#also no i will not apologize for the pseudonyms i gave them

[here2bbtstrash]

as promised, here it is: The Big Life Update Post (aka m where the hell have u been and what the hell is going on with this blog)

TLDR: went thru it, came out better for it, i love y'all. and we're getting back into this writing thing as i have the time and capacity 🥳

2023 has been a bit of a whirlwind, to put it very mildly. while the first three months started off relatively smoothly, my saturn return began in the middle of march. only a few short weeks after that... well, i'd basically say everything went off the fucking rails.

content warning: drama talk incoming ft. extremely brief mentions of racism and racist hate mail (no specific details shared).

i haven't spoken on this yet since everything happened, and i want to be explicitly clear that i won't be speaking on it further after this post. but i just want you to understand where i've been at since april.

i will own it entirely and say: i fucked up. i put content in a story that i shouldn't have, that i had no business speaking on, and i think people were well within their right to call me out on it, one hundred percent. however, after i went offline at the end of april, my friends ended up learning that the person who initially stirred up all of the "tea", and submitted the first several anonymous posts about me to a hate blog, was actually someone i knew well and considered a friend.

this was someone whose stories i gladly beta'd, someone i consoled through multiple hard moments in their life, someone i actually even met in person. yep. this was also someone who had read the chapter of my story that featured the problematic content when it was released, and proceeded to send me paragraphs upon paragraphs of how much they enjoyed it, and the story as a whole. this is not to say that people can't change their minds on content after sitting with it, not at all. but to think that i had been through so much with this person, done so much to be there for them, and that they never once gave me any reason to think we were anything other than close friends. yet ultimately, they didn't feel they could come directly to me... or find quite literally any other way of dealing with the issue?

instead, they chose to send multiple messages about me to a hate blog, as well as hateful anons to several of my friends, thinking that we wouldn't know it was them (we did). not only that, but their actions encouraged an actual torrent of racist hate mail to be sent to all of my non-white friends who publicly chose to support me. ultimately, they ended up admitting all of this, and still, they never once apologized or showed even a single iota of remorsefulness or responsibility for the onslaught of vitriol they incited. (even though, you know, this whole thing was supposedly about how racism is bad.)

and this user is still on the platform, operating under a new blog name and pseudonym. so. that's fun. 💀

i don't say this to beat a dead horse, or to drum up sympathy, because i promise i don't want it. it's been long enough, i understand the mistakes i made, and i've done my part to take accountability for my actions. but i needed to start this post here to have you all understand where i was at the end of april - just in time for yoongi's tour 🤪 - in many ways, i felt like i had no friends, at least none that i could really trust. i felt unsure who might have been acting one way to my face, perhaps even praising me, but talking different about me behind my back. and it was beyond fucking nervewracking to think that i would be meeting so many friends IRL for the first time, quite literally days after what essentially felt like a public execution.

i wasn't doing well, to say the least.

and then... the funniest thing happened.

y'all showed the fuck up for me. in droves. in a way that i have quite literally never experienced in my lifetime and doubt i ever will again. even recounting it now is lowkey giving me chills. i received, literally, yes i counted, hundreds of DMs from the most incredibly kind people- on tumblr, on twitter, on discord, in AO3 comments. the vast majority of you wrote paragraphs: about what my stories have meant to you, about how you found my blog to be a safe space in the noise of the world, about how much you'd enjoyed our time together here. so many of you said something along the lines of "even if you never come back here again, please keep writing". honestly, for like a week straight all i could do was read my DMs and cry and cry and cry.

i didn't receive a single hateful DM. not one.

as if that alone isn't more blessings than i deserve in an entire lifetime, i also, you know. saw five shows of agust d on tour. (my credit card is still recovering.) spent two of the best nights of my life in pit getting a water bottle baptism and screaming myself hoarse. and met dozens of incredible moots, who held me when i cried, scream-laughed with me, and of course, drank plenty of booze with me.

at a time where i wondered to myself if i even had a single true friend in this fandom (or, like, in the world), you all showed me that i had so much more. that we had so much more-- we had a community. and i believe we still do. and i am more than ready to block out all the shit that doesn't matter and get back to having some fun around here.

in short: thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. if you sent me a sweet word, i promise you, i read it (and probably cried lmao). i wouldn't be doing any of this without you. i will never ever deserve all the love that you have shown me. but for as long as you'll have me, i'd love to have a fun stupid horny time in this little corner of the internet. as a part of our community. what a fucking gift it is. 🫶

phew. okay, so- that was april and may. it's november. what the fuck happened?

i knew i wanted to properly take time to get my head on straight before i found my way back to writing. what i wasn't expecting was to 1. fall in love, 2. get a new job, and 3. move myself and my cat approximately 800 miles across the country... but yeah, since the end of may, those 3 things are exactly what i've been doing!

i won't talk too much about my partner here, because our relationship is important enough to me that i want to keep it largely private, but my god. he is the most incredible human. i can't tell you how much of what i wrote out as silly little daydreams in my fanfiction has somehow manifested itself into this very real human being (like, it's kinda crazy lmao 🙈). i'm grateful for him every single day. and what makes it even more special is that we met for the first time in person while i was traveling for yoongi's tour - yep! he saw me going through so much upheaval, and fell for me all the same. just another thing i will never fully believe i deserve. but goddamn do i feel luckyyyyy 🥰

and in addition to my amazing partner (and in part because of him but honestly i had plans to move before i had even met this man it just happened to work out okay 🙄) i have also finally managed to do what i've been planning for the last year and a half, which is move my ass out of the southern suburbs where i'd been for nearly a decade, and to a ✨walkable city that actually has public transit✨ - what a fucking dream. i may have only been here 8 days, and i may not have much more to my name than my cat, my TV, and my mattress, but i swear to god, i've never been this happy in my entire life.

so yeah. exhale. like i said, it's been quite the year.

now i do want to end this with a small caveat, which is to say, i can't make a promise as to how much i can *be* here (particularly not compared to how terminally online i used to be lmao). i spent a lot of time online because i was unhappy and feeling very stuck with where i was in life, and i needed escapism, bad. now, i've finally gotten to a place where i'm excited to go out of my house and do things, but i still want to make intentional time for tumblr as a form of connection and community, and writing as a form of creative expression. these things are really important to me!!! i just ask that you give me some grace if i'm a little slow on the uptake. i promise i'm still here 🥰

and writing is gonna happen!!! i can't say much more than that, because tbh i haven't so much as opened a google doc since april, but i've been itching to get back to it. maybe.... we might start off....... with some........... drabble requests??? 👀 we'll see we'll see we'll see hehe.

in any case, i think that's more than enough for now 🤪 oh how i've missed babbling to you all, the gay people in my phone. i hope you're well, and if ya feel so inclined, i'd love it if you'd send me a comment or a DM on what you've been up to in the many months it's been since we've spoke! what's new in your life? what are we manifesting??

talk so so soon, eeeeee~ i'm so happy to be back~ love you babes!!! 🤍

[harfanfare]

How to win a heart of Floyd Leech?

a/n: Someone requested this; ask got deleted by accident! Hope you will like it, Anon!

Warning!

Once you start walking through the specific points of the guide, your life will be exposed to the presence of Floyd Leech. Interrupting the action at one of the stages may cause many problems; F. Leech categorizes stopping as "boring", which puts the user of this guide in great danger.

The only way out is to get to the very end. Or not to start at all.

You act at your own risk.

‏‏‎ ��‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

‏‏‎ 

1.   Be an easy new target.

To one’s surprise, it is much harder not to catch his attention.

You can easily become another entertaining target of Floyd, mostly by doing silly things or him just considering them as ones.

And to automatically get labelled as “silly”, you just need to fall into one of his traps—he prepares them for someone else, maybe for goldfish, maybe for another person given a sea-inspired nickname, expecting to enjoy watching how familiar face twitches with terror as he jumps into the scene and tightly embraces passing student.

But no. You were the one who showed up in the wrong place and time as Floyd jumped out from his hideout, scaring you half to death. With a strangled yelp, you sharply backed away. After gaining a slight flush on your cheeks, you recognised who you just bumped into and quietly gasped.

However, he was much more bewildered than you were.

He had never encountered somebody who wouldn’t just freeze under his touch. Jumping away, gasping, muttering half-hearted apologies and flushing? That’s new.

That’s also entertaining.

Even after your quickly disappearance from the scene, his gaze somehow inexplicably started returning to you.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2.   Visit Mostro Lounge often.

“We’re looking for someone who would like to work part-time for Azul~” Floyd said, sliding poster across the table. He popped up in front of you unannounced, having your thoughts return to dark reality.

“Oh,” you replied quietly, packing your things faster. “Good luck with it.”

You got up from your seat, but the thought of letting you go just like that didn’t even cross Floyd’s mind.

“Ehh? Shrimpy, aren’t you going to try?” he asked, frowning. You winced a little at the nickname he called you, not sure how to feel about it. “You know, you won’t work there for free.”

Azul will grant your wish.

You fidgeted a little, questioning your response. You heard—who didn’t?—rumours that Octavinelle leader could fulfil any request for a certain price. Ones were working for it, others were paying, and lasts were trading their request with Azul’s one.

The thought of having anything just by working in some café made you consider the offer again—this time quickier.

“I will go,” you decided.

“Hooray!” Floyd smiled cheerfully, just as if he won some grand prize in the lottery. “But what could Shrimpy possibly wish for, to change your response so drastically~?” he wondered but didn’t get any answer in return.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3.   Be honest.

“Shrimpy...”

You passed Floyd, without sparing him a look. Anyone who has known you for a while would notice that your movements were a bit stiff and creaky.

Once you heard Floyd’s voice, a wave of tiredness struck you as if you didn’t get any sleep last night after working your shift in Mostro Lounge.

There were so many people to serve, so many things to do... and yet, you couldn’t help with anything, still not knowing how everything works, messing up with orders and breaking some plates in process.

Floyd buzzing around you, asking you some random questions (“Shrimpy, have you done it before?”). You answered them quickly, but each of them bumped you out of rhythm, making you forget what you were doing. It also didn’t help that Floyd certainly liked you being disoriented, replying with a shrug and grin on his face at your thundering glances.

So now, after gaining a little trauma from working in Octavinelle’s café, all you could do is ignore Floyd’s presence, silently accusing him of your infamous fiasco.

“Hey, Shrimpy!” he called you again, catching you up. “Are you mad?”

“I am not mad,” you snapped and took an unstable breath. “Look, I just started working, and on my first day I made already so many mistakes—”

“Yeah,” he replied indifferently. “And what with that?”

