#I muted his posts and we’ve never spoken on there

[quarter-life-crisis2]

There’s something so anxiety inducing about one of the top accounts Instagram recommends when sharing a post to being my ex from 1.5 years ago? Whom I dated for 7 years? With whom I have NEVER spoken to on Instagram???? Can you not? He does not need to accidentally get a cat video from me

[elveneclipse]

Heyyyy guess what? dsmp!Taiyo_Trove lore. I wrote about him meeting Tommy and Tubbo!! This is canon to this au’s lore, unlike the comic which was dubiously canon. All set in Hypixel here, but the next lore post should be about them joining the SMP!! Anyways, the writing will all be below the cut!!

Making Friends in Bedwars

Taiyo sat by a tree, their demon tail wrapped around their body as they sketched in their notebook. He had just gotten out of a round of bedwars, and now was resting since his arm still hurt from blocking a sword to the face. Really, Hypixel needed to get some sort of face guards for those games. 

There was probably another round going, but it didn’t mind missing one game. Or a couple of games, even. He never managed to get into every game, nor did he care enough to. As long as he got enough coins from it to stick around in Hypixel, it didn’t matter how many games he played.

It stretched a bit, looking up at the sky. There was a leaderboard near the tree they were sitting at, for Bedwars. They didn’t tend to pay much attention to it, as it never really changed much. It always had the same people on it, though sometimes they’d switch places. Occasionally someone would retire, and then they left the board completely, but other than that, it didn’t ever change much. Always the same 100 people, never including him, to no one’s surprise. Taiyo had never spoken to any of them, nor did they care much to. All he knew of them was that they were on the leaderboard, nothing else.

Today, though, he noticed that something had changed. On the leaderboard were two new names, replacing two of the more familiar ones. One, called Tubbo_ in 50th, the other, a TommyInnit, in 49th. As far as they were aware, no one had retired recently, and even if someone had, why would those two jump up so quickly?

He didn’t know.

It was interesting, in Taiyo’s opinion at least, though he doubted it would matter to him much in the long run. After all, the two names would eventually fade into the background, just like all the other names on the leaderboard did. Maybe they’d watch the two for a little while, just out of curiosity, but he’d forget soon enough.

That was what it thought, anyways.

—

They sat alone in the waiting room, inspecting the wooden sword they’d been given to make sure it didn’t have any blemishes or weak spots. There wasn’t much he could do if there were, but at the very least he’d know to upgrade the sword as soon as possible.

The last game of Bedwars hadn’t quite finished yet when they joined the waiting room, meaning that they were probably the only person in the waiting rooms right now. Certainly the only one on its team for the moment.

After looking the sword over a couple of times, he was satisfied, and put it away in his inventory to sort through the rest of it.

As they were doing so, the door to the waiting room opened, and two people entered the room. Taiyo didn’t look up, but they figured that must mean the last round was over. 

“Are you sure about this, bossman? I mean, yeah, we’ve got a good streak going, but that last one was pretty close. Yellow was brutal, I mean, seriously, just brutal.” Said one of them.

“Yeah, they were, but no match for us! Big T, we’re practically unstoppable, don’t sweat it. ‘Sides, Chat wants us to play one more game, and I could use the Primes. We’ll take a break after if you want?” The other replied. Sounded like they were friends, then.

“Okay, if you say so,” said the first one.

Taiyo hummed, unsure if it should say something or not. He’d never heard chat or prime used like that before, and he was kinda curious. Though, now that he thought of it, they probably had everyone muted except for each other. Most players muted everyone in games, including themselves, at least in Hypixel. Taiyo couldn’t speak on other servers, as they’d never been to one apart from Hypixel, but that was what happened here. He didn’t mute, on the off chance he’d be teamed with someone else who wasn’t muted and they could then communicate faster, but usually that didn’t happen.

“Hey, you’re on our team, right?” The second one asked, apparently addressing him.

“Tommy, I think they’ve muted-” The other started.

“No, I can hear you both fine. Just uh.. Wasn’t sure if you’d be able to hear me,” Taiyo replied, still shuffling through the inventory. It was almost finished… “And, uh, yeah, I’m on this team!”

“Oh, sweet! I think this is the first time we’ve seen someone else who actually uses the voice chats today!” The one who was apparently called Tommy exclaimed.

Taiyo chuckled, “First time I’ve met someone who uses it in years,”

“Oh, huh! Is it not usually used?” Not-Tommy asked.

“No, not really… A shame, it’s pretty use-” Taiyo started, closing their inventory and looking at the two of them for the first time. 

Their name tags were the same as the ones from the leaderboard. TommyInnit and Tubbo_.

Tommy was a tall, blond teenager, with curly hair, blue eyes, and a red and white t-shirt. Tubbo was shorter, and had wavy brown hair and brown eyes, plus a green long sleeve. Both of them also had bandana’s - Tommy’s was green, and Tubbo’s was red.

“You’re the people from the leaderboard!” Taiyo exclaimed, more than a bit surprised. While they never cared all that much about it, they definitely did not expect to get teamed up with anyone from the leaderboard, let alone the two people that they’d noticed on it earlier.

“Wait, really? We’re on the leaderboard?” Tubbo questioned, sounding just as surprised.

“Holy shit, really? I mean, uh- of course we’re on the leaderboard, we’re the biggest men ever, right Tubbster?” Tommy said.

“I mean, sure, but we’ve only been playing together for a day-” Tubbo said.

“That might be why, actually,” Taiyo hummed, “People here don’t tend to work together very well, so if you two have been working together the whole time, you’d definitely have an advantage,”

“..It’s a team game, Trove. What do you mean people don’t work together most of the time?” Tommy asked him.

Taiyo snorted, “You haven’t been here long, have you? That’s… kinda just how Hypixel is. We’re not here to work together, we’re here to compete. Or, in my case, here to get enough coins to keep living in the server,”

“You don’t have a home server?” Tubbo questioned, frowning at him.

He shrugged, “I used to. It was weird, though- endless flat world, I mean completely flat. I could summon things to add to my inventory whenever I wanted, though, so it didn’t stay flat. I built a lot. Can’t figure out how to get back though, I think it got deleted somehow.”

“Oh, so you were a creative player? Pog! I’ve always wondered what it’d be like.. I always imagined it’d feel like being a god or some shit. Sucks it got deleted, though,” Tommy replied.

“I guess it was a bit like that,” It shrugged, before stretching, “Doesn’t matter much anymore, though, I’ve been living here for years, so I’m pretty much your average player now. Can do some shapeshifting, but that’s about it, and I’ve seen stranger hybrids.”

The three of them continued talking to each other, even after the fourth teammate entered the room. Unsurprisingly to Taiyo, they didn’t talk to the other three at all, which it didn’t really care about, though Tommy and Tubbo looked a bit bummed about it. 

While they didn’t have much in common with the other two as far as interests and backgrounds went, they still found himself enjoying talking to them. Tommy was a bit brash, but they were both kind and funny, and they made it really easy to talk to them. Maybe it was because they were trying to be as friendly as possible, since not a lot of people here were actually willing to talk. It could get lonely, sometimes. Or maybe it was because of their ‘home server,’ wherever that was.

Whatever the reason, Taiyo found himself taking a liking to the two boys quickly. 

Eventually, their conversation was ended by the game starting, which Taiyo was a bit annoyed by at first, though that quickly left when he realized how much fun the games were when they actually talked to their teammates. Not only was it less frustrating since they were able to communicate better, but it was also made enjoyable by the joking and playful banter that filled the air as they played. Most of the banter was between Tommy and Tubbo, as Taiyo wasn’t sure he was close enough to them for that, but it was still fun.

They also did better at the game, and Taiyo could see now how they were able to jump places so fast. Well, between that, and their apparent streak of 100 games in a row, which seemed a bit crazy to them, but they apparently found it fun, even if they were starting to get a bit sore and tired from it.

They ended up winning the game, which immediately filled the area with cheers from all three of them. Afterwards, the three of them went to hang out in the lobby for a while, to take a break from the games.

Taiyo didn’t remember having any friends before, but they were fairly sure that they’d made some new ones that day.

[sukirichi]

dutifully yours. [01]

Attached to the could’ve been’s of a promised happily ever after with the Crown Prince disguised under a scheme for power and greed, you are torn between choosing your happiness — or abandoning it to fulfill your duty as the future Queen.

→ unedited bcos i’m brave lazy. implied patriarchy. angst in future chapters. pure romance and fluff for now. royalty au. eventual smut. prince naoya !! i love him sm i could cry. this fic will break me, okay. naoya is close to canon but with my twist if that makes sense. drama in future chapters. oh and listen to this while reading <3

→ massive shoutout to my besties for always hyping me and helping me uwu, i present this token of prince naoya being an ideal husband okay cry cry i love him sm im crying. anyways pls enjoy bcos i poured my heart out to this and bcos i want more people in the naoya fucker club :>

one | next (to be posted)

Ever since the day your mother taught you how to read, you’ve had your nose buried in a book. Losing yourself in different worlds, swooning over fictional princes, and fantasizing for a love story ripped out of fairytale itself with such burning, passionate romance – you’d been through it all, dreamt of it all. And yet, you struggled to stop yourself from tugging at your dress.

The tight corset hadn’t even been the main focus of your worries, and neither was the heavy rivière resting on your collarbones.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” Beside you, your mother pursed her lips, fingers decorated with jewels stopping in their movements of fanning herself. The temperature hadn’t been particularly high inside the limousine that evening. You supposed it was the mere sight of you tugging and gulping audibly every now and then, gloved hands running over the hems of your collar.

You ducked your head down. “Sorry, Mother. I can’t help it.”

“Dear, your anxiety is written all over your face,” she sighed, turning your face to her as she cupped your cheeks. Smiling tenderly like a mother always did, your heart felt soothed even by the slightest bit. You wished she could keep holding you like this – like you were a fragile flower she was afraid of breaking; a fragile flower that needed more care handled than most. Tonight, however, you felt a hundred years older. Like you’d accidentally clicked on fast forward and got launched to the future. A future that seemed so unclear yet so...perfect. So right.

“How would the Prince fancy you if you’re sweating bullets like that? It’s not a good look for a marquess’ daughter.”

At the mention of the Crown Prince, your heart sank again. “My apologies, Mother. I’m just rather nervous. It’s the Crown Prince we’re talking about here.”

“He is quite the looker, isn’t he?” she giggled behind her fan, “Strong and handsome, as well.”

“My ladies. You are not fantasizing over the Crown Prince in my presence, are you?”

Crossing her leg over the other, your mother leaned forwards, elbows on her knees as she winked at your father. The marquess had his torso half twisted from the passenger seat, glaring playfully at your mother’s unabashed features. “It is of no seriousness, My Lord. I’m simply easing your daughter’s nerves.”

Your father sighed in worry. “What’s got you so worked up, child? You are beautiful. The Prince would be blind to not notice you.”

Each fibre in your body screamed in desperation for your father to be right. Tonight was not just any other night – the entire Kingdom, including noblewomen, foreign royals, and unwed daughters from honourable families had been invited to the Zen’in Castle for one purpose only: to find his Crown Prince a suitable wife, one that would be fit to be the next Queen as well. As the daughter of the marquess, you’d naturally received the invitation. It felt just like yesterday when the mail arrived and you’d cheered so much in joy the chickens went flying out of their coops, your horses galloping and whinnying at surprise, and now you here – minutes away from the palace where you were soon to be deemed worthy or unworthy to be beside His Highness.

With a shaky smile, you dug your nails into your thighs. “Well, we’ve only met once, Father. I doubt the Prince would remember me.”

“Just smile, darling. You will do great.”

To no one’s surprise, the Zen’in Castle brimmed with people and esteemed guests. Men and women danced with one another as muted chatters and chuckles blended in with the grand royal orchestra, everyone dressed to the nines and making you feel completely out of place.

The moment you’d been welcomed by the knights and led to the palace doors, your dress began to feel tighter than usual, your ribs clenching uncomfortably from the pressure. Your hands had not stopped trembling either, not even when you hid it behind your back and nodded at the people passing by. There were governor-generals, dukes, earls, professors and royal advisors and even families of the royal family’s inner circle of knights. Everyone looked like they belonged here. Chatting amongst one another over the finest of wines or discussing conspiracies on where the Kingdom of Zen’in would be in the next sixty years of the future King’s reign, no one here seemed to be out of place.

Everyone except you.

A warm hand was suddenly placed on the small of your back, making you gasp. Your mother’s smile was nothing short of warm as she held you close to her one last time, leaving a kiss on your forehead. You didn’t even realize how much you shook until she clasped her hands with yours. “Calm down, dear,” she reminded, “You’ll be on your own now. This is where we leave you since we’re not supposed to mingle with potential princesses.”

“Mother!” Your eyes widened in embarrassment. Looking around frantically, you bit your lip in fear someone must’ve heard.

Of course, while it would be no surprise most guests – if not all – hoped that their daughter would be the Crown Prince’s chosen fiancée, it still felt wrong to boldly assume such when you could barely keep up with the events of tonight.

However, your mother merely laughed. “I am proud of you, dear. Never forget that. It doesn’t matter whether you are chosen or not. We’re only here for formality and respect to the King and Queen’s demands.”

“You say that as if the Crown Prince really would not bother with me.”

“We didn’t mean that,” your father cut in, a flute of champagne already nested between his calloused fingers. Ever since you arrived, he’d been snatched away by fellow earls and barons, disappearing into the crowd for a ‘hearty conversation over one’s lands.’ You knew better than that, though. That statement always translated to which leader got to have more chances to wine and dine with the King, to which your family was ridiculously reminded of that you’d been stationed to the most faraway land where even hearing news from the royal papers was but a privilege.

“Just be yourself, alright? And enjoy the party. It’s about time you met with girls your own age and made some friends.”

“I – Father, wait!”

A slender young woman slithered to your side out of nowhere, her golden brown eyes following the silhouettes of your parents. It wasn’t long before they completely disappeared. Left alone with the stunning woman that was – for some reason – dressed in a plain black curve hugging dress too modest for tonight’s appropriateness, you took three steps away in caution. “You must be from way up North,” she noted, her head to the tipped to the side. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

God, was she beautiful. Long, thick eyelashes and short hair chopped in messy yet elegant curves, you struggled to hold her gaze. “Oh, yes, I come from the Terratian Borders. My family is stationed there under His Majesty’s orders.”

She hummed to herself. “The Terratian Borders are mostly forests and fields, no? The last time my family and I visited there, I came across the loveliest dandelions I’ve ever laid eyes on. Shame they died on the way back,” offering her hand – again, bare and empty with decorations yet still littered with faint scars and cuts – she beamed at you. “I’m Mai, by the way. Mai Zen’in.”

Zen’in?

Hands cupping your mouth, you bowed deep until your back ached. “Lady Mai!” you shut your eyes closed, unable to live with the shame. Mai Zen’in; one of the iconic twin pair from the extended Zen’in royal family, both a fashion icon and a legend for being a rumoured female knight. To have her in your presence was an honour. “My apologies for not recognizing you any sooner, Lady Mai!”

“Stand up, I’m not a royal,” she sniggered, “We’re just relatives of the actual monarch, but don’t let the family name fool you. The Crown Prince barely even acknowledges us being of the same blood.”

Albeit hesitant, you followed her gestures of making you stand up. You straightened your back and cleared your throat, fighting the urge to go haywire the moment his name was brought into the conversation. Not only would you be seeing Prince Naoya again in real life for the first time in years, but you’d also made acquaintances with his distant niece. However, his name was spoken with malice.

Frowning, you faced Lady Mai in all seriousness. “Prince Naoya? Why so?” Lady Mai looked at you like you’d grown two heads.

“He’s an ass, that’s why.”

“I-I don’t think he is,” you defended, “The Prince has been nothing but kind to me.”

“I didn’t know he was capable of kindness,” she muttered more so under her breath, low enough you were unsure whether you were supposed to hear it in the first place. Lady Mai then shook her head to herself before stealing a flute from a waiter passing by. Chucking it your way, her face turned dark and grim. “Take it as free advice: stay as far away from his as possible. The Crown Prince is nothing but good news.”

“Is it because he has lots of lovers?” you inquired with a small voice, “Uhm – well – It was an assumption. With a title and handsomeness like that, it would make sense everyone would want to be the Crown Prince’s lover.”

Lady Mai’s lip curled upwards. “Prince Naoya won’t bother with lovers. He is too occupied for that.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Heard from whom?”

“The Royal Declaration from His Majesty himself,” you said, “Was it not the purpose of this ball? To find worthy candidates to be the Crown Prince’s betrothed? His coronation is coming soon.”

“Right. I forgot today was technically a bridal market,” she scratched the edge of her brow, falling silent for a moment. Her eyes scanned the lively crowd for a brief moment – watching with you as everyone laughed and danced to their heart’s content – the grand final event of the routine personal dance with the Crown Prince himself slowly approaching to reality. “You are joining in the festivities, are you not? Later, when he arrives, he shall meet you.”

“I am obligated to as a noble bachelorette, though I doubt His Highness would even look my way. There are far richer noblewomen here and even daughters of duke that would be perfect as his wife. ”

“You may have a point for that,” she hummed to herself, unaware that her agreement to the Crown Prince not paying attention to you left a sting both in your ego and heart. Not that it lasted long, for Lady Mai was already tugged on the arm by another equally fiercely beautiful woman – her older twin, Maki Zen’in. Soon to be governon-general of the Kingdom.

Lady Mai smiled in apology. “I need to go now since I’m not a part of this event. But hey, if ever I come around to visit the Borders again, perhaps you could entertain me?”

“I would be honoured to, Lady Mai.”

“You are sweet and innocent,” it was her sister who spoke this time, glasses perched high on her nose that concealed the wariness of her gaze. “I hope the Crown Prince never gets to your routine.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s nothing; she was talking to herself. Maki does that a lot,” Lady Mai’s forced chuckles were barely heard from the music. “You enjoy the party now. Don’t drink too much lest you want to embarrass yourself in everyone’s eyes and be talk of the Kingdom. Prince Naoya would hate it if you took the attention away from him.”

“Oh, uhm...”

“It’s a joke, Lady Y/N. Relax.”

You bowed once more. “My apologies.”

“The dance is about to begin,” Maki tapped on your shoulder, making you look up right where her eyes zeroed in. And exactly in the middle of the grandiose hall, under the sparkling golden chandeliers where he made all the gold in the world look incomparable next to him, the Crown Prince stood in his fully glory. Blond hair with the ends stained of midnight gelled back to reveal his forehead, the Crown Prince’s beauty never failed to shine. Whether it be in the papers, in the tabloids, in the billboards that you passed on the way to the city, or from way back when you met him for the first time as a naive, innocent teen – Crown Prince Naoya came straight out of a magazine cover.

In the back of your head, you could hear either of the twins murmuring good luck. Maybe both of them had said it – you had no idea. All of your attention, all the sensibility and coherence of your state had been switched the next instant, as if your heart and soul was born for the sole purpose of being bewitched by your Crown Prince.

And as if feeling someone’s gaze on him, the Crown Prince’s eyes trailed over the crowd. Almost boredly, his sharp eyes bounced from one giggling woman to another, the ends of his lips smirking upwards for just the tiniest bit. It must’ve stroked his ego. Until his eyes connected with yours. The Crown Prince’s eyebrows knitted together. You had no idea how you looked in that moment, and quite frankly, you didn’t care. Because the Crown Prince was looking at you, and you were looking at him with hearts in your eyes along with your heart pulsing at the tip of your tongue.

“Let us begin,” his lips moved from the distance, “Play the music. I shall dance with my bride.”

The air shifted in a split second. Murmurs were thrown over the room, women and men alike turning pale. Even the orchestra was stunned from the Crown Prince’s entrance – and it hadn’t even been dramatic to his standards – yet the whole castle fell mum from just a few of his words. A few seconds later, the crowd recomposed itself, and the strings began to dance along with its bows.

You are pushed into the crowd. Nearly colliding into the arms of another, you quietly thank the masked man who was to be your first partner of the night.

All the men joining the dance floor dressed with the intention of making the Crown Prince shine. Prince Naoya stood out from the throng of white as per the colour code, his blood red uniform as both Prince with the  golden crest of the military leader pinned to his right breast. The other men meant to be filler partners until all the potential brides got to their designated three minutes with the Prince were all dressed in black, faces covered behind a plain black mask. None were allowed to talk. None were allowed to utter even a word, and so your partner pursed his lips in displeasure at your apology.

Whatever. You just had to wait a few more rounds before the song finished and transitioned into a new one; the song where you’d been informed would be your time alone with the Prince.

You’d been so lost in your head you barely breathed the entire dance. From partner to partner, you blanked. Your heart drummed so wildly in its cage it begged to come out, and strings of apologies were let out each time your masked partners grimaced for a brief second when their hands came in contact with your sweaty ones. Around you, all the lovely women smiled and danced graciously, mouths moving in unreadable conversations shared with the Crown Prince. Not once did you look at the six partners you’ve danced with. Not once did you worry about tripping on your own feet. Not once did you care that some of the masked men held you a little too roughly for your comfort. Your entire reason for existing in that moment was to witness the Crown Prince himself, mirroring his frown that got deeper and deeper with each woman retreating to the sea of people he’d rejected.

Not once did you even think about being one of them – the girls who’ve ducked their heads down as their parents comforted them over not being the chosen one, of bringing ‘dishonour’ to their families that the mighty Crown Prince had deemed them unworthy. Tears streamed down their faces until black ink followed afterwards, lips trembling from silent sobs.

Despite their broken prides – although there was that minority who simply sighed in relief after returning to their own families – no one would dare interrupt the Crown Prince’s dances.

All of these thoughts crossed your mind too late and at the exact time your masked partner pulled away from you, body half bent in a bow with his arm outstretched to the side. Following where he was gesturing at, your eyes met the Crown Prince’s tall and lean stature, a few blond fringes now fallen from his movements.

Even though a thin layer of sweat shone from his face, Prince Naoya remained ethereal.

And like a snake charmed by the musician’s seductive tone, your feet moved on its own. Fingers stretching until it met with the Crown Prince’s large and warm ones, you were now in front of him. With him. Holding him, touching him, meeting him eye for eye and realizing – gold. His eyes burned a deep shade of gold, elegantly rich and heartbreakingly stunning your heart ached.

Before you knew it, your hands began to tremble, feeling as if your body had been corded into a corset three sizes smaller. You could not breathe, and the Crown Prince took notice.

“You are stiff. Do I make you uncomfortable?” Good Saint. If only possible, you would’ve closed your eyes and basked in the deep warmth of his voice. It reverberated from deep within, breathed out with an air of natural authority and profound confidence it made your knees weak. As if sensing his effect on you (though for the wrong reasons, it seemed), Prince Naoya hummed to himself. “This routine shall last for a few minutes before I can let you go, I’m afraid.”

You instantly realized the implications of your silence. “N-not at all, Your Highness! I am honoured to be dancing with you.”

“There is no honour in a choreographed dance. Everyone will dance with me. It’s nothing special.”

Your heart fell. Prince Naoya not only sounded dejected, but detached as well. As if he found no pleasure or specialty in this event, at a time where he had every opportunity to meet his lover, and that this ball was merely a task to be checked off in his already long list of responsibilities. It wasn’t disappointment, per se, but rather melancholy that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Not because Prince Naoya held little to no regards for something you treasured, but because he sounded terribly alone. Like he was simply waiting for it to end out of discomfort.

“It’s special to me, Your Highness,” you blurted out faster than you could stop yourself. For a moment, you feared you may have offended him, but the Crown Prince only laughs.

And when he did – saint, when he laughed – his eyes crinkled into half moons, pearly whites flashing against the bright lights and his whole chest shook with amusement.

You’d never seen him smile this way before.

Prince Naoya’s laughter didn’t cease. Around you, your gut instincts told that people were now beginning to look; the Crown Prince’s deep rumbles of laughter sounded exquisitely like music as well, after all. “ Is it special to you because you are now dancing and within the Crown Prince’s proximity? As much as I presume how exhilarating it might be for those who mostly see me in the papers and in the tabloids, I assure you, dancing with your Prince is not an honour. Especially when you are all sent the invitations based on your status and not your worthy traits.”

“It’s special to me,” you mumbled, growing shy all of a sudden when the Crown Prince nodded at you to continue. “Because...because it reminds me of the first time we met.”

The Crown Prince hummed in amusement.

“We have met before?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I’m from the Terratian Borders – my father is a loyal servant of His Majesty. You visited the borders when you were eighteen and I was sixteen. Do you remember it, Your Highness? You stormed in my private library.”

Indeed, the young barely-out-of-his-teens Crown Prince barged into your home’s library years ago. You were not previously informed he and his parents would be visiting since they arrived wordlessly, so you were stuck in your chambers as usual, killing time if not for sleeping and tending to the animals. Perched on a ladder, you attempted to reach for a book on the upper shelf when your foot slipped beneath you. At the age of sixteen, you were dramatic enough to say your life flashed before your eyes. You would’ve screamed then had strong arms not appeared out of nowhere, the Crown Prince staring at you with wide, golden eyes as they were now, his breathy rasped as he asked, are you okay, my lady?

The mere recollection of that fateful memory had your cheeks warming in delight. “You were so charming and heroic back then. Even when I had no idea you were a royal, I would have still believed you to be princely,” you said rather absentmindedly, blinking once then twice at your words. “Of course, it’s understandable if you do not remember, Your Highness!”

“My apologies. I do not remember, though Terratia is a wonderful place. Such a shame I was not informed beforehand they had a lovely daughter.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you cheered back, cheeks and jaw beginning to ache from how wide you were smiling. But could anyone blame you? You felt absolutely silly that you were a breath away from passing out minutes ago, and now here you were, dancing with the Crown Prince and sharing memories with him like it was a daily occurrence. The words it’s true love when you feel at peace with them suddenly rang back at your head from that latest romance novel you read, and you turned away, hoping the Crown Prince would not read your thoughts to your face. However, Prince Naoya’s lips pursed into a thin line, all traces of humour now disappeared. “I’m sorry – should I not have laughed?”

“No, I don’t mind,” he mused with his jaw locked tight, “I just haven’t seen anyone react that way before.”

“Like what?”

“Like my words meant the entire universe to them. I may dare even say you look terribly in love, though I cannot blame you on that one, can I?”

Prince Naoya shook his head the minute the words left his mouth. Forcing himself to believe it couldn’t be real, perhaps, you truly did not know anymore. Your only plan for tonight was to see the Crown Prince and get to live out your dream of seeing him once more even for just a brief moment before you travelled back home while he married another, and yet – “Your Highness, I’m in love with you. I have always been since the day we met.”

