emma would have been included in the conversation.

"Don't you think if Emma were pregnant she would want to talk to us with Hook and not just send Hook alone?" Snow asked washing the last of their dishes from lunch.

"Maybe she doesn't know," Charming said trying to reason his way through his own answer.

"And Hook does? How would that work?" Snow laughed knowing that he was just grasping at straws for some answer that was the most ridiculous thing he could come up with so that he could have a reason to be mad at Hook.

"I don't know! What else could it be?" Charming exclaimed throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. Snow laughed as she watched him try to wrack his mind for a purpose to this visit.

"Maybe we should just wait and see what he has to say. He'll be here any minute," Snow responded placing a patronizing hand on Charming's shoulder. He sighed defeatedly knowing that she was right. He was worrying himself sick for no reason at all, other than to make himself crazy.

Just as Charming opened his mouth to speak, there was a knock at the door.

"He's here," Snow said with a quick kiss before she went to open the door to let Hook in. She was excited to hear whatever he had to say. She had her concerns too, but nothing as extreme as her husband. As long as Emma was happy with the results of this conversation, then she had no reason to be worried.

"Hey, Hook! Come on in," Snow said opening the door and saw him standing there with a nervous look on his face. She wondered how long it took him to convince himself it was okay to knock on the door. Whatever he wanted to talk to them about made him just as nervous as it made Charming anxious.

Then it hit her.

Snow knew exactly why Hook was here and she couldn't have been more excited, but she needed to keep calm. This was something that Hook felt he had to do and she would let him have his moment.

"Hello, Snow. Thanks taking the time to talk with me," Killian said as he walked inside. He gave Snow a quick hug before walking over to greet Charming.

Charming straightened where he stood as Killian approached with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Dave," Killian said extending his hand to Charming.

"Hook," Charming responded taking the extended hand. Snow just watched the intensity between the two of them grow. She wasn't sure whether it was nerves, jealousy, or anxiety that was fueling the interaction.

"Tea?" Snow asked happily, hoping to break up the tension that was brewing.

The intense handshake and corresponding staredown broke apart when Snow spoke. Both Killian and Charming looked over to Snow and nodded. She smiled at them and then she busied herself in setting the water to boil in a kettle.

"Shall we sit?" Charming asked casually. He was hoping that if they were sitting that whatever Hook wanted to talk to him and Snow about wouldn't hit him like a ton of bricks.

Snow and Hook nodded in agreement. Hook pulled out a seat across from where Charming had sat down and Snow grabbed three tea cups from the cupboard setting them on the table in front of everyone. She sat down beside Charming while waiting for the kettle to whistle. A pin drop could have been heard in the absolute silence that overtaken the room since Killian had walked through the door.

"So Hook, how are you?" Snow asked. The silence was killing her. She knew that this was going to be an extremely important and happy moment for this little family and she didn't want the awkward silence to cloud that. She had to make Hook more comfortable in this situation so that he would open up to them and start talking.

"I'm alright, love. Thanks for asking. I'm sure you're both wondering why I'm here," Killian said with a smile to Snow. She was a wonderful mother, even if she wasn't always aware of it herself. She wanted everyone to feel comfortable when they felt like they were in an awkward situation. In fact, she made it her coal if she could feel tension to diffuse it. It wasn't so much that this situation was awkward, it was just nerve-wracking to all involved.

Snow and Charming both nodded. Charming never took his eyes off the pirate sitting in front of him, trying his damnedest to intimidate him if at all possible. Although the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Hook had seen situations much more intimidating than Charming could even begin to imagine.

"So the reason that I'm here is about Emma," Killian started. He paused taking a breath to steady himself before continuing. This was important and he did not want to rush through it because of his nerves.

Snow watched with baited breath as Hook tried to steady himself so that his nerves didn't take over. It took all of her conscious effort not to rush over, take him in her arms and welcome him into the family. She knew she couldn't do that to him. She had so much respect for him wanting to do this the right way by asking for their blessing..

"You know that Swa...er...I mean, Emma and I have been seeing each other for a while now. Well, before she became the Dark One I had been looking at houses in Storybrooke to live in and then she became the Dark One and turned the house I was looking at into her evil lair...er...residence after we came back from Camelot before I found out I was a Dark One. Then as you well know, I died. You all came to save me. Thanks for that by the way," Killian looked between the two of them with a cautious smile. It meant a lot to him that they all had come to save him.

"Of course, we'd do anything for family," Snow told him with a smile on her face as she elbowed Charming in the stomach. Hoping to get him to respond and lose the solemn look on his face. Charming just turned to her and glared.

"Ouch!" he said rubbing the spot where her elbow hit as he looked at his wife who was pleading at him with her eyes to say something nice. Charming sighed as he conceded, "Snow's right. We do anything for family and Emma asked for our help."

Killian smiled at the mention of Emma's name before continuing with his speech. He just needed to remind himself that she was the reason he was jumping through all these hoops. He was doing all of this because he loved her.

"When Emma and I went to find the ambrosia we had to complete a test to prove it was true love using Emma's heart. When she placed her heart on the scale in front of gates, I burst into flames. She was in pain because her heart was separate from her. She had a choice to make, save me or save her heart. She chose to save me.

"The gates opened because the results of the test showed us that our love was true. When we found out that there was no ambrosia left, I told her to leave me there and return home with everyone else. That was probably the hardest test of true love any have endured. I promised her that I wouldn't let her be my unfinished business, but I knew that wasn't going to be an easy promise to keep. Then as you know Zeus returned me to this world. Ever since that happened I have sworn that I would do everything I could to protect Emma and make her happy."

Snow had tears beginning to well up in her eyes as she listened to Hook. This man was so deeply in love with her daughter and that was the best thing she could ever wish to have happen to Emma in her incredibly messed up life. If there was anything Snow could do to ensure happiness in her daughter's life, then she would agree to it. All Hook had to do was say that he wanted to marry Emma. She would never tell him no. Especially when he was will to do so much for Emma.

It was at this point in Hook's speech that Charming realized another reason as to why hook was here by himself. He wanted to ask for Emma's hand in marriage. He couldn't believe that he didn't think of this early. When he wanted to marry Snow, he could only dream of doing her father the honor of asking for his daughter's hand in marriage. However since her father had died before Charming ever met Snow, there was no way to give him that honor. Charming had never been more proud of the pirate for doing the right thing than he was right now.

Charming and Snow were unaware of the test of true love that Emma and Hook had experienced while in Underbrooke. All Charming knew was that Emma was utterly heartbroken when she met him at the clock tower. All Snow knew was that Killian told Emma that he had to stay behind and that Emma was devastated. Hearing about the young couple's experience made their heart break for the pair.

Killian could see the emotion in Snow becoming more evident as he spoke. He didn't realize that Emma hadn't told them everything they had experienced when they went in search of the ambrosia. He knew that she refused to let her armor down for anyone other than him, her parents and son included. He was the only one to see her truly vulnerable. The pain on her face when she left him in Underbrooke would forever be ingrained in his memory. That was a memory that he was going to try his hardest to erase from his mind. He planned to fill his mind with memories of her smile.

"So to be able to keep this promise, I need to do everything in my capacity to make her happy, and to be able to do that I am here to ask you both a very important question. You do not have to tell me yes. I know that you have your doubts about me, Dave. However, I do hope that I have proven myself worthy of your daughter and your respect to some extent over the time that you have known me."

The tears started to roll down Snow's cheeks and Killian had taken notice. His intent was not to make her cry, but he could understand why she was crying. He guessed that she had figured out what he was here to ask, so he really just needed to stop stalling and come out and say it.

"Snow. David," he said looking at each of them, "I am here to ask for your blessing to propose to Emma. I wanted to do…"

Killian was cut off by Snow hugging him very, very tightly. He could feel the dampness of her cheek from the tears against his skin. He cautiously placed his arm around her to return the hug.

Catching her breath, Snow released him and looked at him with the proudest smile on her face, "Of course, you have my blessing. I have seen how happy you make her and I have thought of you as family since the night that you picked Emma up for your first date. I knew you two were meant to be when I watch you two argue in the Enchanted Forest."

Killian smiled softly as he looked at Snow, "Thank you, Snow. That means a great deal coming from you." Killian looked past her to where Charming sat, "Dave?"