“...I couldn’t even correctly serve drinks—”

“Oh, stop!” Floyd muffled your mouth with his hand, an annoying look on his face. “I know where it is going. And no, you can’t quit a job, after all my efforts to get you there. It will get boring again!”

“But—”

“Stop, stop, stop,” he corrected his hand on your mouth, now not letting even a sound get through his fingers. “Azul knows that you tried your best. And for these plates you broke, he already added them to your paycheck. You need to practice! Not to give up, Shrimpy!”

You looked up at him, quite stunned by these words. Perhaps he quoted someone from the book or heard someone talking like that...

But it was encouraging. In some way, considering that you couldn’t protest, having your mouth covered. But still, it was encouraging.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4.   Take classes together.

You can have the power of controlling Floyd’s behaviour, making other students’ life easier. Or you two can be a walking disaster.

Turning alchemy lesson into putting random ingredients into a boiler and praying that the mysterious mixture won’t explode.

History classes started being a regular pinching ritual to keep yourself from falling asleep (you are being pinched more, even when you don’t feel sleepy).

In contrast, flying lessons are peaceful. Nor Jade, nor Floyd, nor Azul are fond of these classes. Floyd is much eager to stand both feet on the ground, watching you practice or having you sulking next to him about heights.

However, if you are a calm, shy, or tranquil person, exchanging little notes or drawings will be a little habit of yours. Handing them discreetly under the eye of sir Crewel is quite a challenge, but it also gives satisfaction once the note was given.

Floyd throws away most of your paper conversations, but the ones he really likes, he cherishes them by keeping them with him, stuffed in his pockets. He will be irritated if anyone would like to see what you two were writing about, even if the talk was about new strawberries delivery for the new recipe.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5.   Being ticklish or not.

There are two possible scenarios, whether his new, lovely target is ticklish or not.

If is: prepare for being touched a lot. Observing how you quiver with surprise, when he lightly—he especially makes his touch less fierce, knowing very well that tickling isn’t violent—wraps his hands around your waist, making you hold your breath.

He would tickle you a lot, very often making you cry out of laugh and pain that follows sharp writhing and fidgeting, but never that much, to seriously upset you. That’s some luck in such unlucky situation.

If not: he will try to find other weak point. Or will try to make you ticklish—his hands are particularly cold and pressing them to your warm skin, might make you give him a reaction he would enjoy.

Albeit, if you also won’t return any expression even then, he will seriously search for some other weakness. Slightly biting an ear lobe, whispering next to your ear or anything that could make his smile appear, once he made you put him somewhere between “I despise you with each and every cell” and abstract mumbling with the heat on your checks.

Oh, he loves your reactions so much.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6.   Learn all nicknames he gave other people (you will unlock an option to slightly dish other people).

“Oh Lord...” you muttered to yourself, as your gaze followed scribbled list of names that Jade just passed to you. He willingly connected all student’s names with pseudonyms Floyd gave other people and handed the roaster over to you once you helped him with some kitchen cleaning.

“There are so many, right?” Jade replied with a polite smile on his face. “I’m sure you already memorised some of them, being around Floyd that much.”

You nodded mindlessly as you tried to get names into your head. You mouthed them soundlessly one by one, motivated to learn them by the end of the week.

The chuckle that escaped Jade’s lips startled you, and you realised that he still was in the room. Or that you didn’t leave the Lounge even after your shift has already ended.

“My brother surely didn’t exaggerate anything about you,” he said, his tone a bit more buoyant than ever, although you couldn’t be sure as the thick air of mystery still echoed in his voice. “I wonder how it will finally end?”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7.   Always share your takoyaki with him.

“What are you hiding, Shrimpy?”

You shuddered at a voice that you did not want to hear at this moment, not for all the world. Unless that the world included a chest filled with takoyaki, which you could give to certain somebody.

You felt that instead of a shashlik of tasty balls, you were holding a knife in your hands, a veritable proof of a crime you had committed. It weighed heavily in your grip, and Floyd's approaching footsteps did not make your situation any better.

It was a time to hide the evidence.

You pushed as much as you could into your mouth and swallowed a few balls without even gnawing them much. You almost choked on them.

“Me? I?” you asked innocently. You sincerely hoped that no sauce or a stray piece of cake was left on your face. “What could I possibly hide?”

"Hmm, hmm~," he drew closer, and you needed all your will gathered, to make yourself stay where you were. Even without looking in the mirror, you knew you were all pale on the face. “With my little eye, I spy something...”

His gaze went down, just to your hands, which you tried to hide behind your back.

Not giving him a clear look at your palms or wooden stick, you turned around on the heel and run with all your might. Your muscles felt somehow stiff as if they also didn’t see a chance to win this race.

Now Floyd was sure you are hiding something, and there is no chance he’ll let it go.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8.   Watch him at his basketball practice.

81:30 for the blue team!

“Floyd once again started playing wild,” Ace breathed with clear regret in his voice. He glanced your way, frowning at you. “It’s your fault. Please come at practices when Floyd is in my team, not otherwise.”

You laughed awkwardly as he walked away.

A moment later, Floyd reached for a bottle with water and a towel you bravely guarded through the whole practice. He smiled wholeheartedly, happy with the win, water, and your presence.

“How did you like the game?” he asked once he changed from PE clothes and you two started heading towards Octavinelle.

“It was really fun!” you admitted, a speck of amusement appeared in Floyd’s eyes. “The red team didn’t have much time to capture a ball before you got hold of it again.”

“Hehe~ I’m glad you liked it,” he said. “I really like to play basketball, even more than ever, when I know that you are watching! That’s why,” he added, sincerity well-heard in his voice, “you need to come even more often!”

You nodded happily.

You just couldn’t mind it, all that accompanying him.

It was... fun.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9.   Dance, dance, dance!

Heels tapped on the floor and the sound of these steps would probably have spread through the room, if not for the jazz music pounding through Mostro Lounge’s speakers.

Floyd pulled you closer, letting a playful smile on his lips stretch even more. You couldn’t help but smile back, before gasping as he spun you around your axis. You lost balance and would fall if not steady grip around your waist, as Floyd leaned on closer to you, making you bend on one leg more and entirely rely on his touch.

Last notes of melody faded, and you still were in that pose, facing each other. With each second, Floyd’s face was changing from some form of amazement to amusement, finally letting you properly stand.

“Ha... When did you learn to dance so smoothly?” you asked smiling in wonder.

“Hehe~ With legs you can dance a lot more than in the sea,” he answered. “On land, it’s super fun~”

You nodded at his words.

Floyd was a wonderful dancer.

But you can’t be sure if being a good dancing partner is the only thing that made you feel all warm and fuzzy because butterflies still didn’t leave your stomach.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10.            “Let’s do something fun!”

“Here is your paycheck,” Azul handed you a white envelope, sealed with a stamp with the Octavinelle logo. “And you, [Name], was also working for some request, right?”

You nodded as you stared at the envelope.

Somehow, knowing how stupid the lingering thought in your mind was, you couldn’t bear to look up. If you would, your gaze would probably ignore all the elegant furniture of the room, even the owner of the room, Azul, just to settle on Floyd.

If you saw anything more than his shoes, that stupid thought would make their way outside, turning plans into action.

And Floyd unknowingly did everything to make them come true.

“Shrimpy,” he cupped your face with his hands, judging by his voice he seemed quite... worried? When he made you look in his olive and gold eyes, you started holding your breath. “Are you okay?”

With that question, your strong will to wish for something expensive or practical was broken.

You started fidgeting more, not knowing how to express your thoughts in words. “I think I have a request... a question for Floyd, rather than for you, Azul...”

Azul nodded at first uncertain and the room has fallen into silence once again until you spoke.

“Well, Floyd,” you turned to him, trying your best not to wander your gaze away from him, “Please, take your time with answering, but I want your response to be, uh, honest.”

You were tripping onto your own words, embarrassment soaring in your body as you started to think that you should’ve kept quiet. But Floyd was patient with your answer, as well as Jade and Azul who observed the situation as if they predicted it before.

“I mean- Okay, just answer the question.” You took an erratic breath. “Would you like to—”

“Sure!” Floyd interrupted you before even hearing the whole question. “I would like to do everything with you.”

You stood there, all confused. But, by Floyd’s expression you knew that he guessed what you wanted to say. Face heating up, you forgot about Azul and Jade, who hid a chuckle by turning his head to the side.

“How fun,” he said as Floyd wrapped his arms around you, as if shielding you from other people in the room.

“I won’t share Shrimpy with you, Jade. Not a chance.”

[spartanguard]

most wanted (10/11) [CSSNS 21]

Summary: Killian Jones has been tracking Emma Swan, notorious cat burglar, across the realm as she’s wanted for murder. The sooner he finds her, the faster he gets back to his daughter. But meeting an enchanting lass in a small village—along with Miss Swan’s feline familiar (perhaps too familiar)—definitely affects his plans; this case might not be as open-and-shut as he’d like.

A/N: Ahhhhhhhh I can't believe there's only one more chapter after this one!!! I really enjoyed writing this one; hope you like reading it!! Forever thanks to the best beta ever @optomisticgirl​​​​ and to @cssns​​​​ for putting on the event each year, even if I am so far behind here.

rated T | 5.8k words | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | AO3

That evening, they shuffled into the village of Meryton atop Roger after several hours of riding, eager for a meal and to hopefully (finally) get some rest. Longbourn was just over a day’s ride from his home, so he often used Meryton as a stopping point to break up the distance—and, if he was being honest, to drag out this journey just a bit more. 

He tried not to enjoy the perfect way Emma fit between his arms, or the arrhythmia he suffered when she eventually nodded off and rested against his chest. (She’d apologized when she eventually woke, but he assured her it was fine—she needed it. He was still hesitant to admit how little he minded.)

That said, he was more than ready to get out of the saddle. He’d forgotten how laborious riding while sleep-deprived could be, and even if it had only been a matter of hours since they’d left home, he was keenly feeling each one. 

At least departure had gone smoother than he anticipated. He wasn’t sure how Alice would take their leaving after such a short stay, but she’d been unusually accepting of it—nearly optimistic, even. “I know we’ll be together again soon,” she’d told him; her maturity toward the situation was appreciated, but also reminded him that his little girl was growing up, which brought on an entirely different slew of emotions.

“But Papa, please be careful; don’t get hurt,” she’d also said during their lengthy goodbye hug.

He wondered if she’d picked up on his emotional unsteadiness, particularly where Emma was concerned; Belle had obviously said as much to him. “I’ll try, starfish,” he promised her.

He’d been busy packing Roger’s saddlebags with a few days’ worth of provisions while Alice and Emma had their goodbye, mainly so as not to intrude, but what he observed seemed to be an amicable parting. Honestly, that was all he’d hoped for.