You could no longer stop the words. The voice at the back of your head begged you to shut up and not cause a scene, that your time had passed up and people were staring, yet you remained in his arms no matter how much you wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole.

“Please do not misunderstand me, Your Highness. I did not come here to attempt to steal your heart and be your wife, though I will admit I have dreamt of meeting you again for so many moons. I...I only want to tell you this. That I love you and even though it was a brief moment, I think the love I’ve always read about felt real and possible for the first time in my life,” chuckling nervously, you gather to courage to face him, adoration shining for the Crown Prince stood shock still before you, however stunned he may be. “I love you, Your Highness. I love you. And to whoever lucky woman you choose to be your betrothed, I hope she takes care of you and showers you with all the affection you are deserving of. You would make a great King. So God help his Crown Prince, and may you lead us all into a better world.”

Prince Naoya did not budge a muscle. His eyes remained hard on yours, breath warm as his nostrils fumed. With each passing second that he did not speak, you grew restless and tugged your arm away from his hold with a disgraceful smile.

You’d truly crossed your line. The repercussions to be faced for this impoliteness would destroy your family’s honour. You had to leave. “Your Highness? The song has changed. It’s time to let go—”

The Crown Prince inched close enough until his hair tickled your cheeks, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine as he pulled you close, close enough that your lower bodies touched. Skin ablaze with heat, you dared not move an inch. “Do you mean it?” he demanded lowly, his fingers ghosting over your wrist to hold you in place. “Do you truly love me? Not for what I have, not for who I was born to be, but me as a person itself?”

Closing your eyes to shudder in a deep breath, you exhaled. “Of course, Your Highness. Even if you were not born as a Prince, I’m sure I would’ve still loved you in a different universe.”

“But I do not know you.”

“We don’t have to know each other, Your Highness, and we never will. Once you let me go, I’ll return to the shadows where I belong, and I will continue supporting you until the day of your coronation.”

“And if I refuse to let you go?” he clicked his tongue, “What will you do then?”

The Crown Prince’s spicy perfume must be an aphrodisiac or hypnotizer of sorts. Everything he did messed with your mind that it was too late – the music had stopped and people were no longer drinking or chatting. Everyone’s eyes were on you and the Crown Prince. You could only imagine how controversial this position must be; with his lips trailing dangerously close to that sensitive spot in your neck where you nearly moaned. You really needed to leave.

“P-people are looking, Your Highness. You do not want this affair with someone you won’t choose—”

“Who said I won’t choose you?” Finally, he pulled away. But Prince Naoya never once tore his gaze away from yours, nor did he allow you to look at anyone but him as he caresses your jaw so light and feathery you wondered if he was truly there.“Who said I haven’t laid my eyes on you the moment you walked in here? This ball is for naught because of you, Lady Y/N. I’ve already made my choice, and you helped me confirm it as soon as you danced with me.”

“Your Highness...”

“Look at me,” he ordered, your eyes flitting from his pinkish lips to his sharp nose and then to his fox-like gaze. Only this time, Prince Naoya was no longer harsh. “Don’t be scared.”

“But they’re looking.”

“You are with me, of course they’ll look,” he teased, “They wish to be you right now. But ignore them and dance one more time with me.”

It wasn’t like you had a choice, but did it matter? One nod from him was all it took before the orchestra fumbled back to their spots and a new song played, Ode of Moonlight Lovers, and the Crown Prince was guiding you back to where he had originally danced with you.

From the corners of your eyes, you caught a glimpse of your parents with their mouths gaped open; your father looking like he was on the verge of passing out. However, you felt nothing but joy, nothing but the adrenaline pumping through your veins as he danced and twirled you in his arms. When the music stopped and you were both panting for air with silly smiles on your face, it dawned on you that you were with the Prince. No, rather, it was only you and the Prince alone. Even in the sea of people whose faces began to blur, he prevailed crystal clear.

You could recognize him anywhere, find him everywhere.

Prince Naoya stepped impossibly closer until your chests touched, hearts beating as one. Cupping your jaw, he was near enough that he swallowed all your shaky breaths with a small, teasing smile like you both shared a secret the entire world could not know.

“Do I still make you nervous?”

Laughing, you nodded. “Yes, Your Highness. I feel like I’m going to explode.”

“It’s beloved now,” he corrected, face inching closer and closer to a point you could count the number of his lower lashes. “And what do lovers do to seal their union?”

“M-Marriage?”

“Close, but this is much better.”

If anyone were to tell you that you would have a love story ripped out straight from a fairytale, you would’ve laughed at their faces. You were no Cinderella, nor were you a goddess of beauty that could’ve possibly caught the Crown Prince’s eye. Yet, his soft lips were on yours, kissing you with as much passion you could only dream of that you cried.

Strong hands guiding the back of your waist, Prince Naoya dipped you lower to the ground – the grand of finish of his dance. He had chosen his bride.

The crowd cheered and rejoiced all around you, making you smile into the kiss. Fisting his collar to bring him closer to yours, your mouth burst into metaphorical fireworks as soon as his tongue mingled with yours for an experimental taste. He was bitter yet sweet; expensive wine resting on his tongue, yet a delicate vanilla sat heavily on his soft lips that molded with yours. It was a taste you could spend forever being addicted on. And you were crying, crying so much your chest ached and the Prince’s cheeks grew damp from yours. You’d dreamt of this for so long, too long now.

Prince Naoya slowly pulled you away, his thumb wiping the tears away from the pads of your cheeks with tenderness in his touch. However, the Prince was not satisfied. The crowd whooped as he leant down to kiss your forehead. “You are mine now, my princess.”

Looping his hands with yours, the Crown Prince led you out of the castle. The crowd parted naturally to make way for the new couple, and you were left staring at his broad back and the tuft of blond hair where you’d soon find out how soft it would be. Sending one last glance to your crying parents, you waved goodbye. You had no idea where the Crown Prince would take you but you were already bunching your dress up, heart completely filled with trust you did not question it. What mattered tonight and for the rest of your life was that it felt right. That it was him – your beloved Prince Naoya Zen’in and soon to be husband – that you’d follow through the moon and back.

[thefanficmonster]

What's It To You?

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: To some people, relationship labels aren’t important. To some they aren’t important only in theory. Well, Y/N finds out she falls in the later category, leading to a falling out with her boyfriend Corpse.

Requested by Anon. You’ll know who you are when you read the fic 😉 Thank you for the ‘angsty argument’ request. I hope I captured what you had in mind and I hope you enjoy the read. Love, Vy 🥰

The time is nearing 7PM and Corpse has barely eaten anything. I always keep track of his meals and time spent in front of a computer screen, making sure he doesn’t spend too much time exhausting his eyes or starving himself. He never notices he’s hungry until he takes a bite of something and his appetite grows in  matter of seconds. The real battle is to get him to take that first bite.

I get up from the couch, walking into the kitchen. I open the fridge, scanning its contents for any ideas that might pop into my head for dinner. When nothing comes to mind, I resort to my last option - asking him. There’s only a slight chance he’ll be of any help. He’ll most likely say he’s not hungry or that he’ll make himself something late. He never does. I’ve gotten used to him being a man-child when it comes to eating. In the eleven months that we’ve been dating, I’ve force fed him more times than he has eaten on his own terms.

I go upstairs, stopping outside the door to his recording room to see if he’s talking to someone so I don’t walk in and interrupt. When no noises come from the inside I knock. 

“Come in.“ 

Upon opening the door, I’m met with Corpse nonchalantly sitting in his desk chair, leaning as back as he can without tipping over. Arms folded behind his head, legs stretched out in front of him. The whole nine yards, suggesting that he not streaming.

“Hey.“ He greets me as he turns his chair a bit in an attempt to face me

“Hey, what’d you like for dinner?“ He opens his mouth to reply the millisecond after I have spoken my question. I already know what that reply will be so I hurry to prevent it, “And no, ‘later’ and ‘I’m not hungry’ aren’t on the menu.“

He sighs, shaking his head as though he’s disappointed that I caught onto his game. The smile that slowly makes its way to his lips, however, suggests that he appreciates my concern. “Grilled cheese sandwiches? I mean, if you feel like it.”

I smile, relieved that the usual convincing portion of our interaction on this specific matter has been avoided. “Ok. Be down in fifteen then.” I give him a nod before heading back out into the hallway.

Before I am able to close the door, I hear someone else’s voice come from behind me. “Hey Corpse, was that on your end?”

Oh shit, he wasn’t muted

“Yeah man, sorry. Accidentally unmuted myself.“ Corpse sounds unbothered by this, but I am a little uneasy now.

Corpse and I have agreed to keep our relationship by a ‘won’t ask, won’t tell’ rule - if someone asks him if he’s in a relationship, he won’t lie and say no, but we haven’t gone public nor do we plan on doing so without someone asking us about it head-on. Well, not us. Him. His friends don’t know me and neither do his fans. I’m not in the same industry. I don’t stream nor film YouTube videos. The most I do for that platform is help Corpse with some editing when he needs to have a rest. So, if anyone were to reveal our relationship, it’d be him.

“Oooh, who was that?“ A girl’s voice asks teasingly. “Corpse, what are you not telling us?“

By this point, I’m out in the hall but I left my ears in the room. I know I’m not in the right here - eavesdropping is most definitely not nice, but I can’t help myself.

I hear him chuckle, “Nah, it’s just my friend Y/N.”

My heart drops so suddenly for a reason beyond my understanding. I feel like a kid feels when it’s told Santa isn’t real - I can’t believe what I heard. 

I hurry to get back downstairs as soon as possible and also as quietly as I can. It’s tough, running with a pit in your stomach and a knot of I’m pretty sure is tears in your throat. When I’m finally in the kitchen, the aforementioned tears are blurring my vision. I try to blink them away but accidentally send one of them trickling down my cheek.

I’m aware this might be an overreaction and if I stopped to think I could probably find ways to justify what Corpse said. But I’m genuinely hurt, and I hate that I am.

I’ve never cared about what others know about me or think of me. Same goes for my relationships. I don’t put labels on things nor on my connection to people. I am surprised and disturbed by how much the label ‘friends’ bothers me. We’ve been dating for almost a year now, you’d think calling me his girlfriend would be second nature. Guess not.

I swallow the hurt and surprise, deciding to keep myself busy with the preparations for the dinner I was planning to make. However, keeping my hands full and giving my eyes a place to look doesn’t stop my thoughts from eating away at me. 

                                                             * * *

Twenty minutes later the sound of a door opening echoes from upstairs, followed by the sound of footsteps going through the hallway and then down the stairs. 

“It smells so good in here.“ He comments, his eyebrows raising when he takes in the freshly made sandwiches on the kitchen island. “You’re the best, Y/N.“

“Hmm, aren’t you lucky you have a friend who knows their way around the kitchen, huh?“ I reply sharply, not even sparing him a glance.

In the twenty minutes I was left alone with my wilding thoughts I declared that I wouldn’t beat around bush when he comes downstairs. That I would address the issue and tell him exactly how I feel about it. What I didn’t plan was being so harsh. I actually barely contain a wince when I realize how sharp of an edge my words had.

I feel ten times more guilty when I see the regret that flashes on his face, “You heard that.” He grips the edges of the table, leaning down and letting out a sigh, “I’m sorry, I panicked.”

The anger in me evaporates, leaving room for the hurt to keep spreading and take over me. I was never really angry with him, I’m just upset by the fact that his immediate reaction wasn’t to refer to me as his girlfriend. 

“Why would you panic? What’s it to you if they know?“ My voice is barely above a whisper now, the tears I’m fighting back are clogging my throat, not allowing me to sound as clearly as I’d like.

“What’s it to you? I thought you didn’t care.“ He argues back, his gaze travelling from the tabletop to my eyes. I see the guilt in all his features and his body language.

“I thought so too.“ I shake my head, “But hearing you call me a ‘friend’...’just a friend’ stings. I don’t even know why, but it does. It feels almost like you are embarrassed of me. If that’s the case you can just tell me, you know?“

In a blink of an eye he’s crouched down in front of me, one hand holding both of mine while the other cups my cheek. “It’s not. It has never been and it will never be the case. You are one amazing person, Y/N. You deserve the world, not to be stuck with me. I’m just...” He trails off, his eyes not able to focus on mine any longer, “I’m scared of how people knowing about us will affect our relationship.”

My blood starts boiling again. I know I need to get away from him before I reach the point of saying something that’ll hurt him, so I untangle my hands from his grasp, pulling away from him. “Weak excuse, Corpse. You know it will change nothing except make me feel more included in your life. I will no longer feel like I’m a house rat no one knows about.” I stand up, unable to look at him, and start heading for the staircase. 

“Y/N, please! ”I stop dead in my tracks when he calls out my name, his footsteps following behind me. “Don’t be...-”

I turn around, cutting him off in the process, “I need to be alone right now.” I tilt my head in the direction of the dining table, “Sit down and eat dinner. We’ll talk...later.”

                                                             * * *

Now that it’s been almost twelve hours with no contact between us I realize that my reaction was justified only to a certain extent. I understand his concerns and I could’ve expressed mine a little more calmly and in a lot less accusatory manner. But what happened happened and all I can do now is go over to him and apologize, establish a proper communication to resolve the issue that I so stupidly blew out of proportion.

My phone died sometime during the night and has been sitting on the charger but still turned off for a while. I go over to it and press-hold the start button. While it’s powering up I start changing my from my pajamas into my regular clothes, noticing a small stain on my shirt in the process. As I’m examining the stain, my phone starts going crazy with notifications, causing me to jump and drop my shirt.

“Fucking hell.” I mumble, disconnecting my phone from the charger and looking at the huge list of notifications on my lock screen. They are all alerts of new followers, likes and tags, non from people I know. Non except one.

@ corpse_husband tagged you in a post 

Wait what?

I tap the notification which leads me to a picture Corpse posted two hours ago. It’s a picture of me taken in the living room without my knowledge. I’m an oversized sweater and yoga pants, my hair in a messy braid and my attention caught by the book in my hands. My glasses have slipped a bit down my nose, suggesting that I’m too concentrated on the contents of the pages in front of me that I haven’t noticed.

We started off as friends but it didn’t take long for her to become my best friend. And then she stole my heart. I know you’ll read this eventually, Y/N. So...hi. Love you. 

PS - the sandwiches were bomb 🖤

I’m more than caught off guard. Like a surprise hug from behind, warmth spreading all throughout my body. 

Without a second of hesitation I put my phone down and run to the bedroom door. However, I don’t make it very far considering I nearly run straight into Corpse’s chest as I exit the room. He catches me before I knock him straight to the ground, thankfully.

“Aren’t you a rocket this morning. Where are you headed?“ He chuckles, holding onto my upper arms.

One look at his smile, a single word out of his mouth and I’m melting. I walk straight into him, wrapping my arms around his torso, hiding my face in his chest. He comfortably rests his chin on the top of my head, not asking any further questions until I finally answer.

“Right here. I was heading for you.“ I whisper before I pull away enough to be able to look him in the eyes. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. I was being childish and overdramatic and I’m sorry about all I said. I was really upset.“

“It’s ok, baby. I’m sorry for making you upset in the first place. I understand now how much it means to you.“ He caresses my cheekbone with the back of his hand. “I...um...tried to make things right by...“

I push up on my toes, pressing my lips against his, putting an end to his timid stuttering. “I saw it.” I mumble in the kiss.

“Did you like it?“ 

“I loved it.“

“Did you read the comments?“

My heart skips a beat when I hear that dreaded term. Just the thought of reading through the comments terrifies me. I tell myself that some strangers’ words aren’t gonna have an impact on me, but I know they will. Especially since these ‘strangers’ mean so much to Corpse.

I shake my head. He pulls away, taking my hand and leading me towards the living room. “You have to. You’re gonna love them.”

I reluctantly follow him, plopping down on the couch next to him as he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the comment section of the picture he posted. He was right. All these people have said such things about me and about our relationship. Some verified names are also there, sharing their support much like the fans. 

“See, this is why I was nervous. I’ll have to do duels for your attention now.“ He glances at me, leaning in and kissing my temple as he sometimes does so impulsively.

“You don’t do duels when you are already sitting at the throne. Right next to me.“ I once again capture his lips with mine, tempted to never pull away, but also tempted to keep reading the comments.

Damn, he might be right about the duels.

He takes his phone from me setting it aside as he slowly lifts me and settles me in his lap, never letting our lips detach.

Nevermind. Fuck the duels

@susceptible-but-siriusexual  @simonsbluee  @save-the-sky  @hacker-ghost  @itsminniekat  @bi-andready-tocry  @imtiredaffff  @jazzkaurtheglorious  @hereforbeebo  @fandomgirl17  @chrysanthykios  @maehemscorpyus  @loraleiix  @letsloveimagines  @annshit  @i-cant-choose-a-username-help  @enigmaticmaze

[taylorswifthongkong]

Taylor Swift broke all her rules with Folklore — and gave herself a much-needed escape The pop star, one of EW's 2020 Entertainers of the Year, delves deep into her surprise eighth album, Rebekah Harkness, and a Joe Biden presidency. By Alex Suskind

“He is my co-writer on ‛Betty’ and ‛Exile,’” replies Taylor Swift with deadpan precision. The question Who is William Bowery? was, at the time we spoke, one of 2020’s great mysteries, right up there with the existence of Joe Exotic and the sudden arrival of murder hornets. An unknown writer credited on the year’s biggest album? It must be an alias.

Is he your brother?

“He’s William Bowery,” says Swift with a smile.

It's early November, after Election Day but before Swift eventually revealed Bowery's true identity to the world (the leading theory, that he was boyfriend Joe Alwyn, proved prescient). But, like all Swiftian riddles, it was fun to puzzle over for months, particularly in this hot mess of a year, when brief distractions are as comforting as a well-worn cardigan. Thankfully, the Bowery... erhm, Alwyn-assisted Folklore — a Swift project filled with muted pianos and whisper-quiet snares, recorded in secret with Jack Antonoff and the National’s Aaron Dessner — delivered.

“The only people who knew were the people I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and a small management team,” Swift, 30, tells EW of the album's hush-hush recording sessions. That gave the intimate Folklore a mystique all its own: the first surprise Taylor Swift album, one that prioritized fantastical tales over personal confessions.

“Early in quarantine, I started watching lots of films,” she explains. “Consuming other people’s storytelling opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines?” That’s how she ended up with three songs about an imagined love triangle (“Cardigan,” “Betty,” “August”), one about a clandestine romance (“Illicit Affairs”), and another chronicling a doomed relationship (“Exile”). Others tell of sumptuous real-life figures like Rebekah Harkness, a divorcee who married the heir to Standard Oil — and whose home Swift purchased 31 years after her death. The result, “The Last Great American Dynasty,” hones in on Harkness’ story, until Swift cleverly injects herself.

And yet, it wouldn’t be a Swift album without a few barbed postmortems over her own history. Notably, “My Tears Ricochet” and “Mad Woman," which touch on her former label head Scott Borchetta selling the masters to Swift’s catalog to her known nemesis Scooter Braun. Mere hours after our interview, the lyrics’ real-life origins took a surprising twist, when news broke that Swift’s music had once again been sold, to another private equity firm, for a reported $300 million. Though Swift ignored repeated requests for comment on the transaction, she did tweet a statement, hitting back at Braun while noting that she had begun re-recording her old albums — something she first promised in 2019 as a way of retaining agency over her creative legacy. (Later, she would tease a snippet of that reimagined work, with a new version of her hit 2008 single "Love Story.")

Like surprise-dropping Folklore, like pissing off the president by endorsing his opponents, like shooing away haters, Swift does what suits her. “I don’t think we often hear about women who did whatever the hell they wanted,” she says of Harkness — something Swift is clearly intent on changing. For her, that means basking in the world of, and favorable response to, Folklore. As she says in our interview, “I have this weird thing where, in order to create the next thing, I attack the previous thing. I don’t love that I do that, but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I still love it.”

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: We’ve spent the year quarantined in our houses, trying to stay healthy and avoiding friends and family. Were you surprised by your ability to create and release a full album in the middle of a pandemic?

TAYLOR SWIFT: I was. I wasn't expecting to make an album. Early on in quarantine, I started watching lots of films. We would watch a different movie every night. I'm ashamed to say I hadn't seen Pan's Labyrinth before. One night I'd watch that, then I'd watch L.A. Confidential, then we'd watch Rear Window, then we'd watch Jane Eyre. I feel like consuming other people's art and storytelling sort of opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, "Well, why have I never done this before? Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines? And why haven't I ever sort of freed myself up to do that from a narrative standpoint?" There is something a little heavy about knowing when you put out an album, people are going to take it so literally that everything you say could be clickbait. It was really, really freeing to be able to just be inspired by worlds created by the films you watch or books you've read or places you've dreamed of or people that you've wondered about, not just being inspired by your own experience.

In that vain, what's it like to sit down and write something like “Betty,” which is told from the perspective of a 17-year-old boy?

That was huge for me. And I think it came from the fact that my co-writer, William Bowery [Joe Alwyn], is male — and he was the one who originally thought of the chorus melody. And hearing him sing it, I thought, "That sounds really cool." Obviously, I don't have a male voice, but I thought, "I could have a male perspective." Patty Griffin wrote this song, “Top of the World.” It's one of my favorite songs of all time, and it's from the perspective of this older man who has lived a life full of regret, and he's kind of taking stock of that regret. So, I thought, "This is something that people I am a huge fan of have done. This would be fun to kind of take this for a spin."

What are your favorite William Bowery conspiracies?

I love them all individually and equally. I love all the conspiracy theories around this album. [With] "Betty," Jack Antonoff would text me these articles and think pieces and in-depth Tumblr posts on what this love triangle meant to the person who had listened to it. And that's exactly what I was hoping would happen with this album. I wrote these stories for a specific reason and from a specific place about specific people that I imagined, but I wanted that to all change given who was listening to it. And I wanted it to start out as mine and become other people's. It's been really fun to watch.

One of the other unique things about Folklore — the parameters around it were completely different from anything you'd done. There was no long roll out, no stadium-sized pop anthems, no aiming for the radio-friendly single. How fearful were you in avoiding what had worked in the past?

I didn't think about any of that for the very first time. And a lot of this album was kind of distilled down to the purest version of what the story is. Songwriting on this album is exactly the way that I would write if I considered nothing else other than, "What words do I want to write? What stories do I want to tell? What melodies do I want to sing? What production is essential to tell those stories?" It was a very do-it-yourself experience. My management team, we created absolutely everything in advance — every lyric video, every individual album package. And then we called our label a week in advance and said, "Here's what we have.” The photo shoot was me and the photographer walking out into a field. I'd done my hair and makeup and brought some nightgowns. These experiences I was used to having with 100 people on set, commanding alongside other people in a very committee fashion — all of a sudden it was me and a photographer, or me and my DP. It was a new challenge, because I love collaboration. But there's something really fun about knowing what you can do if it's just you doing it.

Did you find it freeing?

I did. Every project involves different levels of collaboration, because on other albums there are things that my stylist will think of that I never would've thought of. But if I had all those people on the photo shoot, I would've had to have them quarantine away from their families for weeks on end, and I would've had to ask things of them that I didn't think were fair if I could figure out a way to do it [myself]. I had this idea for the [Folklore album cover] that it would be this girl sleepwalking through the forest in a nightgown in 1830 [laughs]. Very specific. A pioneer woman sleepwalking at night. I made a moodboard and sent it to Beth [Garrabrant], who I had never worked with before, who shoots only on film. We were just carrying bags across a field and putting the bags of film down, and then taking pictures. It was a blast.

Folklore includes plenty of intimate acoustic echoes to what you've done in the past. But there are also a lot of new sonics here, too — these quiet, powerful, intricately layered harmonics. What was it like to receive the music from Aaron and try to write lyrics on top of it? 

Well, Aaron is one of the most effortlessly prolific creators I've ever worked with. It's really mind-blowing. And every time I've spoken to an artist since this whole process [began], I said, "You need to work with him. It'll change the way you create." He would send me these — he calls them sketches, but it's basically an instrumental track. the second day — the day after I texted him and said, "Hey, would you ever want to work together?" — he sent me this file of probably 30 of these instrumentals and every single one of them was one of the most interesting, exciting things I had ever heard. Music can be beautiful, but it can be lacking that evocative nature. There was something about everything he created that is an immediate image in my head or melody that I came up with. So much so that I'd start writing as soon as I heard a new one. And oftentimes what I would send back would inspire him to make more instrumentals and then send me that one. And then I wrote the song and it started to shape the project, form-fitted and customized to what we wanted to do.

It was weird because I had never made an album and not played it for my girlfriends or told my friends. The only people who knew were the people that I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and then my management team. So that's the smallest number of people I've ever had know about something. I'm usually playing it for everyone that I'm friends with. So I had a lot of friends texting me things like, "Why didn't you say on our everyday FaceTimes you were making a record?"

Was it nice to be able to keep it a secret?

Well, it felt like it was only my thing. It felt like such an inner world I was escaping to every day that it almost didn't feel like an album. Because I wasn't making a song and finishing it and going, "Oh my God, that is catchy.” I wasn't making these things with any purpose in mind. And so it was almost like having it just be mine was this really sweet, nice, pure part of the world as everything else in the world was burning and crashing and feeling this sickness and sadness. I almost didn't process it as an album. This was just my daydream space.

Does it still feel like that?

Yeah, because I love it so much. I have this weird thing that I do when I create something where in order to create the next thing I kind of, in my head, attack the previous thing. I don't love that I do that but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I just still love it. I'm so proud of it. And so that feels very foreign to me. That doesn't feel like a normal experience that I've had with releasing albums.

When did you first learn about Rebekah Harkness?

Oh, I learned about her as soon as I was being walked through [her former Rhode Island] home. I got the house when I was in my early twenties as a place for my family to congregate and be together. I was told about her, I think, by the real estate agent who was walking us through the property. And as soon as I found out about her, I wanted to know everything I could. So I started reading. I found her so interesting. And then as more parallels began to develop between our two lives — being the lady that lives in that house on the hill that everybody gets to gossip about — I was always looking for an opportunity to write about her. And I finally found it.

I love that you break the fourth wall in the song. Did you go in thinking you’d include yourself in the story?

I think that in my head, I always wanted to do a country music, standard narrative device, which is: the first verse you sing about someone else, the second verse you sing about someone else who's even closer to you, and then in the third verse, you go, "Surprise! It was me.” You bring it personal for the last verse. And I'd always thought that if I were to tell that story, I would want to include the similarities — our lives or our reputations or our scandals.