Snow walked away to grab some tissues so that she could dry her tears as they both waited for Charming to say something. If he didn't have Dave's blessing, then he wouldn't propose to Emma. Not until Dave said it was okay. He refused to dishonor Dave in that way.

Charming crossed his arms. He wanted to play this up as much as he could. The pirate deserved to suffer just a little bit longer in suspense especially since Killian made him wait and stew about this conversation. He couldn't say no, especially after thinking about what Emma would want. She would want him to tell the pirate yes, there was no doubt in his mind of that. Of course the pirate had earned his respect. He had proven himself time and time again to be worthy of this family.

"What about Henry? Have you asked him what he thought about this?" Charming asked smugly. Snow shot death glares in his directions which causing him to smirk slyly to himself and shrugged in Snow's direction.

Killian hadn't seen the smirk on Charming's face, he was watching Snow as she glared at him. He knew that it probably wasn't the best idea to have talked to Henry before talking to her parents, but that's what he did and he would own up to it.

"I've already asked Henry if it would be okay. I asked him first because besides Emma, he would be the most affected by this change," Killian said firmly hoping that Charming would understand his reasoning.

Charming nodded, "And how did he feel about this?"

"He told me that as long as it makes Emma happy, then it will make him happy."

"Well," Charming said with a smile, "Then I can't disagree with my grandson and my wife. You have my blessing to propose, Hook. Just know I will be keeping an eye on you." Hearing the approval, Killian smiled as well.

"Thank you, Dave. On my honor, I will do right by your family," Killian said happily.

"We know you will," Snow piped in just before the kettle began to whistle, "Would you still like some tea? I'd love to hear more about your proposal plans!"

Killian chuckled and nodded, "Aye, I'll stay awhile. I'm afraid I don't have many details to share just yet. I didn't want to get too far ahead of myself in the planning stages in case you refused to give your blessing."

"Now why would you think that we would turn you down?" Snow asked as she walked over to get the tea bags and the kettle before returning to the table.

"Call it an irrational fear coming from a conversation Dave and I had in Neverland," Killian shrugged.

"What conversation?" Snow inquired as she poured the tea standing between Charming and Killian and then placed the kettle in the middle of the table.

Charming and Killian both looked at each other. They weren't sure whether or not they should tell Snow the truth about their trip in Neverland or not. Charming didn't want to anger her by explaining that he had basically told the pirate that there was no way in hell that he was going to date his almost thirty year old daughter, whom he knew he had no control over whatsoever at the time or ever, but still wanted to protect his little girl. There was no way that Snow would play along and it would just get him into even more hot water than he was already in for playing with Hook's emotions.

Killian refused to come clean about the argument he and Dave had had in Neverland because no matter what he had said at the time, there was a part of him that helped Dave in Neverland for selfish reasons. He knew that Emma would never forgive him if she found out her father died and he had known of a way to save him, but did nothing. So by helping Dave, he was gaining favor with Emma.

"What conversation is he talking about, David?" Snow hissed glaring at Charming.

Killian laughed quietly to himself. It was nice to see someone else in the hotseat for once instead of himself. Part of him felt guilty for getting good old Dave in trouble, but at the same time he wasn't super concerned by the fact. That's what a good son-in-law does anyways. They avoid getting in trouble by any means possible.

"Uhm, well. You know I wasn't very fond of Hook when we first met. I made have told him that he would never be with Emma if I had anything to say about it," Charming whispered hoping that Snow would not hear every single word that he had said. Unfortunately, he realized was very, very wrong as the storm of smacks cascaded down on his arms as she spoke.

"What!" smack. "Do!" smack. "You!" smack. "Mean!" smack. "If!" smack. "You!" smack. "Have!" smack. "Anything!" smack. "To!" smack. "Say!" smack. "About!" smack. "It!?" smack. smack. smack.

Snow glared at her husband as she continued her rampage, "She is a grown woman and can decided for herself whom she wants to associate with! You don't get a say in the manner!"

Killian couldn't help laughing at Charming's reaction to Snow's hits. Like mother like daughter, he thought to himself as he reminisced about the conversation he and Emma had had yesterday that resulted in him getting smacked in the shoulder about as many times as Charming was getting hit.

"And you," she sneered turning her attention to Killian pointing her finger in his face, "Don't you ever think you aren't good enough for Emma. You have made her the happiest I have ever seen her since she first stepped foot into Storybrooke!"

She smacked him on the arm a few times to make sure her point was enunciated properly. She did not want him to leave her home without realizing how important he was to their family. She didn't care if her husband saw it the same way she did.

"Killian, we will do anything to ensure Emma's happiness and to keep our promise that means we welcome the important people in her life into our family. You have proven yourself to be an important person in her life. Therefore, you are a member of our family," Snow said with a smile as she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Killian smiled softly as he spoke, "Thank you, Snow. I believe that's the first time you've used my given name in a conversation since we met. I'm honored to become a member of your family."

Snow smiled, "We are beyond happy to have you. So tell me. Have you thought about the kind of ring you want to get?" The excitement in Snow's voice was very apparent.

"I was going to ask Henry to help me pick something out that he thought she would like, but would you like to help me as well?" Killian said with a smirk as he saw Snow's face light up at the question.

Words were beyond her. All she could do was smile and nod frantically. If she started to speak then she would probably start crying all over again. She didn't think that Hook would be able to handle her crying yet again. She could tell it bothered him to see a woman cry, even if they were tears of joy.

Charming watched the whole ordeal take place. It brought joy to his face to see how excited Snow was getting at the thought of being involved in the planning of Emma's impending engagement.

"I just have to ask one thing," Charming spoke up as he was listening to the conversation between Snow and Hook. Slowly they turned their attention to him.

"Aye, mate?" Killian said raising his brow slightly.

"Can we be there or near by when you do propose? I know that would mean quite a bit to Snow and it would mean a lot to me to see that joy on her face," Charming replied.

Killian nodded, "I think that can be arranged. Once I get everything planned, I will be sure to let you know."

The tears started to roll down Snow's cheeks again as she cried tears of joy for her daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law. The pure fact that she was going to get to see him propose to her made the whole situation even more invigorating for Snow. She could barely contain her excitement.

"Thank you so much Killian," Snow sniffled as she tried to regain her composure. Killian smiled and nodded in her direction, waiting to speak again until he heard from Dave.

"Yes, thank you for that Hook," Charming paused momentarily, "I guess I should start calling you Killian more often, shouldn't I?"

Killian guffawed as he nodded his head, "Aye, mate it might not be a bad idea."

Snow started to giggle before both Killian and Charming started laughing. The whole scenario being rather funny knowing that it may take a few slips when speaking to him since they have called him Hook for so long. As it would probably take Killian a while to break the habit of calling Snow and Charming by names rather than Mom and Dad, if that's what they prefered to be called. Old habits die hard.

While the three of them were discussing engagement ideas, Henry was busy getting ready for his date with Violet. He didn't think he had ever been so nervous in his life. He wanted to make sure that everything went perfectly so that when he asked her to be his girlfriend, she would say yes without any question of a doubt.

"Shower...check...Deodorant...check...Nice clothes...check…" Henry mumbled as he maneuvered around his room gathering the things he still needed to collect.

"Wallet...check..house keys...check…"

Walking down the hall past Henry's room, Regina heard him mumbling nervously to himself. A small grin spread across her face as she stopped outside his open door watching him gather his belongings.

"Everything okay in here?" she asked curiously.

"Huh? Oh. Hey mom. Yeah everything's alright. Just a little nervous," Henry said, his voice dampening as he spoke.

"First date jitters?" she asked as she slowly walked into his room.

Henry nodded. He didn't have the words to say to explain how he felt. He just knew that he was nervous.

"I remember how those felt. In fact, I felt that way when Robin and I went out on a proper date the first time," Regina said placing a comforting arm around Henry's shoulders. She could feel the tension rush out of them as she continued to tell him her story.

"But my first date with Daniel. That's when the jitters were really bad. We decided that we were going to go horseback riding and we were going to meet at the stables. Simple enough right? Just wear clothing that I could ride a horse in and head down to the stables like I did every evening. But from the moment that Daniel and I made this plan on, the butterflies would not leave me alone. Not only had they taken over my stomach, they were invading my brain and messing with my thoughts. I was just planning to wear what I always wore riding, but the butterflies told me that I needed to look just right and that riding clothes weren't going to cut it for a date."