They’d spent a bit of time on the ride going over their plan for once they got to Longbourn, but other than that (and the aforementioned closeness), it was an uneventful journey and they were ready for this leg to be over. Thankfully, Roger knew the way to the stable he was usually boarded at and stopped there without being directed. 

“Hey there, Mister Rogers,” the stable lad called out, and Killian winced; he hadn’t forgotten that he used the pseudonym in Meryton, but he had failed to mention it to Emma—who promptly stiffened in his hold, but said nothing. 

The boy walked up and grabbed Roger’s reins, but waited for them to dismount before leading the steed away. “Just the one night, sir?” he asked after Killian helped Emma down, who was noticeably not making eye contact. 

“Aye; we’ll be gone by mid morning.”

A quick salute from the lad confirmed the arrangement and he led Roger away, while Killian turned back to Emma. She was giving him a slightly wry, though vaguely accusing, look from under her lashes. He knew he should apologize for the apparent jolt it gave her, but Meryton, despite its small size, wasn’t as safe as it might seem; it was a conversation to be held away from listening ears. 

Instead, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgment and offered her his arm, which she took. And he led them down the dusty main street, looking to all the world like a couple simply stopping for a night’s rest while on holiday. (If only.)

They didn’t have to walk far before they arrived at their next destination: an unassuming inn with an ordinary tavern on the ground floor. A sign hung above the entrance, but whatever it said had long worn off, other than the faint outline of a mug. “This is it?” Emma commented before he opened the weathered but sturdy door. 

“Aye; it’s not Granny’s, but it serves its purpose,” he answered. With any luck, the mattresses were fresh. 

“She does set the bar pretty high.”

“Incredibly.”

They managed to get the attention of the barkeep inside despite the fact the dining area was mostly full. And thankfully, there was still a room available to rent—although only one. He’d deal with that issue later, and went ahead and signed the guest book where indicated, then passed the pen to Emma. 

She quickly filled in the spot next to his (fake) name, with one of her own: Eva Plover. It seemed like whatever shock she had earlier had dissipated, and that she’d picked up on his cue—or, more likely, was going to use a false name anyways, as Emma Swan would certainly have drawn undue, unwanted attention. 

Actually, that was part of why he’d chosen this inn: despite its innocent appearance, it was one of the best spots in the kingdom to pick up on any gossip of the realm’s seedy underbelly. Which also meant that anyone hoping to keep a low profile needed to take extra precaution. As far as the world was concerned, Killian Jones had never set foot in the establishment, whereas Ian Rogers was a repeat customer. 

After they were checked in and he pocketed the key, they found a seat at an empty table to one side of the dining room, enough out of the way to avoid attention but where he’d still be able to hear anything interesting. 

A harried waitress came by shortly with mugs of ale, and dashed off just as quickly after taking their order, though he had little hope of it being soon fulfilled. 

At least they weren’t in any hurry. The hum of conversation surrounded them; it was just a matter of catching the name they needed to hear. 

“How did you even find this place?” Emma asked, then took a sip of her ale—and winced. “Does that even count as beer?”

He chuckled. “It’s heavily watered down; you’d need liquor if you wanted to get drunk. Which is how I discovered this establishment in the first place, back in my more, ah, wild days.”

“When you were on the other side of the law?”

“Indeed, which came in rather handy when I made the switch.” He took a sip from his own mug, which was truly awful, but thankfully not potent enough to tempt him to any excess. “Don’t tell me you’ve never passed time in a bar like this before.”

“A few times,” she conceded, “but I was usually the lookout, or on the prowl; Neal was the one actually taking care of any business.”

“Neal Cassidy?” another voice chimed in; a middle-aged man at the next table over was looking their way. “Not to eavesdrop, but is that who you’re talking about?”

“Aye; you know him?” Killian replied casually. He’d long since learned to answer questions—as well as to ask them—as simply as possible and let the other party do most of the sharing.

“Unfortunately,” he scoffed. “Bastard owes me money.”

“An old debt, I take it?”

“Naw, he bummed it off me just the other day. Overplayed his hand in a game of cards and I spotted him what he owed; said he’d get it back to me after he got back from Longbourn—that he’d have it then—but I ain’t holding my breath.”

“What’s in Longbourn?” Emma asked, though Killian didn’t miss a hint of nervousness in her voice.

“Said he was gonna get his cat back. Surprised he even let it out of his sight; it was always crawling all over him. Think I like it better than him, so it wouldn’t surprise me if it ran off. Hell, I’d take it in if I found it; you ever seen it?”

“No,” Emma said quickly, in time with Killian’s “Afraid not.”

“You must not know him very well then; it’s like his furry little shadow.”

“We’re actually supposed to meet up with him in Longbourn,” Killian lied. “So perhaps we’ll yet get a chance.”

“Might want to hurry, then,” the man told them. “He was in a rush to get there, and you know he’s not patient. Think he got there yesterday.”

“Shit, he’s a day ahead of us,” Killian cursed, perhaps laying it on a bit thick. 

“There’s no way I’m getting back on that horse tonight, so don’t even think about it.” Emma’s tone was warning, but he could see the mischievous glint in her eyes as she played—whatever character she was playing; they hadn’t established that in their planning.

“I’d listen to the lady,” the man said, chuckling. “But good luck when you get there. Do me a favor and tell him August says hi. And don’t give him any cash.”

“Will do,” Killian said with a nod as the man stood from his seat and made for the bar, likely to pay his tab. Once he was out of earshot, he turned back to Emma. “Well that was easier than expected.”

“No kidding,” she sighed. “Although, it’s a little funny to me—Neal hates August.”

“You’ve obviously met him before.”

“Yeah, but only ever in cat form. Like I said, Neal was the main one working when we were in public, and he was worried about the optics of having an attractive partner, or some bullshit like that. He said it was to protect me, but looking back, it was probably just plain old misogyny.”

“He clearly has a reputation as a bastard.”

“A well-deserved one at that.” She offered a toast, which Killian took, tapping his mug against hers. She nearly gagged on her drink this time, though. “Gods, I hope the food is better than that.”

“It…will suffice,” Killian replied, scratching nervously behind his ear like he usually did while telling half-truths.

Emma just groaned in complaint, but when their bowls of stew arrived a minute later, they did prove to be on the better side of palatable. “Granny could teach all of these barkeeps a thing or two about food. And beer,” she griped when she was done.

“Granny actually cares about running an establishment with quality fare,” Killian countered. “The owner here only cares enough that people spend money and don’t burn the place down when they get too drunk.”

As if on cue, some of the more sloshed patrons on the far side of the room began to shout at each other, and fists began to fly. But before any furniture could be destroyed, the burly owner had taken them both by the ear and was dragging them to the door. The bar was quiet for a moment, but began buzzing again fairly quickly.

With that excitement done and their only other goal achieved, dinner began to sit heavy in his belly and the ale was only making him more drowsy. Emma let out a jaw-cracking yawn as well that clearly indicated their evening was over. “Come on; to bed with ye,” Killian told her gently, standing and offering his hand.

She took it—and kept hold, as he led them through the tavern to the dimly lit stairs leading to the rooms. 

He regretted having to let go of her hand to unlock the door of their assigned room, but she stayed close—likely as much for security as desire; he didn’t like the look of the man at the other end of the hall, and made sure to set the deadbolt as soon as they were in the room. 

However, that confirmed the issue he’d been delaying thinking about, especially once Emma lit the oil lamp on a small table: though the room was tidy, it was small…and there was only one bed. 

And while logically, he knew they’d shared closer quarters on his bedroll, there was something about the idea of that sole mattress that felt uncomfortably intimate. 

He glanced over at Emma, and she too was staring at the bed and chewing nervously on her lip. Well, he was nothing if not a gentleman. “You can take the bed, love; I’ll be fine on the floor.” It looked…mostly clean.

“No!” she quickly countered. “I can just transform and take a corner of the bed or something; gods only know the last time that floor was swept.”

“But how well will you sleep that way?”

She shrugged in response. “I’ll deal.”

“I won’t. I couldn’t sleep if you weren’t either. And I’ve slept in far worse places.”

“So have I, but come on—there are mouse droppings in the corner. The bed is big enough for both of us; there’s no sense in us not sharing it.”

He hoped his subsequent swallow was subtle, but that was the solution he’d been hoping to avoid the most. Not out of any chivalrous desire or some prudish theology, but more out of self-preservation; a man of honor he may be, but he was still a man, and he feared that what such proximity might do to him physically could put him in a rather embarrassing position. “Fine. But I’m sleeping atop the covers.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but stepped closer to the bed and ran a hand over the comforter. “Okay, but only because it’s clean. Or, at least, it’s not dirty.”

They both quickly washed up in the room’s chipped wash basin, but he waited for Emma to crawl under the covers before he turned down the lamp and settled down on the other side of the lumpy bed.

Though he was exhausted, sleep did not come as quickly as he wanted; he was too aware of Emma’s presence next to him. Even when he turned on his side, away from her, he felt her warmth at his back and heard her own steady breaths. 

At least hers eventually evened out as she drifted off. He cast a glance over his shoulder and could just make out the way she had the covers tucked under her chin in the light from the moon that seeped through the thin curtains. She looked younger in her sleep—free of the stresses and worries she’d carried for so long. And if this was to be her last night of peaceful sleep for a while, he’d not do anything to disturb it. 

He settled back down and let her gentle snores carry him off to slumber. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

Sometime in the middle of the night, something jolted Killian awake—a sound he was all too familiar with: the sound of a nightmare. 

Without thinking, he was on his feet, ready to rush into Alice’s room and soothe her back to sleep. Until he remembered—he wasn’t at home, and Alice was miles away. 

He turned back to the bed, and Emma was curled in on herself tightly, whimpering in her sleep. It broke his heart, but he had to hold back his instinct to immediately jump in as he didn’t want to startle her. 

That said, he did hurry back to the bed, but was cautious as he knelt on the mattress. “Emma,” he whispered. “Swan, it’s alright—it’s just a dream.”

She didn’t hear him, though, and cried out and thrashed in her sleep. 

Gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder and said her name just a bit louder. “Wake up, love,” he told her. “You’re not alone.”

She gasped and her eyes flew open, darting around the room until they landed on him, and she drew another sharp breath, but then sighed. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s been a while since I had one of those.”

“It’s fine; it happens,” he assured her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “Not sure I can; it’s already fading, but they’re never very clear—more just the feeling of being left behind again.”

Given what lay ahead, he wasn’t sure he had any words of comfort to offer in response to that. He could only keep her in the present. He took her hand, which had just been running through her hair. “I’m here now,” he assured her. 