How often did you regale friends about the history of Rebekah and Holiday House while hanging out at Holiday House? 

Anyone who's been there before knows that I do “The Tour,” in quotes, where I show everyone through the house. And I tell them different anecdotes about each room, because I've done that much research on this house and this woman. So in every single room, there's a different anecdote about Rebekah Harkness. If you have a mixed group of people who've been there before and people who haven't, [the people who’ve been there] are like, "Oh, she's going to do the tour. She's got to tell you the story about how the ballerinas used to practice on the lawn.” And they'll go get a drink and skip it because it's the same every time. But for me, I'm telling the story with the same electric enthusiasm, because it's just endlessly entertaining to me that this fabulous woman lived there. She just did whatever she wanted.

There are a handful of songs on Folklore that feel like pretty clear nods to your personal life over the last year, including your relationships with Scott Borchetta and Scooter Braun. How long did it take to crystallize the feelings you had around both of them into “My Tears Ricochet” or “Mad Woman”?

I found myself being very triggered by any stories, movies, or narratives revolving around divorce, which felt weird because I haven't experienced it directly. There’s no reason it should cause me so much pain, but all of a sudden it felt like something I had been through. I think that happens any time you've been in a 15-year relationship and it ends in a messy, upsetting way. So I wrote “My Tears Ricochet” and I was using a lot of imagery that I had conjured up while comparing a relationship ending to when people end an actual marriage. All of a sudden this person that you trusted more than anyone in the world is the person that can hurt you the worst. Then all of a sudden the things that you have been through together, hurt. All of a sudden, the person who was your best friend is now your biggest nemesis, etc. etc. etc. I think I wrote some of the first lyrics to that song after watching Marriage Story and hearing about when marriages go wrong and end in such a catastrophic way. So these songs are in some ways imaginary, in some ways not, and in some ways both.

How did it feel to drop an F-bomb on "Mad Woman"?

F---ing fantastic.

And that’s the first time you ever recorded one on a record, right?

Yeah. Every rule book was thrown out. I always had these rules in my head and one of them was, You haven't done this before, so you can't ever do this. “Well, you've never had an explicit sticker, so you can't ever have an explicit sticker.” But that was one of the times where I felt like you need to follow the language and you need to follow the storyline. And if the storyline and the language match up and you end up saying the F-word, just go for it. I wasn't adhering to any of the guidelines that I had placed on myself. I decided to just make what I wanted to make. And I'm really happy that the fans were stoked about that because I think they could feel that. I'm not blaming anyone else for me restricting myself in the past. That was all, I guess, making what I want to make. I think my fans could feel that I opened the gate and ran out of the pasture for the first time, which I'm glad they picked up on because they're very intuitive.

Let’s talk about “Epiphany.” The first verse is a nod to your grandfather, Dean, who fought in World War II. What does his story mean to you personally? 

I wanted to write about him for awhile. He died when I was very young, but my dad would always tell this story that the only thing that his dad would ever say about the war was when somebody would ask him, "Why do you have such a positive outlook on life?" My grandfather would reply, "Well, I'm not supposed to be here. I shouldn't be here." My dad and his brothers always kind of imagined that what he had experienced was really awful and traumatic and that he'd seen a lot of terrible things. So when they did research, they learned that he had fought at the Battles of Guadalcanal, at Cape Gloucester, at Talasea, at Okinawa. He had seen a lot of heavy fire and casualties — all of the things that nightmares are made of. He was one of the first people to sign up for the war. But you know, these are things that you can only imagine that a lot of people in that generation didn't speak about because, a) they didn't want people that they came home to to worry about them, and b) it just was so bad that it was the actual definition of unspeakable.

That theme continues in the next verse, which is a pretty overt nod to what’s been happening during COVID. As someone who lives in Nashville, how difficult has it been to see folks on Lower Broadway crowding the bars without masks?

I mean, you just immediately think of the health workers who are putting their lives on the line — and oftentimes losing their lives. If they make it out of this, if they see the other side of it, there's going to be a lot of trauma that comes with that; there's going to be things that they witnessed that they will never be able to un-see. And that was the connection that I drew. I did a lot of research on my grandfather in the beginning of quarantine, and it hit me very quickly that we've got a version of that trauma happening right now in our hospitals. God, you hope people would respect it and would understand that going out for a night isn't worth the ripple effect that it causes. But obviously we're seeing that a lot of people don't seem to have their eyes open to that — or if they do, a lot of people don't care, which is upsetting.

You had the Lover Fest East and West scheduled this year. How hard has it been to both not perform for your fans this year, and see the music industry at large go through such a brutal change?

It's confusing. It's hard to watch. I think that maybe me wanting to make as much music as possible during this time was a way for me to feel like I could reach out my hand and touch my fans, even if I couldn't physically reach out or take a picture with them. We've had a lot of different, amazing, fun, sort of underground traditions we've built over the years that involve a lot of human interaction, and so I have no idea what's going to happen with touring; none of us do. And that's a scary thing. You can't look to somebody in the music industry who's been around a long time, or an expert touring manager or promoter and [ask] what's going to happen and have them give you an answer. I think we're all just trying to keep our eyes on the horizon and see what it looks like. So we're just kind of sitting tight and trying to take care of whatever creative spark might exist and trying to figure out how to reach our fans in other ways, because we just can't do that right now.

When you are able to perform again, do you have plans on resurfacing a Lover Fest-type event?

I don't know what incarnation it'll take and I really would need to sit down and think about it for a good solid couple of months before I figured out the answer. Because whatever we do, I want it to be something that is thoughtful and will make the fans happy and I hope I can achieve that. I'm going to try really hard to.

In addition to recording an album, you spent this year supporting Joe Biden and Kamala Harris in the election. Where were you when it was called in their favor? 

Well, when the results were coming in, I was actually at the property where we shot the Entertainment Weekly cover. I was hanging out with my photographer friend, Beth, and the wonderful couple that owned the farm where we [were]. And we realized really early into the night that we weren't going to get an accurate picture of the results. Then, a couple of days later, I was on a video shoot, but I was directing, and I was standing there with my face shield and mask on next to my director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto. And I just remember a news alert coming up on my phone that said, "Biden is our next president. He's won the election." And I showed it to Rodrigo and he said, "I'm always going to remember the moment that we learned this." And I looked around, and people's face shields were starting to fog up because a lot of people were really misty-eyed and emotional, and it was not loud. It wasn't popping bottles of champagne. It was this moment of quiet, cautious elation and relief.

Do you ever think about what Folklore would have sounded like if you, Aaron, and Jack had been in the same room?

I think about it all the time. I think that a lot of what has happened with the album has to do with us all being in a collective emotional place. Obviously everybody's lives have different complexities and whatnot, but I think most of us were feeling really shaken up and really out of place and confused and in need of something comforting all at the same time. And for me, that thing that was comforting was making music that felt sort of like I was trying to hug my fans through the speakers. That was truly my intent. Just trying to hug them when I can't hug them.

I wanted to talk about some of the lyrics on Folklore. One of my favorite pieces of wordplay is in “August”: that flip of "sipped away like a bottle of wine/slipped away like a moment in time.” Was there an "aha moment" for you while writing that?

I was really excited about "August slipped away into a moment of time/August sipped away like a bottle of wine." That was a song where Jack sent me the instrumental and I wrote the song pretty much on the spot; it just was an intuitive thing. And that was actually the first song that I wrote of the "Betty" triangle. So the Betty songs are "August," "Cardigan," and "Betty." "August" was actually the first one, which is strange because it's the song from the other girl's perspective.

Yeah, I assumed you wrote "Cardigan" first.

It would be safe to assume that "Cardigan" would be first, but it wasn't. It was very strange how it happened, but it kind of pieced together one song at a time, starting with "August," where I kind of wanted to explore the element of This is from the perspective of a girl who was having her first brush with love. And then all of a sudden she's treated like she's the other girl, because there was another situation that had already been in place, but "August" girl thought she was really falling in love. It kind of explores the idea of the undefined relationship. As humans, we're all encouraged to just be cool and just let it happen, and don't ask what the relationship is — Are we exclusive? But if you are chill about it, especially when you're young, you learn the very hard lesson that if you don't define something, oftentimes they can gaslight you into thinking it was nothing at all, and that it never happened. And how do you mourn the loss of something once it ends, if you're being made to believe that it never happened at all?

"I almost didn't process it as an album," says Taylor Swift of making Folklore. "And it's still hard for me to process as an entity or a commodity, because [it] was just my daydream space."

On the flip side, "Peace" is bit more defined in terms of how one approaches a relationship. There's this really striking line, "The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me/Would it be enough if I can never give you peace?" How did that line come to you?

I'm really proud of that one too. I heard the track immediately. Aaron sent it to me, and it had this immediate sense of serenity running through it. The first word that popped into my head was peace, but I thought that it would be too on-the-nose to sing about being calm, or to sing about serenity, or to sing about finding peace with someone. Because you have this very conflicted, very dramatic conflict-written lyric paired with this very, very calming sound of the instrumental. But, "The devil's in the details," is one of those phrases that I've written down over the years. That's a common phrase that is used in the English language every day. And I just thought it sounded really cool because of the D, D sound. And I thought, "I'll hang onto those in a list, and then, I'll finally find the right place for them in a story." I think that's how a lot of people feel where it's like, "Yeah, the devil's in the details. Everybody's complex when you look under the hood of the car." But basically saying, "I'm there for you if you want that, if this complexity is what you want."

There's another clever turn-of-phrase on "This is Me Trying." "I didn't know if you'd care if I came back/I have a lot of regrets about that." That feels like a nod toward your fans, and some of the feelings you had about retreating from the public sphere.

Absolutely. I think I was writing from three different characters' perspectives, one who's going through that; I was channeling the emotions I was feeling in 2016, 2017, where I just felt like I was worth absolutely nothing. And then, the second verse is about dealing with addiction and issues with struggling every day. And every second of the day, you're trying not to fall into old patterns, and nobody around you can see that, and no one gives you credit for it. And then, the third verse, I was thinking, what would the National do? What lyric would Matt Berninger write? What chords would the National play? And it's funny because I've since played this song for Aaron, and he's like, "That's not what we would've done at all." He's like, "I love that song, but that's totally different than what we would've done with it."

When we last spoke, in April 2019, we were talking about albums we were listening to at the time and you professed your love for the National and I Am Easy to Find. Two months later, you met up with Aaron at their concert, and now, we're here talking about the National again.

Yeah, I was at the show where they were playing through I Am Easy to Find. What I loved about [that album] was they had female vocalists singing from female perspectives, and that triggered and fired something in me where I thought, "I've got to play with different perspectives because that is so intriguing when you hear a female perspective come in from a band where you're used to only hearing a male perspective." It just sparked something in me. And obviously, you mentioning the National is the reason why Folklore came to be. So, thank you for that, Alex.

I'm here for all of your songwriting muse needs in the future.

I can't wait to see what comes out of this interview.

This interview has been edited and condensed.

For more on our Entertainers of the Year and Best & Worst of 2020, order the January issue of Entertainment Weekly or find it on newsstands beginning Dec. 18. (You can also pick up the full set of six covers here.) Don’t forget to subscribe for more exclusive interviews and photos, only in EW.

[aitarose]

hi! i’ve been so inactive lately and wanted to post something today, and i realized i haven’t made an appreciation post for my moots in a hot minute—so hey hotties, here’s some cute words about uu. oh and this isn’t all of my mutuals, just the one’s i’ve spoken to outside of the discord lol asjfdkl

@hesthermay —❥ you’re one of my best friends and ilysm and i hope that we get to meet in person one day, so you can endlessly hear me talk about how much i love jimmy woo. also i want to get matching marvel bracelets or smth, gonna look on etsy later for us ajskdlf

@probablydisgusting —❥ you’re like actually so funny and sweet, whenever you pop in the gc on snap just to say goodmorning or goodnight—it really makes everyone’s day and we love having you around. plus, you were one of the first people to pop into my inbox when i was an atla blog and i think that’s so nice.

@imarizaki —❥ i literaly love you sm mari, like you’re adorable and i want to give you a hug, i feel like you give rlly good hugs. and congrats on 400!! you deserve it and i hope 500 comes rolling around fast so you can hit another milestone in the near future ajskfdl

@tsukishumai —❥ cam i swear i know your name like I SWEAR I DO! you’re like an older sister to everyone in the discord and you bring such a comforting presence like it’s so nice to have you in the chat whenever you choose to pop in. you’re quite literally the calm to our insanity

@fukurodianthus —❥ dani you’re asleep rn but when you wake up and see this i want you do know that ily wifey. pls i love it when you harass me in my inbox, i think it’s so funny AND IM GOING TO FLOOD YOUR’S EVENTUALLY I JUST NEED TO BECOME ACTIVE AGAIN ASDJKL

@missmorosis —❥ you’re literally one of my favorite moots ever and you’re always so sweet to me and everyone else around you, it’s so heartwarming to see your positivity and happiness on tumblr and how hard you work! pls ilysm

@ray-ofmoonlight —❥ I LOVE TALKING TO YOU ABOUT THE BACHELOR. i haven’t responded in a hot minute, but dw i’ll answer in a bit i have to go through my messages jaksfld. you’re so nice and fun, and literally the sweetest ever

@diorzumi​ —❥ hi rheya! i’m so glad you took the time and all that hard work to make the server, like that’s insane and i still can’t believe you did all of that. pls the amount of effort you put into keeping it up is so evident and amazing!! also ur rlly pretty, like RLLY pretty

@luvoikawa​ —❥ gigi!! my face literally lights up whenever i see you in my notifs or on my dash pls. i love your energy sm and the presence you bring to the discord. like idk, you just seem really cool to me, does that make sense? like you have cool girl energy.

@sugas-cookie​ —❥ hello rissie. you should be sleeping rn, but ily and you’re my favorite and only child, and no matter what i say i would never bring you back to the ditch. but like...the frogs? i fucking hate the frogs, abolish all frogs they make me physically cringe i cannot.

@kei7ime​ —❥ CHLOEEE!! every time i see your theme i feel so satisfied, like it’s so pretty it rlly is. you’re so fun and i love talking to you or just popping in your inbox to say hi. omg hi chloe!! ok ok ily

@pxnk-velvet​ —❥ angie your drawing of us are so cute and i love them sm, and i can’t wait to read the story that you’ve been writing of our gc as a volleyball team, like pls i’m so excited. also the line “just shut up already, angie” lives in my head rent free

@miyalove​ —❥ hi dylan! i haven’t popped in your inbox in a while but i just wanted to tell you that i love u and you’re so nice and sweet and ilysm. you give off hot girl energy dylan, like for real, you rlly do.

@iwaizoom​ —❥ HI JADE. you’re so nice and your blog is so pretty, like the light green jaskljl PLS ITS SO PRETTY. i love the vibes you give off like you’re so chill and so easy to talk to sjakljdkl pls ilysm

@kageyuji​ —❥ lore i love you. like i love you. every time i talk to you i just feel happy like idk it’s this overwhelming feeling, you just have this gift where people feel comfortable when they’re talking to you. and your blog is so pretty pls asdjl

@hikariakaashi​ —❥ you’re one of my favorite moots, firstly bc of our interactions on tumblr in the early days of the discord and now on snap too. you have rlly good style, like rlly good style—and whenever you do your voice asks, your voice is like rlly pretty! girl you have a rlly pretty voice!

@ceci-chan​ —❥ hi twinnie! pls i think it’s so funny that we have literally the exact same nose, that’s actually wild. it’s so fun to watch your blog grow and your events are so cute and ily

@nekomabvc​ —❥ i buried you in here so you’d have to search for your part. literally going to say nothing i’m tired of writing about you goodbye. you called me a whore this morning. that’s not very swag of you, i’m going to report you to mab and cancel you on corpse tumblr.

@bellesowl​ —❥ hi isa! we haven’t interacted all that much, but in the times we have you’ve been so kind. and you’re rlly pretty, just sayin. you’re blog is also super aesthetic and i literally live for it, pls the muted tones are everything ajsdlk

@gellysticks​ —❥ angela pls you’re actually so funny like you’re so funny. every time your tiktoks come up in my suggested they literally make me laugh pls—but the frogs are terrible. abort frogs. this is a frog slandering blog. me and all my homies HATE frogs.

@cafemiya​ —❥ issy you give off such hot girl energy (and you are a hot girl anyways) and your energy is so contagious, like idk how it just is. you bring this positivity to the discord just by being there and i know everyone is so thankful that you’re so interactive with us jaskfdl

@biqherosix​ —❥ DANIZA I HAVEN’T OPENED YOUR SNAP YET BUT I RLLY WANT TO HEAR YOUR BAND PLAY. pls that’s literally so cool, like i wish i was in a cool band with my friends jsakdljkl. i love talking to you and we’ve been friends for like a good three months now which is crazy

@velvetfireworks​ —❥ rach i literally never read fics but yours are so good and they live in my head rent free. PLS THE SAKUSA ONE FOR THE BROKEN HEARTS CLUB AUDHS. you’re so nice and so talented and i reread your masterlist OMG I JUST REMEMBERED THE MOB AU ONE THAT ONE IS PERFECTION.

@hajiswife​ —❥ hi gabbie! your blog is gorgeous and your so nice pls!! like i literally can’t believe we’re mutuals it hits me like a brick. i love your works and your energy sjaklfdjl i’ll probably be popping in your inbox later just to say hi lol

@svgashi​ —❥ NIKE!!! omg we’re literally sister wives. you’re the first moot i had on tumblr that understood how great sugawara is and it’s like a breath of fresh air from the constant slandering my friends give him. ILY

@sexy-bee-juice​ —❥ aja!! i love getting your messages and just saying the most out of pocket things with you, and your reblogs make me laugh so hard like you’re rlly funny. also my broken french is terrible but i’m glad it makes you laugh ajskfdl

@koutarousangel​ —❥ MICKEY PLS YOURE SO FUNNY. I LOVE YOUR VIBES AND EVERYTHING LIKE YOURE FUNNY. and ily too. just putting that in there in case i haven’t said it in a while <3

@hvnlydmn​ —❥ hi ains! congrats on 5k!! that’s literally so insane like omg you must be reeling rn jadskfl you really really deserve it tho, everyone sees how hard you work and how much content you produce in such a short amount of time CONGRATS ILY

@akaashi-bby​ —❥ victoria you were the first person i talked to teen wolf with in like three years pls. i’m listening to a song from the show atm and it’s making me sad but ilysm and i love talking to you about literally anything

@laineywritesstuff​ —❥ LAINE!! hi! you’re so pretty like you look like you give the warmest hugs and i feel like if i ever met you in person i’d just get engulfed does that make sense? you’re so nice and ilysm and i hope you’re have a fantastic day!

@kiyoalex​ —❥ you’re rlly funny. like rlly funny. and i feel like we match each other’s energy pretty well in pms. pls my insanity is too real back there BUT IT’S OK I THINK BC YOU SEEM TO UNDERSTAND IT LOL ILY

@shoutamajiki​ —❥ hi nana!! you’re so nice and i’m so glad you joined the discord! and i’m so sorry i added you to my terrible private story on snap pls it’s so bad i’m very very sorry about that jksalfjdl

@sunacity​ —❥ nea i love your works so much like literally they LIVE in my head. you’re so talented and i can’t believe we’re mutuals that’s literally insane bc i love your stuff pls. and on top of being talented you’re so nice, like the nicest jaskdflj i can’t

ok ok i think that’s it for now, this isn’t all of my mutuals—but it’s the one’s i interact with the most and if we are moots and i didn’t include you pls my inbox or pms are always open to just like go insane in. ok have a great rest of your day!!

[path-of-my-childhood]

Taylor Swift Broke All Her Rules With Folklore - And Gave Herself A Much-Needed Escape

By: Alex Suskind for Entertainment Weekly Date: December 8th 2020 (EW's 2020 Entertainers of the Year cover)

The pop star, one of EW's 2020 Entertainers of the Year, delves deep into her surprise eighth album, Rebekah Harkness, and a Joe Biden presidency.

“He is my co-writer on ‛Betty’ and ‛Exile,’” replies Taylor Swift with deadpan precision. The question Who is William Bowery? was, at the time we spoke, one of 2020’s great mysteries, right up there with the existence of Joe Exotic and the sudden arrival of murder hornets. An unknown writer credited on the year’s biggest album? It must be an alias.

Is he your brother?

“He’s William Bowery,” says Swift with a smile.

It's early November, after Election Day but before Swift eventually revealed Bowery's true identity to the world (the leading theory, that he was boyfriend Joe Alwyn, proved prescient). But, like all Swiftian riddles, it was fun to puzzle over for months, particularly in this hot mess of a year, when brief distractions are as comforting as a well-worn cardigan. Thankfully, the Bowery... erhm, Alwyn-assisted Folklore - a Swift project filled with muted pianos and whisper-quiet snares, recorded in secret with Jack Antonoff and the National’s Aaron Dessner - delivered.

“The only people who knew were the people I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and a small management team,” Swift, 30, tells EW of the album's hush-hush recording sessions. That gave the intimate Folklore a mystique all its own: the first surprise Taylor Swift album, one that prioritized fantastical tales over personal confessions.

“Early in quarantine, I started watching lots of films,” she explains. “Consuming other people’s storytelling opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines?” That’s how she ended up with three songs about an imagined love triangle (“Cardigan,” “Betty,” “August”), one about a clandestine romance (“Illicit Affairs”), and another chronicling a doomed relationship (“Exile”). Others tell of sumptuous real-life figures like Rebekah Harkness, a divorcee who married the heir to Standard Oil - and whose home Swift purchased 31 years after her death. The result, “The Last Great American Dynasty,” hones in on Harkness’ story, until Swift cleverly injects herself.

And yet, it wouldn’t be a Swift album without a few barbed postmortems over her own history. Notably, “My Tears Ricochet” and “Mad Woman," which touch on her former label head Scott Borchetta selling the masters to Swift’s catalog to her known nemesis Scooter Braun. Mere hours after our interview, the lyrics’ real-life origins took a surprising twist, when news broke that Swift’s music had once again been sold, to another private equity firm, for a reported $300 million. Though Swift ignored repeated requests for comment on the transaction, she did tweet a statement, hitting back at Braun while noting that she had begun re-recording her old albums - something she first promised in 2019 as a way of retaining agency over her creative legacy. (Later, she would tease a snippet of that reimagined work, with a new version of her hit 2008 single "Love Story.")

Like surprise-dropping Folklore, like pissing off the president by endorsing his opponents, like shooing away haters, Swift does what suits her. “I don’t think we often hear about women who did whatever the hell they wanted,” she says of Harkness - something Swift is clearly intent on changing. For her, that means basking in the world of, and favorable response to, Folklore. As she says in our interview, “I have this weird thing where, in order to create the next thing, I attack the previous thing. I don’t love that I do that, but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I still love it.”

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: We’ve spent the year quarantined in our houses, trying to stay healthy and avoiding friends and family. Were you surprised by your ability to create and release a full album in the middle of a pandemic? TAYLOR SWIFT: I was. I wasn't expecting to make an album. Early on in quarantine, I started watching lots of films. We would watch a different movie every night. I'm ashamed to say I hadn't seen Pan's Labyrinth before. One night I'd watch that, then I'd watch L.A. Confidential, then we'd watch Rear Window, then we'd watch Jane Eyre. I feel like consuming other people's art and storytelling sort of opened this portal in my imagination and made me feel like, "Well, why have I never done this before? Why have I never created characters and intersecting storylines? And why haven't I ever sort of freed myself up to do that from a narrative standpoint?" There is something a little heavy about knowing when you put out an album, people are going to take it so literally that everything you say could be clickbait. It was really, really freeing to be able to just be inspired by worlds created by the films you watch or books you've read or places you've dreamed of or people that you've wondered about, not just being inspired by your own experience.

In that vein, what's it like to sit down and write something like “Betty,” which is told from the perspective of a 17-year-old boy? That was huge for me. And I think it came from the fact that my co-writer, William Bowery [Joe Alwyn], is male — and he was the one who originally thought of the chorus melody. And hearing him sing it, I thought, "That sounds really cool." Obviously, I don't have a male voice, but I thought, "I could have a male perspective." Patty Griffin wrote this song, “Top of the World.” It's one of my favorite songs of all time, and it's from the perspective of this older man who has lived a life full of regret, and he's kind of taking stock of that regret. So, I thought, "This is something that people I am a huge fan of have done. This would be fun to kind of take this for a spin."

What are your favorite William Bowery conspiracies? I love them all individually and equally. I love all the conspiracy theories around this album. [With] "Betty," Jack Antonoff would text me these articles and think pieces and in-depth Tumblr posts on what this love triangle meant to the person who had listened to it. And that's exactly what I was hoping would happen with this album. I wrote these stories for a specific reason and from a specific place about specific people that I imagined, but I wanted that to all change given who was listening to it. And I wanted it to start out as mine and become other people's. It's been really fun to watch.

One of the other unique things about Folklore — the parameters around it were completely different from anything you'd done. There was no long roll out, no stadium-sized pop anthems, no aiming for the radio-friendly single. How fearful were you in avoiding what had worked in the past? I didn't think about any of that for the very first time. And a lot of this album was kind of distilled down to the purest version of what the story is. Songwriting on this album is exactly the way that I would write if I considered nothing else other than, "What words do I want to write? What stories do I want to tell? What melodies do I want to sing? What production is essential to tell those stories?" It was a very do-it-yourself experience. My management team, we created absolutely everything in advance — every lyric video, every individual album package. And then we called our label a week in advance and said, "Here's what we have.” The photo shoot was me and the photographer walking out into a field. I'd done my hair and makeup and brought some nightgowns. These experiences I was used to having with 100 people on set, commanding alongside other people in a very committee fashion — all of a sudden it was me and a photographer, or me and my DP. It was a new challenge, because I love collaboration. But there's something really fun about knowing what you can do if it's just you doing it.

Did you find it freeing? I did. Every project involves different levels of collaboration, because on other albums there are things that my stylist will think of that I never would've thought of. But if I had all those people on the photo shoot, I would've had to have them quarantine away from their families for weeks on end, and I would've had to ask things of them that I didn't think were fair if I could figure out a way to do it [myself]. I had this idea for the [Folklore album cover] that it would be this girl sleepwalking through the forest in a nightgown in 1830 [laughs]. Very specific. A pioneer woman sleepwalking at night. I made a moodboard and sent it to Beth [Garrabrant], who I had never worked with before, who shoots only on film. We were just carrying bags across a field and putting the bags of film down, and then taking pictures. It was a blast.