Regina smiled as she told the story to Henry watching the nervousness slowly start to leave him. He was becoming so much more relaxed. While she talked, she could also feel Robin's presence looming in the room. She had made the judgement call that it would be best not to talk about the real first date that she and Robin had been on because that ended with them in a compromising position on the rug that laid on the floor of her office. Not an image she wanted to instill in his brain. That could be her and Robin's little secret.

"I wanted to impress him, so I picked out the cutest outfit that I owned which was the worst thing to go riding in. So I got dressed and headed down to the stables. I was early and then the jitters set in even more. I started to think about him not showing up and leaving me devastated, and now that I say that out loud I am thinking I shouldn't put thoughts in your head," she laughed.

Henry laughed too. Smiling as he said, "It's alright, mom. It's not like the thought hadn't crossed my mind already."

"I guess that's possible, but I do want to finish my story real quick. When I got to the stable Daniel was already there waiting for me pacing back and forth. So the moral of my little story is that she is probably just as freaked out as you are about tonight," Regina said with a smile, "And i hope that you have a wonderful time tonight."

"Thanks for the advice, Mom," Henry said as he looked at the clock in his room, "Looks like it's time for me to get to Granny's. I'll see you later. Love you."

Henry kissed her cheek as he walked out of his bedroom and headed downstairs out the door. The smile beaming from his face could be seen for miles and miles.

Regina watched from the top of the stairs as Henry walked out the door on the way to his first date. She was hoping that her little story helped him get over the jitters, but she knew that they wouldn't totally go away. She sighed and headed back to her bedroom where she was planning to see what she could could find about bringing Robin back from his ghostly form to his human self.

"Everyone gets nervous. Everything will go smoothly," Henry mumbled to himself as he walked, "She said yes to the date. She likes you."

The simple sentences became his mantra as he walked. He was willing to say anything to himself that might calm his nerves so that when he went to grab her hand, his weren't drenched in sweat. It was only a short walk from Regina's house to Violet's, but it seemed like thousand of miles to walk as the first date jitters took over his body.

The nerves started to fade away when Violet's house came into view and he saw Violet standing out front patiently waiting for him. A smile grew on his face as he approached. A smile grew on Violet's face as well when she noticed Henry walking her way.

"Hey," Henry said softly as he reached an arm out to give her a hug.

"Hey," Violet smiled, "I thought I'd save you from the interrogation that my dad was planning by waiting for you out here."

Henry laughed, "Thanks. I think we can save the parent interrogations until our next date. Ready to go?"

He extended his hand to her. She took it before answering.

"Almost. There's something I want to do first," she said shyly as she leaned in and quickly pressed her lips against Henry's. Her actions took him by surprise, but quickly he leaned into the kiss matching her movements.

They both smiled as they separated, the slightest tinge of pink spreading on each of their cheeks as they started to walk to Granny's. As they walked they chatted quietly, both of them wanting everything to be perfect. Tonight was an important night.

When they arrived at Granny's, Henry turned to Violet, "Wait here, okay?"

She nodded as he ran inside. Curious as to what he had planned, but excited all the same. Taking advantage of the moment that she had to herself, she took the compact out of her clutch and checked her make up. She made sure to reapply her lip gloss, just in case he decided to kiss her again.

Inside, Henry went looking for Granny. He had asked her earlier in the day if it would be okay for him to sit outside. The weather was gorgeous and he wanted to take advantage of it. He promised that he would let her know when they got there so that she would send someone out to get their order. Anyone in this town was willing to help the grandson of Snow White and Prince Charming, or maybe it was the fact that he was the son of the mayor. Either way he wasn't going to object to the extra help. He smiled once he spotted her.

"Hey, Granny, Violet and I just got here. Any table outside okay?" he asked.

"Hello, Henry! Any table will be fine. I'll be out in a minute," she said graciously.

"Thanks again, Granny!" Henry exclaimed as he turned around to go back out to Violet, who smiled when she saw him coming back outside.

"Pick a seat," Henry told her. Upon seeing the confused look on her face, he decided he should explain, "I thought since it was a beautiful night that we could sit outside. I made arrangements with Granny earlier today."

"That makes more sense now," Violet laughed as she walked over to a table. Henry smiled to himself when he realized it was the same table that Emma and Hook sat at when Hook told her about trading his ship. He hoped that this table was lucky for relationships as he pulled out Violet's chair for her to sit down.

Granny came out and took their orders, smiling to herself as she realized they had ordered the exact same thing even down to the hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon on top.

"A match made in heaven," she remarked as she walked back inside to get their food ready.

Henry and Violet talked about everything from their childhood and how they were raised to what they thought they might major in in college. Henry opted to not talk about where Emma had been when she gave birth to him, purely out of respect for her privacy. He knew Emma wasn't proud of being in jail, even though it made her who she was today.

Conversation between he and Violet flowed so easily. It was like they were talking to an identical representation of their own self, but at the same time there was so much different between them. They shared similar dreams and thoughts on different topics, but they also had different opinions on other topics which led to more in depth conversations as they ate.

After they finished eating, Henry and Violet left the dinner and headed for the docks hand in hand. On their way there they ran into Hook, Emma, Snow, and Charming. Internally Henry rolled his eyes because he knew that it would be question central if they didn't keep this short.

"Hey, kid," Emma said when she spotted them, "Hey, Violet. How's the evening going?"

"Hey, everyone," Henry answered squeezing Violet's hand, "It's going well. We just finished dinner and are headed down to the docks. Where are you all headed?"

"Granny's for a late dinner," Killian answered before Emma could reply which led Henry to smile when he realized what Killian had done.

"Sounds like fun. Enjoy dinner," Henry said, "I'll come by the house later."

"Good night, Henry! It was lovely to see you again, Violet," Snow said as the teens walked away. She was smiling from ear to ear. Her daughter was soon to be engaged and her grandson was happy as can be with his cute little girlfriend.

"Is she officially his girlfriend?" she asked curiously.

"If all goes well on their walk, I would say she is," Killian said slyly. Everyone turned to look at him. The shock evident on all their faces.

"What do you mean if all goes well?" Emma inquired raising her eyebrow at him.

"She has to say yes first, love," Killian replied with a smile.

Emma, Snow, and Charming all slowly nodded in agreement as they realized what Henry was up to. He was going to the docks to ask Violet to officially be his girlfriend. Emma couldn't think of anything sweeter as a smile grew across her lips while she looked happily at Killian.

"So can we go eat now?" Killian asked half jokingly and half seriously. It had been a long nerve wracking day and he was hungry.

Emma laughed and nodded taking his hand in hers leading him towards Granny's, "Yes. Let's eat."

Snow and Charming followed suit as Emma and Killian led the way.

Upon arriving at the docks, Henry led Violet over to the spot where he normally found Hook or Emma when they came down here to think.

"Let's sit here. We can watch the stars," Henry said offering her a place to sit first. Violet smiled at him as she sat down.

Henry sat beside her and reached out to take her hand. Staring at the way their fingers were interlaced so perfectly as he spoke again, "So Violet, we've been talking for awhile now. We enjoy each other's company and I think that tonight has gone wonderfully, wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded her head as she listened to him. She could see the faintest hint of pink growing on his cheeks. She found him absolutely adorable when he blushed. Not that he wasn't adorable all the time, it was just especially cute when he did it while he was nervous and talking to her.

"I was wondering if you'd like to be my girlfriend?" he asked looking up from their hands to her face, seeing the most beautiful smile on her face.

"Yes, Henry. I would love to be your girlfriend," she answered excitedly.

"Really?" he exclaimed failing to hide his excitement at her answer. She nodded in response as she continued to smile.

Henry reached up to caress her cheek as he slowly leaned forward to kiss her. Violet leaned in to meet his lips and the young couple shared their first kiss as boyfriend and girlfriend. Both very excited to see what the future held for them.

They sat down at the docks for a long while. Kissing and talking was how they spent most of that time. It was about ten thirty when Henry looked at his watch. He decided that it would be best to start his relationship with Violet off on the right foot with her parents.

"I think I should walk you home soon. I want your parents to like me," Henry said watching Violet look out into the horizon at the lights dancing across the water. She had turned to see him watching her before she spoke.

"Yeah, that would probably be best," she giggled.

Henry took her by the hand and they walked back to her house. They shared one last kiss goodbye before Violet went back inside. Each of them smiling from ear to ear.