She gave him a sad smile, likely as much as she could muster at the moment, and squeezed his hand. “Thank you.”

They stayed like that for a while as she came down from the adrenaline of the dream. He didn’t dare move, but when they both yawned at the same time, that was a hint that they needed to go back to sleep. 

However, when he tried to pull his hand away, she held on tighter. “Stay?”

He could have quipped about the fact that he’d be only inches away, but could tell that she needed more proximity than that. So he nodded, and did his best to slip under the covers while still holding her hand; the small hole his hook made in the blanket was hardly noticeable along the moth-eaten edge. 

“Sleep tight, Emma,” he whispered now that he was facing her.

“You too,” she murmured, already half asleep, and he quickly followed her. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

The sun on his face woke Killian the following morning. Despite the unevenness of the mattress, and the middle-of-the-night interruption, he was surprisingly well-rested and content.

He blinked his eyes open slowly and marveled at how cozy he felt, even though he could feel a draft blowing across his face. The blankets were evidently warmer than they appeared to be. 

Or so he thought—until he felt the sensation of warm breath across the skin above his sternum, where his undershirt was unbuttoned. And became suddenly aware of the warm body tucked into his side. 

As he became more alert, he became conscious of the weight resting on his chest, of the arm wrapped around his stomach, of the soft hair casually attempting to smother him. 

He didn’t need to look down to realize that he and Emma had found each other in their sleep—he too had his right arm wrapped around her—but he stole a glance anyway. That peaceful look she’d had the night before was back on her face, and she was nearly nestled in the crook of his neck. It was the most relaxed and comfortable he’d seen her yet, and he hated that it couldn’t last. 

He couldn’t help himself: he placed a small kiss at the peak of her brow, gentle enough that he hoped it wouldn’t wake her, but firm enough that she might still feel it in slumber. 

Alas, he wasn’t as subtle as he thought. As soon as he pulled away, Emma tightened her arms around him and made a sleepy noise of complaint, but then blinked her eyes and tilted her head to look up at him. She made no effort to move, though. 

“Mmmorning,” she slurred and gave him a drowsy smile. “Sorry if I drooled on you.”

“No worries, love,” he assured her (though he could tell there was a slightly damp spot on his shirt). “You needed the rest.”

“You make a pretty good pillow.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad to hear that.”

She laid her head back down, and continued in a small voice, “Thank you for staying.”

“I wasn’t going to go anywhere.”

“I know, but—people tend to leave me. Especially in moments like that. So…it means a lot.”

Carefully with his hook—which he’d apparently kept away from her subconsciously all night—he nudged her chin back up to look at him. “Emma, you know I’m familiar with that feeling, too. But as long as you want me around, I’ll be there.”

She scoffed and gave a sarcastic smile. “Of course, I find someone who says that and means it right before I have to leave you behind.”

“It won’t be forever.”

“It might be.” There was an edge of fear in her voice, and he couldn’t blame her for that—prisons weren’t the most civilized places, and it wasn’t uncommon to hear of fights breaking out among the convicts that ended poorly. But, if all went well, Emma wouldn’t find herself in the company of the more ruthless felons, and wouldn’t be there for long. 

“It won’t,” he insisted again. “And when all this is over, there’ll be a bed and a place waiting for you.”

“Why?”

He was taken aback at what seemed like a simple question, but in his mind was fairly obvious. “Why wouldn’t there be?”

“Seriously, Killian?” She shifted so she was propped up on an elbow, now looking down at him from above. “I don’t deserve that. I don’t honestly deserve any of the kindness you’ve shown me. I appreciate it—more than you’ll ever know—but I should have just been another job for you.”

He sighed, because she wasn’t wrong. But it was also too late to be questioning his motives. They’d come this far already. 

“Aye, you should have been. And you were, at first. Until you weren’t you and I wasn’t me, and I thought I didn’t have to worry about protecting my heart. And yet, here we are.”

“What, in a cheap rented room on a crummy mattress, about to turn me in?”

She was deflecting. It was painfully obvious, and he knew it was in self defense. 

“No, love,” he started, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear, and leaving it there to cup her face. “Together.”

And he pressed up to find her lips with his, hoping his kiss might calm whatever worries she had, particularly where he was concerned. 

She stilled a moment when their lips first met, but not for long before she was pushing him back down into the mattress, deepening the kiss. 

It was certainly a bittersweet kiss, knowing it’d be an indeterminate amount of time before they had another, but he was tired of fighting his feelings, and it was apparent that Emma was, too. 

Though his body reacted instinctively to the sensation of a woman above him (a woman who was dangerously close to straddling him), they both knew it couldn’t go any farther. Still—they were going to enjoy this moment for what it was. 

(The awkward moment he feared from the night before did inevitably happen—he was sorely out of practice in that area—but Emma merely giggled at his physical reaction and continued on.)

They eventually (regrettably) needed air but stayed close, and he pulled her back into his side. 

“Thank you,” she told him. “For everything. In case I don’t get another chance to say it.”

“You will, love. But you’re welcome.”

“At least one of us has hope.”

“Hey,” he started, tone turning serious, and again nudged her chin to look at him. “I know you face an uncertain future, but there’s one thing I want you to be certain of: that you can always rely on me. No matter what lies ahead, I’m here for you.”

She gave a somewhat sad smile, placed another kiss on his lips, and said, “I’ll try to make it up to you someday.”

“Just don’t get in trouble with the law again and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal. But I’m guessing we need to get a move on turning me in for the trouble I’ve already caused.”

He grubmled. “Aye, we should.” The sooner they got to Longbourn, the sooner she’d be free—right? 

After another lazy kiss, they finally got up and gathered their things, few as they were—the lone perk to this short trip. The cost of the room included breakfast, which wasn’t anything special (and again, nothing compared to Granny’s meals), but at least had some flavor and didn’t sit uncomfortably in his stomach when he was done. 

He slipped his arm around her waist as they exited onto the dusty street. Even though it was late morning, the area was still fairly quiet—that particular neighborhood saw more action after dark. But that meant they were uninterrupted as they made the short journey back to the stable, and few eyes were there to judge how close they were standing or how slow they moved. 

He was equally meticulous in picking up Roger and making sure they were ready for the next several hours on the road. But there wasn’t much to do—they’d done all the packing they needed to at home and none of it had been disturbed overnight; he was doing more to put the saddle bags into disarray with his needless digging. 

His hook snagged on something, and when he pulled it out, the chain of his handcuffs was caught on the tip of it. He pulled them off, but held onto them and stared for a long moment—because, as much as he hated the idea now, he’d need to use them before they got to Longbourn. Though they were made of steel, they felt heavy as lead in his hand. 

“Go ahead.” Emma’s voice drew his attention; he looked up to find she was next to him with her arms extended, nodding toward her wrists. “May as well get it out of the way now. Should probably put the magic-blocking cuff on, too—whatever you need to do if it helps my case.”

He couldn’t argue with any of that, but he didn’t feel good about it. Still, he went ahead and latched the shackles to her wrists, then dug the cuff out of the bag and slipped it on, too. He’d intended to wait until they got closer, but if her wrists were free of cuff marks, it would seem suspicious. 

And without any further ado, they headed out on the last part of this adventure. 

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

The road between Meryton and Longbourn was relatively narrow and quiet at first, which afforded them a last opportunity to enjoy their proximity. They stopped for lunch just before the road met up with the main highway and exchanged a few last, hurried kisses in the shadow of the trees.

But then the road widened and the traffic picked up considerably, more than they’d yet seen. For appearance’s sake, they kept a bit more distance—a bit more propriety—between them, lest anyone question why an obvious prisoner was getting cozy with her captor (especially should they run into one of Killian’s colleagues).

The avenue continued to get larger and busier as they approached Longbourn, and they soon found themselves on the outskirts, with homes and shops popping up and getting closer together, as well as the general sounds of civilization continuing to pick up in volume.

Though he’d traversed this street many a time, something felt different today and it had him on edge. He was used to scanning ahead for any potential danger, but it felt like there was something keeping an equal eye on them this time, even though he couldn't pinpoint anything amiss. Still—he stayed alert as they made for the center of the city.

Nemo’s office was in the heart of downtown, adjacent to the headquarters of the kingdom’s law enforcement. They weren’t technically officers of the law—more like privateers, honestly—but considering the amount of back and forth they did with the actual lawmen, their proximity made sense. It also typically meant that the area typically saw little trouble itself. 

They rounded a corner and saw his office just ahead, so he began to relax a bit. But he didn’t fully let his guard down, and wouldn’t until they were safely inside. 

And it was a good thing he hadn’t, because he had hardly reached the hitching post when he felt something solid, cold, and cylindrical jab into his side, just below his ribs. He sat up straight in surprise, pulling Roger to a halt. 

“I’ve pulled this trigger many times, and I ain’t afraid to do it again,” the holder of the weapon sneered. “The fact that you’re a lawman won’t stop me either.”

“Neal, stop,” Emma said, though she kept her head down. Bloody hell. Killian turned his head to face the man, who was glaring at them from under the rim of a bowler hat. His vest and shirt were dusty, like he’d spent several days on the road, and the horse he sat atop was clearly rented, but visibly swift. And he was definitely Rumplestiltskin’s son; it was evident in his facial features.

“You really think you’d get away with it in front of a building filled with cops?” Killian warned him quietly, but nodded his head toward the many uniformed officers milling about nearby. “And I’m only the bounty hunter; no idea why you’d condemn yourself over someone you have no qualms with.” He hoped Emma didn’t think he was trying to redirect Neal’s attention—he was only trying to defuse the situation, and getting Neal to back down seemed like the best way. 

“Fine,” Neal countered, unconcerned. “I’ll shoot her, then.” And pressed the barrel of his pistol into Emma’s back. “Nice to see you, too, Ems. Love the hair.”

Killian swallowed. Now it got complicated. How did he protect Emma without playing his hand about his feelings towards her? He got the impression Neal wouldn’t hesitate to use that against them, but also feared he would if Killian went too far the other way.

It didn’t seem to matter, though, when another gun barrel found Killian’s opposite shoulder. He turned to look at this other assailant, and quickly realized they were surrounded by several of Neal’s cohorts, and all the men had their eyes—and weapons—on Emma. 

He could easily shout for help—draw attention—but he didn’t want to put Emma in the crosshairs of the (likely) ensuing shootout. And any weapon he owned was inaccessible.

They were stuck.

“Why don’t we go talk somewhere private?” Neal hissed; Killian could only nod.