Folklore includes plenty of intimate acoustic echoes to what you've done in the past. But there are also a lot of new sonics here, too — these quiet, powerful, intricately layered harmonics. What was it like to receive the music from Aaron and try to write lyrics on top of it? Well, Aaron is one of the most effortlessly prolific creators I've ever worked with. It's really mind-blowing. And every time I've spoken to an artist since this whole process [began], I said, "You need to work with him. It'll change the way you create." He would send me these — he calls them sketches, but it's basically an instrumental track. the second day — the day after I texted him and said, "Hey, would you ever want to work together?" — he sent me this file of probably 30 of these instrumentals and every single one of them was one of the most interesting, exciting things I had ever heard. Music can be beautiful, but it can be lacking that evocative nature. There was something about everything he created that is an immediate image in my head or melody that I came up with. So much so that I'd start writing as soon as I heard a new one. And oftentimes what I would send back would inspire him to make more instrumentals and then send me that one. And then I wrote the song and it started to shape the project, form-fitted and customized to what we wanted to do.

It was weird because I had never made an album and not played it for my girlfriends or told my friends. The only people who knew were the people that I was making it with, my boyfriend, my family, and then my management team. So that's the smallest number of people I've ever had know about something. I'm usually playing it for everyone that I'm friends with. So I had a lot of friends texting me things like, "Why didn't you say on our everyday FaceTimes you were making a record?"

Was it nice to be able to keep it a secret? Well, it felt like it was only my thing. It felt like such an inner world I was escaping to every day that it almost didn't feel like an album. Because I wasn't making a song and finishing it and going, "Oh my God, that is catchy.” I wasn't making these things with any purpose in mind. And so it was almost like having it just be mine was this really sweet, nice, pure part of the world as everything else in the world was burning and crashing and feeling this sickness and sadness. I almost didn't process it as an album. This was just my daydream space.

Does it still feel like that? Yeah, because I love it so much. I have this weird thing that I do when I create something where in order to create the next thing I kind of, in my head, attack the previous thing. I don't love that I do that but it is the thing that has kept me pivoting to another world every time I make an album. But with this one, I just still love it. I'm so proud of it. And so that feels very foreign to me. That doesn't feel like a normal experience that I've had with releasing albums.

When did you first learn about Rebekah Harkness? Oh, I learned about her as soon as I was being walked through [her former Rhode Island] home. I got the house when I was in my early twenties as a place for my family to congregate and be together. I was told about her, I think, by the real estate agent who was walking us through the property. And as soon as I found out about her, I wanted to know everything I could. So I started reading. I found her so interesting. And then as more parallels began to develop between our two lives — being the lady that lives in that house on the hill that everybody gets to gossip about — I was always looking for an opportunity to write about her. And I finally found it.

I love that you break the fourth wall in the song. Did you go in thinking you’d include yourself in the story? I think that in my head, I always wanted to do a country music, standard narrative device, which is: the first verse you sing about someone else, the second verse you sing about someone else who's even closer to you, and then in the third verse, you go, "Surprise! It was me.” You bring it personal for the last verse. And I'd always thought that if I were to tell that story, I would want to include the similarities — our lives or our reputations or our scandals.

How often did you regale friends about the history of Rebekah and Holiday House while hanging out at Holiday House? Anyone who's been there before knows that I do “The Tour,” in quotes, where I show everyone through the house. And I tell them different anecdotes about each room, because I've done that much research on this house and this woman. So in every single room, there's a different anecdote about Rebekah Harkness. If you have a mixed group of people who've been there before and people who haven't, [the people who’ve been there] are like, "Oh, she's going to do the tour. She's got to tell you the story about how the ballerinas used to practice on the lawn.” And they'll go get a drink and skip it because it's the same every time. But for me, I'm telling the story with the same electric enthusiasm, because it's just endlessly entertaining to me that this fabulous woman lived there. She just did whatever she wanted.

There are a handful of songs on Folklore that feel like pretty clear nods to your personal life over the last year, including your relationships with Scott Borchetta and Scooter Braun. How long did it take to crystallize the feelings you had around both of them into “My Tears Ricochet” or “Mad Woman”? I found myself being very triggered by any stories, movies, or narratives revolving around divorce, which felt weird because I haven't experienced it directly. There’s no reason it should cause me so much pain, but all of a sudden it felt like something I had been through. I think that happens any time you've been in a 15-year relationship and it ends in a messy, upsetting way. So I wrote “My Tears Ricochet” and I was using a lot of imagery that I had conjured up while comparing a relationship ending to when people end an actual marriage. All of a sudden this person that you trusted more than anyone in the world is the person that can hurt you the worst. Then all of a sudden the things that you have been through together, hurt. All of a sudden, the person who was your best friend is now your biggest nemesis, etc. etc. etc. I think I wrote some of the first lyrics to that song after watching Marriage Story and hearing about when marriages go wrong and end in such a catastrophic way. So these songs are in some ways imaginary, in some ways not, and in some ways both.

How did it feel to drop an F-bomb on "Mad Woman"? F---ing fantastic.

And that’s the first time you ever recorded one on a record, right? Yeah. Every rule book was thrown out. I always had these rules in my head and one of them was, You haven't done this before, so you can't ever do this. “Well, you've never had an explicit sticker, so you can't ever have an explicit sticker.” But that was one of the times where I felt like you need to follow the language and you need to follow the storyline. And if the storyline and the language match up and you end up saying the F-word, just go for it. I wasn't adhering to any of the guidelines that I had placed on myself. I decided to just make what I wanted to make. And I'm really happy that the fans were stoked about that because I think they could feel that. I'm not blaming anyone else for me restricting myself in the past. That was all, I guess, making what I want to make. I think my fans could feel that I opened the gate and ran out of the pasture for the first time, which I'm glad they picked up on because they're very intuitive.

Let’s talk about “Epiphany.” The first verse is a nod to your grandfather, Dean, who fought in World War II. What does his story mean to you personally? I wanted to write about him for awhile. He died when I was very young, but my dad would always tell this story that the only thing that his dad would ever say about the war was when somebody would ask him, "Why do you have such a positive outlook on life?" My grandfather would reply, "Well, I'm not supposed to be here. I shouldn't be here." My dad and his brothers always kind of imagined that what he had experienced was really awful and traumatic and that he'd seen a lot of terrible things. So when they did research, they learned that he had fought at the Battles of Guadalcanal, at Cape Gloucester, at Talasea, at Okinawa. He had seen a lot of heavy fire and casualties — all of the things that nightmares are made of. He was one of the first people to sign up for the war. But you know, these are things that you can only imagine that a lot of people in that generation didn't speak about because, a) they didn't want people that they came home to to worry about them, and b) it just was so bad that it was the actual definition of unspeakable.

That theme continues in the next verse, which is a pretty overt nod to what’s been happening during COVID. As someone who lives in Nashville, how difficult has it been to see folks on Lower Broadway crowding the bars without masks? I mean, you just immediately think of the health workers who are putting their lives on the line — and oftentimes losing their lives. If they make it out of this, if they see the other side of it, there's going to be a lot of trauma that comes with that; there's going to be things that they witnessed that they will never be able to un-see. And that was the connection that I drew. I did a lot of research on my grandfather in the beginning of quarantine, and it hit me very quickly that we've got a version of that trauma happening right now in our hospitals. God, you hope people would respect it and would understand that going out for a night isn't worth the ripple effect that it causes. But obviously we're seeing that a lot of people don't seem to have their eyes open to that — or if they do, a lot of people don't care, which is upsetting.

You had the Lover Fest East and West scheduled this year. How hard has it been to both not perform for your fans this year, and see the music industry at large go through such a brutal change? It's confusing. It's hard to watch. I think that maybe me wanting to make as much music as possible during this time was a way for me to feel like I could reach out my hand and touch my fans, even if I couldn't physically reach out or take a picture with them. We've had a lot of different, amazing, fun, sort of underground traditions we've built over the years that involve a lot of human interaction, and so I have no idea what's going to happen with touring; none of us do. And that's a scary thing. You can't look to somebody in the music industry who's been around a long time, or an expert touring manager or promoter and [ask] what's going to happen and have them give you an answer. I think we're all just trying to keep our eyes on the horizon and see what it looks like. So we're just kind of sitting tight and trying to take care of whatever creative spark might exist and trying to figure out how to reach our fans in other ways, because we just can't do that right now.

When you are able to perform again, do you have plans on resurfacing a Lover Fest-type event? I don't know what incarnation it'll take and I really would need to sit down and think about it for a good solid couple of months before I figured out the answer. Because whatever we do, I want it to be something that is thoughtful and will make the fans happy and I hope I can achieve that. I'm going to try really hard to.

In addition to recording an album, you spent this year supporting Joe Biden and Kamala Harris in the election. Where were you when it was called in their favor? Well, when the results were coming in, I was actually at the property where we shot the Entertainment Weekly cover. I was hanging out with my photographer friend, Beth, and the wonderful couple that owned the farm where we [were]. And we realized really early into the night that we weren't going to get an accurate picture of the results. Then, a couple of days later, I was on a video shoot, but I was directing, and I was standing there with my face shield and mask on next to my director of photography, Rodrigo Prieto. And I just remember a news alert coming up on my phone that said, "Biden is our next president. He's won the election." And I showed it to Rodrigo and he said, "I'm always going to remember the moment that we learned this." And I looked around, and people's face shields were starting to fog up because a lot of people were really misty-eyed and emotional, and it was not loud. It wasn't popping bottles of champagne. It was this moment of quiet, cautious elation and relief.

Do you ever think about what Folklore would have sounded like if you, Aaron, and Jack had been in the same room? I think about it all the time. I think that a lot of what has happened with the album has to do with us all being in a collective emotional place. Obviously everybody's lives have different complexities and whatnot, but I think most of us were feeling really shaken up and really out of place and confused and in need of something comforting all at the same time. And for me, that thing that was comforting was making music that felt sort of like I was trying to hug my fans through the speakers. That was truly my intent. Just trying to hug them when I can't hug them.

I wanted to talk about some of the lyrics on Folklore. One of my favorite pieces of wordplay is in “August”: that flip of "sipped away like a bottle of wine/slipped away like a moment in time.” Was there an "aha moment" for you while writing that? I was really excited about "August slipped away into a moment of time/August sipped away like a bottle of wine." That was a song where Jack sent me the instrumental and I wrote the song pretty much on the spot; it just was an intuitive thing. And that was actually the first song that I wrote of the "Betty" triangle. So the Betty songs are "August," "Cardigan," and "Betty." "August" was actually the first one, which is strange because it's the song from the other girl's perspective.

Yeah, I assumed you wrote "Cardigan" first. It would be safe to assume that "Cardigan" would be first, but it wasn't. It was very strange how it happened, but it kind of pieced together one song at a time, starting with "August," where I kind of wanted to explore the element of This is from the perspective of a girl who was having her first brush with love. And then all of a sudden she's treated like she's the other girl, because there was another situation that had already been in place, but "August" girl thought she was really falling in love. It kind of explores the idea of the undefined relationship. As humans, we're all encouraged to just be cool and just let it happen, and don't ask what the relationship is — Are we exclusive? But if you are chill about it, especially when you're young, you learn the very hard lesson that if you don't define something, oftentimes they can gaslight you into thinking it was nothing at all, and that it never happened. And how do you mourn the loss of something once it ends, if you're being made to believe that it never happened at all?

On the flip side, "Peace" is bit more defined in terms of how one approaches a relationship. There's this really striking line, "The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me/Would it be enough if I can never give you peace?" How did that line come to you? I'm really proud of that one too. I heard the track immediately. Aaron sent it to me, and it had this immediate sense of serenity running through it. The first word that popped into my head was peace, but I thought that it would be too on-the-nose to sing about being calm, or to sing about serenity, or to sing about finding peace with someone. Because you have this very conflicted, very dramatic conflict-written lyric paired with this very, very calming sound of the instrumental. But, "The devil's in the details," is one of those phrases that I've written down over the years. That's a common phrase that is used in the English language every day. And I just thought it sounded really cool because of the D, D sound. And I thought, "I'll hang onto those in a list, and then, I'll finally find the right place for them in a story." I think that's how a lot of people feel where it's like, "Yeah, the devil's in the details. Everybody's complex when you look under the hood of the car." But basically saying, "I'm there for you if you want that, if this complexity is what you want."

There's another clever turn of phrase on "This is Me Trying." "I didn't know if you'd care if I came back/I have a lot of regrets about that." That feels like a nod toward your fans, and some of the feelings you had about retreating from the public sphere. Absolutely. I think I was writing from three different characters' perspectives, one who's going through that; I was channeling the emotions I was feeling in 2016, 2017, where I just felt like I was worth absolutely nothing. And then, the second verse is about dealing with addiction and issues with struggling every day. And every second of the day, you're trying not to fall into old patterns, and nobody around you can see that, and no one gives you credit for it. And then, the third verse, I was thinking, what would the National do? What lyric would Matt Berninger write? What chords would the National play? And it's funny because I've since played this song for Aaron, and he's like, "That's not what we would've done at all." He's like, "I love that song, but that's totally different than what we would've done with it."

When we last spoke, in April 2019, we were talking about albums we were listening to at the time and you professed your love for the National and I Am Easy to Find. Two months later, you met up with Aaron at their concert, and now, we're here talking about the National again. Yeah, I was at the show where they were playing through I Am Easy to Find. What I loved about [that album] was they had female vocalists singing from female perspectives, and that triggered and fired something in me where I thought, "I've got to play with different perspectives because that is so intriguing when you hear a female perspective come in from a band where you're used to only hearing a male perspective." It just sparked something in me. And obviously, you mentioning the National is the reason why Folklore came to be. So, thank you for that, Alex.

I'm here for all of your songwriting muse needs in the future. I can't wait to see what comes out of this interview.

*** For more on our Entertainers of the Year and Best & Worst of 2020, order the January issue of Entertainment Weekly or find it on newsstands beginning Dec. 18. (You can also pick up the full set of six covers here.) Don’t forget to subscribe for more exclusive interviews and photos, only in EW.

[missyart123]

To Be Forgiven - Tommy & Technoblade

Based off of This Post by @savvyart101

The night was cold.

Even with the colossal trees that grew high into the sky, shielding the little light provided by the moon, the figure’s breath was visible in the air, illuminated by the faint purple glow that permeated the forest.

The man sighed, watching the steam curl. It was quiet – unnaturally quiet. Not even the sounds of the forest breached the silence, but it didn’t strike the man as odd. He was used to it. The forest would often fall silent in his presence; the rush of wind through the leaves stilling, the chirps of crickets fading out, the bustle of nature coming to a halt. It was as though the forest itself froze at the sight of him. It wouldn’t surprise the man. Not even the night beasts neared him anymore.

The thought didn’t bother him. He’d learned long ago that it wasn’t worth the hassle of caring – nothing stuck around for long. Impermanence was the nature of life and when one lived as long as he, one quickly realised that hanging on to things only made their inevitable end all the more tragic.

Why then, the man wondered, was he here. Following that note offered him no benefit, no relief. He had followed it on a whim and now, as he stood at the entrance to the clearing, he wasn’t sure what had compelled him to in the first place. Perhaps it had been curiosity, but even that seemed false. Perhaps he knew it to be.

In all reality, it didn’t really matter. He was here now and he’d see it through. The hybrid had never been the type to lie down; never put down his weapon in the face of battle.

Steeling himself, he stepped forward, pushing a stray vine from his vision.

The clearing opened wider than he’d been expecting.

In the centre of the glade a rustic campfire sat, presumably lit in preparation of his arrival. The flickering flame cast a vivid orange glow that licked at its surroundings, biting at the boots of the shadows which danced desperately out of its way.

Around the central pit five wooden stools had been fashioned haphazardly of a few spare logs. They sat clustered close together in a ring; buckets and other such equipment scattered in between and hidden amongst the wild grass. Each item bore a thick layer of rust, telling of a long period lain untouched.

The area practically stunk of nostalgia. It was almost as though he could see the ghostlike figures that once sat around the edges; laughing into the night as they told tales and sung songs, backed by the battered guitar leaning abandoned against one of the stumps.

Whoever they had been they were long gone now. All that was left behind were the imprints of once happy memories; ghostly figures trapped by the magic of the forest.

He wondered who the group had been. Only one person sat there now.

Hunched over and staring into the flames sat Tommy.

From where the man stood the boy’s face was bathed in darkness, shadowed by the blackness of the night. Even so, the boy looked deep in thought, not even seeming to register his presence.

It was odd seeing such a look on his face. It was an expression too old for his face, too quiet for one so loud. It felt wrong seeing the boy that burned so bright so subdued, as though the fire itself had sucked all of the fight from his soul.

The figure felt like he was staring at a shell of a boy; a boy who had been forced into the role of a man. Something about it left something deep within him twisting with discomfort. It was a feeling not unlike staring at a corpse.

The hybrid found himself dropping his gaze soon after, the feeling of intrusion so strong that it quickly became unbearable.

Breaking the still, the man stepped into the light.

“You wanted to talk,” Techno began, eyes trained on his brother.

His voice came out louder than he had intended. What with the lack of previous reaction, Techno almost expected the other to flinch, and yet Tommy didn’t move an inch.

Perhaps he’d underestimated him.

Still, it was quiet.

He reached the log next to the blond and crouched down, falling back into the low-set seat. Not sparing the other a glance, Techno spread himself out, getting comfortable in the chair that was not his own. Relaxing his shoulders, he reached up and pulled his sword from its sheath, carelessly throwing it to the ground. He unbuckled his sheath from his shoulder next, dragging it off of his back and placing it down on the ground next to his sword with a soft thump.

Hand running through his hair, he stretched out and leaned forwards, eyes landing on the fire. He wondered what his brother saw in it; what shapes haunted him too.

“It was you that sent the message then,” He started, as though he hadn’t known. As though it hadn’t been obvious from the hand writing alone, never mind the inky smudges the teen always left along the margins or the crinkled edges of the paper from the way Tommy pinned the sheet to the desk, attempting to stop his quill from catching on the page.

Following a similar vein of thought, Tommy gave him a sharp look, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

Pleased, Techno caught the younger’s eyes. Not being able to read people’s faces was a pain.

Tommy let out a deep sigh, turning fully to face his elder brother. Gaze sharp, Techno scoured his face, taking in as much as he could. All at once everything that had felt so wrong about it all hit him like a slap to the face.

Tommy looked old. Unlike what he’d thought, the boy’s eyes no longer shone a youthful blue, now a muted grey – the joyful crinkles that always lined his eyes smoothed out, fading into non-existence.

He looked tired, his whole pallor taking on a rather dull shade. The overall effect was horrifying, his waxy skin exaggerating the emaciated jut of his bones.

It was wrong. He didn’t look like his brother anymore.

“Well,” Tommy began, throat dry with disuse, “like you said, I came to talk.”

The boy paused for a moment as though weighing his words, skinny fingers fiddling anxiously with the – definitely new – lock of grey hair tucked behind his ear. “I- I want to open a dialogue; to apologise for some things; to hear your side.” With that the younger breathed out, looking nervous as to his next words, as though he were unsure of how Techno would react. “And for you to hear mine; to listen to what I have to say too.”

Techno said nothing. Legs shaking, Tommy stood up, figure illuminated as he paced restlessly along the edge of the pit. “We’ve only really spoken in screaming matches where neither of us were really listening other. It was wrong. I want that to change. I’m making it change. If no one else is going to take the step to move things forward, then someone has to.” Tommy stilled, voice hard with conviction. “I guess it has to be me.”

Techno watched his younger brother, unsure as what to feel. If he was completely honest, this almost felt like a chastisement; as though the words were an accusation, not a fact. He looked away, struggling to remain impassive.

“Fine.” Despite the discomfort it caused, Techno tried to remain serious, not allowing himself to fall into the habit of breaking the tension with humour. If his brother was going to make the effort to be mature, then he’d at least give him the respect to match him. “I’m listening.”

Tommy nodded, face pulled into a forced smile. It didn’t last long, the look quickly dropping from his face as he looked away.

In the following moments, an awkward silence filled the air. Neither was sure how to begin. Getting to this point had been a battle in and of itself and now they’d finally reached it, both found the words that usually came leaping to their tongues like poison had fallen silent, docile in their amicable still.

Tommy shuffled, picking absently at his jumper.

Looking at the younger, Techno steeled himself. As much as it pained him to admit it, Tommy was right. He shouldn’t be the one having to do this.

“Where do you want to begin?” He asked quietly, tone matching the solemnness the question deserved. Tommy shrugged, looking away.

It was as though all the fight had drained from the boy the minute he’d broken eye contact, closing in on himself along with his body, which was now wrapped tightly around itself. It was concerning how quickly the boy could switch, fire dying like a match blown out.

Perhaps it really had been curiosity after all that had brought him here; wonder at the little brother that had changed so much. Nostalgia for a time that was gone.

“Why did you leave me behind?” The words poured from his mouth without his consent, drenched in the pain he hadn’t meant to voice. Tommy’s head lifted quickly, eyes wide with surprise.

Techno met his gaze with equal confusion, tense at his own unprompted confession.

He hadn’t meant to say that.

He leaned away, a familiar smile pulling across his face, light and jokey and false.

“Don’t worry about it; it was nothing. What did you want to say?”

Tommy’s face dropped into a frown. His eyes trained over Techno’s face, watching his older brother with a look too knowing for one so young. Techno shifted, uncomfortable under his gaze.

“Say it. Say what you want to say.” The words were oddly reminiscent of the ones Phil would say to them as children; kindly encouraging, yet firm. It brought that deep seated discomfort back, the wrongness of their flipped dynamic tilting the ground under his feet.

Techno grit his teeth, nails digging into his arms. Fine. He’d told himself he’d act mature so he was going to do it.

“At the community house. Why did you leave me?” He clarified, voice tight.

“Oh.” Tommy answered. Silence fell.

Neither bothered to break the tension; staring at each other with eyes more challenging than anything else.

Tommy finally sighed, arms folding across his chest. “You want to know why a joined the other side? Or why I specifically left you there.” Techno shrugged noncommittally, eyes unmoving from the younger.

“Right, okay.” Tommy’s eyes flicked between Techno’s and the seats that surrounded them before launching in, presumably seeing something that Techno didn’t. When he spoke his voice was quiet, diplomatically neutral. “For the former, I think you know the answer. We’ve always principally disagreed. L’manburg was my home, democracy or not, and I’d defend it no matter who I had to go against. I knew that and you knew that no matter how hard we both tried to pretend otherwise. I was never going to sit back and watch. I won’t apologise for that and despite it all I know you don’t expect me too. It was just a difference in opinions.”

Techno inclined his head, ignoring the distaste the answer brought, and waited for the rest.

“But I won’t defend my leaving you behind. I shouldn’t have done it then – I – I put you in danger. No matter how much I tried to convince myself that you’d be fine, I didn’t know for certain and I knowingly left you to fend for yourself amongst thirty enemies. That was wrong.”

Tommy paused for a moment, eyes catching in the fire.

“You know what?”

Techno started as Tommy abruptly turned to face him head on. With trembling hands, the younger knelt down before him, staring up at him with startlingly dark eyes.

Face blank, Techno watched as the younger reached out, pulling Techno’s hands into his own. He allowed the movement, heart pulling at the familiarity of it all. “This is still too impersonal. We’re right next to each other and we’re not even looking at each other.”

Techno said nothing but, knowing what the younger was doing, he entwined his hands around his brother’s wrist in wordless agreement, allowing him to do the same. It was Phil’s special thing. It showed that what they were saying meant something, that they were fully invested in the other.

From the position, Techno could feel the rapid beating of Tommy’s heart, the tremors in his fingers. Despite this, the younger held his gaze, grey irises unmoving from his own. “I’m sorry, Techno. You didn’t deserve that. I shouldn’t have left you there. I don’t regret siding with Tubbo, but I do regret leaving you behind. You’re my brother Techno, not ‘The Blade’. You’ve always meant more than that to me than that. And yet, still, I left you behind.” He paused, squeezing his brother’s wrists. “I’m sorry.”

Tommy’s voice cracked as he finished, nervous eyes flicking anxiously between Techno’s own.

Techno stared at his younger brother, heart beating in his chest. He wasn’t sure how to take that, how to process any of that.

“Well that was something,” Techno laughed shakily. Against his will, a smile began to pull at the corner of his lips, struggling to make itself known. He tightened his hands around his brother’s wrists instead, squeezing lightly.

Feeling that, Tommy sagged. His eyes shone as he looked up as his older brother, taking the acceptance of his apology for what it was.

Techno looked away, uncomfortable with the adoration in his gaze. It was reminiscent of the hero-worship Tommy held for him in his youth, the unconditional awe. Techno was no hero; Tommy knew that more than anyone.

“What did you want to ask me?” He demanded, tone l sharp as he forcefully broke through the calm that had settled between them.

That was a mistake.

Tommy’s face fell, eyes darkening even as he continued to hold eye contact.

Techno watched, stricken, as the younger’s gaze began to drift away; mind pulled far beyond him or even this time. Watched, unable to do anything, as his brother faded away from him, stomach heavy in the knowledge that it was his fault. Always his fault.

He squeezed his wrist lightly again, frantically attempting to ground the younger to the present. He had had to do it often when they lived together in the cottage. Back then, the bad days had far outnumbered the good and Techno had spent enough time trying to pull the younger back from the depths of his mind that the movement was familiar.

There was no response. Tommy’s eyes were empty, no sign of recognition lighting up their dead gaze.

He needed to do something.

Desperately, he scoured his mind for anything that would help. He recalled that physical contact would often help, alongside talking; something about the words and feelings contrasting the horrifying images in his mind. Techno had spent many hours in the past talking himself hoarse, trying bring his brother back to him.

Pushing against the discomfort the prolonged contact would cause him, he pulled the younger forward into his lap, threading his hands into his hair.

“I’m sorry Tommy. I’d probably never say this to your face, but – I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes, trying to focus on the words and forget his anxiety; stop the way his words stumbled. This was for Tommy; he owed it to him to tell him the truth at least once.

He clenched his teeth, pushing past the fear the words brought him. How terrifying it was to hear the words aloud. “I failed you.”

He faltered, hand stuttering in its ministrations. It was hard to ignore the truth of the words when he was the one saying them aloud, not hearing them as he usually did – whispered from the recesses of his mind. “I failed you as a brother. I tried to save you and yet all I did was make you hate me. All I did was lose you more.”