Henry decided to send a quick text to Regina to let her know that he would be staying at Emma and Hook's house tonight. He also promised that he would come by in the morning before school to tell her all about his date. Although he did make sure to mention that she said yes to his question. She had responded to him quickly, and he headed straight for Emma and Hook's.

Getting no response from knocking on the door, Henry let himself in with the key that Emma had given him. He also got no response from calling out into the empty house, so he went into the living room and plopped down in front of the tv. He was texting Violet when he heard the front door open and a voice call out.

"Henry? Are you here?" Emma called.

"Yeah, mom. I'm in here," he answered.

Emma and Killian appeared in the living room after hanging up their coats and Henry had moved over to one end of the couch so someone else could sit there with him. Emma sat beside him and Killian sat on the chair beside the couch.

"So, how'd it go?" Emma asked curiously watching Henry's face looking for some indication of how the night had gone. Killian just smiled as he waited for Henry to answer.

"It went really well. I asked her to be my girlfriend and she said yes," Henry announced proudly with a big, bright smile beaming from his face.

"That's great, kid," Emma said patting him on the arm. She looked between her son and her pirate. She had it good. Two amazing men who loved her right under one roof. Life couldn't get any better, so long as the visions stayed away. That thought alone made her shudder.

Killian caught the slight shudder out of the corner of his eye and raised his eyebrow at Emma, who quickly shook her head no. She didn't want to worry Henry about the visions. She needed to figure out what was causing them before she could tell him. She wouldn't have told Killian about them either had he not been there when the first one occurred.

"Alright, you've got school tomorrow and we're going back out to hunt for Hyde. I think it's time for bed," Emma declared after yawning. It had been a tiresome day.

Killian nodded in agreement as he stood from the chair and extended a hand to help Emma up off the couch. Henry nodded too as he got up off the couch and shut the tv off.

"Goodnight, Mom. Night, Hook," Henry said, quickly giving his mother a hug and then headed upstairs to his bedroom.

"Night, Henry," Killian answered as he squeezed Emma's hand. She smile sweetly and hugged Henry back.

Then she took Killian's hand and pulled him up the stairs to their bedroom. They shared a quick kiss goodnight and decided to forego any extracurricular activities since Henry was in the house.

Cuddling up tight to one another, they both fell into a peaceful sleep. Killian's dreams filled with dreams of he and Emma saying "I do" and living a happy life together. Emma's dream filled with happy times with her whole family hoping to evade any possible visions that could come her way.

[mikemortgage]

Levi’s, Yelp join coalition pledging not to discriminate

Levi Strauss, Yelp and Lyft are leading a coalition of 1,200 businesses and cities that are pledging not to discriminate against employees or customers based on race, sexual orientation, or other characteristics.

Normally, making a promise to serve every customer might seem like a no-brainer. But the Open to All coalition is launching in a highly charged atmosphere, with florists refusing to provide flowers for gay weddings and stores turning away Muslim customers. On the same June weekend that White House Press Secretary Sarah Sanders was asked to leave a Virginia restaurant because of her affiliation with President Donald Trump, a transgender woman was harassed by staff at a Washington restaurant for using the women’s restroom.

So it remains to be seen if the “Open to All” message — on businesses’ Yelp pages or on stickers in their windows — will calm frayed tempers or anger customers and businesses who might question its motives.

Tia Agnew, co-founder and CEO of New Day Craft, an Indianapolis-based producer of mead and cider, is excited to put up her “Open to All” window sticker, which she says matches her “personal and professional ethos.” She’s not worried that it will be a turn-off to some potential patrons.

“All I can do is put our best foot forward and say, ‘Hey, come on in and hang out,”‘ she said.

But George Marinakos, the owner of The Exchange Saloon in Washington, isn’t sold on the idea. His bar is near the White House, and he has served Sanders as well as members of the Obama administration. A chalkboard in front of the bar reads, “Everyone welcome,” but he thinks an “Open to All” sticker might raise questions. If he doesn’t put it up, some people will wonder why; if he does, some people might not feel welcome because of what they interpret as a left-leaning message.

“You’re putting yourself in the position of being damned if you do or damned if you don’t,” he said.

The Open to All coalition got its start late last year as the U.S. Supreme Court was preparing to consider the case of a Colorado baker who refused to bake a wedding cake for a gay couple because it violated his religious beliefs. The court ultimately ruled for the baker but didn’t give businesses a blanket right to discriminate against gays.

Calla Rongerude, Open to All’s campaign manager, said businesses were asking civil rights groups how to make it clear they would serve gays and other minorities. The cities of New York and Oakland, California, are also part of the coalition, as are 190 civil rights groups, organizations and faith groups, including the American Civil Liberties Union, the Interfaith Alliance, the Service Employees International Union and the NAACP.

“People have been really hungry to engage and let people know that they’re welcome,” she said.

Rongerude also says she doesn’t think the campaign will face any backlash from conservatives.

“Having a business say, ‘I am going to serve all of my customers on the same terms’ is inherently positive,” she said. “I think we want to get beyond the ‘us versus them’ mentality. Everyone deserves to be treated with dignity and respect.”

Levi Strauss and Co. said it plans to display “Open to All” window stickers at nearly 200 U.S. stores and outlets.

Yelp is adding a tab to its site so restaurants and other locations can note that they are “Open to All.” Owners will also have the option to leave that space blank or say the establishment is not open to all, said Luther Lowe, Yelp’s senior vice-president of public policy. Yelp already bans speech on its site that attacks someone based on race, religion, sexual orientation and other traits.

“Up and down the company, these are issues that we’ve always leaned in on,” Lowe said. Asked if the label might be divisive, Lowe said Yelp is simply trying to guide people to places that welcome them.

The Civil Rights Act of 1964 outlaws discrimination in public places on the basis of race, colour, religion, sex or national origin. But only 21 states and the District of Columbia ban discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation.

Rongerude said many businesses have gone further than the government. Uber, for example, includes sexual orientation, gender identity and marital status in its nondiscrimination policy. It dumped a Houston driver from its platform earlier this year after the driver made a gay couple get out of his car.

“Business really is in a unique place to lead right now,” Rongerude said.

But not every business contacted by Open to All plans to join the coalition. Target Corp., for example, said it won’t join because it has a policy prohibiting third-party signs on its doors.

Participants in the coalition risk turning off some customers. Mark McLean, a retired business owner and conservative blogger in Tennessee, says “Open to All” signs are divisive. He likens them to “Gun-Free Establishment” signs that infringe on gun owners’ rights.

“We can’t govern how people think. That’s a dangerous slope to go down,” McLean said.

But Jacinta Gauda, principal and chief strategy officer at The Gauda Group, who counsels companies about diversity and inclusion, says businesses are also facing pressure from employees and customers to take a stand on issues and make their values clear.

“I’m just of the mind that the movement to do this, driven by their employees and customers, is larger than the political risk,” she said. “They calculated this and said, ‘We have more to gain than we have to lose.”‘

from Financial Post https://ift.tt/2mWNoM7 via IFTTT Blogger Mortgage Tumblr Mortgage Evernote Mortgage Wordpress Mortgage href="https://www.diigo.com/user/gelsi11">Diigo Mortgage

[pegaitoalapared-blog]

Disco Gives Birth To House Music

Disco music latin disco music gets a nasty rap. People decry the genre as a plastic, soulless, producer-driven music fad that deserves scorn for being empty and unfulfilling. Many music followers were pleased to see disco die in 1980, however the reality is that disco never handed on. It spawned a new era of dance music that branched out and evolved into the worldwide phenomenon generally known as home music. So how precisely did disco give birth to accommodate music? Here is the latin dance songs mp3 free download story.

So a gay guy and a black dude stroll right into a warehouse....simply kidding! Effectively, actually that's not too far off. Here is the short model.

Larry Levan began spinning disco data together at those loopy Paradise Garage events in New York.

Quickly after Disco Demolition Evening (when white youngsters killed disco at a White more information on wikipedia Sox game), Chicago started developing a new, electronic, drum-machine joyful sound.

Frankie Kunckles introduced his gay-pleasant crate of thumping disco tracks to Chicago and the children latin dance songs got into it. Stuff like "Let No Man Put Asunder" from First Selection rocked the Warehouse in 1983.

Soulful, bangin' disco tracks collided with what-the-hell-sounding beats from Jesse Saunders, Farley Jackmaster Funk and a bunch of other DJs, remixers and record producer varieties in Chicago.