But as the group led them away, he subtly wrapped the reins around his hook and wrapped his hand around Emma’s arm, giving it what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

The throng of horses and people made their way a few blocks down the street, likely (hopefully) drawing some attention—it was odd to see more than a couple of people riding together like so in town—and turned down a dusty alley, then through the wide-open doors of what appeared to be an empty warehouse. The barn-like space had a hard-packed dirt floor and all the windows were up high, only accessible by a catwalk around the upper perimeter of the building. In other words, a perfect place for doing something illicit without getting caught.

Once they came to a stop, the crew circled around him and Emma, and one of Neal’s cohorts barked at them to get off the horse. Based on the number of guns aimed at them, they had no choice but to comply; thank the gods Roger was obedient enough to not run off (though all bets were off should a gun fire). Almost instinctively, both he and Emma lifted their arms to indicate they meant no harm—though only then did he remember the hook at the end of his left wrist might say otherwise.

But no one seemed too concerned with him, especially as Neal approached Emma, keeping his firearm aloft. “Now what’s this I hear about you trying to clear your name?” he accused.

“I’m not the one who murdered someone, Neal,” Emma argued. “I’m not taking the fall for things you’ve done. I shouldn’t have to.”

“See, I thought you knew what you were getting into with me. I never proclaimed to be good, and neither did you.” He leaned closer and smirked. “I thought that’s what you liked about me anyways.” 

Emma pointedly was not looking at him, her eyes cast down and her posture starting to curl in on herself with something resembling shame.

“Remember that night in Lambton?” Neal continued, stepping into Emma’s space. “That night we hid in the hayloft…the sounds you made, gods…”

Now Emma was squinting her eyes shut, clearly embarrassed. It was definitely time for Killian to interject.

“Bad form to kiss and tell, mate,” he scoffed at Neal. “On top of all your other crimes? Your mother would be so disappointed.”

As expected, that gripped Neal’s attention, who was now staring daggers into Killian (appropriate, given who his father was). “What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

Neal quickly put himself in front of Killian. “The hell you know about my mother?”

“Plenty. I loved her.”

Neal’s eyes grew wide. “It was you?” he said under his breath, and Killian could see in his eyes as everything clicked—as he realized he’d killed the wrong man. 

He screamed in anger, and then his knee swiftly and firmly found Killian’s abdomen, right on the edge of his ribcage. 

The world blurred then and Killian doubled over on himself and collapsed, trying to reclaim the breath that had just been knocked out of him as stars swam in his vision. 

While he was on the ground, sputtering in the dirt, Neal returned his focus to Emma. Killian looked up in time to see him twirling his pistol before pointing it back at her. 

“You sure know how to find ‘em, Ems,” he chuckled. “I guess I should be thanking you for bringing him here. But what I haven’t decided yet is if you’ll be dying alongside this guy. Because I can’t think of any other way to make sure you stay quiet, and he’s definitely not making it out of here alive.”

Nerves started to creep up Killian’s spine, a prickle that had nothing to do with his physical discomfort and everything to do with his well-honed instincts at recognizing trouble, paired with more than enough self-preservation. But his mind wasn’t clear enough to find a way to interject without possibly making the situation worse for both of them. 

“You won’t have to do any of that,” Emma started to plead. “I won’t say a thing.”

“What?” Killian blurted out, looking up at her, but his voice was still raspy and neither of them noticed his exclamation. 

“You can turn me in and I’ll keep quiet,” she continued. “Take the bounty for yourself. All I ask is that you save half of it for me for when I get out.”

Bloody hell—what was she thinking? Why on earth would she condemn herself like this? 

Even Neal gave something of a confused look, though for very different reasons. “When you get out? In what, thirty years? You know how long a murder sentence is, right?”

“Not when it’s in self-defense,” she quickly replied. “The guy you shot? They were allies,” she explained, nodding towards Killian, “This one told me all about him, and they’re both scum,” she spat.

Killian was speechless. Just what was she doing?

“I mean, it says a lot when he was friends with the guy who killed your mom, right?” she went on. “I just gotta bat my lashes at a sympathetic judge and I’ll get a reduced sentence. And then I’m all yours,” she purred, putting her arms around Neal’s neck even though her wrists were still cuffed. “I love you, baby.” 

Sounds of the city were still audible through the open door, but all Killian could hear were those three words, ringing in his head—mocking him. Bloody hell, he’d done it again.

He could feel a fissure starting on his heart, but that was unimportant right now. Now, he had to hope he’d be able to escape with his life.

◇─◇──◇────◇────◇────◇────◇────◇─────◇──◇─◇

thanks for reading! tagging some (let me know if you do/don’t want a tag!) @kat2609​​​​​ @xpumpkindumplingx​​​​​ @shipsxahoy​​​​​ @shireness-says​​​​​ @ohmightydevviepuu​​​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​​​​ @thisonesatellite​​​​​ @winterbythesea​​​​​  @mryddinwilt​​​​​ @cocohook38​​​​​ @annytecture​​​​​  @wingedlioness​​​​​ @word-bug​​​​​  @distant-rose​​​​​ @wellhellotragic​​​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​​​ @let-it-raines​​​​​ @pirateherokillian​​​​​ @its-imperator-furiosa​​​​​ @fergus80​​​​​ @killianmesmalls​​​​​ @thejollyroger-writer​​​​​ @ineffablecolors​​​​​ @laschatzi​​​​​ @ive-always-been-a-pirate​​​​​ @nfbagelperson​​​​​ @stubblesandwich​​​​​ @phiralovesloki​​​​​ @athenascarlet​​​​​ @kmomof4​​​​​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​​​​​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​​​ @snowbellewells​​​​​ @idristardis​​​​​ @scientificapricot​​​​​ @searchingwardrobes​​​​​ @donteattheappleshook​​​​​ @jrob64​​​​​ @the-darkdragonfly​​​​​ @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop​​​​​ @klynn-stormz​​​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​​​ @deckerstarblanche​

[zintranslations]

Kaleidoscope of Death, Extra 3

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Extra: Shameless Couple (2)

Ruan Nanzhu's stint as an actor was purely for fun, so nobody took the matter very seriously. But months later, as Ruan Nanzhu sat around bored at home with nothing to do, he got a call from Zhang Yiqing. The movie was premiering, and Zhang Yiqing sent him two free tickets for him to go have a look.

Tickets in hand, Ruan Nanzhu invited Lin Qiushi to go see the movie together. The two arrived happily at the theater, Lin Qiushi bought a bucket of popcorn, and they sat down in the audience.

The movie was a hundred minutes total; Lin Qiushi didn't have high expectations coming in, but afterwards, he was completely blown away. Though Zhang Yiqing had been an actor and had never gone through an official director’s program, he obviously had quite a lot of talent in the realm of directing. At least, the techniques he used to shoot this wuxia film that Ruan Nanzhu got a cameo in were good enough to provoke cheers and applause.

Ruan Nanzhu, playing the prince in the movie, was also exceptional.

But after they watched it, that was that. Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu went home without thinking too much on the matter, until the next day when Lin Qiushi opened up his social media and saw that Ruan Nanzhu's character was trending…He didn't understand such things very well. He clicked into the tag and found many people gushing about Ruan Nanzhu's acting and good looks, and asking how come they'd not seen this new actor before. No one thought that this new guy with so few lines would be so eye-catching.

Lin Qiushi woke the bleary-eyed Ruan Nanzhu and pushed the phone in front of his face.

"Nanzhu, are you famous?"

Ruan Nanzhu opened his eyes and peered once at the phone screen before pushing Lin Qiushi down into bed again. He kissed Lin Qiushi's chin and said, "forget about that…"

Lin Qiushi, "oh…"

Ruan Nanzhu had little actual concept of himself going viral, so when he was having lunch with Lin Qiushi one day, he was actually pretty irritated to get Zhang Yiqing's phone call.

"I'm just a minor side character," he said, "why should I go on your publicity tour? What? Blacklist me? Did you take the wrong meds this morning? I'm not even in the industry, blacklist me all you want—"

Lin Qiushi listened at the side and found it funny, but then Zhang Yiqing said something at the end, and Ruan Nanzhu actually stopped refusing. Brows furrowing, he looked up once at Lin Qiushi before agreeing to Zhang Yiqing's request to go on a publicity tour with him and the cast.

After hanging up, Ruan Nanzhu said that Zhang Yiqing wanted him to go do publicity for a bit of time.

"Go," Lin Qiushi said. "But if you really dislike it, don't force yourself. We lack for nothing."

"Mh." Ruan Nanzhu nodded, taking Lin Qiushi's words to heart.

After that, Lin Qiushi's projects got busy as well, and he didn't have the time to pay attention to developments around Ruan Nanzhu's movie. The point at which he realized Ruan Nanzhu was well and truly famous was when he discovered that a young employee had switched her desktop screensaver to a picture of Ruan Nanzhu. Lin Qiushi had even thought he'd been seeing things at first, pointing at the screensaver and asking the girl, "who's this?"

The girl turned to Lin Qiushi with an expression of excitement and began a fanatic recommendation of Ruan Nanzhu, saying how this was a super popular newcomer named Yu Qiuqiu, and not only was he good looking but is acting was also amazing!

Lin Qiushi, "…" Alright alright, enough already. I know exactly how amazing his acting is.

That night, Lin Qiushi stared thoughtfully at Ruan Nanzhu, who was in his pajamas in the kitchen, watching TV.

Ruan Nanzhu noticed Lin Qiushi's gaze. He turned around to ask, "what is it?"

Lin Qiushi, "Nanzhu…"

Ruan Nanzhu, "hm?"

Lin Qiushi, "are you famous?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "famous? What do you mean?"

Seeing his bewildered expression, Lin Qiushi had no choice but to change his wording: "Is Yu Qiuqiu famous?" And this bastard even debuted with his pseudonym.

Ruan Nanzhu slapped a hand to his thigh. "Yeah! Our Qiuqiu is super famous! Zhang Yiqing recommended me to his friends trying to make me the main character—"

Lin Qiushi, "isn't that a good thing?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "how is it a good thing? If I'm making movies I have to run around all the time. I can't keep you company like that."

Lin Qiushi thought about it.

"But you're just doing it for fun, so you don't have to worry about all that. You don't have to film if you don't want to. If you're tired you can just take a break." Other stars may have burdens, but Ruan Nanzhu didn't.

"Okay then," Ruan Nanzhu agreed. Then he seemed to recall something. "Right. The newcomer from Obsidian came to set a couple of times. I ignored him, but tell Ye Niao that if he keeps coming, I might not be able to handle it."

It took Lin Qiushi a long while to remember the existence of this person—it seemed to be the newcomer coveting Ruan Nanzhu for his good looks, who was under the impression that Lin Qiushi had taken Ruan Nanzhu by force.

He asked, "what do you mean by not being able to handle it?"