His hands tightened in his unresponsive brother’s hair, hiding the way they shook. “I promised myself I would always protect you both and look how that turned out.” One dead and one ruined. What a brother he was.

“I don’t know why I’m even bothering to apologise. How could I expect you to forgive me? You shouldn’t.” He stares into the fire, wishing he knew what his brother saw; wishing he knew what had compelled him to want to make amends.

Perhaps that had been it then. Perhaps he had come not out of curiosity or boredom or any other lie he told himself, but to see if it was worth it. If he was worth it.

“Still, I hope you do.”

In the following hours, Techno continued to sit in that same spot, whispering sweet nothings into the younger’s hair with the promise to himself that he wouldn’t stop until the moment his little brother returned to him. Maybe he’d remember his words, maybe he wouldn’t, but he hoped that this wasn’t the last time they’d speak. That even if he couldn’t be forgiven, he’d at least have him back one more time.

---

The rays of the rising sun flickered between the branches, the golden light basking the forest in a warm glow.

Under the cover of the brush, the fae prepared for their beds, giggling amongst themselves. How silly the humans were! The youngling wasn’t even asleep anymore!

[liketolaugh-writes]

Kintsugi

I posted a oneshot with some associated smut a while back, but honestly I'm, if anything, far more pleased with the main story concept. This is a Kuroshitsuji/BOTW crossover where Link works for the Phantomhive family post-canon, using a base verse Crow and I call 'speedrun Link', where he does his journey start to finish in six months, does them in the order Naboris-Medoh-Rudania-Ruta, and takes a bad head injury less than halfway through.

------

Even when he stopped lashing out, disorientation and mistrust had Link skittering away from the two foreigners like an injured wolf, his fingers twitching on the hilt of his sword. Oddly enough, they kept their distance, though the taller and older of the two was examining his burnt and bloodied hands with clear interest.

Link was tempted to run again, but that hadn’t worked the first time, and the awful combination of his foggy, spinning head and the caustic burn of his body kept him from planning something better. It took all he had just to keep his hands from shaking, a two-handed grip on a one-handed sword.

“Are you quite finished?” the younger called out, sounding bored.

Link took a step back, swallowing thickly and ears twitching at the jarring sound that shattered the soothing silence of the forest. No one was supposed to be able to follow him into the Lost Woods. No one was supposed to be able to find him in the Lost Woods. What sort of magic did these two have?

It didn’t matter. He didn’t want to go. He’d done his damn duty, and he didn’t owe anyone anything anymore.

He took one hand off his sword and pointed out of the Lost Woods, bravado all that kept him in place. His meaning was silent but clear. Leave.

The taller one, the one that had held off Link’s sword with his bare hands and ripped his shield off of his arm, smirked at him, tugging on a new pair of gloves like nothing had happened. “Oh, I think not. We still have business here, after all.”

Too loud. Too loud. Was that a flash of fang in the man’s mouth?

The younger tilted his head and studied Link, one blue eye just visible through the dim light of the enchanted forest. “Heel, Sebastian. We did come to his… territory without invitation. The least we can do is offer him a meal in exchange for his information.”

Information. Just information? Link dearly wished he had the means to ask.

“Yes, my lord,” Sebastian said agreeably, and then, from his coat, he produced a blanket of all things, spreading it out across the ground quickly and gracefully. “I apologize for the fact that I cannot set up better accommodations on such short notice, but I did not think you would object to a picnic this once, young master.”

Goddess, Link wished it weren’t so damned hard to think. If he tightened his hood, would it soften the sharp edges of their voices?

“Fine,” the young boy said dismissively, sitting primly on the edge when Sebastian straightened up. He raised an eyebrow at Link. “Well? Are you going to join us?”

Link looked from the boy, seeming only mildly impatient, to the taller man, beginning to produce more things from his coat – bread that Link could smell as soon as he produced it, deep lidded containers of steamy soup, soft butter. Link actually took a short step back as the scent hit him, even as his eyes locked unwillingly onto it. His heart skipped a beat, the signals for hope and harm too mixed up and confused.

There was plenty of food in the Lost Woods, but it had been a long time since Link had eaten something that wasn’t raw or wriggling. Much longer than the month since he’d completed his journey.

Slowly, holding onto his sword more like a stuffed toy than a weapon, Link knelt just outside the very far edge of the blanket, off of the pristine cloth and on the more familiar grass. The boy sighed.

“Close enough, I suppose,” he said dismissively, demanding a container of the soup with a flick of his hand. Sebastian gave it to him, along with a small plate with a bread roll, and then gave the same again to Link, who hesitated only a moment before taking it. The boy even watched until Link took a bite, dipping the bread into the broth – there was no way he could handle a spoon – before he spoke. “I am Earl Ciel Phantomhive, and this is my butler Sebastian.”

Link let himself relish the taste of the bread and soup – better spiced than anything he’d ever had before – and then nodded, wary eyes on Ciel and his free hand still on his sword.

Ciel ate a few spoonfuls of soup himself, neat and perfect, and then a bite of bread, giving Link time to eat a little more himself before he continued, seeming to pay more mind to his meal than his words.

“Given recent changes to the political environment in Hyrule, certain interested parties are attempting to anticipate the future situation before any problems can arise,” Ciel explained, and though he wasn’t speaking quickly, Link’s head spun worse just trying to untangle that into something that made sense. “We’ve already spoken with Lady Impa and Queen Zelda.” He paused, and when Link didn’t reply, added, “What are you planning on doing when you emerge from the forest?”

Link had to shut his eyes at that point, and even after months, it hadn’t become any less humiliating that thinking too hard could make him feel physically ill. He swallowed twice, thick and wet, before he shakily set the bread down on his lap and at least tried to answer.

It didn’t work, of course. Between his trembling hands and his muddled brain, he hadn’t been able to sign properly since the Windblight had thrown him into Vah Medoh’s main terminal.

I don’t want to come out, he tried to say.

I’m never fighting for Zelda again, he tried next.

I just want to be left alone, he attempted.

None of them came out right and he gave up, dropping his hand back to his sword and looking away, blinking the sting of tears away from his eyes. He wasn’t hungry anymore. His cheek and neck throbbed where the Fireblight had seared the skin away into a blistered and bubbling mess.

“What’s the matter with you?” Ciel asked, the mild exasperation in his voice grating at Link’s ears almost as bad as the noise itself.

“The hero of the goddess is famously mute, young master,” Sebastian explained to the boy, and then paused, lingering and conspicuous, and added more slowly, “And… pardon me, Master Link, but might you also have a head injury?”

Link nodded miserably and wondered if that would be enough to make them leave.

“Hm,” Ciel said thoughtfully, and then, “You’re meant to be eating. Eat.”

Link ate.

“Alright,” Ciel said, several minutes later, pushing away his mostly-empty container of soup and his pristine plate. “Do you still serve the Queen of Hyrule?” Relieved by the easy question, Link shook his head. “Are you interested in political gain?” Shook his head again. “Will you be aiding Hyrule’s military?” Once more, Link’s head starting to pound from the motion and noise. “Taking an apprentice?”

In answer to that last, Link just gestured to himself – dirty and rumpled, clothes he hadn’t washed in over a month, hair tangled and loose around his shoulders from where he hadn’t been able to do it properly in far too long, huddled in on himself against the abrasive brush of air on his skin.

Ciel raised an eyebrow at him, like he actually believed Link could teach someone in this state, and finally Link just shook his head again. Even if he could, he wouldn’t. He was too bitter and sick with betrayal. He didn’t want friends anymore.

He hoped that was enough to satisfy them. Everything hurt, and he wanted them to leave.

“It sounds as if he’s no particular threat to England,” Ciel said idly to Sebastian, watching the man start to clean up. “Queen Zelda is perhaps another matter, depending on the extent of her power and charisma, but it remains to be seen. At the moment she seemed more overwhelmed with her task than anything.”

“Quite right,” Sebastian agreed, and then, to Link, just as he started to stand, “It would be entirely too rude to let your meal go to waste, don’t you agree? Besides, we have one more order of business to attend to.” Back to Ciel, “It’s entirely likely that if Hyrule does become a threat again, it won’t be for, at minimum, another few generations.”

Link hesitated, and Ciel glanced up at him long enough for Sebastian to look as well. The man gave him a beatific smile and produced a small bottle, holding it out.

“This is laudanum,” Sebastian informed him. “It’s a popular painkiller in England, quite effective. Since you smell so strongly of pain I can detect almost nothing else, I thought it might be of interest to you. Are you willing to lend an ear now?”

Link wavered, trying to figure out if Sebastian was sincere, and when he didn’t pull away, he took the small bottle and sat back down.

The two humans across from him exchanged an unreadable look, and then Ciel nodded at Sebastian. Sebastian turned to Link, kneeling politely on the edge of the blanket, and Link cocked his head warily.

“Since you have absolutely no interest in continuing to serve as the knight of Hylia,” Sebastian said, slow and unconcerned, his eyes never breaking contact with Link’s. “Perhaps you would instead consider working for the Phantomhive family.” Link tensed, because he didn’t recognize the name, but if Sebastian thought- if either of them thought- “You would be offered a fair wage for your efforts, of course, as well as room and board. Training in any of the relevant skills that you may lack. Days off, medical leave, and, naturally, regular access to a doctor.”

Link wasn’t expecting the way that that last offer made his throat close up like he was being choked, and swallowing did nothing to dislodge the lump.

Seven months he’d been awake now, that whole time in a body that screamed when it rained and scorched his nerves when he reached too high and seemed to fester and worsen with every passing week. The shaking hands from the Thunderblight and the head injury from Vah Medoh, every new burn on Death Mountain and the days he spent crying on Vah Ruta because he couldn’t solve a damn puzzle to save his life-

And in all that time, all he’d ever heard was hurry, hurry, hurry, you’ve taken too long already, and so any care that he couldn’t get inside of an hour, he put off.

“He ought not to start work right away,” Ciel said to Sebastian, disinterested and uncaring. “If it’s truly as bad as you say, we should wait for a doctor to clear him. Humans can’t work well under that much pain.”

“As you say, my lord,” Sebastian said, oddly smug, and Link turned wide eyes on both of them, unsure if he could even trust it. Sebastian glanced at Link and cocked an eyebrow. “I could put it into writing if that would be easier to understand.”

Link was nodding before he could think twice, still clutching the little bottle of laudanum protectively against his chest.

-----

One Year Later

-----

Link woke up where he’d gone to sleep, in the little hedged-in patch of grass hidden on the outskirts of the garden. He mumbled drowsily against the ground his cheek ws pressed against, the opium he’d taken earlier coaxing him to drift back off. His whole body was still heavy and relaxed, the pain in his skin softened to the dullest ache.

A moment later, though, his eyes popped open. The guest.

He rolled over and arched to check the sun in the sky, and then swore internally, stumbling to his feet. Link was a mess, not dressed for the little master’s company at all: his uniform jacket was half-undone and askew, his trousers wrinkled, his hair down around his shoulders and tangled from where he hadn’t even brushed it that morning. His gloves were grass-stained and dirty, and his undershirt twisted around from laying prone in the garden.

His earmuffs had fallen off too, and he tugged those back on first, covering his ears and muffling the too-harsh noises around him. Then Link pushed through the corner of the hedge and darted towards the manor house, hoping Sebastian wouldn’t be too annoyed.

He caught up to Sebastian at the base of the front stairwell, flushing a little at his raised eyebrow. After a heartbeat, Sebastian just sighed at him, turning to face him better and look him up and down with a faint frown.

“I see,” Sebastian said resignedly, and then reached forward.

Link let him, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the way his cheeks wanted to heat up with embarrassment. In a few quick minutes, he felt Sebastian’s fingers run through his hair, combing out the leaves and twigs, smoothing it down, and then pulling it into Link’s usual ponytail. Then he straightened out Link’s jacket and shirt, refastened them, smoothed the cloth down, and pulled his gloves off of his hands.

“Here,” Sebastian said at last, and when Link opened his eyes again he was holding out a fresh pair of gloves. Link beamed at him and put them on.

Thank you, he signed cheerfully, smile turning bashful when Sebastian’s exasperation didn’t ease. Sebastian tutted at him.

“Please endeavor to at least not make too much of a mess of yourself when we are expecting guests,” Sebastian chided. “The others are assembled in the entrance hall, please go and join them.”

Yes, Link agreed quickly, turning and bolting up the steps. Sebastian followed at a more sedate pace, casting a lingering gaze down the road.

The others were lined up just as Sebastian had said, idling in various states of anticipation and excitement. Link looked back and forth between them – Tanaka and Mey-rin in one line, Finny and Bard in the other – until Sebastian moved past him to speak to Mey-rin.

“Mey-rin, please keep an eye on Link this evening, he’s likely to be a touch disoriented. Baldroy, you as well, please.”

Link rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed, and then Sebastian joined Finny and Bard in their line, directing Link to the other with a flick of his fingers. Link relaxed, placed himself beside Mey-rin, and turned his attention to the door to wait for Ciel’s guest.

“Almost late, you are!” Mey-rin scolded gently, and Link shrugged, rocking on his heels as he watched Ciel go out to greet the man. Already, his adrenaline had worn off and he was tempted to yawn again, sticky with sleep.

Pain rest, he explained, then reached up to rub at his eyes. Sebastian and Ciel were pretty generous with his worse days, and when he’d woken up this morning it had taken him the better part of an hour just to shuffle into his loosest and most permissive clothing.

As long as he protected the manor when he needed to, he was doing his job. And they all knew he could push through much worse than a bad day when it came down to the wire.

Mey-rin clucked sympathetically, and then there was no more time to talk; Sebastian hushed them with a gesture, and the next moment, Ciel and his guest came through the door.

Link bowed with the rest, graceful and practiced after a year at the manor, and let his head stay low as they passed: not something he’d been asked to do, but a courtesy he usually paid Ciel’s guests anyway. He lifted it as soon as they passed, and didn’t realize until Bard grabbed his sleeve that the others were leaving too. Link hurried along after them.

Event? he asked Bard, dropping down behind the bush that he and Finny were hidden behind.

“This is what you get for hiding out all day,” Bard scolded without heat, reaching out to tweak Link’s nose fondly. Then he started to explain, and Link, not really following along with the fast-paced explanation, settled in to listen anyway.

He wasn’t too worried about it. Sebastian would take care of it; he always did.

“Did you get all that?” Finny asked earnestly, as soon as Bard was done. Link shook his head, folded his arms over his knees, and set his chin down to watch anyway. “Bard! You explained too fast again!”

“Well, we ain’t got time to explain slow!” Bard complained, shaking his fist in a way Link had already internalized as playful. Link yawned.

Mey-rin break, he pointed out idly, watching Mey-rin spill wine across the table. The other two forgot all about the explanation, panicking loudly, and Link snorted, too sleepy to laugh properly.

Instead of Mey-rin or the guest, Link watched Sebastian; the flash of crimson in his eyes visible even from here, the tension that rippled through his body, the shift of weight before he acted. No matter what it was that powered him – to this day Link still had no idea – he was a beautiful man to watch in action.

The other two cheered, and Link rubbed the palm of his hand along his itchy scarred cheek, blinking slowly. He reached out to tap Bard’s shoulder for his attention.

Fetch Mey-rin, he suggested, watching the little maid sway. Bard swore and dragged Finny out along with him to spirit her back, and when they returned, Link patted her. Sebastian pretty.

“Yeah,” she sighed, soft and dreamy, and then turned pink.

Link yawned again, wincing as the high started to wear off, bringing the throb of his scarring back in increments. Sebastian come.

Sebastian had indeed finished presenting the food to the two lords, and was returning with an exasperated expression that clearly stated he’d spotted them hiding in the bushes. Bard and Finny both yelped, and Link grimaced as he and Mey-rin were dragged along to pretend as if they were back in the kitchen the whole time.

He wondered if Sebastian would let them have some of whatever dessert he was making. All the food Sebastian made was good, but the sweets were a rare treat to the four of them.

Well, one of the others would probably ask.

[90spumkin]

Unexpected Switch (Part Three)

Summary: Y/n struggles with the memories of the night at the club.

A/N: Well this is my longest part yet! I know there is a lot of dialogue especially in the first scene, but it is necessary. Also you will notice in this part that I have a strong dislike for JJ, we do not hate in this house, but I will do right by her character in the future just bare with me. I love AJ Cook so don’t get that confused. Also I mention something about the reader’s sexuality in this part just making it clear I support the LGBTQ community. I hope you enjoy! I am always open to suggestions or comments.

Part Two: https://90spumkin.tumblr.com/post/631081814828695552/unexpected-switch

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem! Reader

Warnings: Explicit language, panic attacks, and talk of mental health (if anyone is struggling with these things and need someone to talk to my inbox is always open. I to struggle with these things and hold no judgment).    

Word Count: 2187

“What the hell! A sister? A twin at that.” I had started pacing the length of the table rambling to the curly haired doctor. I could feel his eyes following me, taking in every move I made. I stopped abruptly and looked at Dr. Reid, “I was adopted, but like there’s no way my parents would have known about there being another baby. If they had known they would have told me. Right?”

He looked so taken aback by my sudden focus on him that it took him a moment to register that I had spoken directly to him. He opened and closed his mouth several times like he was trying to string the right words together to answer my question sensibly.

I started pacing again realizing he did not have a good answer for me. “Also, why the hell am I still in this interrogation room? We’ve figured out I’m not the killer.” I run my hands through my hair tugging slightly out of frustration

“Could you sit down you’re making me anxious?”

My body broke out in goosebumps at the sound of the not so silent doctor’s voice. I stopped and turned, my body completely facing him, “What?”

“Could you sit – oh that was a rhetorical question.”, His eyes never left mine as I sat down due to his request.

“So, he does speak. I was starting to think you were mute.”, I tell him with a small smirk. He gives me a kind of intense look while leaning his elbows onto the table separating us.

“It would be very hard for me to do my job now wouldn’t it, y/n?” He said it with a small smile playing over his lips, and the way he said my name had me thinking things very unrelated to the conversation we were currently having.

“No, I guess you couldn’t.” I responded. I sat back in my chair and folded my arms over my chest and wondered if that was all the doctor was going to say to me during our time here.

He muttered something under his breathe while looking down at the table like it was the most interesting thing in the world, “Even though I have plenty of reasons to be selectively mute.”

I don’t think I was meant to hear him by the way his eyes snapped to mine when I said, “I feel like there’s story or two behind that statement.”

He just shakes his head not convincing me otherwise when the door opened and in stepped none other than- “Luke!” I said his name a little to enthusiastically, I was just so happy to see a familiar face. Not that Dr. Reid’s face had not had my thoughts distracted enough.

Luke just kind of chuckled when he greeted me back, “Hi y/n. I now realize how good of a disguise a lot of dirt can be.”

Pretty boy side eyed Luke while saying, “I still don’t understand how you didn’t recognize her; it couldn’t have been that good of a disguise.”    His voice held. annoyance and a hint of some other emotion I couldn’t place

“Not everyone has an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187, Reid.” Luke responded. I just stared at Luke and then at the Doctor who had returned his gaze back to the table obviously not enjoying the attention being put on him. Well he just got 10 times hotter if that is even possible.

“Okay y/n we have kept you in here while we ran a profile on you before fully deciding if you were an accomplice or a victim in all of this.” Luke said all this without missing a beat. He quickly continued when he looked up from the files he had brought in and saw the displeased look on my face. “We couldn’t be sure until we ran every part of the profile with you in it. We now know that you are very much a victim, a victim to more than you realize.”

I had so many questions but before I could form the words Luke held up and finger hushing me. “We will explain everything in time, but first Dr. Reid is going to conduct a cognitive interview allowing you to explain more of what happened at the club. Then once Agent Prentiss has the approval, we will be taking this case back to Quantico.”

_______

After many heated phone calls between Agent Prentiss and the poor soul on the other end of the line; we were on the BAU’s private jet headed back to Quantico. I made a mental note not to get on the boss lady’s bad side.

I sat in the back of the plan alone staring out the window. I couldn’t help but to think about the memories that were unlocked during the cognitive interview that took place back in Massachusetts.

           “Y/n close your eyes and think back to when you were at the bar and received the text message from your friends.” I closed my eyes and allowed Dr. Reid’s voice to transport me back to the previous night.

               I could smell the alcohol and sweat from the people that surrounded me. I saw the text from my friend as clear as day. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as a scream was let out across the club. I turned my head toward the sound and saw a woman stumbling back from the stairs that led up to the bathrooms. That was when all hell broke loose, and everyone was stumbling over each other trying to get to the exits at the front of the building. I started pushing my way through the stampede of people trying to reach where the scream resonated from. I knew someone had called 911 because I could hear the sirens in the distance. When I finally reached my destination. I could only stand in shock at the scene in front of me.

My focus was suddenly brough back to the plan by the sudden burning in my chest. I clutched at the material of shirt that covered my chest. I started gasping for breath. I felt the presence of someone to my left, but I couldn’t focus on them. This it! The abys finally has me.

“Y/n focus on my voice. Tell me what you smell.”

“Leather…and…vanilla?” I barely whispered the words.

“Okay good. What do you hear?”

I took a moment my breathing starting to stabilize, “The rumbling of the plane’s engine.”

I opened my eyes that I hadn’t even realized I had closed, and I was met with the beautiful doctor’s face consorted with worry. I then noticed all the other agents had gathered around me, but at a safe distance not overwhelming me.

“I’m okay” I tell them giving a small reassuring smile. Most of the team nodded and went back to their seats after lingering just a tad longer watching me to make sure I was truly okay. The fact that Agent Jareau was the first one to walk away did not go unnoticed. Hateful bitch.

Once the others were convinced, I wasn’t going to pass out and had returned to their seats; Dr. Reid stood from his position crouched down next to me and slid into the seat across from me. He fixated that pierce stare of his on me, no doubt taking in all my behavior to really make sure I was okay.

I broke the silence by thanking him and his only response was a quick nod. A few minutes passed before the silence was broken again.

“How long have you been having these panic attacks?” His face was set in a way that let me know he genuinely wanted to know.

I leaned my head back against the seat smelling the leather I had mentioned earlier. “They started the night at the club. The first one was brought on by a dream, well more like a nightmare.”

He sat quietly listening to me as I explained the darkness that seemed to take over my mind since that night. “Any time I think about that night it’s kind of like my brain wants to shut down, and I am thrown into this dark abys and I’m drowning just like in my dream. I’m sorry you probably weren’t that curious.”

He quickly responded reassuring me, “No, it’s okay I was curious.” He crossed his arms over his chest before he continued, “Most panic attacks are brought on by anxiety, and that would make sense in your situation. Your dream is more than likely your brain trying to cope with the fear of the accident and all the immense stress you have been experiencing the past day or so. In many cases doctors just write it off as genetics, but studies have shown that that is not the most common reasons. In fact, anxiety and panic attacks are caused more by PTSS than it is anything.”

He stopped abruptly and I couldn’t help but wonder why. I guess my faced asked before I could form the words because he proceeds. “I’m sorry I tend to ramble about facts that no one actually cares about.”

I couldn’t help but be in shock at the fact that he was so eager to share his knowledge and two how could people hate to listen to this man talk when he sounds so happy exposing the wisdom he has locked inside that brilliant brain of his.

“Hey, I for one enjoy learning new things especially if that something is happening to me and I don’t quite understand why. So, do not ever apologize for spilling facts to me while we are associated with one another during this case, or even after if our paths ever cross again.”

The small smile he had on his face was all I needed to know that he appreciated everything I said. We sat in comfortable silence the rest of the plane ride, except for the small snores coming from the pile of muscles laid across one of the seats known as SSA Matt Simmons.

__________

 After the jet landed Agent Prentiss lead me to her office and dismissed the team to go home for the night to come back in the morning refreshed.

Once we reached Agent Prentiss’s office, she led to the small leather couched placed against the back wall. She informed me that she would be right back before walking right back out the door we just entered. She returned not even 5 minutes later with two bags of potato chips and two bottles of water

“I am absolutely starving, and I know you are, I could hear your stomach growling from the other side of the plane.” She handed me the food and water and I gave her a small thank you as she pulled a chair up to sit across from me.

“Okay y/n I know it’s late so I’m not going to conduct another cognitive interview you need rest and a real meal before that. I do have one question for you though. Are you okay?”

I just stared at the dark-haired woman in front of me and barely croaked out a response, “What?”

“We may be federal agents y/n, but we aren’t heartless. You’ve been through so much in the past couple of days and I know your mental state can’t be the best right now taken you’ve had at least two panic attacks in 24 hours.” The look I gave her must have been enough for her to know what I was thinking. “I may have overheard your conversation with Reid earlier.”

I looked down at my lap and started fiddling with a piece of string connected to the seam of the shirt I had gotten from the homeless shelter. I must look as bad as I feel.

I of course don’t tell her that instead I say, “I’m okay Agent Prentiss, honestly.” I don’t look up at her until she says, “Please call me Emily.”

I smiled at her kindness and nodded. I swear if I weren’t straight, I could fall for this woman right here right now.

The door to Emily’s office swings open making both of us jump as the most colorful woman on earth rushes in.

“Shit! Penelope!” Emily holds a hand over her chest and scolds the rainbow woman. I on the other hand am trying to calm my heartbeat that is beating so loudly I’m sure the other two woman can hear it.

Penelope’s expression is sincere yet frantic as she says, “I am so sorry Em, but I was finally able to dig up everything on y/n family. Oh, hi you’re y/n, oh my gosh hi. I am so sorry I didn’t realize. Oh, you poor thing.” She says all this with both hands cupped over her heart as if everything that has happen caused her heart to actually hurt.

I looked between the bubbly woman who almost made me pee myself and Emily, trying to process what had just happened.

Emily looked at me and then at Penelope and said, “Tell us everything.”.

*

*

*

@criminalmindzjunkie​ @hendersonsshadow​ @brooklynxnicole​ @misschil3​

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: The Zombie Outbreak Response Unit

AU-gust Day Five: Post-Apocalypse AU Fandom: Once Upon A Time Pairing: Rumbelle

Rated: T

Summary: Caught up in the middle of an unexpected zombie apocalypse, Belle is rescued by an elite if unusual team: the Zombie Outbreak Response Unit. She quickly becomes close to their leader, the enigmatic Mr Gold.

Note: This is more ‘during-apocalypse’ than ‘post-apocalypse’ but enjoy nonetheless!