All the youngsters needed to purchase the information that were taking part in at the Warehouse in Chicago, and after some abbreviating -- the house music label was born.

In Detroit, Juan Atkins (/Cybotron), Derrick Could and Kevin Saunderson view blog originated a techno contact alongside the Chicago house music sound.

Disco is the a lot maligned genre that helped spawn fashionable dance music and carved out a niche for digital beats within the mainstream. While the original disco wave may have died out way back, its affect nonetheless reverberates strongly on the planet of house music youtube.com/watch?v=otsSLRutnq0 In reality, a whole style has sprung up known as disco home, which celebrates this musical model in a thoroughly fashionable context. This article takes a look at 5 secret substances that disco house producers make use of while banging out some of their hottest tracks.

When unsure, remix. In the past 10 years home music has adopted a powerful tendency to remix classic tracks. Since disco music was so danceable in its unique type, the addition of modern expertise, beats and basslines coupled with advances in sampling is able to generating a monster observe if correctly remixed latin american disco music This could mean both revamping a complete music like M & S did with 'Salsoul Nugget' in 2000, or merely seize the primary melody like the filter house / disco home basic 'Music Sounds Better With You' by Stardust.

Harnessing the power of a stay ingredient. One of the large variations between disco and fashionable dance music was the truth that whereas drum machines and sequencing performed a task in the authentic recordings, more often than not actual drummers, guitarists and bassists had a heavy hand it what ended up being pressed onto wax. This human touch can generally be Jeloz - Pegaito a la Pared [Official Video] urban music missing from house, and the most savvy disco home music producers have had big hits because of savvy sampling of a few of the most natural components of authentic disco tracks. An ideal example of that is the observe 'Let's All Chant' by Disco Queen, which borrows closely from the Michael Zager original. This could really get a good crowd response going at a club.

Vocals, vocals, vocals. A big part of the facility of disco home music comes from its vocal flavor, which will be both male or female. In disco tracks, the vocals usually carried your entire observe, along with the baseline, so when placing collectively disco home producers try ensure that they will include a sweet vocal hook to snare in listeners. If a vocal is not out there, then accenting probably the most recognizable components from a previous disco classic may help create a killer theme.

Throwing a themed get together is thrilling for the host. A disco party will make it particularly enjoyable. The company who're coming to the celebration will expect to have quite a lot of urban music history enjoyable. It's important to just be sure you meet the expectations of your visitors. These are the tips on the way you might be able to throw a disco party that your company will love:

Dress Up

Ask your friends to decorate up accordingly. Since you are going for a disco theme, it's a must to ask your visitors to prepare for a disco. Requiring your visitors to do that might be useful to make certain that everyone seems to be in on the costume code.

In your invitation, embody the main points of the occasion. After all, you have to tell them the theme and the costume code. Letting your visitors learn about this early on will give them a while to shop or search for their disco costumes. When you didn't give them sufficient time, you might risk welcoming company not wearing costumes. Or worse, it's possible you'll not have any company come to your social gathering in any respect. Be considerate to the non-public schedules of your folks and different people you need to invite to your party.

Disco music was designed for dancing to. In the event you're having a disco theme social gathering, don't forget the music and a piece of flooring that can be utilized for dancing. Make up a bar to go with the dance scene and use these fancy straws, fruit and mixes JelozPegaitoalaPared[Official Video] that shimmer with the rest of the d?cor. In case you are hoping that folks can be dancing or you've got labored out a fun dance competition amongst pals, the finger meals you present have to have a little bit of protein and must give the dancers vitality!

An easy choice of games is to play a game of 70's trivia. There are a number of obtainable including Trivial Pursuit 70's edition. Get More Information Play clips from 70's TV shows or motion pictures and competing groups guess first what film/present the music was from.

Music has been evolving since its creation. This evolution of music has led to an enormous number of music that all people can get pleasure from. Artists who make good music, are praised and revered for their skills, and recently this has result in many aspiring musicians who want to acquire fame and fortune through their music. Within the United States music in always evolving, and in recent years this evolution of music has sped up to a very fast rate. Music has evolved for a lot of causes including, improved expertise, and change in tradition, and a desire to create one thing new.

Primarily change in music has been related to the culture. In the course of the Middle Ages music on a regular basis music was situated in two locations, the church and the tavern. This was not a very good environment for good music to bloom. However download hip hop urban club music megamix 2015 throughout the Baroque period, 1600-1750, rich individuals began to hire musicians to compose music for them. These patrons would pay the musicians to compose and play music for the patrons enjoyment, and for entertainment at his or her events.

Music didn't change very a lot in Europe for a long time. In America music was began to evolve in its own manner. This new country had a tradition of its personal and this was reflected in its music and dancing. One of the most important types of music originated in Detroit, and it's called big band. It's called large band, as a result of a big band was used to create snappy, catchy tunes. This model of music soon grew to become in style in Europe as well as America in the 1920s. Massive band music was very optimistic for America as a method of enjoyment and entertainment.

Adolf Rickenbacker invented the electrical guitar within the later Twenties and in doing so he changed music endlessly. This was the first time that people began to use electricity to amplify their devices. Furthermore with the invention of the electrical guitar came the beginning Jeloz - Pegaito a la Pared [Official Video] latin disco music of Jazz music. Earlier than the electric guitar came onto the scene it was almost impossible to include a guitar into band music as a result of it was not loud sufficient, but the electric guitar solved the volume issue. African Americans strongly join rhythm with their music.

This can be seen in the tribal music of Africa which consists of drumming and singing. African People took maintain of the electrical guitar and used it to throw poppy grooves over the brass devices and Jazz was born. Jazz was a type of music that spoke out as a bit of a insurrection against the culture. It was nothing just like the music that was performed in church, and it was perfect for dancing to. African Individuals took maintain of Jazz and made it a part of their culture. However racism still ran deep in the American culture and lots of whites dislike jazz music just because it was usually carried out by black musicians.

Nonetheless white musicians started to play the songs initially written and performed by African People, as soon as this started to happen extra whites started to appreciate Jazz. By some means certain whites thought it was OK to hearken to Jazz as long as it was performed by other whites. General Jazz music was very optimistic for the American culture because it helped give pleasure to the African People.

As long as the tradition continues to change their will likely be a mirrored image of this in the music that is composed. America in particular has a culture that's always altering urban club music and growing, and it will, and has, result in a continuing change in music. Rock n Roll came onto the scene within the late 40s and from its start it was about rebellion.

The phrase "rock," as utilized in Rock n Roll, means to shake issues up, and the phrase "roll" is slang for sexual intercourse. Rolling Stone argued that Elvis Presley's hit "That's alright mama" 1954, was the primary Rock n Roll music, however that is very debatable. In the Fifties the youth had been transferring out from the submit battle era, and moving right into a tradition of fun loving freedom. Elvis Presley hit the scene wielding his electrical guitar and rocking to catchy tunes. Though by at the moment's standards Presley's music is taken into account tame, within the Fifties he was on the chopping fringe of adolescent revolt. Presley was criticized for gyrating his pelvis during performances, this and his "soiled" lyrics led to a couple of his songs being banned from sure radio stations.

Elvis could not be stopped and his reputation continued to grow wildly. The culture continued to alter with the introduction of birth control through the 60s and this led to hippie era which was deeply rooted in music, notably folks and rock n roll. Hippies had been all about having "free love" which meant that it's best to be capable to have intercourse with whomever, wherever, and whenever you wished, as long as you weren't hurting anybody else. The Hippie motion has had very damaging effects on society, and it was fueled by rock n roll music.

New Expertise was launched in the Sixties-70s that paved the best way for many new styles. This know-how was the usage of digital effects that had been placed into songs. This technology was brought into the center of pop culture with disco music. Disco Music has a powerful melody with deep beats which can be perfect for dancing. This sort of dancing is not technical in nature people of all totally different skill ranges could urban club music 2014 take part. However the adolescent tradition of the time was break up between the pop sound of the disco, and the cool rise up of rock n roll. Most of those modifications in music have been as a result of tradition, and more immediately the culture of the youth. Though individuals of all ages benefit from the music it's primarily the adolescents that have been and are shaping the music in the twentieth century and beyond.

The effect of the music on the cultures is tough to put in a strictly optimistic or destructive mild. Of the examples of music tendencies given earlier, some have been positive and a few have been unfavourable. Nonetheless it can't be stated that they are wholly good or wholly unhealthy. These modifications in music mirrored the culture that they had been brought into, and sometimes these changes led to good and dangerous reform. There are some fads in music that many would argue are fully damaging, resembling rap.