Ruan Nanzhu, "I might not be able to handle it and end up decking him, of course."

Lin Qiushi, "…"

The facts were, after being baptized by the doors, their bodies had all become stronger than those of normal people. This was the case for Lin Qiushi. He'd thought at first that he would be around Ruan Nanzhu's level, but then one evening, he’d discovered that he wasn't Ruan Nanzhu's opponent at all. Ruan Nanzhu, who'd wanted to try some fun little technique, restrained Lin Qiushi with ease; a single hand was all it took to pressed both of Lin Qiushi's above their heads. That hand that looked as pale and delicate as jade had felt just like a metal shackle, and no matter how Lin Qiushi struggled, it hadn’t budge an inch.

Also, every time he picked Lin Qiushi up to go wash, Ruan Nanzhu could lift him, a healthy grown adult male, in one arm.

Afterthis discovery, Lin Qiushi had laughed at himself for worrying about Ruan Nanzhu getting mistreated outside—Lin Qiushi counted all of them lucky that Ruan Nanzhu wasn’t mistreating people.

"Don't worry about it." For the above reasons, Lin Qiushi said as much. "If he really annoys you, do what you must."

Ruan Nanzhu nodded.

Just a few days after they'd discussed the matter, Lin Qiushi went to check in on Ruan Nanzhu at work. Ruan Nanzhu was filming a modern movie this time, and played a handsome serial killer in the script. Lin Qiushi thought this character setting rather suited Ruan Nanzhu.

He was waiting on the curbside at first. But then his ears caught onto a strange noise. It sounded like a person…keening. Lin Qiushi heard this, and his brows puckered. He turned and looked into a small, dark alley. The film was being shot in the studio backlot, which was complicated and filled with architecture of various styles. So naturally, there were plenty of out-of-the-way spots that the cameras can't capture.

Just as Lin Qiushi was wondering if he ought to take a look, he heard Ruan Nanzhu's voice.

And Ruan Nanzhu sounded a bit dark, a bit scratchy, when he said, "feels good?"

Lin Qiushi, "…"

He padded silently to the entrance of the alley and saw Ruan Nanzhu standing inside. There was another person kneeling in front of Ruan Nanzhu. Though it was dark enough that Lin Qiushi couldn't really make out the other person's face, the scene before him wasn't anywhere as raunchy as he'd imagined.

That person was lying on the ground like a dead dog. Ruan Nanzhu heard his footsteps and turned around, and when he saw Lin Qiushi, he hung a faint smile up where a cold expression had previously been. His motions were natural as he rolled down his sleeves, approaching Lin Qiushi.

"What brings you here?"

Lin Qiushi glanced at the man hanging on his last breath lying on the floor.

"He's not dead, is he?"

"Of course not, I know when to stop." Ruan Nanzhu came over, seeming like a sweet and adorable big kitty, as if the icy ruthlessness from before had all been an illusion. "We'll call him an ambulance. He'll be fine."

"I…I'm calling the cops…" The person's call from the ground was as faint as a mosquito's. "You…you hit me…"

It was only then that Lin Qiushi identified this person. Wasn't this the newcomer from Obsidian that Ruan Nanzhu had mentioned only a few days ago? Lin Qiushi hadn't expected the guy to still be harassing Ruan Nanzhu, and had apparently pissed Ruan Nanzhu off enough to get beaten up so badly that not even his own mother could recognize him.

Man, how complicated his feelings must have been when a single slap from Ruan Nanzhu, who’d seemed like nothing more than a little white bunny, was enough to take him down.

Lin Qiushi said, "if he still has the strength to threaten us, then we probably don't need to call an ambulance."

Ruan Nanzhu, "no need. I avoided all the vital areas—'tis all just flesh wounds."

Lin Qiushi nodded, fished out his phone, and gave Ye Niao a call. Ye Niao was furious. He said he was on his way and urged Lin Qiushi not to be angry.

After Lin Qiushi hung up he lifted Ruan Nanzhu's hand.

"You're not hurt, are you?"

"I am," Ruan Nanzhu pouted. "Look, it's injured."

Lin Qiushi searched the hand all over at this, and finally found a single patch of broken skin no bigger than his pinky. He looked back at the man beaten to a pulp beside them, then back at the wound on the back of Ruan Nanzhu's hand. Finally, he couldn't hold in his laughter anymore.

"You're so…"

Laughter also surfaced in Ruan Nanzhu's eyes.

Ye Niao came quickly and dragged that person off like he was dragging out the trash. Before he left he even apologized to Lin Qiushi for his poor judgment and for choosing such a person…

Lin Qiushi said, "don't worry about it. Everybody makes mistakes."

The matter pretty much ended there. Lin Qiushi never saw that person again, and no police ever came to bother them. Ye Niao took neat care of the matter.

"They didn't give you a hard time, did they?" This was what Lin Qiushi asked Ruan Nanzhu after they got home.

Ruan Nanzhu, in response, "who's they?"

Lin Qiushi, "the cast and crew, of course."

Ruan Nanzhu slid off in thought. "They think I'm being kept by some heavy hitter, and mess around with the mob…"

Lin Qiushi, "…"

Ruan Nanzhu, "so, they're actually pretty respectful?"

At this, Lin Qiushi didn't know for a moment whether he ought to laugh or cry. Ruan Nanzhu himself was the heaviest hitter—why would he possibly be the kept boy of one? But since he liked to act so much, there was no harm in Lin Qiushi playing along. They still had a long time together, after all. There were plenty of things for them to try.

Ruan Nanzhu scooted close to Lin Qiushi, setting his chin on Lin Qiushi's shoulder and mumbling something about being sleepy. Lin Qiushi stroked his hair like he was petting a giant cat. This animal, when tamed, seemed just like an overgrown kitty, but if you actually pissed him off, he was actually a ruthless beast.

But this was a beast that would never extend its claws at Lin Qiushi, was all.

Translator’s Note:

The term translated as “heavy hitter” here, 大佬, has actually appeared often in the text. It’s a slang term that kind of means “the big guy,” as in the boss, the one with the most experience, etc. RNZ gets called this a lot, especially in the Hako Onna door.

[Extra: Shameless Couple(1)] | [Extra: Twin Lives, Twin Deaths(1)]

[lampmeeting]

How aboooooout Amber for the ask!

absolutely!! :D

Sexuality Headcanon: bi

Gender Headcanon: cis woman

A ship I have with said character: any combo of her, seth & melm is so, so good

A BROTP I have with said character: her and pickles! ;~; i like to think pickles is able to get close to her, side-stepping seth entirely haha even though she probably subtly tries to get them to patch shit up (or at least get seth to apologize). her and pickles probably text all the time, especially when amber has to deal with molly.

A NOTP I have with said character: hmm... nope, don't really think i have one, or i haven't really thought about who i don't ship her with all that hard. probably pickles.

A random headcanon: she has a whole series of supernatural erotica that she's self-published online under a pseudonym. she writes a lot of it on her phone while she's out and about doing other stuff. seth tried to read one a long time ago but did the whole confused gaston "how can you read this, there's no pictures" thing. eventually though, he does pull some strings and gets one of her books made into a high-budget porno. they go over to new zealand for filming and everything. it sweeps that year's pornography awards.

General Opinion over said character: honestly i find it incredibly charming and sweet that the show gave us this downtrodden-looking woman who appears to have been placed through unfortunate circumstance into a miserable situation and a shitty marriage, and we went "actually what if she's a badass queen?" and i love that for her. i know you're not exactly seth's #1 fan, but i also love when people hc that her marriage with seth is, against all odds, really good.

[somanysigns-13]

Making my case on why haunted and ghost are Taylor euphemisms for all things gay...long story short, ghosts aren’t typically seen by the general public and they are usually feared by many. Ghosts haunt those that do see them. Part 1

1. Haunted - Speak Now - (Emily Poe or Liz Huett?)

Lyrics: “Come on come on don’t leave me like this I thought I had you figured out. Something’s gone terribly wrong won’t finish what you started. Come on come on don’t leave me like this. I thought I had you figured out. Can’t breathe whenever you’re gone. Can’t go back now, I’m haunted.”

Interpretation: She thought what she had with a “girl” friend was more than friendship. The other girl started the relationship or the flirtation and maybe it was more at some point but something got in the way (maybe Taylor’s management team). Taylor fell hard and got her heart broken and now she’s unable to forget about that feeling of being in a relationship with another girl. She’s “haunted” by this feeing.

2. Ours - Speak Now

Lyrics: “Seems like there’s always someone who disapproves. They’ll judge it like they know about me and you. And the verdict comes from those with nothing else to do. The jury’s out, but my choice is you.” “You never know what people have up their sleeves. Ghosts from your past gonna jump out at me. Lurking in the shadows with their lip gloss smiles. But I don’t care ‘cause right now you’re mine.”

Interpretation: The management team is aware of the relationship and are trying to decide what to do. If it were up to Taylor she would leave it all behind to be with her girlfriend. She wonders if there are past girlfriends “ghosts” that will come out and ruin what they have especially if they have to keep it hidden. We also have a mention of shadows which make shade and we all know “shade never made anybody less gay.” ;)

3. How You Get The Girl - 1989

Lyrics: “Stand there like a ghost shaking from the rain, rain. She’ll open up the door and say are you insane-ane. Say it’s been a long 6 months. And you were too afraid to tell her what you want, want.”

Interpretation: The lyrical style of this song seems very similar to the song “Innocent” on Speak Now. It feels like a diary entry where Taylor is referring to herself in the story as the “you”. Like that inner voice that can pump you up or put you down. This is the story of Taylor apologizing for pushing away a new potential girlfriend because she’s afraid it’ll end like they have in the past possibly due to her management team and contracts interfering. The ghost here is Taylor being haunted by her past failed attempts at having true love.

4. This Love - 1989

Lyrics: “Your kiss, my cheek, I watch you leave. Your smile, my ghost, I fell to my knees. When you’re young, you just run but you come back to what you need.”

Interpretation: I feel this song is about Taylor falling in love with Karlie, but being so afraid to lose her due to both of their careers. Karlie is optimistic (your smile) but Taylor is apprehensive due to past relationship failures (my ghost) and likely management intervention. As I’ve said in a past analysis of this song, I feel that Taylor has always known that she liked girls but has tried to “run” from those feelings or has been forced to hide them but she knows it’s what she needs to be truly happy. There is also a scene in Miss Americana where she’s a little girl and she says “Okay, this is a song I wrote yesterday. And...it’s about a girl who’s just different. And I really like it because it’s just s-so happy. So this is called “Lucky You” ���� There’s this little girl in this little town with a little too much heart to go around. “Live forever, never say never, you can do better” That’s what she says.🎶 Obviously the “different” little girl could be based on her talents or could be that she believes that loving another girl is considered “not normal” in the eyes of many people. Either way how profound for someone that age to recognize that.