===

The Zombie Outbreak Response Unit

When Belle had first seen the advert in the local paper, she had not thought anything of it. She had assumed that someone had put it there for a dare or a prank, and she had left it alone.

When it appeared there again for the second week running, she took notice of it, clipping it out and storing it in her purse. She wasn’t sure why, because she still had no idea why she would ever use the service that was being advertised, but something about its persistence made her wonder. Better safe than sorry, after all.

Now, three weeks later, with the ad having appeared in every edition of the paper since, she knew exactly why she had kept it and exactly why it was there in the first place.

There had been reports on the news of strange occurrences for the past few days, but nothing weird could ever happen in a town as quiet and sleepy as Storybrooke, right? Mad, apocalyptic nightmares like, for example, zombie outbreaks, always started in big cities where they could spread quickly and easily.

Well, that was what Belle had thought until she had woken up this morning and started going about her daily life to realise that the rest of the town had been turned into the flesh-craving undead, and a crowd of them was now converging on the library that she lived above.

Never had she been so happy to have clipped out a newspaper ad on a hunch, as she sat huddled in her flat, looking at the barricaded door and listening to the moaning of the horde that was making its way ever closer, clutching at her phone in one hand and the cricket bat that her mother had insisted on her keeping under her bed in the other. The ad was on the table beside her, and it was with shaking fingers that she dialled the number. It couldn’t be a hoax or a prank, not when she really needed it.

In the event of being caught in a zombie apocalypse, call your local ZOMBIE OUTBREAK RESPONSE UNIT immediately. Our highly trained professionals are on call 24 hours a day to assist you.

The call was answered on the first ring.

“Zombie Outbreak Response Unit for Storybrooke and environs. My name is Emma. Are you in immediate danger from zombies?”

For a moment, Belle was completely struck dumb, amazed that it had worked.

“Hello, are you in immediate danger?”

“No,” she said eventually. “No, I’m barricaded in my apartment.”

“Ok. How many people in the property?”

“Just me.”

“Do you suffer from any medical conditions?”

“No.” Just overwhelming fear.

“We’re sending a team to your location. I’ll stay on the phone with you until they arrive. How easy is it for you to exit your property?”

“Well, I’ve got zombies coming up the front steps and up the fire escape… I guess I could jump out of the window.”

“No jumping will be required although we will probably get you out that way. Can you describe the zombies, are they fast or slow moving? Do they have the power of speech?”

The questions continued in this vein for a little while until Belle heard the rumbling of a large vehicle coming up the main street and Emma instructed her to open a window if it was safe to do so.

Opening her bedroom window, Belle had to gawp at the sight of a heavily armoured black van inching its way down the street, very slowly mowing down zombies as it went. At last it parked up below her, and a team of what appeared to be riot police in full SWAT gear jumped out of the back, setting up a defensive perimeter as one of their number extended a ladder up to Belle’s window and began to climb up.

“Hi!” The voice was female and remarkably chirpy considering the circumstances. “You must be Belle. I’m Ruby. Let’s get you out of here.”

Still shaking with fear and adrenaline, Belle let Ruby help her down the ladder and bundle her into the back of the van with the rest of her colleagues. For a very frightening few moments, Belle wondered if they were in fact government agents who, trying to cover up the fact that there had been a zombie outbreak in her town, were about to kill her and dispose of the evidence. Rationally, they probably would have just let her be eaten by zombies. Or firebombed the entire town with her still in it.

“Do you work for the government?” she hedged to Ruby.

“God no.” Ruby shook her head so vehemently that Belle thought her goggles would fly off. “No, we very much do not work for the government. They are absolutely not interested in saving people from zombie outbreaks. I’m so glad that you called us. We’d picked up some chatter that Storybrooke had been hit and we hoped that there were some survivors, and that they’d seen the ad and would call us before…”

A huge explosion rocked the van.

“…before the government did that,” Ruby finished.

Belle just sat in mute horror. There were no windows in the back of the van, but she knew that her theory about the town being firebombed to wipe out the evidence of the outbreak had just come terribly true.

There were several questions that Belle wanted to ask, ‘where are we going?’ being chief among them, but she couldn’t make her mouth form around the words. The masked figure sitting on the other side of her patted her shoulder awkwardly. It would probably have been less awkward had he not been armed to the teeth with more anti-zombie implements than Belle could name.

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s always a shock when it happens. We’ve all been through it.”

The rest of the journey was made in silence, and when the van stopped and the doors opened again, Belle found herself in the middle of what appeared to be a disused aircraft hangar, filled with crates stamped ZORU in large letters. She pinched herself, but it was definitely not a dream. She had just been saved from the zombie apocalypse by what appeared to be a private army.

“What… How…” She looked around her new surroundings in disbelief.

“We’ll explain everything later,” Ruby said. “There are a few things you have to do first though.”

The few things turned out to be a decontamination shower and a full medical exam from a cheerful little nurse in heavy-duty hazmat gear named Astrid, who took off her helmet and gave her a huge hug after proclaiming her not to be infected. Having been sourced some clothes that were not a hospital gown, Belle emerged from the medical room into the Zombie Outbreak Response Unit headquarters.

“Hi!”

She jumped out of her skin at the voice, turning to see a tall woman with bright red streaks in her hair.

“It’s Ruby,” she said, holding out a hand. “Now that we’re not in quite such life-threatening circumstances, I think introductions are in order.” She sighed. “It’s quite rare for us to find survivors. Hardly anyone takes our adverts seriously and I can’t say I blame them. Zombies aren’t exactly an everyday occurrence for most people and since the government just blows them all up every time, no one really knows the danger.”

Ruby led her down a corridor into what was obviously the nerve centre of the unit. They were evidently a rather small outfit, but they were meticulously fitted out. A large table was set up in the centre of the room, and there was a control desk with several screens and phone at one end, manned by a young blonde woman in earphones.

“Everyone, this is Belle, Belle, this is, well… everyone.”

Belle looked around the table. The five others she assumed were the rest of the team who had rescued her with Ruby. The blonde at the control desk waved distractedly over her shoulder, that must be Emma who’d taken her call. Astrid rushed into the room and took a seat beside the older man at the head of the table. He had greying hair and dark eyes, and a cane rested on the arm of his chair.

“Mulan, Neal, Jeff, David and Mary Margaret. You’ve met Astrid, you’ve spoken to Emma, and this is Mr Gold, the mastermind of the entire operation.”

The older man held out a hand, which Belle shook before taking the vacant seat that Ruby waved her into. “Welcome to the Unit, Belle. We may only be small, but we do what we can.”

Emma took off her headphones and turned in her wheelie chair; Belle could immediately see why she was the one handling the phones as she rubbed her very pregnant tummy.

“All the government channels are reporting no survivors, we’re in the clear.”

“I have to ask,” Belle began, “what happens to me now?”

“Well, you’ve got a choice,” Gold said. “We can arrange for you to travel to a safe colony for survivors that’s been set up in Seattle, or you can stay here and become part of the unit.”

“We need as much help as we can get.” Jeff was the one to speak, and Belle recognised his voice as the man who’d spoken to her in the van. “It’s up to you, of course.”

“You’re welcome to stay for a few days whilst you make your mind up.” Astrid smiled. “I love it when we have visitors. I need to bake! This is a situation that calls for cupcakes.”

Jeff shook his head with a sigh of mock despair. “Only Astrid could be concerned with frosting and sprinkles in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, but that’s what we love about her.”

Belle didn’t pay much attention to the banter as the unit debriefed from their excursion to rescue her. She couldn’t exactly go back to the life that she’d led before; it was a smoking ruin in the middle of the Maine coastline. Getting as far away as possible sounded like a very inviting prospect, and she couldn’t deny that Seattle was certainly very far away. On the other hand, she couldn’t help wanting to know more about the people whom providence had thrown her in with here.

It took her a moment to realise that the talk had stopped, and everyone was filing out of the room.

“Come on, Belle.” Ruby was standing by the door, waiting for her. “I’ll give you the tour.”

There wasn’t a lot to be seen on the tour, really. The place was a large converted barn, the main area housing the van and all the myriad zombie fighting equipment, and the rest of the building partitioned off into living space.

“You’ll be bunking with Astrid whilst you make your decision,” Ruby explained, showing her into a small room with two beds. One half of the room was a riot of pink and stuffed animals and twinkling fairy lights, and it made Belle smile to see it. Even though it wasn’t her style at all, it was good to see that there was fun and life and personality in the otherwise purely functional building.

All the same, Belle was still having trouble believing that all this was happening and that the zombie apocalypse was underway, much less that she was in the headquarters of the only people who cared about rescuing their fellow humans from said apocalypse, and indeed, she was having a bit of trouble believing that such people even existed in the first place.

“How did this place even come to be?” she asked, once they were back in the main living area. Neal and Emma were there too, and it was clear that they were together. It was nice to see love blooming in adversity.

“Well, you’d have to ask Gold what possessed him to start prepping for the zombie apocalypse. He’s the one who got it off the ground, well, him and Neal. Father-son zombie hunter team.”

“I honestly never thought I’d see the day when Dad’s zombie apocalypse obsession paid off,” Neal said, “but I’m very glad that it did.”

“Anyway,” Ruby continued, “he spent years slowly building up an arsenal and now we’re here today. Apart from Gold, Neal, and Emma, we all came here in the same way as you did – we sensibly called the helpline number and got ourselves rescued.”

“Oh.” It saddened Belle to think that so many of them had lost everything.

“It’s ok.” Ruby patted her shoulder as if she could tell what Belle was thinking. “It’s not all bleak. My granny got out with me; she’s in the safe zone now with Jeff’s daughter and Mulan’s uncle. Sometimes we manage to save quite a few households. There are scientists working in Seattle looking at the causes and triggers and identifying all the different strains of zombie-ism. We’re getting more informed and better at fighting them every day, and we’re all certain that there’s a cure out there somewhere.” She paused. “I know it feels wrong to be positive about it all, and you’re probably feeling about as far from positive as possible right now considering that your home just went up in smoke, but I promise that there is light at the end of the tunnel.”

Belle was very grateful for Ruby’s hug.

X

Two days later, Belle made the decision to stay.

She was in the control room when it happened. Gold had been telling her the next chapter in the tale of what made him start the response unit. He’d been happy to tell her when she had asked, but it was a long story, and he was having to give it in instalments in amongst all of his strategic planning and his many phone calls with the leaders of the other units around the country. They hadn’t even got to the part of the story which involved the ZORU branching out into different states yet.

Neal was at the monitoring desk this time, and everything had been nice and quiet until an alarm started going off on one of his screens.

“We’ve got a new cluster. Newport this time.”

Belle went over and peered over his shoulder at the scrolling lines of government and web chatter as Gold settled into the seat beside him and began typing. Everything was talking about a zombie outbreak in Newport. Belle didn’t want to think about how they had access to all this information, but she couldn’t deny that she was glad they did.

“Everyone stand by, we have a new active cluster.” Neal’s voice echoed through the PA system around the building and Belle heard running footsteps as the others raced to their stations. Neal left Gold in charge of the comms as he went to get ready himself.

“We won’t go out unless we get a call,” Gold explained as he continued to monitor the situation. “There’s no point in sending the team out into danger unless we know that there’s a possibility we can save someone.”

It was then that the bright red telephone on the desk began to ring with shrill urgency.

“Zombie Outbreak Response Unit for Storybrooke and environs, my name is Aiden, are you in immediate danger from zombies?”

Belle could only watch in stunned and fearful silence as Gold guided the caller through the same questions that Emma had asked her, at the same time despatching the team and pulling up all kinds of metrics on the computer. On one screen, she could see several camera shots from the van and the team’s body armour as they pounded down the roads towards Newport. Her heart was beating painfully in her mouth at the thought of the danger that they were willingly putting themselves in, and she could only imagine what it must be like for Gold, knowing that his son was going into the fray.

He glanced sideways at her. She had so much admiration for the way he could stay so calm on the phone with the caller, and she had a hugely newfound admiration for Emma, knowing that she had been in just the same nerve-wracking position whilst taking Belle’s own call and watching her boyfriend heading out to save her.

“Ok, we’re here, we can see the survivors.” Neal’s voice came over the internal comms and Gold acknowledged.

“Ok, if you look out of the window you should see the team,” he said to the caller. “Can you confirm to me that you can see them?” He listened to the muffled voice on the other end. “Ok, you’re in safe hands now, I’ll leave you with the team.”

The call ended and Gold could give his full attention to the control screens. Belle watched the camera footage with her hands over her mouth, eyes wide. There were more survivors this time, and Jeff and Ruby were shepherding them towards working vehicles whilst the others covered the exits. She screamed as David was caught by a pair of walkers, his camera going offline.

“David!” Gold was half in and half out of his seat, fingers clutching his cane with white knuckles. “David, report!”

“I’m ok!” David sounded winded, and then Emma saw him getting to his feet on Mary Margaret’s video feed as she ran to help him. “I’m ok, I took them out, but my camera’s shot.”

Gold sank back into his chair with a sigh of relief, but Belle couldn’t release the tension thrumming through her veins until everyone was safely back in the van and they were driving away from the town with the survivors in convoy. Once they were en route, she chanced to take another look at Gold. He was leaning back in his chair, looking satisfied with a job well done, but just as exhausted with fear as she felt.

“Do you get scared when they go out?” she asked.

“Every single time.” He paused. “It does help, having someone else here.”

Belle smiled, her heartrate finally beginning to return to normal, and Gold smiled back. There was something a little shy in the expression, and she had to wonder.

Once the survivors had been brought back to the base and undergone due process, it was decided that they would head straight out to the Seattle safe zone. Three households had been saved, too many people for them to house in the unit headquarters, and there was a general air of jubilation around the place that they had managed to rescue eight people in one go.

Jefferson, who was heading out to Seattle to see his daughter anyway, was going to act as an escort for the long drive, and he came over to Belle.

“If you want to go to Seattle, this is probably the best time to come,” he said.

Belle looked around at the rest of the group who were wishing the survivors well on their way. David and Mary Margaret, Emma and Neal, Mulan and Ruby. Astrid bouncing up and down and around.

And Gold, standing alone, a little apart from the rest, happy at having been able to help save lives and needing no gratitude for it. He caught her eye, tilting his head as if to question. Are you going?

Belle shook her head.

“Thank you, Jeff, but I think I’ll stick around. You’ll need someone to man the phones when Emma goes on maternity leave, after all.”

Jefferson gave her a hug.

“Stay safe,” he whispered to her. “And for what it’s worth, I reckon you’re definitely in with a chance there.”

They both looked over at Gold, who turned away with an embarrassed cough. Belle couldn’t help but laugh.

“Take care of them, Jeff,” she said. “And of yourself, of course. And say hi to Grace for me. Well, she has no idea who I am, so maybe not. You know what I mean.”

“Of course.” He bowed low before going to take his seat in the convoy of cars that would be heading out west. Everyone gathered to wave them off, and Belle found herself going over to Gold at the back of the group.

“So, you’re staying then?”

Belle nodded. “If you’ll have me.”

Gold smiled. “Absolutely. I’m certain that you’ll fit right in. Welcome to the Zombie Outbreak Response Unit, Belle.”

“I still can’t get used to the fact that it exists, let alone the fact that it’s needed.” Belle sighed. It was going to be a strange new life, but one in which, hopefully, she could make a difference to the world. And perhaps to one person in particular.

“I’m glad you’re staying,” Gold said. “I know we haven’t known each other all that long, but I would miss you if you were to leave.”

“I would miss you, too. After all, you still haven’t told me the rest of the unit’s history yet. I couldn’t miss that.”

Gold looked at the rest of the team gathered in the hangar. “We could always resume the tale now if you want. Get away from this lot of rabble rousers.”

Belle laughed at the description. Considering how few of them there were, they were making an inordinate amount of noise. She didn’t mind at all, and she knew that Gold didn’t either. In these times, every little victory ought to be celebrated, and this was more than a little victory.

Still, it would be nice to have some time with Gold without a crisis looming over their heads.

“I’d like that,” she said, and she took his arm when he offered it to her, leading her out of the hangar and into the main living area, settling on the sofa.

He didn’t begin to speak, and for a long time, they both just looked at each other. Belle worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Would it be too forward to just go for it? They’d only known each other for a couple of days, like Gold had said, but Belle knew that there was something there, and there had been something there from practically the first moment that they had spoken to each other properly, and Gold had begun to tell his tale.

She took the plunge, leaning in closer and feeling a huge inward sigh of relief when Gold did the same, meeting her halfway in a soft, tentative kiss.

Belle broke away, looking into his eyes, and on finding only encouragement there, she went back in for another kiss. Gold’s hands came up to cup her face, and she smiled against his mouth.

“I’m so glad that you didn’t go,” Gold breathed once they finally broke apart again. “Thank you for staying.”

Belle pecked her lips to his again. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”

Maybe it was a little too soon and they were moving a little too fast, but the times they were living in were dangerous, and they had to make the most of all the opportunities they had, just like all the causes for celebration. This was not a time for holding back. This was a time for living.

[dustedmagazine]

Andrew Forell 2020: A Year in Music

Irreversible Entanglements. Photo By Bob Sweeney

Suffice to say it’s been a time. Between the pandemic and its attendant toll of illness, death, isolation and unemployment; ongoing state violence against black and brown citizens, immigrants and refugees; the legitimization of white extremism; the utter cruelty and incompetence of the powers that wannabe and the fool on the hill dynamiting what’s left of the adjacent beacon before skulking off, music has been a vital salve during the dog days of this benighted, multi-plagued year. Whether it spoke directly to the issues of the day or not, it seems everything was filtered through the quarantine, the daily shenanigans in DC and the Black Lives Matter movement. Without live gigs, clubs and physical records listening was an even more solitary and disconnected experience than usual and yet felt more important as a connection to the world. Working alone onsite throughout this year meant IPod and headphones on the subway and streets, then blasting through speakers at work. In early March I started listening to the 15,000 some tracks on the pod in alphabetical order; as I write this we’ve reached “Towers Of Strength” by Died Pretty. Maybe there’s a message in that but then again. At home we had music going constantly. Old favorites frequently revisited, new music absorbed for enjoyment and review despite those periods of lethargy and distraction where concentration goes out the window and hours drift by without registering. 

Below are the records of 2020 that have stayed with me, been on high rotation and spoken with redemptive force, escapist joy or consoling intimacy. They are loosely grouped in a way that makes sense to me and I hope to others.

Irreversible Entanglements — Who Sent You? (International Anthem)

Aquiles Navarro & Tcheser Holmes — Heritage Of The Invisible II (International Anthem)

Moor Mother — Forever Industries (Sub Pop) 

Irreversible Entanglements as a collective of musicians have produced several records that have been on high rotation. Who Sent You?  is for me the most essential, electrifying and inspiring record of 2020. As I said in my review, it is an extraordinary statement both lyrically and musically which encompasses history, politics, religion, violence and most importantly how structures of power entrap everybody, warping both the oppressed and the oppressors, tainting us all with lies, complicity, delusion and self-censorship. 

The band’s trumpeter and drummer Navarro and Holmes’ release Heritage Of The Invisible II explores community and identity through a collaboration of deep empathy and music intelligence. Vocalist/lyricist Camae Ayewa AKA Moor Mother remains a vital voice fired by fierce intelligence and clear-eyed dissections of structural inequality. Her EP Forever Industries combines visceral poetry and experimental electronica in two short tracks. A mention also to bassist Luke Stewart’s Exposure Quintet for their eponymous album on Astral Spirits and Ayewa again twice for Circuit City and with Mental Jewelry as Moor Jewelry the rather excellent, punishing punk of True Opera both on Don Giovanni.

 Speaker Music — Black Nationalist Sonic Weaponry (Planet Mu)

Black Nationalist Sonic Weaponry by Speaker Music

Moodymann — Taken Away (KDJ)

SAULT — Untitled (Black Is) (Forever Living Originals)

Shabaka & The Ancestors — We Are Sent Here By History (Impulse!) 

Black Nationalist Sonic Weaponry speaks directly to the Black Lives Matter with a coruscating collage of poetry, found sound jazz, and fractured techno; it is a summation of the darkness at the heart of the American experiment. Speaker Music seeks not to preach, not to salve but to show and by showing force us to listen and to see and to act.  

Moodymann, SAULT and Shabaka and The Ancestors dug deep into techno, funk, soul, gospel and jazz to produce outstanding albums that spoke to the Black experience here and in Britain.Taken Away is riven with betrayal and anger even as the music lifts with transcendent beats, voices and strings. Untitled (Black Is) is both direct and elliptical in its range of styles and voices but never less than compelling and We Are Sent Here By History is fire music for the 21st Century steeped in the lessons of Shepp, Coltrane and Fela Kuti.

Wire — Mind Hive (Pinkflag)

The Cool Greenhouse — The Cool Greenhouse (Melodic)

Fontaines DC — A Hero’s Death (Partisan)

Ganser — Just Look At That Sky (felte)

Kvalia - Scholastic Dreams Of Forceful Machines (Old Boring Russia)

Protomartyr — Ultimate Success Today (Domino)

Tvii Son — Tvii Son (MIC)

It’s been a good year for Post Punk and adjacent bands. Mind Hive arrived early and stuck through the year. As I said in February “35 minutes of Wire is enough to fuel a multitude of pretenders.” Not that the rest of this section are that. The Cool Greenhouse’s shambolic, rollicking, sarcastic songs will hit a chord with fans of Half Man Half Biscuit, Sleaford Mods and The Fall. Fontaines DC’s second album was an unexpected pleasure after Dogrel failed to excite. Ganser’s combination of exhilaration and enervation, Kvalia’s intense, industrial thump and Tvii Son’s bracing detachment hit different nerves but with inescapable precision. Protomartyr expanded their palette to create, as Tim Clarke said on these pages “a thrilling and brutally effective” album. Shopping, Las Kellies, Hypoluxo, Sweeping Promises, Peel Dream Magazine and Lunchbox also released records that held the ears.

Quicksails — Blue Rise (Hausu Mountain)

Blue Rise by Quicksails

Autechre — Sign (Warp)

William Basinski — Lamentations (Temporary Residence)

André Bratten — Silvester (Smalltown Supersound)

Oliver Coates — skins n slime (RVNG)

Dinorwic — Llyn Y Cwn (Cold Spring)

Davey Harms — World War (Hausu Mountain)

Fire-Toolz — Rainbow Bridge (Hausu Mountain)  

Hausu Mountain continues to release high quality, challenging experimental albums that are both immensely entertaining and thought provoking. Blue Rise is an amniotic oasis. World War and Rainbow Bridge are always on hand to jolt one out of the doldrums and focus the mind. On days when the temptation to drift with the passing time or succumb to darkness presses, the homeopathy of Basinski’s swoon, Bratten’s obsidian depth and Dinorwic’s environmental calm provided accompaniment, guide and consolation. Coates conjures bleak beauty from his enhanced and manipulated cello while Autechre untangle some of their knottier inclinations without letting the listener completely relax on a relatively straightforward return to the album format. 

 Archival releases and reissues:

Melt Yourself Down — The Complete Leaf Recordings 2013-2016 (Leaf)

Pole — 1,2,3 Box Set (Mute)

Pylon — Box (New West)

Rowland S Howard — Teenage Snuff Film (Fat Cat)

Stalker — Empire2020 (Ruf Kutz)

Thelonious Monk — Palo Alto (Impulse!)

Various Artists — Strum & Thrum: The American Jangle Underground 1983-1987 (Captured Tracks)  

Andrew Forell

[alvaar-aldaviir]

First Bite (Vampire AU)

Based from this post. Because I can’t be trusted @ffxiv-writers.

Time Frame: Heavensward. No Spoilers. AU

Notes: A dumb vampire AU where the twins are older and dhampire’s. Vampires are the upper class and respected academics/mages in Sharlayan and so quite respected there, but wary mistrust everywhere else. Dhampire’s do not need blood to survive, but to replenish their magic. Everything else in the story is the same, more of an exploratory ‘what if’ because we ALL know vampires are kinda hot and I have no self control.

Just a self-indulgent bit of writing for that first bite scenario, after a heated battle against the Dravanians in early HW.

Cross posted to Ao3.

   -

“You going to be alright?” Alvaar asked softly, studying the Arcanist still slumped against the side of the bed closer to the fire. He’d done his best to patch the larger holes torn into the long-abandoned cabin in the Coerthas Western Highlands, but even then the blizzard raging outside still blew frigid air through.

He wasn’t overly surprised when he only got a mute nod from the pale Elezen. Alphinaud hadn’t spoken much since he’d collapsed in the snows after a fourth abrupt bout with the Dravanian Horde during their scouting mission. With a barely breathing dhampire in his arms, unfamiliar terrain, and a storm rolling in, Alvaar had been given little choice but to try and hole up somewhere to wait it out. Finishing tacking up one of his spare oil skins over one of the shattered windows for insulation, he hopped down off a chair and moved closer. Tossing a few more logs on the fire and tugging the tipped over long table a bit closer to help reflect more heat into the sheltered alcove he’d made from what surviving furniture remained. It wouldn’t be the most lavish of accommodations, but there was plenty of wood to keep them from freezing to death and they wouldn’t be buried under snow. That would be good enough to get them through.

“Jerky?” he offered, holding the wax paper bag he dug out of his pack in offer. “Otherwise I might have enough stuff on me to cook something,” he continued, finding a seat beside him on the floor.

Still buried under the thick blanket Alvaar had wrapped him up in earlier, Alphinaud shook his head slowly, gaze fixed on some far-off point through the floor.

“You should eat something Alphinaud. And don’t start with a ‘only the blood of the living’ crap I’ve seen you eat scones and tea,” Alvaar chided.

“I eat solid foods yes. But it would be a waste right now. I won’t keep it down,” he murmured.

That made the Bard still before ducking his head to study him with concern. “You sick? You said earlier it was magic depletion. That’s a rest and eat well situation Leveilleur. I can do a broth or something instead?”

Again, he shook his head, seeming a touch more annoyed but breathing out a slow sigh before he winced with discomfort. “I... I’m afraid I didn’t account for this much difficulty in our travels. And in light of recent days and troubles it has been difficult to acquire fresh stock...” he mumbled.

Staring at him for a long moment, Alvaar finally piped in with a flat, “You need blood.”

The dhampire’s ears twitched, a faint flush coloring his face as he ducked his head. “I... I’ll be fine. It will be difficult, but I can make it until we get back to Ishgard. The shipment Urianger was orchestrating must have arrived by now.”

A long moment of silence stretched out between them, Alvaar chewing on another bite of jerky as he mulled it over before washing it down with a swig from his canteen and slapping a hand to the floor.