The vast majority of rap music that is played on the radio is filled with explicit content, and because of this is receives a foul wrap. Rap music is usually impressed by gangster life, but people do not contemplate that when these individuals are writing music instead of beginning fights on the street. Though Jeloz - Pegaito a la Pared [Official Video] youtube latin music videos rap music is often inappropriate it has given individuals the African American youth one thing constructive to do with their time, that will not lead them to being perceived as losers by the opposite gangsters. Due to this fact rap has each positive and damaging points as do must trends in music.

America has started a number of tendencies and fads with reference to music, and they're going to continue to take action. Since America is a melting pot of cultures there is a huge wealth of recent music that can turn out to be apparent as extra time passes. If there was to be a standstill in the music industry, there would need to be a standstill in the tradition. However the culture of the American youth has been continuously changing Jeloz - Pegaito a la Pared [Official Video] urban club music at an rising pace. With all of this modification there is no sign that the music industry is going to slow down. New songs are all the time going to be composed, and new kinds of music will always be coming to the floor of the musical world. The research of the popular music in a culture gives an individual deep insight on the values of the culture, as a result of a populations tradition is straight linked to their music.

[alisonfloresus]

Valuing Vs. Recognizing Employees

There is currently a lot of talk about recognition. A Google search on Employee Recognition churns out more than 900,000 hits. Recognition is one of those principles of people management that we are routinely reminded about, and frankly, should be reminded about, because it can always be done better and more often.

The best organizations spend a substantial amount of money and resources on their recognition program. One only needs to look at the number of Google hits to see how many are related to employee awards and services being sold. Despite these investments, employees don’t necessarily feel they are being recognized for great work.

One of the more common inquiries on employee engagement surveys is some variation of, “I receive recognition when I do good work.” The norm score across industries and countries for this question is about 55 percent favorable. Meaning, on average, about half of all employees feel they are appropriately recognized. At the best companies–the top 10 percent–the score is about 66 percent favorable, not overly impressive when these companies have favorable scores in the 80 to 90 percent range in a number of other areas.

Compare this to the inquiry, “I feel valued as an employee of this company,” which is much less frequently asked (indicating that many organizations don’t even see the value in asking about employees feeling valued). The average score here is 41 percent favorable, with 32 percent marking an unfavorable response. In other words, on average, less than half of the employees in a typical organization feel valued as an employee and one-third actively believe they aren’t valued.

These findings also indicate that there is a difference between recognizing and valuing employees. As a whole, organizations are especially weak in creating an environment where employees truly feel valued.

This is more than a difference in semantics; it’s a difference in experience. Recognition is the identification or acknowledgement of something. When we recognize employees, we acknowledge that they are doing good work and letting them know we appreciate their efforts. Recognition is typically tied to what we do–not who we are.

Valuing is about appreciating the worth of something (someone) and of esteeming something (someone) highly. When we value employees, we appreciate them for who they are and what they bring to the organization. We acknowledge them not merely for tasks, but for the deeper intrinsic worth they add to the organization by just being there.

Recognizing an individual means successfully completing a project. Valuing someone is letting him or her know that you are glad he or she is on the team and that things wouldn’t be as good without them.

Research from several Kenexa clients that have included both value and recognition items in their surveys shows that, in general, valuing employees appears to be a driver of engagement (and often the top driver) more often than recognizing their efforts. In a limited sample of companies, feeling valued showed up as a driver 85 percent of the time, whereas recognition of efforts emerged only 30 percent of the time. Feeling valued seems to reflect a broad core of what people are looking for in an engaging work experience–that is, a primary element that connects people to their organization and motivates is a strong sense of feeling valued and appreciated. Recognition is important, but is more likely to be seen as a singular experience (event driven) than sustained (environment driven).

The two are interactive, however. Organizations that had high scores on valuing employees had higher scores on recognizing employees. But recognizing efforts didn’t always translate to people feeling valued.

Looking at dysfunctional organizations, one characteristic that emerges for some is rote recognition. These companies recognize people for anything and everything with no real purpose or thought behind it. It is as if someone was told, “recognition equals engagement” and so he or she just ran around patting everyone on the back saying “good job” regardless of the real effort or accomplishment achieved. This underscores the importance of showing your people you value, not just recognize, them.

Recognition without value, over time, will make the recognition hollow. It turns something that should be satisfying and special to employees into something rote and meaningless. Furthermore, without valuing employees, organizations fall into a dangerous zone where they fail to treat and see employees as people.

Valuing others isn’t a leadership thing, it’s a people thing, and it is probably the people thing that the majority of us cherish the most. If you think back to a moment in your life when you felt special and appreciated, it’s most likely a time when you were being valued in some way.

Creating Value and Recognition Looking across eight companies of different sizes and industries, the following common behaviors emerged that promote higher ratings of value and recognition and form part of a strong http://www.kenexa.com/ : Human Resources Management strategy.

To Make Employees Feel Valued:

* Encourage involvement–actively solicit people’s thoughts.

* Recognize real contributions–when someone does something exceptional, let them know.

* Allow open expression–let people feel free and safe to express their opinions, even if they are not consistent with leadership views.

* Show respect–treat people as you want to be treated–don’t yell, belittle, trivialize, patronize or deceive.

* Empower decision making–give people input into the decisions that affect their work the most–make them a part of the decision making process.

* Discuss expectations and responsibility–let people know how to add value to their job and success to the organization.

* Encourage growth and development–actively work to help strengthen the skill set of your employees and find ways to enhance their personal and professional growth.

* Be fair–have transparent and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Employee_evaluation : employee evaluation and promotion practices.

* Explain why they are important–discuss how one’s role and contributions fit into the overall success of the company.

* Explain rather than tell–avoid dictating change and process to employees; let them understand the reasons behind things.

* Talk to them–increase leadership visibility and one-on-one discussions with employees at all levels; help people feel that they are more than just a cog in the machine.

To Recognize Employees:

* Identify outstanding customer service–whether it is internal or external, give praise when a customer was served in an extraordinary way.

* Look at team performance–don’t focus solely on individual contributions, but also note how team efforts contributed to overall success.

* Train supervisors–day-to-day recognition can be expressed effectively by immediate supervisors, but make sure they know how to give recognition appropriately.

* Encourage initiative and risk taking–when an employee tries something new or takes charge of something, encourage him/her and provide support.

* Ensure job performance and pay are linked–people should feel that the effort they put forth is reflected in their pay.

* Be transparent and fair–let people know why others are receiving recognition or promotion opportunities and avoid favoritism.

* Build a culture of celebration over competition–encourage everyone to celebrate an individual’s or team’s success

We can all do a better job of valuing those around us and improving employee retention. For those doing the valuing, it’s not only rewarding, it’s where you feel the most vulnerable. This is why we don’t do it as often as we should. Instead, we censor ourselves–fearing our comments might be used against us. In most cases, it’s not a warranted fear, and the gains far outweigh any potential risk in making one’s deep appreciation of others known.

As you go through your recognition rituals, take a few moments to show those around you how you value them. Maybe it’s because they make you feel good, or you learn something new from them every day, or they are warm to those around them, or they have the knack of diffusing tension in difficult situations, or they take care of the small stuff so you don’t have to. There are a million reasons to value others. Enough, in fact, to value others throughout the year, not just during year-end holidays.

from JournalsLINE http://journalsline.com/2017/07/10/valuing-vs-recognizing-employees/ from Journals LINE https://journalsline.tumblr.com/post/162824279470

[tigerlilynoh]

Job & Family DS: Aftermath - Dangerous Emotions

Words:  3,410 Spoiler warning:  Contains spoilers for the end of Job & Family.

10/15/2011

Dylaniel was flying over the coast, admiring the tranquil Alaskan morning when he heard a prayer from Hael.  She wanted to meet with him, but was reluctant to travel to his home on the off chance that she might be followed.  After some thought, he suggested meeting for lunch at a brewery’s taproom he knew of near Oakland.

The taproom was on desecrated land and was owned & operated by Hell.  As far as anyone knew, Heaven wasn't aware of its association, making the location nearly invisible to Heaven’s normal surveillance efforts.  The small restaurant was little more than one third of the brewery’s warehouse that had been blocked off for limited food & drink service.  Kay had taken him there for lunch once very shortly after the power plant incident.  He’d liked the fact that it didn't have many patrons and most of them were demons or Hell affiliated.