5. You Are In Love - 1989

Lyrics: “Morning his place, burnt toast, Sunday. You keep his shirt he keeps his word. And for once you let go of your fears and your ghosts. One step, not much but it said enough.

Interpretation: Taylor flips the pronoun here which she doesn’t do often or doesn’t include often. It almost seems like she’s acknowledging that she can make this work by hiding her “ghost”. Her songs can still be about her relationship but the “one step” of using a male pronoun as one of the points of view is enough to maybe appease the management team for now.

6. ...Ready For It - Reputation

Lyrics: “Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him wonder how many girls he had loved and left haunted. But if he’s a ghost then I can be a phantom holdin him for ransom.”

Interpretation: Bearding references. The “boyfriend” is also a “ghost” and she is a phantom (ghost/figment of the imagination) and they can use each other as covers.

7. The Archer - Lover

Lyrics1: “I wake in the night , I pace like a ghost. The room is on fire, invisible smoke. And all of my heroes die all alone, help me hold on to you.”

Interpretation: The fear is back or she’s remembering a time where it almost fell apart due to the rumors. All of her heroes could be referring to female poets from the 1800s (Emily Dickinson, Dorothy Wordsworth) that had to hide their sexuality or use male pseudonyms in order to publish their work and make a living.

Lyrics2: “Cause they see right through me, they see right through me, they see right through the me, can you see right through me. They see right through, they see right through me I see right through me, I see right through me.”

Interpretation: Reminds me of the Indigo Girls song “Closer to Fine”.....“And I went to see the doctor of philosophy, with a poster of Rasputin and a beard down to his knees. And he never did marry or see a B grade movie, he graded my performance, he said he could see through me.” Also this song begins with “I’m trying to tell you something bout my life. Maybe give me insight between black and white.” and a few lyrics later “And I wrap my fear around me like a blanket, I sailed my ship of safety til I sank it, I’m crawling on your shores.” These lyrics really link to multiple Taylor songs. Also she refers to Indigo eyes in “I Think He Knows”.

8. Death By A Thousand Cuts” - Lover

Lyrics: “Now I’m searching for signs in a haunted club”

Interpretation: perhaps a gay “haunted” dive bar on the East side, where you at?”

9. Cardigan - folklore

Lyrics: “I knew you’d haunt all of my what-if’s The smell of smoke would hang around this long, ‘cause I knew everything thing when I was young. I knew I’d curse you for the longest time, chasing shadows in the grocery line.”

Interpretation: her feelings haunt her because she’s not being true to them. She’s trying to push them away again. The smell of smoke and another shadow reference..she knew the rumors of her and Karlie wouldn’t go away but this time she’s chasing the shadows rather than waiting for something to come out at her from them. (Tabloids ref?)

10. my tears ricochet - folklore

Lyrics: “we gather stones never knowing what they’ll mean. Some to throw some to make a diamond ring. You know I didn’t want to have to haunt you but what a ghostly scene. You wear the same jewels that I gave you as you bury me.”

Interpretation: stones = knowledge/information on someone ..it can hurt or it can be used for good. Maybe Scott and Scooter threatened to out Taylor and Karlie if they didn’t go along with a certain plan. Now Taylor has no choice but to have to make them pay for it.

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 24: A Stranger

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Rumpelstiltskin seeks out the mysterious man on a motorcycle

Read on AO3

August Wayne Booth. 

The man had been at the forefront of Rumpelstiltskin’s mind for weeks now, ever since Jefferson had mentioned him in passing. His friend had only known the stranger as a man on a motorcycle, someone who had come to town in January and stayed.

Outsiders weren’t supposed to be able to come into Storybrooke and they certainly weren’t supposed to stay. The only person here who hadn’t been born in the old world was Henry Mills. The people affected by the curse didn’t notice it’s constant effect because that had been their reality for twenty-eight years. But a normal person would notice the oddness around Storybrooke, the little things that didn’t quite add up. Henry had, and he was only a child. If an adult who had been born in the world without magic slipped into town, the curse was designed to fill them with an unfathomable dread, a soul-deep revulsion that would make them want to leave as soon as they could.  

But not Mr. August Wayne Booth. 

For a few weeks, Rumpelstiltskin kept tabs on the man. Gold had a loose network of informants, people who wanted to stay on his good side. It was easy to make subtle inquiries. Emma Swan had given him the name, as well as the fact that he was a writer. That had piqued his interest. A storyteller coming into a town made of stories. Wasn’t that awfully convenient?

 “Booth” was clearly a false name. If he was a writer, it was a pseudonym. If there was something more nefarious going on, it was an alias. Either way, the name was a lie. What was the truth? Who was he, this dark-haired young man who had been born in the old world but had come to the land without magic without being part of the curse? 

And why did he seem to be watching Gold as much as Rumpelstiltskin had been watching him?

****

It started with Henry. One day after school, the boy came into the shop. Thankfully, Mrs. Gold was out at the time. Rumpelstiltskin hated to imagine the sorts of things that woman might try to get away with in front of a child. 

Rumpelstiltskin liked Henry. He liked most children--they were so refreshingly direct. Henry reminded him particularly of Bae. It was something about the dark hair and wide brown eyes, the conflict of innocence and experience that made both boys wiser and more haunted than they should have been. Bae’s life hadn’t been an easy one, and Henry had been raised by Regina, a woman the boy had correctly identified as the Evil Queen. 

“Good afternoon, Henry.” He left the back counter to talk to him. “What brings you in today?”

Henry looked around the shop with a half-frown on his small face. “I wanted to buy a present for Mrs. Nolan,” he said. “You know, since she didn’t die.”

Kathryn Nolan’s disappearance, various sightings, and eventual re-appearance had been headline news for weeks. The poor woman had finally made it to the doorstep of the sheriff’s station, dehydrated and malnourished but clear in her mind. She reported that she had been abducted, had escaped several times, and had been recaptured and moved to different locations before finally making a break for it.

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t wonder who might be responsible for something so tragic happening to the woman Prince Charming was married to in this world--or who might benefit from it becoming public knowledge that David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard were having an affair while Kathryn was in such peril. But he did wonder how things might have been different if Regina had asked someone more competent to do her dirty work. He would have refused, but she should have at least tried to come to him first. 

That was all in the past. Now, Kathryn Nolan was recuperating in the hospital and young Henry wanted to buy her a gift. 

“What were you thinking, my boy?”  

Henry shifted from one foot to the other. He seemed focused at some point over Rumpelstiltskin’s shoulder. “Um.... Maybe something musical? Something that makes a lot of noise.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Interesting choice. Perhaps a music box?” He went to the case where he kept a few antique music boxes. He wound each one up and set them on the counter for Henry’s inspection.

“They’re not very loud.” He held one shaped like a golden harp up to his ear. 

“I also have a mechanical nightingale.” Rumpelstiltskin pointed to a clockwork bird that was covered in jewels. In the old world, it had belonged to an emperor, who had valued its song over that of any real bird. “Though I fear it may be a touch out of your price range.”

There was a noise from the back of the shop. Rumpelstiltskin turned to look that way, but then Henry spoke up again.

“What about a bell?” he asked loudly. “Do you have any bells around here?”

“I’d be happier if I had one more,” Rumpelstiltskin joked to himself. “But yes, they’re in the case on the other side.”

He got them out--glass and porcelain, silver and pewter. Henry had to ring them all, of course. Several times. It was only when the boy was done that Rumpelstiltskin noticed more noise from the back. 

“Excuse me,” he said to Henry as he limped over to the curtained door. 

There was a man in his office. August Wayne Booth. Looking through the shelves of unpriced antiques. 

“May I help you?” he threatened. 

Booth put on a boyish grin. It was meant to look disarming, which only made Rumpelstiltskin arm himself more thoroughly. 

“Yeah, I was looking for some maps, if you had any.”

“They’re out there,” Rumpelstiltskin nodded behind him. “In the shop.”

“I thought this was the shop,” Booth chuckled. 

Slowly, Rumpelstiltskin came toward the man, who backed away without losing his shit-eating grin. 

“This is my office.” He kept his voice low, to make sure Booth was listening. “Private.”

“Ah!” To Booth’s credit, he kept up the ruse, no matter how thin it was getting. “Sorry. My mistake.” 

Why did the memory suddenly come to him of Baelfire insisting that he had washed his hands before dinner, even when Rumpelstiltskin could see the dirt on his palms?

Booth made a hasty retreat through the curtained door into the showroom. A moment later, the bell over the front door rang. Without looking, Rumpelstiltskin knew that Henry and Booth were both gone. 

****

      “Will you be able to watch the shop today?” Rumpelstiltskin asked Mrs. Gold the next morning. She had started coming down for breakfast again, though she still made her own coffee and toast. 

For some reason, she seemed to be warming up to him lately. In the evenings she lounged around the house instead of staying cooped up in her room. She offered to help him with dishes and other chores. She stood close to him again. Sometimes she even tried to take his hand. 

She set down her section of the newspaper. Instead of reading to him as she once had, now they divided the paper and read in silence. “You won’t be in?”

“No, I have some business that would bore you.” 

For a moment, he wondered if she would question him. When the curse was in full force Mrs. Gold would have obeyed her husband without thought. Her trust in him--damaging and perverse though it may have been--was absolute. But since Rumpelstiltskin had given up any pretense of acting like Gold to her, she didn’t know him anymore. It had hurt her at first, especially when she had seen him with Jefferson. But lately, for some reason, the breakdown of their marriage didn’t seem to bother her as much as it once had. 

She just nodded. “Feels like I haven’t been in the shop in forever.”

She hadn’t. When Mrs. Gold avoided him that meant avoiding the place where he spent the most time. Should he have done something different with that? Should he have arranged that they alternate days in the shop, just to give Mrs. Gold something to do? Would keeping her busy have made her happier? Would it have prevented some damage to her heart or her mind?

Was it too late for him to make things better for her?

****

 The question of regrets, of apologies and restitution, weighed heavily on Rumpelstiltskin’s mind. Everything he had done for the last several hundred years had been to get to the moment he was in now. He had created a curse that would destroy the old world and bring them to this one. He had manipulated events so that Regina would have enough power and enough rage to cast it, and that Snow White and Prince Charming would have enough True Love to create a Savior who could break it. All of that was just the first step, just the way to get to Baelfire. Now he had to find him, and he had to make things right by him. 

But what if Baelfire had found him first?