“Well, people got to eat,” Alvaar offered with a much calmer tone than he really felt. “It’s just a bit of blood, right? Nothing fatal?”

Alphinaud blinked at him in surprise, the first proper look Alvaar had gotten of him and the red of his eyes was a stark shift from the deep blue he was familiar with. It was enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably, but he refused to let it show.

A few stunned moments ticked past before the Arcanist was nodding. “Y-Yes. I mean no, I mean... of course it’s nothing fatal I’m not savage,” he scoffed at last before his expression muted back out with a faint wince.

Alvaar studied him silently, noting the slightly hunched posture and the way the Elezen’s arms were wrapped at his stomach. He seemed almost sick from the Bards point of view, and in some manner he probably was. Alvaar was familiar with the feeling of starving after all, the gnawing almost sickening ache of an overly empty stomach...

“Then I’ll help,” he stated promptly. “Or donate, whatever you want to call it. What do you need me to do? Get a knife? Offer my neck? What?”

Staring at him in puzzled discomfort for a moment the Arcanist sighed heavily. “Nothing so dramatic... in fact I, well, I prefer drinking from a glass honestly that’s how I’ve consumed blood for years,” he mused aloud.

“... Holy shit do you just have fucking wine bottles of blood lying around in your fancy mansion in Sharlayan? Have you ever served it to a non-vampire?” Alvaar asked, tone purposely upbeat to keep them both distracted and given the nervously amused snort that escaped the pale Elezen it must have worked.

“In a fashion, yes I suppose so, and no. We’ve never mixed up the bottles. ... but a knife would be wasteful I think. It would also hurt more, and I would really rather... Just your arm please? If you’re certain...” he murmured, keeping his gaze lowered and obviously embarrassed and uncomfortable.

“Hey, what’s a little blood among friends hm? Sides, it’s better than the alternatives. I’d rather not see any problems today and, well starving sucks,” Alvaar murmured, holding his arm over after slipping it free from his coat and rolling up his sleeve.

The fingers that lightly gripped his wrist were eerily cold, enough to almost make the Bard flinch but he refrained given how guilty Alphinaud already seemed about the whole thing. And it wasn’t a big deal, it would be like a trip to the chirurgeons... just where needles were teeth... apparently...

“It’s been awhile since I’ve done this,” the Arcanist murmured, thumb trailing along the inside of the Bards wrist almost like he was measuring something. Then he was drawing Alvaar’s arm up even as he lowered his head, mouth opening wide and-

‘Have his canines always been that long?’ Alvaar wondered with a start, watching in morbid fascination as elongated canines set to his skin and-

“Ah!” he hissed before he could stop himself, gritting his teeth and still stubbornly staying put by force of will at the burning pinpricks he felt in his arm. The pain only doubled when the Arcanist jerked away abruptly at the sound.

“Sorry! Twelve above, sorry Alvaar I-” he apologized immediately.

“Don’t worry about it, just a reflex. Do what you gotta kid,” Alvaar cut in, lifting his arm a bit for emphasis. “Rude to waste food, right?” he joked.

The glower he got in return made him grin even as his heart was thumping instinctively with fear.

“I meant sorry because I haven’t done this in some time and I’ve sort of forgotten the steps...” the Arcanist grumbled, a faint flush of embarrassment on his face. “Just... don’t judge, it’ll help.”

Alvaar had been about to question it before falling silent at the wet heat of a tongue lapping over the wound. He winced again on reflex, but the sting was already fading to leave only the pleasant warmth of the man’s mouth against his skin.

“Oh... that’s, neat?” he murmured, still morbidly entranced by the whole situation.

Alphinaud made a soft sound, more to let him know he’d heard him than for anything else. Darker eyes flicked to the Bard pointedly as he lifted his head slightly. “Better?”

“Yea. It’s fine.”

“Good. ... Could you... oh, never mind,” he huffed.

“Could I what?” he pressed.

“I was going to ask if you could look away but somehow, I doubt you would,” Alphinaud mumbled sheepishly.

Blinking at him in confusion, the Bard snorted when it clicked. “Don’t bite people much huh?”

It earned a flat scowl. “Not particularly. Were things not so dire I would prefer to just weather it out but... with all of the fighting since we arrived, I’ve depleted my aether reserves. Even half vampires still have slower aetheric recuperation than most every other creature-”

“Not that this isn’t fascinating but maybe explain it once you’re done?” Alvaar cut in pointedly. “Honestly, I think it’s more surprising you’re not just fixated on my blood.”

“I am,” Alphinaud shot back a bit sharper than he meant and quickly looking away. “... It just... helps. To think about other things and not the fact I’m starving. Wouldn’t you pace yourself so you don’t make yourself sick?”

“... Would you get sick?” Alvaar returned, tilting his head a bit in puzzlement.

“I... no, but what could happen would be worse and I would rather it not happen.”

“Lose control you mean,” the Bard continued flatly, taking the faint flush on the other Elezen’s face as a yes. “Listen I won’t hesitate to punch you in the fucking face if you start gnawing up my arm. This buffet ain’t open and it ain’t free.”

“You say while insisting I hurry up and drink...” Alphinaud returned drily.

“And you should before my senses come back to me and I change my mind. That’s my draw arm I’m offering and it’s going to be a pain in the ass firing while injured.”

“You won’t be injured,” the Arcanist returned promptly before setting his teeth back to Alvaar’s arm and this time he barely felt a thing. Well, he felt something distantly, like his arm was locally numb and he registered the pressure, but he could still clearly feel the softness of lips and tongue against his skin and-

It was a little unsettling how those smut novels were rather on point. It was sort of... sensual wasn’t it?

Looking off abruptly, the Bard resolved himself to not think about it. It was just to help a friend. A very annoying prat of a friend that also happened to be a half vampire or dhampire or... whatever it was. Certainly nothing to get this bothered over. Unless…

“... Wait, there isn’t some passive enchantment shit is there?” he asked, looking back at the snowy haired Elezen. Who wasn’t listening and seemed rather intent on the whole blood thing now...

Shite.

“Hey. There isn’t some mind control shit in all this right?” he asked again, louder and tapping Alphinaud’s shoulder as he tried not to panic.

Thankfully, it got his attention, pulling away with a parting lick and wavering sigh. “Beg pardon?” he asked, blue eyes back to normal but dark and vibrant and honestly if Alvaar needed to find words to describe the soft breathy way he spoke and look he was giving it would be something akin to ‘hour two of marathon sex.’ The urge to ask if he wanted a cigarette almost overrode any sense of propriety.

His question dropped off his mind as he noted the clarity of his own thoughts against the warm and almost sleepy look of the dhampire sitting next to him. If anyone here was charmed it wasn’t himself… And hadn’t Minfillia mentioned something about the Echo protecting his mind from outside intrusion in the past? … Damnit. He wasn’t supposed to be the one panicking here.

“You okay?” he asked carefully after shaking himself free from the thoughts.

“Fine. Perfectly fine,” Alphinaud replied, finally seeming to settle fully into the present and glancing down to where his fingers were still curled around the Bards wrist before lowering a hand to his tome. The healing spell was faint, but still as quiet and warm as the times before as it sealed the two pinpricks of blood before he let go and shifted away a few feet. “Thank you, um, yes, sorry for that and not to be rude but please stay over there for a few minutes.”

“Okay,” Alvaar murmured slowly. “But you’re fine?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’re not going to savage me...”

“Of course not.”

“So...?” Alvaar pressed after a few moments.

“.... What?” Alphinaud asked, giving him a wary look.

“I don’t get a critique on the vintage?” he joked.

 “Alvaar don’t ask that...”

“Why not?”

“Because I really don’t enjoy hurting people contrary to public opinion of my kind and it’s a little hard to remember it when you taste that good,” he returned flatly before pausing, another faint flush coloring his face before he was hugging his knees to his chest in a sulk.

“.... You know I thought I would be... So, is it more like trying to pin down a liquid flavor or a solid flavor?” Alvaar continued anyway.

“We are not having this conversation Aldaviir.”

“I see how it is. Here I am, putting myself out on the line and-”

“Alvaar.” It’s said firmly but there was a touch of anxiety underneath, a note the Bard doesn’t miss in part because it’s reflected in the nervous gaze he’s getting. The glitter of ocean blue over the top of his knees where he’s still hunched over, arms wrapped around his legs and making himself as small as possible.

It’s not the first time he notices how naive and inexperienced the dhampire can be, but it is the first time he thinks perhaps the Arcanist may be more concerned over what makes him different than Alvaar ever was.

He blinks, meeting that worried gaze for a long moment before glancing away to study the fire instead. “You’re right, I shouldn’t tease you. I’m sorry that was out of line.” The quiet crackles of the fire and howling winds outside are the only thing to fill the minutes of silence that stretch between them.

“... How do you make jokes about it?”

The whispered question almost doesn’t reach Alvaar’s ears, but it does and he gives the Arcanist a puzzled look anyway.

“The people of Eorzea... They fear my kind. They only begrudgingly accepted any help from my Grandfather because the situation was so desperate, and they didn’t know what he was. Surely they might suspect it but they would never ask. The only ones here aside from the Scions that know what I am is you...” he murmured, carrying on when Alvaar remained quiet. “When my sister and I first arrived, we came across a caravan being overrun by bandits. The situation was so bleak, and the night was so dark, we had little choice but to use our powers to help them.”

Voice trailing off, the Arcanist buried himself a bit further into the blanket he’d been given. “They screamed. They called us monsters. When everything was over, they tried to kill us too. Alisaie said she wasn’t surprised. The ignorance of Eorzeans has always been a problem she said. But... I started to understand why.

“We don’t think of it much in Sharlayan, where vampires are accepted parts of society. Mortals donate blood freely and it’s preserved and kept openly. Many of the great advancements in aetherology have been made with mortal and vampire scholars working together. There’s no reason to be afraid of vampires because it’s taught to us from the day we’re born not to hurt others. Why would we have to take what’s freely given? We give back our achievements and research freely in exchange. We fight and work together. It’s a cardinal sin to turn someone into a vampire, or to willfully harm someone. Punishable by death or exile at the very least, a sentence that may as well mean death. But the people of Eorzea don’t see that. They only see us as monsters... as something approaching voidsent... So why don’t you? Why aren’t you afraid?”

Studying him quietly for a moment Alvaar pushed himself closer. Pausing briefly when Alphinaud tensed before carefully looping an arm around the Arcanist’s shoulders and pulling him into his side. Settling his cheek against soft white hair he blew out a faint sigh.

“You’re not a monster Alphi, you’re my friend. I made a promise to you and Tataru both when we fled to Coerthas. That I would keep you safe and protect you. I don’t make those sorts of promises to people I don’t trust and care about. What you are doesn’t change who you are right? As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a friend with some interesting dietary needs.”

Blinking at nothing in particular, the dhampire made a slight annoyed face Alvaar couldn’t see but could hear. “It’s vaguely insulting to hear you distill my troubles down to something so base.”

Alvaar gave a soft snort of amusement. “Sorry. Not my intent. It’s just... not a big deal to me personally Alphi. The world at large has its reasons, and I’ll admit I was wary at first but we’re really not that different. Sides, whatever you took I feel fine so it doesn’t seem that big a deal to me.”

“Your blood is... unusually aether rich,” Alphinaud commented after a moment. “It wouldn’t take very much.”

“No shit? Well, I barely cast magic anyway, so I guess that’s fortunate for next time,” Alvaar returned easily.

“Next time?” The incredulous look on the Arcanist’s face had the Bard trying extremely hard not to laugh.

“Yea next time. There always ends up being a next time for this sort of stuff. Gods, read a book Leveilleur,” Alvaar joked, pulling away enough to steal part of the blanket and readjust it over both their shoulders.

“What sort of books are you reading where there’s an invariable need to take blood from someone ‘next time?’” he persisted, frowning as he was once again pulled into the Bard’s side.

Ruffling fluffy white strands absently, Alvaar stretched out a bit, crossing one boot over the other and settling back against the broken bed frame. Leaning his cheek against Alphinaud’s head, he gave a faint squeeze of the arm around him. “Come on, quit fussing and get some sleep.”

“That’s not you answering my question Alvaar,” he complained.

“I have my sources. Now hush, we should get some sleep while we can.”

The Arcanist blew out an irritated breath but didn’t argue it further. Though he did make a reasonable effort by the way he shifted and the several bothered huffs he made as he got comfortable of letting Alvaar know he was beyond annoyed. It just made the Bard chuckle in amusement, again ruffling soft strands gently before closing his eyes and slipping into the easy light sleep that was waiting to claim him faster than usual.

It made him miss when the Arcanist finally eased into his side, shifting a bit closer into the Bard’s warmth before falling into a quiet sleep himself.

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 12/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774  

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

Leia swallowed. For a moment, Amilyn Holdo wondered if she would cry, but that would be underestimating the veteran. She had fought bigger battles.  

“Amilyn,” Leia began, “Ben has made a series of bad decisions, no doubt under the influence of none other than Armitage Hux. They were partners in crime during their devil-may-care college years. He became arrogant and self-centered, thinking himself untouchable under Snoke’s protection. Snoke was the ever-powerful presence that gave him everything he desired, while filling his head with the unthinkable. It’s been a long time since I’ve lost all influence over him. And if a brief stint in prison is what finally wakes him up, so be it.” She sighed, “Look, he’s still my son and I love him more than anything, but I think this might be the beating that finally makes him get his act together.”

Amilyn smiled at the mental image of Leia’s small frame spanking the imposing Ben Solo—or rather, his troublemaker rockstar alter ego, Kylo Ren. A helluva spanking, for sure.

“Good. Well, if you’re ready now we have a meeting with the Governor in five,” Amilyn offered.

The tip of Leia’s cane slipped on one of the many papers littering the floor as she tried to get up. She had been using it to support most of her weight, but luckily she was able to catch herself, bracing her body against the desk.

Amilyn rushed to her side, noticing a slight tremor in her hands and infinite sadness in her eyes. She was strong, but her heart had been broken.

“Are you alright? Amilyn asked, “Should I postpone the meeting?”

“No, I’m fine, let’s go,” Leia sighed as she got to her feet again. She turned to Amilyn with tired eyes. “You know, the contents of this dossier have ruined three generations of my family,” she said gravely.

“I know. And I admire you for bearing this burden alone, despite everything, for all these years.”

“We’re so close. This is our last move—it’s us or them. If we fail, there won’t be a second chance. It’s time to finish this.”

She closed her eyes as the car made its across Sacramento to the state capitol building. She had spoken about her son with a detached tone, if only to hide her chagrin. She wasn’t kidding when she said that the contents of that dossier would destroy her family. It was the stuff of novels—The Grandeur and Decadence of the Skywalker Dynasty. The tale of how her parents Anakin and Padme Skywalker, fresh out of Harvard, had started the eco-conscious mining and water treatment company Resistance & Advancement Co. A new hope for the planet that would provide “a better future for all”. How Anakin had foreseen a massive profit margin, had signed contracts with suspicious clients against his wife’s advice.

How their son Luke, their Harvard legacy, had found his way to the top of the R&A administration in order to clean house. He wanted to cut ties with shady business partners and see his mother’s vision through. Leia, however, was always more behind the scenes, though guided by the same ideals of peace and justice that seemed impossible today.

And then there was Snoke, the Chief Financial Officer who had come to power under corrupt circumstances. He had plotted to take command of the Board of Directors and IPO the company by putting his cronies in power at R&A.

Leia had imagined that her son would side with her, to restore the family enterprise to its former glory. Never in a thousand years did she think that Ben would turn on her. He fell right into Snoke’s outstretched hands—worse—he declared that the new agenda was Anakin Skywalker’s legacy, his ancestor’s lasting vision for R&A. Snoke and Hux had brainwashed him.

She was jolted from her thoughts as the car abruptly stopped in front of the capitol building. Going around the mob of tourists partaking in guided tours, they made their way to the administrative entrance, where they were greeted by a debonair hostess in a black suit. After double-checking their IDs, she pointed out the corridor that led to the parliamentary wing. They found themselves in a waiting room where they helped themselves to two scalding cups of flavorless coffee.

Amilyn didn’t even need to check her watch. “We’re going to get stood up,” she declared. “That’s their strategy, tie us up in red tape, waste all our time in this massive waiting room and never get to the bottom of that dossier.”

Leia placed a reassuring hand on her friend’s forearm in response. She had regained her peace of mind, her eyes no longer filled with sadness or uncertainty. Instead they were brimming with a scathing sort of determination. Here, in the heart of the Californian capital, she was in the eye of the storm. And she was ready to confront it.

He came through the waiting room door right then—a fifty-something man with a craggy face and salt-and-pepper hair. He was sharply dressed in all white and he wore a suit jacket draped over his shoulders like a cape.

“Representative Krennic,” he introduced himself, “Yours truly on behalf of Governor Valorum. This way to my office,”

“We have a meeting with the governor himself, Mr. Krennic,” Amilyn objected.

“The governor sends his apologies, he was summoned regarding a rather urgent matter, but don’t you worry—I know the dossier quite well.”

“I see,” Amilyn managed behind the tightly gritted teeth of her fake smile, “Very well, then. We should set up another meeting right away.” She said as they followed him.

Representative Krennic pursed his lips in what could only be called a paltry, hypocritical attempt at an expression of sympathy. He took his place behind his desk and invited them to sit down.  Suddenly his eyes were hard and cold. He folded his hands together on the tabletop.

“The governor had a very time-sensitive errand to run. I assure you I’m entirely capable of representing him today. So let’s cut to the chase: the enterprise charter brought forth by FORCE which you object to so vehemently, is perfectly legally authorized. I have here the results of some studies done by the Environmental Protection Agency that contradict your claim.” He flicked through the dossier nonchalantly. Leia was about to make an impolite gesture but Amilyn stopped her.

“The state of California,” he continued, “represented by Governor Valorum—and I, in equal measure—has expressed consent to both FORCE and their CEO Mr. Snoke regarding the mining of the Humboldt sector. I should also add,” he continued with a cruel smile, “that on behalf of the thousands of workers that we collectively employ, that FORCE and the state of California are considering to jointly sue you for obstruction of public progress,  defamation, and violation of workers’ and unions’ rights,” he grinned wickedly, “and, if I recall correctly, we might even be able to sue for terror-adjacent activities. Any questions?”

Armitage Hux turned on the flat screen television embedded into his office wall. The highlight of the evening broadcast on ABC7News was the very public debacle in Sacramento.

Leia Skywalker, unmistakable in her long grey wrap dress, was crossing the street to get to her car. She was so small that Amilyn Holdo appeared tall beside her. A group of activists clad in Earth Soldiers t-shirts was waiting for them. Many of them were carrying signs with protest slogans including No to the Hoopa Valley mine!, Say No to Poison, FORCE must PAY, and Valorum is Complicit.

Among them Hux recognized Rose Tico, who was holding a megaphone and addressing the journalists who had scurried to the scene directly. The fire in her voice was palpable, to the point where he thought she would nearly be out of breath.

“We have just heard that the EPA approved the construction of a new mine in North Hoopa Valley! This is absolutely unacceptable, and we stand against it! All evidence points to Governor Valorum being a puppet of FORCE, which has funded his re-election campaign to a great extent! This man has been corrupted and he’s trying to—“ Hux slammed the mute button just as his phone began to vibrate. He raised it to his ear, annoyed.

“Hux.”

“Sir, I’ve lost track of the Tico sisters, they flew to California via Reno, and I lost them right as the approached Tahoe.”

“Don’t you worry, I know exactly where they are,” he said, managing to keep most of the rage out of his voice. Phasma on the other hand, had the gall to sound relieved.

“Really? What is their location?”

“In the Capitol, you idiot, on national goddamn television! The Ticos, Antilles, Connix—the whole damn lot of them!”

Now she began to hesitate.

“Sir, I.. I’ll get there right away I’m—“

“Useless, you’re absolutely pathetic.”

No sooner had he hung up that he noticed a second incoming call. Snoke.

Hux took a deep breath as he smoothed his hair. Once he left his office, he navigated a dark corridor and knocked on an unmarked door that opened by silently receding into the wall. The inside of the room was similarly dark, with black lacquer floors and crimson drapery. Snoke was known to suffer from violent migraines and thus he detested the light.

“You may approach, Hux,” he declared, his voice audibly tired. “I heard that our friends put on quite a protest for the television?”

“Indeed. They’re reacting to the EPA’s decision making, and it’s trending on social platforms. They simultaneously hit YouTube, Twitter, and Instagram. The story has been shared millions of times, they’re viral.”

“And above all, they are organized. The scene they caused today was painstakingly staged. They knew what the results of the vote would be beforehand.”

“It doesn’t really matter though,” Hux scoffed with a disdainful wave of his hand, “that they’re internet famous and amassing thumb-ups on YouTube. It’s a blip in the grand scheme of things, the mine is fully approved and ready for operation. We’ve won.”

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, Armitage. The hearing is in two weeks, and Valorum has plummeted in popularity.”

Hux scoffed indignantly yet again.

“We have Valorum eating out of our very hands. We make up no less than 20 percent of his campaign financing—he got re-elected because of our means. We employ, directly or indirectly, thousands within his administration.”

“And the judge, Mitaka?”

“His daughter was delighted that we bought her way into Yale, not to mention that we’re so generously funding his partner’s chemotherapy...with absolute discretion, of course. It’s all being handled through NGO charities. We’re talking millions of dollars here, but I’ve been assured that the books are bulletproof.”

Snoke said nothing for a moment. His skin was jaundiced like most heavy smokers, and his shoulders were permanently slumped. He chewed on his thumbnail, a nervous tick when he was deep in thought.

“No, this won’t do,” he said finally. “The Skywalkers are persistent, they fight unto the death for what they consider a family legacy, the very dignity of a name. This time it’s personal, they have nothing left to lose. And those who have nothing left to lose are particularly dangerous.”

Hux acquiesced in silence as Snoke’s gaze settled on him. The whites of his eyes were also tinged with jaundice, and his pupils appeared glazed over.

“This whole ordeal with these hippies in overalls feels like a ruse to me,” he began, ”there has to be something else at play. They knew we were going to buy out the EPA’s vote...and therein lies the key. Perhaps we have a spy in our midst. Find it, and neutralize it.”

“Understood.” Hux responded with aplomb. Then he added in a more hesitant voice, “And Ren? Where is he?”  

“Kylo Ren is exactly where I need him to be, carrying our orders on the field. Surely you don’t find that you miss him, do you?”

“No, of course not.” Hux chuckled lightly, “Evidently he’s very busy on the field.”

The madman had managed to go on tour with his crew of rabid rockers while persuading leadership that it would be an economically beneficial disguise. Meanwhile Hux had to pilot the ship from his desk and face Snoke’s wrath in person. It was typical Kylo. Even at Harvard he managed to garner the adoration of the faculty without lifting a finger.

One day he would have to explain how he was always seemingly in the right place at the right time.

Leaving Snoke’s office for his own at a brisk pace, he found the re-emerging  sunlight pleasant. There was something suffocating about the darkness that the president kept himself in all day. Hux was certainly not claustrophobic but he was glad to see the light of day again. He dialed a number on his phone and she responded immediately:

“Phasma.”

“Come to my office at once, I have a new case for you. We think there’s been an inside job. You need to get on this immediately.”

“I’m coming.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

He hung up.

It still gnawed at him. Where was Kylo? What possible mission could he be attending while the entirety of Earth Soldiers, including his own mother, were in Sacramento?

[quicksilverconnoisseur]

To celebrate Quicksilver’s return we made playlists :)

Listen to Hannibal’s playlist on Spotify

Upcoming playlists are for Bev, the series overall, plus a drawing soundtrack from @theseavoices. Find Will’s playlist here.

Track list and sleevenotes under the read more link - you can also find this on AO3 along with the rest of Quicksilver.

Set myself a real challenge with this one - how to make a playlist to illustrate Hannibal without using classical music? Very difficult indeed but I didn’t feel qualified to go down the classical route and, anyway, other people have already done it brilliantly. So instead, whenever I came across something (anything) which I thought might work, I noted it down and over a few months (not even joking) whittled them down to arrange them into this playlist. Although this is technically a playlist for the version of Hannibal who exists in Quicksilver, I find listening to it really helps me get into canon!Hannibal’s head (and I do love being in his head - not sure what that says about me D:).

I doubt you’d find any of these tracks in Hannibal’s listening history (though I think there’s a couple he’d be intrigued by). Interestingly, lyrics are few and far between - that wasn’t deliberate but I think it helps provide some of that mystery which is so essential to keep in Hannibal’s character. We should never know too much about him - he can’t be explained, after all ;)

*

The Dead Flag Blues ~ Godspeed You! Black Emperor

(Can’t believe I’m about to post a content warning for music but here I am doing it - if you’re not familiar with GY!BE you may not be expecting anything quite as bleak as this. It is ~bleak~, particularly at the beginning, and long at over 15 minutes. If you’re feeling anxious/fragile/depressed maybe listen later. But then again, maybe you’re one of those people who finds beauty and solace in bleakness no matter how you’re currently feeling, in which case crack on.) I absolutely LOVE this track and in this playlist it represents Hannibal’s initial trip through the Inferno as child and into adulthood. There is a great meta discussion post on tumblr (I can’t remember who wrote it and neither can I find it, so if anyone knows the one I mean please let me know - it’s from years back) which describes this process and goes on to say that, when Hannibal finally came out the other side, he decided to go back round again but this time on his own terms, like Alice down the rabbit hole. It has a slow bluesy-waltzy-wooziness which over time becomes a dance, an embrace of darkness; and the surprise ending with the rather childlike and made-anew sparkling melody makes me think of I happened and the moment when Hannibal fully emerges, having gained control over his life and his story. (The spoken piece at the start could also describes Will’s canon experiences with Hannibal, ending in the fall.) Amazing, a perfect fit. *chef’s kiss* 

A Summer Long Since Passed ~ Virginia Astley “The piano has the quality of a memory,” Hannibal said. With its schoolgirl-ish vocal and ringing church bells (which, if you went grew up in an English village a couple of decades ago, will probably provoke unbearable nostalgia - they always seemed to be ringing as we left school for the day), let’s just rename this track Mischa and move on. 

Birthday Song ~ The Fall Mark E. Smith and Hannibal may not naturally seem to fit together but hear me out. This is an unusually romantic piece of poetry set to music - it’s melancholic and yearning, uneasily dreamy; it echoes with voices and thoughts. For ages I thought about writing a memory palace-set fic based on the lines I am / in the next room / with you / always (I still might), and that’s enough reason on its own for me to include it here.