“A Drakonic stout.”  Dylaniel ordered from the bartender as soon as he arrived.  The bartender began pouring a glass for him, but a server walked up and whispered something to her colleague.  The bartender stopped mid-pour, then turned to Dylaniel.

“We don't serve angels.”  The bartender warned as he signaled for two other demons sitting at a nearby table to come over.  “Leave now or we're gonna have a problem.”

“I'm not an angel.  I'm Dylaniel Winchester.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?”

“I'm the only person on this plane that's killed an Archangel and I'm cousin to your queen.”  Dylaniel pointed to the bank of taps.  “Now finish pouring my beer.”

The bartender waved off the muscle, then finished topping off the glass.  Dylaniel appreciated the care that was taken to reduce the amount of head on the stout, though he couldn't tell if that was a manifestation of fear or respect- with demons those two concepts often seemed to bleed together.  The bartender placed the glass on the bar and watched attentively as Dylaniel sipped it.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Whatever dishes are your most popular- and make at least some of it mild.  An angel will be joining me.”  Dylaniel said as he walked toward a small table in the corner, then took the seat that placed his back to the wall.  “If that's a problem with anyone, they can take it up with me.”

He pulled his sheathed sword off his back, placing it menacingly on the table.  The demons eyed him cautiously, but they also went about their business including bringing him some lunch.  Intimidation might not produce the same level of comfort & reliability as genuinely earned trust & authority, yet it did have its merits.  When Hael arrived the demons didn't approach her except to ask what type of beer she wanted.

“Are you alright?”  Dylaniel asked as he gestured for Hael to take the seat across from him.

“I am not in danger if that is your concern.”  Hael looked around the restaurant at the half dozen demons that were watching them.  “Or at least Heaven doesn't appear to be a danger to me.”

“I won't let these demons hurt you and they’ll keep interlopers away.”  He assured her.  “What did you wish to discuss?”

“There's talk about holding a vote on decriminalizing the birth of nephilim.”

Dylaniel's ears perked up at mention of a topic so near & dear to his heart.  For over two years, angels had been experimenting with emotions & interpersonal relationships, largely thanks to him.  His performance at the church had spread a virus of sorts throughout Heaven and Sam's desperate prayer for compassion & defiance had knocked hundreds or thousands of teetering angels over the edge.  

As of the last count he'd heard, roughly forty angels were in relationships with humans.  So far the issue of nephilim hadn't yet come to a head.  Having a nephilim was still technically a crime on the books in Heaven, so no angel had yet tried to conceive- though Dylaniel suspected it was just a matter of time before either a contraceptive or an angel’s accommodating nature failed.  If an angel did become pregnant before the law changed, it could prove to be a very delicate political minefield- after all, the humans would have a 50% interest in the child as well.

“Do you think it has enough votes to pass?”

“Possibly.”  Hael didn't sound particularly convinced.  “The Traditionalists are arguing that it's unnecessary now that the fighting is done.  None of the choirs were harmed so much that the population needs restoration.  The Liberals are trying to frame the issue as a matter of personal rights, but with productivity below even our historic lows, there's been concern that becoming parents would distract angels from their duties.”

“They can do both.”  Dylaniel rejected the idea.  His parents had shouldered a much larger burden than a normal angel in this day & age, and he'd turned out just fine.  With the exception of two angels, all of the xes he'd ever met had been both excellent parents & productive members of society.

“No one has ever seen it.  From the perspective of Heaven, every angelic parent to a nephilim has been fallen and lived in hiding.  There's no evidence to show that they can continue to perform their duties and the Moderates are scared to risk harming Heaven any further.”

“Preventing angels from acting upon their emotions harms Heaven.”  He countered.

“That harm is less clear.”

A server dropped off an assortment of dishes, but Dylaniel had lost some of his appetite at the way she was discussing the issue.  He had no doubt that Hael was in favor of decriminalization, but she didn't seem very hopeful.

“Angels can't allow their emotions to be repressed.  Doing so is just making the environment more volatile.”  He argued.

“Some emotions are being permitted.”  Hael tried to frame the situation in a slightly better light.

“Some?”  He raised an eyebrow while sipping his beer.

“Productive emotions: loyalty, joy, compassion-”

“Positive emotions should be nurtured, but ignoring negative emotions doesn't make them disappear.”  Dylaniel warned.  “They'll just keep getting worse.  This whole situation is getting worse.”

Dylaniel knew that he had a reputation for worrying.  It was an understandable side effect of growing up surrounded by threats.  He didn't consider himself paranoid, but he acknowledged that that was largely because by definition the threats within paranoia aren't real.  All too often it felt like he was watching a slow motion train wreck and only his immediate family even bothered to take his concerns seriously.

“We can attempt to fix this once we finalize the more urgent policies.”  Hael dismissed the danger. “Right now the highest priority has to be reaching some sort of consensus as to the role of angels & Heaven, otherwise we will have another conflict.”

“Consensus might be an overly ambitious goal.  Most governmental structures only require a majority endorsement.”  Dylaniel pointed out.  “Regardless, the longer angels leave their negative feelings repressed, the harder the damage will be to undo.  You remember what it was like when you faced your own anguish, imagine that pain built up over months or years.  This is dangerous.  I can't stress that enough.”

She paused, mouth partially open, unable to bring herself to continue arguing.  The comparison to her personal experience had hit her as intended.  He wouldn't presume that she fully appreciated the threat, but the way her eyes lost some of their glimmer assured him that she was on the right track.

“I… I understand.”  Hael acknowledged softly.  “I just don't know how to fix it at this point.  I'll speak to my superiors and those I have influence with, but… advocating the spread of hurtful emotions is essentially incitement.”

“Do you think they'd arrest you for merely discussing this?”

“I’ll be careful who I speak with,”  She assured.  “but in theory it is possible.  I've heard of angels being arrested for actively trading negative emotions, but simply trying to destigmatize them, I don't know.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”  Dylaniel asked.

“Would you consider visiting Heaven?  At the very least your testimony might carry weight in the election.”

“No, everyone knows my views anyway.  My presence would only further polarize opinions.”  Aside from the political implications, Dylaniel still refused to enter the same plane as Michael.  Beyond his general loathing of the Archangel, there was the legitimate concern that being on the same plane would make them close enough for Michael to overcome the anti-communication warding on Dylaniel.  He didn't know what sorts of ways Michael might use that against him, but he didn't intend on finding out.  Though, despite the danger, he wanted to help.  “But I’d meet with angels in a neutral setting if they're interested.”

“I'm sure that many of my siblings would wish to meet with you.”  

“No blockers, though.”  He quickly added.  “I don't begrudge their choir, but I can't risk being confined.”

“I understand completely.”  Hael assured.  “I'll vet anyone who wishes to meet with you.”

“Are you worried that there will be an attempt to kill me?”  He assumed there would be, but the thought that someone else might also be considering it piqued his interest.

“I don't have any specific reason to worry.  I just don't want anything to happen to you.”  Hael explained, then added.  “You're my friend.”

“I'm grateful to have you as a friend.”  He replied, causing her to smile, but her happiness visibly faded after a moment.

“There's another matter, a related matter, that I'd like to discuss…  I'm worried about Castiel.”  She confided in a slightly hushed voice.  “With the discussions over nephilim, he has been the subject of several investigations.  He's seen as one of the most likely angels to break the standing edict.”

“Is he dating someone?”  Dylaniel found it hard to believe that Castiel might be dating without ample gossip floating his way.

“No, but it seems likely that he has no qualms with having a nephilim in defiance of Heaven.”

“Castiel is not my xe.”  Dylaniel hated every time he had to remind others of that fact.  “He shouldn't carry the stigma of my birth.”

“The association is hard to ignore, especially…”  Heal hesitated to say something, then finally added.  “He's been experiencing emotions recently.”

“What kind of emotions?”  Once again, Dylaniel found her tone unsettling.

“Remorse, depression, longing- among others.”

Dylaniel nearly frowned.  It sounded like Castiel was dabbling in some very difficult emotions.  The cause might've been stress over the political situation, worrying about the family, or maybe it was the fact that, aside from relaying Dean's message about the DEPA visit, he hadn't seen anyone in the family for several weeks or months.

“Does he know he's being investigated?”