Helix ~ Kelly Moran Sounds like music from a deranged and beautiful clockwork machine which someone is improvising to electronically (the sound is actually made by a ‘prepared piano’ - Moran placed objects among the piano strings to create a muted, percussive sound and accompanied it with digitally processed sounds). It starts small and spirals into something huge and lush and impressive. Basically, for me, this track is the sound of Hannibal’s mind working. 

Remurdered ~ Mogwai Gets Hannibal points for the title alone, but it’s the menacing sound this playlist was missing topped off with a baroque digital-harpsichord-esque crescendo.

White Rabbit ~ Jefferson Airplane Aaaaaand we’ve circled right back around the beginning again. Prepare to re-enter the rabbit hole and see what awaits - Hannibal’s waiting to guide you, with a smile on his face and a Gladstone full of hallucinogenics. Feed your head, indeed.

[lovemesomerafael]

Best That You Can Do                Chapter 4:                                   While Mike Was Dead

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Read it on AO3

William Dodds is destroyed by the death of his son.  His devastation is so comlete that he finds himself leaning on Ingrid, of all people.  When he picks her and Matthew up from the airport, he immediately clings to her as if his very sanity depends on it.  As Mike’s mother, she alone has any hope of even approaching an understanding of the depth of William’s pain.  She ends up sitting him down to one side of the baggage claim area and holding him while he completely dissolves in her arms.  She motions for Matthew to get their bags, seeing Matthew’s embarrassment and knowing that William wouldn’t want to be this undone in front of their other son.  Their only son, now.

The funeral is the single most agonizing moment of William Dodds’s life.  He tries not to feel.  He tries to simply shut himself down so that he can hold it together in front of the gathered brass and officers, but it costs him dearly.  He ages ten years in the span of one unimaginably painful day. When it’s over, he goes home, gets as drunk as humanly possible, and sleeps for two days straight.

************

Kaitlyn is alone with her pain.  She and Eleanor can share their sadness, but only Kaitlyn knows what she’s lost.  What she’s thrown away.  She has no right to grieve, but tell that to her heart.  The only thing worse than her grief is her aching, crushing guilt.  She could have made his last days happy.  Instead, she’d…  She can’t even get close to thinking about that yet.  

She goes to his funeral. Of course she does; she’s Mike’s father’s right-hand man, and she’s expected to support the Chief in his time of loss.  What she can’t do is acknowledge that it’s her loss, too.  To anyone.  Because she doesn’t deserve to.  The sea of uniforms, the somber beauty of the honors done a fallen officer, would have hurt her soul anyway.  But standing there, pretending to be a casual acquaintance, reeling with emotions she can’t begin to understand, she feels as though she’s polluting the ceremony.  She feels as though she killed Mike herself.

Afterward, she feels duty bound to say some word of comfort to Mike’s squad and his Lieutenant.  She’d rather be tossed naked into a live volcano, but she does it anyway.  For Mike.

“Lieutenant Benson, I’m Kaitlyn Myers, from Chief Dodds’s staff-“

“Of course.  We’ve met.  I remember.”

“I just wanted to give you my condolences.  I’m very sorry for your loss.  And your squad’s.”

“Thank you.  It’s a loss for the whole Department.  He’s irreplaceable.”  Olivia Benson isn’t crying, but she isn’t not crying, either.  Kaitlyn is glad for Mike that he has good people, who treated him well, to shed honest tears for him.

“Yes, he is.  He’s fortunate to have a Lieutenant who recognizes his worth.”

Lieutenant Benson swallows hard and nods.

“Kaitlyn, I don’t know if you remember me, I’m Sonny Carisi,” says the officer next to Benson, reaching out a hand for Kaitlyn to shake and pulling her a bit to the side.  

“I remember,” she says.  Carisi’s not a man you forget.  “Mike talked about you.  You were close.  I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.”  Sonny leans down a little and steps forward so that he can speak too quietly for anyone else to hear.  “We talked about you, too.  He really liked you.”

Kaitlyn feels gut-punched.  She can’t know it, but she looks gut-punched, too, which makes Sonny immediately regret saying anything.

“I didn’t make that very easy,” she whispers.  She’s biting the inside of her mouth to keep from crying.

Sonny pulls her further away from the knot of people around the squad.  “C’mon. You can’t blame yourself for that. He, uh, told us what happened. What the problem was.”

“The whole squad?”  Kaitlyn squeaks.

“No, no, just me and my husband.  In confidence.  He was just lookin’ for some advice how to make things work with you.”

“Shit…”  Kaitlyn wipes tears, and Sonny hands her a tissue.  His kindness makes her cry harder.

“Listen to me.  If you’re beating yourself up because you think you made him unhappy just before… Don’t.  You couldn’t know.  And you need what you need.  Besides, he might have been miserable, but he wasn’t unhappy.  If you know what I mean.  We all enjoy a little romantic challenge.”

Carisi’s slight grin, and the muted glint in his eye, make Kaitlyn think his husband is a very lucky man.  She also thinks he’s about the nicest guy she’s ever met for saying these things, untrue as they are.  

“Thank you, Detective.”

“Sonny.”

“Sonny.”  

“Coming with us to the wake?  I’ll buy you a drink.”

“No.  Thank you, but I don’t feel like I even belong here.  I certainly don’t belong there.”

“The hell you don’t. Come.”

Kaitlyn shakes her head sadly.  “I can’t.  But thank you.  Thank you for everything.  And again, I’m truly sorry you lost a friend.”

“So did you.  Don’t think I don’t know that.”  

There’s a wet spot from Kaitlyn’s tears on Sonny’s lapel after he hugs her.  Not a perfunctory hug, either.  He gives her a tight, full-contact, several second hug that says more than his words ever could that he doesn’t blame her for the things she did to Mike.  No wonder Mike was close to this guy.

She turns to go, and finds herself face to face with a good-looking, dark-haired man standing right behind her.  She stammers an apology and moves to go around him.

“This is Kaitlyn, Rafael.  Make her come to the wake.”  

As Kaitlyn turns to look at Sonny, he nods to her and steps back into the impromptu receiving line that’s formed around the SVU squad.  She turns back to the man he’s just called Rafael. “I, uh…”

“The squad is riding together in a limo.  I’ll take you in my car,” he says.  He has a bedroom voice and there’s a deep kindness in his eyes. Something clicks and Kaitlyn realizes this must be ADA Rafael Barba, Sonny Carisi’s husband.

“Thank you, that’s very kind, but I really can’t.”

Kaitlyn starts to mumble some garbled nonsense about having to get going, but it slows down and sputters out as Rafael simply looks at her with a vaguely amused smirk.  

“What?”  She finally asks.

“Ms. Myers, Detective Carisi just asked me to bring you to the wake. Which means you’re coming if I have to put you in the trunk.”  

Kaitlyn blinks for a few seconds.  She can’t help but smile a little at that.  “His wish is your command?”

“Something like that.”

**************

Chief Dodds wakes up on the morning of the third day after his son’s funeral, puts on his suit, and goes to work.  He tells himself that, although he’s broken now, he still has to do the job.  People are depending on him.  

It’s his anger that gets him moving.  Somewhere in the fog of the last two days, he’s cried himself out. Not that he won’t still cry over losing Mike – he will – but he’s sobbed out the first, overflowing shocked sadness. Now comes the long, draining melancholy. But another emotion has bloomed inside him as he slept.  Rage. He’s mad at the entire world.  He hates that they’re all just getting on with things, as if the gaping hole Mike’s left in the world doesn’t make everything else completely fucking useless and meaningless.

When he gets to the office, the first thing he sees is the pity on Eleanor’s face.  He practically snarls at her to knock it the hell off.  

“We’re not gonna be sitting around here like it’s a morgue. We still have a job to do.  Pull yourself together.”

She actually physically flinches, and the only thing he feels is a tiny twinge of satisfaction.  He wants to hurt people.  He wants to break things and howl in anguish and tear the planet apart.  And when he gets to his office and sees Kaitlyn there, doing some damn pointless thing with files full of worthless bullshit, he sees red. Look at her, fucking bustling around like he didn’t just bury his son.  Like she didn’t spend the last weeks of Mike’s life slapping him across the face and stomping his heart.

“Get out,” Dodds spits.  He doesn’t think.  He doesn’t hesitate a second.  He’s not even all the way in his office yet when he starts firing at her like he’s a belt-fed automatic weapon.  

She turns around and looks stunned.  “I-“

“Get out.  Get your things and get out.  I never want to see your face again.  I can’t fire you, although you better believe that’s what I’d do if I could.  But you’re out of here as of now and you’re on administrative leave until I can find a place to stuff you.”

“Sir-“

“Who the fuck do you think you are?  I’ll tell you who.  You’re no one!  You’re nothing!  You’re a fucking ice queen, a conceited bitch who was never anywhere near good enough for my son, yet you thought you had the right to -   Why are you just standing there?  Get your lousy ass out of my office!”

“Sir, I-“

“Get OUT!”  Dodds screams, and gets another little zing of terrible satisfaction at the fear on her face.  An evil, bloody part of him enjoys the way she scurries out of his office like a kicked dog.  He’s crying again, but it’s only a few hot, furious tears that are quickly dried. Until this moment, he hadn’t realized just how deeply he abhors that woman.  He makes a note to ensure she gets transferred to the worst posting he can find.  One where her career will wither on the vine and she’ll never be heard from again, the cold-hearted cunt.  

************

Six Months Later:

Kaitlyn’s standing behind her supervisor, watching her demonstrate yet another bloated, redundant process she insists Kaitlyn follow.  It seems like she senses Chief Dodds just before he enters the huge room, his meticulously-coiffed head visible above the walls of a field of cubicles.  She tries to hide.  She bends her head down and leans in, quickly thinking of questions to ask that will let her stay concealed behind the walls of her supervisor’s cube until he’s gone.

Except that he’s there for her.  She hasn’t seen or spoken to him since the day he fired her – technically, it was a transfer, but they both know what it was – and when she learns he’s there for her, she’s terrified.  She’s still raw and bleeding from the things he said to her that day. Mostly that’s because she was already saying those things to herself and she hasn’t stopped since.  It’s been a rough six months since Mike died.

What’s weird is that, when they get into the conference room he’s commandeered, there are tears in his eyes as he kindly asks her to sit down. It’s a very small conference room, with a little round table and four chairs, and no room for anything else.  Kaitlyn starts to shake.  She has absolutely no idea what’s coming, but she knows in her bones she’s about to get knocked down again.  She sighs.  She deserves it.  She actually hopes it gives the Chief a little bit of comfort.  She’s always cared about him, and she’s never held what he did against him.  She’d have done the same thing.  Maybe she wouldn’t have come back half a year later to kick her some more, but whatever he needs.  She’s not going to fight it.  It’s no more than she deserves.

“Kaitlyn, I – would you like some coffee?  Let’s have some coffee.  That might make this easier.”  The Chief opens the door to the conference room and stops the first person he sees. He tells them to bring two cups of coffee as though they’re all there to cater to him, with no more pressing work. Kaitlin feels a little glow, like long-banked coals being blown into life.  He hasn’t changed.  

He takes a few awkward steps around, like he’s got a ton of impounded energy and it’s hard for him to be still.  He does a weird head-shake, then reaches out and takes the back of a chair to pull it out.  He sits, and he looks directly into Kaitlyn’s face.  She tries to face him as bravely as she can.

“How have you been?”  His tone is kind again, like he hopes she’s been enjoying the Siberia to which he sentenced her.

“Fine, Sir.  Thank you for asking.  How are you?”

He laughs a little and shakes his head.  “No, Kait.  I’m really asking.  Have you been OK here?  It hasn’t been so bad?”

“It’s fine, Sir.  What we do is important.  Somebody has to be able to find these files when they’re needed for an appeal.  We’re keeping criminals behind bars, where they belong.”  She straightens her shoulders and sits up a little.  She hates it here, and she knows he knows that.  It’s why he sent her here.  But she’s still going to do the best job she can, and she still cares enough about his opinion of her that she wants him to know that.

“Yeah,” he says, almost to himself.  “I deserved that.”

“Sir?”

The woman he stopped knocks softly with her elbow on the glass of the conference room door.  The Chief gets up and lets her in.  She sets the cups of black coffee down on the table and leaves as quickly as she can.  Chief Dodds and Kaitlyn both take a sip of the semi-hot coffee.  

“That’s terrible,” he says, actually smiling at her.  “Just the way I like it.”

Huh.  That’s confusing. He’s making a little joke they used to make to each other about the ubiquitous, consistently awful coffee in the NYPD.    

He must see her confusion, because he sets down his cup and leans in.  “Kaitlyn, I have a lot to say to you.  But it all has to start with an apology.  I was lost when Mike died.  I felt like there was nothing good or meaningful in the world.  And I was so damn angry.  Angry at Munson, angry at fate, or God, or whatever.  Even angry at Mike for trying to be a hero, as if that wasn’t just who he was.  Who I raised him to be.  And I took that out on you.  I’m sorry, Kaitlyn.  I lashed out at you because you were there.  You were convenient.  I fucked up, and I hurt you because I was hurting so bad myself.  And I am very, very sorry.”

Kaitlyn sits, stunned, feeling the warmth as she cradles the paper coffee cup and just looks at the Chief.  Her mind is an absolute blank.  “You lost your son, Sir.  You’re entitled.”

He smiles at that and looks down at the table.  “Do you know, I actually predicted that you would say that?  You probably even believe it, which I don’t deserve.”

“Let’s not talk about ‘deserve’, Sir.  I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell don’t want what I deserve.”  All of Kaitlyn’s bitter guilt comes out in those words.  Dodds’s head snaps up.

“No, Kaitlyn.”

“Sir?”

“That’s why I’m here.  To right a wrong.  I said… Well, we both remember what I said. But I was wrong, and I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.  And I sent you here, to the ass end of the Department, and that was wrong.  Because you didn’t deserve it.” He gives her a meaningful look as he emphasizes the word, and holds up a hand when she starts to protest.  “Don’t argue with me.  I know what was going on with you and Mike.  He told me.  And I understand.  Even if I didn’t know your father, which I do, I’d still say you didn’t deserve what I did.  Who am I to tell you not to protect yourself?  Anyway, that’s all water under the bridge.  I’m here to get you out of here.”

Kaitlyn’s mind again blanks.  She treats the Chief to a look of almost comical confusion.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve paid for my stupidity. The office is a wreck.  Well, that’s not quite accurate.  I’ve got a hell of a good staff, and they’re keeping it going. It’s me.  I’m the wreck.  I can’t function without you.  I need you back.  And what’s more, I want you back.  It’s done, all I have to do is say the word, but…  I’m not going to order you back.  In fact, I’m offering to do whatever I can to get you placed wherever you want to go.  I mean it when I say I’m sorry, and I’ll make it up to you as best I can.  But I’m really, really hoping you’ll forgive the stupid mistakes of a grief-stricken old man and come back to my office.  Please.”

Kaitlyn is actually a little concerned that she might have become paralyzed somehow.  She’s entirely unable to move or speak.  The problem is that her ability to think has returned with a vengeance.  Now she’s thinking so many things, so fast, that she can’t catch any of her thoughts for long enough to try to follow one from beginning to end.  Her expression changes like a kaleidoscope as she wrestles to focus.  

“You need time.  I should’ve expected that.  You can have it.  Of course. I’ll give you as long as you need. You just-“

“Yes.”

“-call me when you’ve made…”  It takes a second for what she’s said to register.  “Yes?”

“Yes.  If you mean it.  Yes.”

“I do.  I mean it. I’ll take you with me today. Now.  Just get your things-“

“You can’t just tear me out of my chair, Sir.  I’m in the middle of some things.  Sergeant Cox would be really inconvenienced.”

“And you care about that?”

“Not in the least,” Kaitlyn hears herself say, a tiny grin beginning to twist her lips as she begins to dare to believe the Chief.  “But I care about the rest of the team.  Can you give me until the end of the week?”

“Of course.  Of course. And if you want to take some time off in between, that’s-“

“No, Sir.  I don’t want to give you time to change your mind.”

He smiles at that.  “I’m not going to change my mind, Kait.  I meant every word I said.  And, by the way, you’re getting a raise.  ‘Words are cheap, show me the money,’ right?  Heard you say that a million times.  So I am.”

He stands as he says that, so she hesitantly follows.  She isn’t prepared for him to bear-hug her, and doesn’t plan to burst into tears, but that’s what happens.  When he speaks, she realizes he’s crying, too.

“Kait, I’m so sorry.  I screwed up.  But I’ll make it up to you.  I swear.”

“You didn’t screw up.  You did what you had to do at the time.  Just, please, be serious about this.”

“I would never play you like that, Kait.  I’m completely serious.  First thing Monday, you’ll be back in the office and then everything will be all right again.”

Not everything, Kaitlyn thinks, but as long as she really gets to go back where she belongs, at least things will be better.  

“Will you do me one tiny favor?”  Kaitlyn dares to ask.

“Anything.  Name it.”

“Can I be the one to tell Sergeant Cox?”  

“I don’t think I like that evil gleam in your eye, Kaitlyn.”  Chief Dodds gives an actual belly laugh, and Kaitlyn’s whole world gets brighter in that moment.

“Neither will Sergeant Cox.  It’s been a long six months.”

“God help her.  Go ahead.”

****************

Five Months Later:

Things still aren’t quite right in the Chief’s office. Kaitlyn thinks her replacement might have been a reflection of the Chief’s grief, because for the life of her she can’t see why he’d thought the guy was qualified.  That might be sour grapes, of course, because the guy completely reorganized the computer filing system and Kaitlyn spent her first months back in the office fixing his “improvements” so that they can find things again.  Kaitlyn secretly has little sympathy for the other members of the Chief’s staff, since they’d let the guy do it.  But she keeps that to herself.  

She’s happy.  She always loved this job, but now she knows how lucky she really is.  And things have changed subtly between her and the Chief. He’s finally stopped apologizing to her every five minutes and going out of his way to do things for her; they’re back to their comfortable rhythm and she’s back to doing things for him, which is her actual job, after all.  But now that they’re back to normal, it’s clear that they have a deep, real relationship that goes beyond their work relationship.  It’s nice.  It feels more like father and daughter than employer and employee.  And why wouldn’t it?  He’s lost the only child he got to raise.  He’s got love to give, and no one to give it to now that Mike’s dead.  That thought makes Kaitlyn sad for Chief Dodds.  She’s stopped trying to deny how sad she is for herself.  Still.

She hasn’t even looked at another man since Mike died. He wasn’t even hers, she’d made sure of that, but she knows now what she missed.  She also knows what a complete, unmitigated idiot she was.  Susan Eisenberg’s been all over the tabloids with the lead singer of a rock band.  Or ex-lead singer, because she’s managed to alienate the band members from him, and the news is all about how the band broke up because of her possessiveness.  Kaitlyn hopes Mike can look down from Heaven and have a nice, smug “I told you so”.    

The thing is, she keeps comparing every guy she meets to Mike. She’s well aware that she’s probably making him perfect in her memory, remembering him as much taller, sexier, better-looking and more fun than he really was.  But she can’t help it.  Maybe because she works with his father every day, Kaitlyn’s having a hard time getting over Mike.  If she’s honest, she’s having a hard time wanting to get over Mike.  

It’s late on a Tuesday afternoon when the Chief appears in Kaitlyn’s office doorway.  She’s never seen the look he has on his face, and she’s instantly concerned about him. When he speaks, though, he’s trying to keep from smiling.  And he’s failing.  He reminds Kaitlyn of a man who’s just learned he’s about to be a father.

“Listen, I’d like you to knock off early, if you would. There’s something I need you to do for me, and I need you to come over to the apartment.”

“Sure,” she agrees.  That’s not such an unusual request, so it’s clearly not what’s making the Chief look so weird.  “Now?”

“Now.”

“What am I gonna need?”

“Uh,” the Chief really does look strange, and at this moment he appears to be struggling to wrap his brain around the very routine question.  “Your tablet, I guess.  Nothing else.”

“You’re the boss.”

They engage in small talk as a driver takes them to Chief Dodds’s apartment.  Kaitlyn loves it there.  It’s huge by New York City standards, and the Chief has either excellent taste or a very talented decorator.  As soon as they walk in, she’s enveloped by the quiet, and the sense of comfortable luxury. It’s maybe a little masculine for her, but it’s beautiful.  She knows he has a little bit of family money, and she thinks some of it must have gone toward this place.  She’d have done the same.

She’s surprised when he offers her a glass of wine.  When she’d first come to work for the Chief, he had offered her drinks, but apologized for not being able to offer her anything alcoholic.  He said it was skirting professionalism to work in his apartment anyway, and he made it a rule never to drink in that situation.  She agreed completely.  But here he was, offering her wine.

“Don’t we have a no-drinking rule?”

The Chief takes a deep breath and begins to uncork the bottle, despite what she’s just said.  Vague alarm bells begin to sound.  He’s not going to make a pass at her.  She knows that for a fact.  But something’s going on, and he thinks she needs to have a drink on board to deal with it. Shit.

“We do.  But I have some news, and it’s…  I hope you’ll trust me on this.  I think you’ll need it.”

“OK, now you’re scaring me.”

“It’s actually good news.  But it’s not gonna feel that way at first.  It’s not gonna feel bad-“ he hastens to add as he sees her tense up, even from across the room.  “It’s just gonna be a lot.  And confusing, and you’ll probably be pissed, and…”  He stops what he’s doing and looks hard at her.  “Just trust me.”

“I think I need a drink already, just from the preamble.  Just give me the news quickly.  Please?  I don’t like surprises.  You know that.”

“I do.  I absolutely do, and I’m sorry.  This is gonna be a big one.”

“Chief.  Stop.  I’m in full-on freak out now.  Just tell me.”

He’s holding two very full glasses of red wine as he crosses the room.  He hands her one and sits on a chair at an angle to the one she’s sitting in.  

“L’chaim,” he says, unknowingly reminding her painfully of the day she’d met Mike and they’d shared that toast over glasses of Dalmore.  

“L’chaim,” she echoes, and softly clinks his proffered glass.  “Now tell me what the hell’s going on.”

“When that’s half gone,” he says, pointing to her drink.  

“Chief-“

“Just trust me.”

“Fuck.”  She takes a healthy slug, which is an insult to the excellent Nebbiolo he’s given her. She very rarely drops F-bombs in front of the Chief, and she hopes it lets him know she’s hating every second of this.  

He talks a little bit about Mike then, which distracts her a little.  They rarely talk about him.  Even though they’ve forgiven each other, Mike is still a minefield of a subject between them. It’s a story about Mike as a small boy, and it’s adorable.  The Chief’s smiling fondly.  It’s nice to see him be able to talk about Mike without the haunted, tortured look he used to have.  By the time he’s done with that story, and another about the time Mike worked in a bar in Hell’s Kitchen for a while after returning from the Army, they’re halfway through their glasses of wine.  It’s time. Kaitlyn holds her glass up and wiggles it a little.

“Yeah.  All right.” The Chief says, squaring his shoulders, then leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.  He’s not looking at Kaitlyn.  He’s not even really looking at the floor where his eyes are aimed.

“Mike planned to transfer to the Joint Terrorism Task Force at some point.  He wanted to be part of the fight to protect the country.”

“You told me that.”

“He didn’t get the chance to do that, exactly.”

“Exactly?  Is your news something about Mike?”

Dodds doesn’t answer, just goes on with what he’s saying. “He didn’t get the chance to go to JTTF because Homeland Security came and got him first.  They saw their chance and they took it.”

“When was this?  You never told me about this.”

“I never told you because it was eleven months ago.”

Kaitlyn blinks and squints, shaking her head to convey that she doesn’t understand.

“Eleven months ago, Kaitlyn.  When they told us he died.”

The bottom dropping out of Kaitlyn’s stomach is extremely unpleasant, but not as bad as the hot lightning that begins to burn at her skin. She feels what he was telling her before she thinks it.  “When they told us he died…”

“It wasn’t true.  He was taken to Bethesda to finish recovering from his gunshot.  There was no stroke.  But they let us think there was.  They let me think there was.  And his mother, and his brother…”

Ooh.  Clearly, the Chief has some feelings about that.  That’s going to be interesting to Kaitlyn when she can get her mind to quit flipping around like an old VHS tape with tracking problems.  

“Six months ago, some little douchebag from the State Department came to see me.  He told me that my son was alive.  He apologized for the pain they’d caused, and had the balls to thank me for my ‘sacrifice’, like I’d been given any fucking choice.  He explained that everyone had to grieve normally.  It was part of Mike’s ‘legend’, the cover story so no one would identify him.  The little prick used enough damned spy buzzwords to choke a horse.”

“Holy…  Chief…” Kaitlyn is now three-quarters of the way through her wine, and planning to ask for more.

“Yeah.  The only good thing, the only good thing about that meeting was that the little State Department fuck had some kind of secure phone with him, and I got to talk to Mike.  Or rather, Mike talked.  I cried.”

“Of course you did.  Shit,” Kaitlyn whispers.  

For a minute, Chief Dodds doesn’t say anything.  He watches Kaitlyn try to begin to process the information he’s just given her, and when she drinks the last of her wine, silently goes to the kitchen and refills their glasses.  He hands hers, as full as before, to her with an open look on his face. Kaitlyn takes it and slumps against the back of her chair.  She drinks for a few more silent moments.

“They let you believe your son was dead.  For six months.  They let you bury him.  Mourn him. Our government did that to you. On purpose.”

“Yeah, but at least they thanked me for my sacrifice,” he spits bitterly.  “Apparently, the feds aren’t really big on worrying about individuals.  They’re more big picture kind of people.  That’s another bit of wisdom I got from the State Department guy.”

“Fuck.”

“But you’re missing the point.  Kaitlyn.  Mike is alive.”

She looks into his eyes.  She has absolutely no idea how to even begin to deal with any of this, except for one thing. The only thing that matters.  “Where is he?”

“Here.  Not in this apartment, but here in New York.”

“I want to see him.”  Suddenly, that is all Kaitlyn wants.

That makes the Chief smile.  “He wants to see you.”

She actually sets her glass down on a side table and stands. “Let’s go.”

He laughs quietly.  “Finish your drink.  I learned that there are guidelines for how to do this.  You need some time to ‘process’.  Time to ‘adjust’.  That’s a quote.  There’s a fucking manual for this shit, if you can believe that.”

“Sir, I want to see Mike.  I want to see him now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.  And you will.  Just not tonight.”