“Yes.”

“That's why he hasn't been communicating with us as much over the last few months.”  Dylaniel mused.  “Is there a way I can talk to him?”

“I'll let him know that you'd like to meet.  I'm sure he’d find a way to see you.”

“Make sure he knows not to take risks just for me.”  Dylaniel knew that he was one of Castiel’s biggest weaknesses.  There was no doubt in Dylaniel's mind that if he or Dean needed help Castiel would come running regardless of the consequences.

“I'll make sure he's safe.”

After some covert coordination, Dylaniel & Castiel were able to arrange a meeting at the bunker the morning after the lunch with Hael.  Even though he trusted both the location & his company, Dylaniel followed his custom of arriving at least 5 minutes early to any scheduled meeting in order to assess the danger.  He didn't bother checking more than the front door & the garage for anything out of the ordinary.  On his way to the library, he peeked into Dean's bedroom to see if there was anything that Dean had been forced to abandon and might want subtly delivered to his apartment.  Dylaniel found Castiel waiting for him when he got back to the library.

“Hael said you wanted to speak with me.  Is everything alright?”  Castiel greeted Dylaniel.

“We haven't spoken in some time and I'm concerned about your wellbeing.”  Dylaniel replied.  “Hael indicated that you may be distressed.”

“My work has been difficult recently.”  Castiel acknowledged.  “The Liberal faction has asked me to lead a large project.  There's been… unforeseen complications resulting from it.  One of them being an investigation into my capacity to serve & my loyalty- I'm not disloyal.”

The fact that Castiel had felt the need to clarify that point was slightly discouraging.  Either Castiel had gotten into the habit of defending his loyalty, he was doubting himself, or he questioned Dylaniel's assessment of him.  None of which were good possibilities.

“I think loyalty might be the quality you hold in the highest regard.”  Dylaniel observed, hoping to put Castiel at ease.  “That's why you face many internal struggles.  Talking them through might help you resolve those conflicts.”

“I've submitted to several covenants.”  Castiel shifted his weight in a surprisingly clear showing of discomfort.  “None of them have placed me in a direct conflict with your family, but I think that will be asked of me.”

“What's happening?”  Dylaniel asked with growing alarm.

“I have an oath of secrecy placed on me.”  Castiel commented.  Dylaniel sighed at the potential roadblock, then Castiel continued.  “It's actually very poorly conceived.  Heaven could benefit greatly by consulting with the Crossroads.”

“Tell me whatever you can.”

“A group of angels I've been monitoring have disappeared from Heaven.  They are among the most conservative members of the Traditionalists.  Their group is affiliated with Michael, but I haven't been able to locate evidence that he gave them any instruction.”

Dylaniel’s mind immediately started running through different alarming thoughts.  If the angels weren't in Heaven anymore, they were almost certainly on Earth.  The question was what were they trying to do?  It was hard to imagine what Michael might want to happen to Earth, but that was assuming they were following his direction.  The more conservative views of angels were simply unnerving in their own right.

“How did that trigger an investigation into your fitness to serve Heaven?”

“The group left Heaven shortly after the rumor of a nephilim vote began spreading.  The timing does not appear to be coincidental.  Our best guess is that they are intending to influence the vote somehow, though we haven't figured out the exact method.”  Castiel's jaw clenched for a moment, another anxious tell that Dylaniel recognized from his xe.  “I expressed an additional more generalized concern that they might be acting in Michael's interest.  It was suggested that my concern for you & Dean might be affecting my judgment.”

“Is it?”  Dylaniel asked, making Castiel pause for a moment to consider his answer.

“Before meeting you two, I'd never seen vessels express fear & loathing for their angel.  I… I think the protocols of consent might not be enough to protect vessels.  It should be the priority of each angel in Heaven to protect vessels against coercion.  I don't doubt that these angels are capable of it or that Michael would be worth the danger in their minds.”  Castiel turned his palms upward in a vague shrugging gesture.  “Whether that's a reasonable concern or the result of our relationship, I'm not sure.”

“I think it's a reasonable concern.”  Dylaniel assured.  “Though many people find that my standards differ from their own.”

“I’ll take some comfort in that regardless.”  

“Have you communicated with Dean since he was contacted by DEPA?”  Dylaniel redirected the conversation toward the more delicate subject.

It had been almost two weeks.  Technically Dean had a burner phone that he had used once to call the family with, but it hadn't provided enough confidence to be used more often.  Dylaniel had asked Wigfrid to covertly check on him three times and her reports had indicated that he was safe.  In a strange way it felt like Dean had succumbed to the same fatigue & weight of the world that had pushed both Sam & himself out of the spotlight- though he supposed that Sam was under a binding contract in addition to the ambient threat of harm.  Regardless of its origin, at that point Dylaniel wasn't prepared to disrupt Dean's situation except to protect him.  Presumably Castiel felt similarly, but at the same time the lack of communication might be hurting Castiel.

“No, I don't want to risk communicating with him.”  Castiel replied.

“It looks like the surveillance lessened after 24 hours.  He is being monitored in several ways, but there is some predictability at this point.  As long as reasonable precautions are taken, it should be possible to contact him.”

“I think it's best that I stay away from him.”  Castiel countered.

“Hael told me that she's concerned about you.  The emotions she observed in you are consistent with stress, but there were others that are often related to other states.”  Dylaniel gave Castiel a moment to volunteer anything, but he didn't.  “Are you in love with Dean?”

There was a long silence that neither of them particularly wanted to carry the burden of ending.

“I… I don't know.”  Castiel finally admitted.  “I miss being with him.”

“Do you miss his friendship or do you want something more than that?”

“Regardless of my state, it's a moot point.”  Castiel evaded.

“I probably know you better than almost anyone.  I know you're an emotionally being- and that's fine.”  Dylaniel assured.  “But you need to deal with this before it becomes a problem.”

“I don't have time to deal with Dean-”

“You're avoiding him.”

“He is preoccupied & being monitored.  I am also being watched-”  Castiel pursed his lips at Dylaniel’s blatantly skeptical expression.  After staring unblinkingly at each other for what felt like a whole minute, Castiel relented first.  “I can smell his partner on him, in his apartment, in the car.  It's unpleasant- But I still come when he calls for my assistance.”

“You shouldn't bury these feelings-”

“I am not your parent.”  Castiel nearly snapped, his tone betraying the pressure that he was under.

“No, you most definitely are not.”  Dylaniel stated a little colder than usual before recovering.  “But I’m your friend.  And whether we like it or not, I'm probably the only person you'd actually talk to about this.  So swallow your pride and let's get this over with.”

“You're very stubborn.”

“We have that in common.”

They stared at each other once again, and just like before Castiel broke first.

“It won't change anything.  If he didn't leave his partner for his own safety, he won't leave his partner.”

“Even if you can't be in a relationship with him, it's not fair that you should have to bend over backwards to accommodate him.”  Dylaniel advised.  “You are in a position of high stress and you need to take care of your emotional wellbeing.  If you aren't careful, you could put yourself & those around you in danger.”

The last thing any of them needed was for Castiel to have an emotional outburst during a strategic meeting in Heaven and either be removed from his rank or detained.  Heaven didn't use its mind-altering rehabilitation treatments as liberally as it once did, but an emotionally unstable angel in a sensitive intelligence position might easily warrant such extreme measures.  With Castiel working so closely to a project that might involve nephilim or Michael's vessels, Dylaniel wasn't surprised by either the heightened pressure of Castiel's work or the heightened scrutiny surrounding him.

“I do not want to make the situation uncomfortable.”

“Life is always somewhat uncomfortable when you're making the most of it.”  Dylaniel suggested.  “You fell for this pain just as much as you did for the conviction & joy.  Never neglect anything you’ve paid such a high price for- and don't let it cost you your life.”

“I…”  Castiel hesitated for a moment before committing.  “I don't want to harm his partnership, if that's what makes him happy.”

“I'm not suggesting that you try to interfere in his relationship.  Just that you reflect on your feelings, understand them, & grieve appropriately.  Don't let affection turn to resentment or volatility because you're too scared to acknowledge your pain.”  Dylaniel took a step closer and made an effort to force some emotion & sincerity into his voice.  “You have people in your life who are concerned about your wellbeing.”

“You & Hael are generous in that respect.”

“We aren't the only people who care about you.”  Dylaniel corrected.  “It's surprisingly easy.  I suggest you try it sometime.”