The thought was too precious to believe in. It didn’t help that he had no idea how old his son would be. Time worked differently in different worlds. In some places it stopped altogether. Jefferson once spoke of a world where thousands of years could pass between one of his visits and the next. In this world without magic, Bae could still be fourteen. Or he could be an old man. 

Or could be an adult who rode a motorcycle. 

Booth was staying at Granny’s Bed and Breakfast. As the owner of the building, Rumpelstiltskin could have insisted that Granny Lucas pull out her master key and escort him up to the room. But there was no need to make a public display. Not when a set of lock picks could achieve the same result. 

Tit for tat, after all. Booth had invaded his territory. It was only fair that Rumpelstiltskin repay him in kind. 

After four months of him living there, the hotel room had plenty of information to offer about Booth. Housekeeping had made the bed, but dirty clothes still littered the floor. A desk was strewn with books and papers, with a typewriter sitting in the middle. That gave some credence to the idea that Booth was an author. There was a page in the typewriter carriage, the end of a paragraph about a smirking blonde woman. 

There were two stacks of papers on the desk. The larger stack appeared to be a ream or two of blank printer paper, waiting to become the next Great American Novel. The smaller stack was the actual results of Booth’s work. Typed pages held down by a wooden carving of a donkey.

Rumpelstiltskin picked up the figurine. There was no brand on the bottom, it could be hand-made. Once, Baelfire had asked him to teach him to whittle, as he had seen other men around the village teach the other boys. Rumpelstiltskin had been forced to admit that he didn’t have that skill. His father had never taught him either.  

He leafed through the pages until his heart skipped a beat. Hidden with the rest of the papers was a drawing. Baelfire had loved to draw, as Milah had before him. And this drawing was certainly something that only Baelfire would have made. 

It was the dagger. His dagger. 

He had told his son about the power of the dagger, that it was the source of his magic, the only weapon that could hurt him. That anyone who used the dagger could control him and make the powerful Dark One a slave.

Bae had hated the dagger. He hated what his papa had become--and hated more that Rumpelstiltskin didn’t hate it. How could he? The power, the knowledge, had been like nothing he had ever known. Once he had lost his soul to dark magic, Rumpelstiltskin felt like a man for the first time in his life.

But Bae had only wanted his father. 

And when the time came, when Rumpelstiltskin had to choose between the dagger and his son--the son he would die for but could not protect without magic--he had made the worst choice he could have made. 

By the time he realized what he’d done, it was too late. Bae was gone. Rumpelstiltskin lived for centuries without him. Centuries trying to find him. And now…

And now his son might be in Storybrooke. 

****

Later that afternoon, he took Gold’s car and followed Booth on his motorcycle. The Sisters of St. Meissa Convent was an odd visiting place for a man as worldly and rough-edged as Booth appeared to be. But Baelfire had goodness in his soul, the kind that time could not erase. He would talk to nuns as easily as he would talk to fairies. How fitting that the Blue Fairy was now the Mother Superior over a superfluity of nuns. 

Booth was talking to her. Bae had once asked the Blue Fairy how to remove the darkness from his father, and the gnat had given him a magic bean. The bean had opened a portal to get to the land without magic--this world.

If she had offered the same courtesy to Rumpelstiltskin when he had demanded it, the curse would have never happened and none of them would be in the mess they were in now. 

The fairy and the man spoke for some time. They walked around the convent grounds while Rumpelstiltskin waited in the car. From the far side of the large parking lot, he kept an eye on the motorcycle. Once Booth came back to it and started the motor, Rumpelstiltskin got out and made his way to the convent. 

“Mr. Gold!” Mother Superior squeaked when she saw him waiting for her by the entrance. She quickly recovered and straightened up in a display of determined self-righteousness. “It isn’t Rent Day. Are you here to repent of your sins and beg for forgiveness?”

“My sins are far beyond your forgiveness, dearie.” He showed his teeth. She might be stupid enough to think it was a smile. “Who was that man you were talking to?”

The fairy lifted her chin in the air and began to walk on. “I don’t have to tell you that.”

“And I don’t have to not double your rent.”

She stopped in her tracks, her back to him. She was dressed in wool from her stockings to her habit--all of it dark blue. At least some things hadn’t changed. The Mother Superior stomped back to him. 

“What do you want?” she asked through a clenched jaw.

“That man,” Rumpelstiltskin repeated. “What did you talk about?”

Fidgeting with the sleeves of her cardigan, the Blue Fairy didn’t look him in the eye. “He’s a lost soul looking for his father. He asked me for advice on how to approach him.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s throat went dry. He stayed very still and gripped the handle of his cane. “What did you tell him?”

Her temper seemed to flare. “The same council I would give anyone in that situation: To be selfless, and brave, and honest.”She looked at him pointedly. “You have to care about the other person’s feelings more than your own pride, you know.”

“You would know a thing or two about pride, dearie.” Rumpelstiltskin turned away and began to walk, leaving the gnat sputtering in his wake.  

****

Taking time to chat with the Blue Fairy made Rumpelstiltskin lose track of Booth’s whereabouts. He drove back to town, knowing he would run into the man again. Especially if he was looking to reconcile with his father. 

Should he believe what the fairy had said? Mother Superior would know better than to make things worse between herself and Gold. Nothing she had said seemed to be a lie. But there were so many ways to deceive without lying. 

He parked the car by the shop, but didn’t go in. Without knowing that he was doing it, he began to walk down the main street. He needed to think.

What he really needed was to talk to someone. Belle would know what to do. He could talk to her about anything, and she would understand, or try to. At least she would listen. In the too-brief year of their marriage, he had poured out his soul to her a hundred times. She had always known how to help him, how to see what he needed to do and how he might go about doing it. He could be weak with Belle, in a way he could never be weak with anyone. He could admit his confusion, his inarticulate mass of fears and sorrows--and always, she would help him untangle the threads of his thoughts, without judgement, with nothing but wisdom and love.

No one else could do what Belle did.

He might reach out to Jefferson, but the poor man was so caught up in his own misery. Little Grace didn’t know who her father was, it would be cruel to talk to him about a possible reunion with his own child. It also occurred to Rumpelstiltskin that Jefferson didn’t know Bae existed. His son--his life before he became the Dark One--was one of Rumpelstiltskin’s closest secrets. Only Belle knew the whole story. It would be too much to burden Jefferson with all of it at once.     

After circling the block, Rumpelstiltskin’s feet stopped in front of a building across the street from the shop. It was called the Hepworth Building, Gold had owned it for years. Among other businesses, it housed the office of Dr. Archibald Hopper, the town’s resident psychiatrist. 

In the old world, Hopper had once been a petty thief named Jiminy. After getting caught up in some magic he didn’t understand, Jiminy had been transformed into a talking cricket. To atone for his previous crimes, he had made it his duty to act as the conscience for confused humans, to encourage them to do the right thing.

Rumpelstiltskin sighed as he knocked on the office door. Whatever might happen with the cricket, it had to be better than stewing around in his own head. 

Dr. Hopper opened the door. A tall, bespectacled man in tweed, he radiated a kind of earnest goodness, a guileless sincerity that made Rumpelstiltskin itch. 

Belle would like this man, he told himself. Belle would want him to talk to someone. 

“Mr. Gold.” Hopper’s voice was always soft, even when he was surprised and confused. “Are you… here about the rent?”

Of course that was all Gold was to these people. Nothing but a monster set out to take as much from them as possible. 

“No.” He leaned on his cane and looked at the carpet. “No, I’m… I’m not sure I could tell you why I’m here.”

Hopper’s frame had been taking up the entirety of the doorway. Rumpelstiltskin stood in the hall, far enough away that no passerby would think he was waiting to go into the psychiatrist's office. With a single step Hopper went out into the hall. Now the door was wide open. 

“Would you like to come in?” he said. “I’ve got some time before my next appointment. If there’s something on your mind…?”

Rumpelstiltskin brushed past the doctor before he could change his mind. Once in the office, he had just enough time to find a chair before his knees gave out and he collapsed, like a puppet whose strings had just been cut. 

Hopper sat down in the chair across from him, so they were eye to eye. Some deep, primal emotion burned in Rumpelstiltskin’s throat. He wanted to talk. He shouldn’t talk. If he started talking--about Bae, about himself, about Belle--he would never be able to stop. 

“So,” Hopper began, “what brings you in today?”

A coffee table sat in between Rumpelstiltskin’s chair and Hopper’s. He looked at it, at the fake wood grain that covered up the cheap plywood. He breathed.

Gods, he wished Belle was here.

“I think I might be seeing my son again soon,” he said.

Hopper was silent for a moment. His head tilted to the side. “I--didn’t know you had a son. How old is he?”

“Let’s start with something simpler.” Rumpelstiltskin took a shaking breath. “I haven’t seen him since he was fourteen. I…” He trailed off, then began again. He was here. He was talking. He was determined to plunge in the knife as deep as it would go. 

“I haven’t seen my son since I abandoned him.” He looked up, stared directly into Hopper’s eyes. “I can’t imagine that he doesn’t hate me for what I’ve done. I know I deserve his hate. I deserve all the anger and rage he wants to pour out onto me. But I’m still afraid of it.”

“Well of course you are,” Hopper said simply. “No one wants to deal with negative emotions, or the consequences of actions they regret. The past can be a scary place, and it sounds like you’ve got some real causes for concern.”

Rumpelstiltskin blinked. He’d forgotten how good it could feel to have someone agree with him, to look at the facts of the situation and say that his reaction was justified. 

“I do want to see him,” he said. “But… but how can I make up for what I’ve done? If I make myself vulnerable to him, I might as well put my head on a chopping block.”

The dagger was the only weapon that could kill him. Did Bae want it for that reason? Had his son decided that enough was enough, that he would end the evil of the Dark One no matter what it cost?

“Vulnerability,” Hopper said, “is a very scary thing. Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but you don’t strike me as a person who is comfortable with being open.”

Rumpelstiltskin sighed. It had been the greatest gift Belle had ever given him--the chance to open himself up to her. Could he trust Bae in the same way? Could he offer his son all he had, all the weakness and cowardice? Could he trust his boy to understand everything he wasn’t, as well as everything he was?

“When he was growing up,” he said, “I always wanted to be strong for him. I didn’t want him to… know.”

“Know what?”

“What I lacked. As a father, as a--man.” Rumpelstiltskin’s hands balled into fists. “I didn’t want him to know that I wasn’t good enough for him.”

The confession escaped him like air from his lungs. It left him feeling hollow, deflated. He looked at the ground. 

The office was silent. Hopper seemed to be waiting to see if he would say more. When it was clear that he wouldn’t, the doctor put his hands together, entwining his fingers.

“It’s clear you have regrets,” he said gently. “If you want to talk about those things in the future, we can schedule an appointment. But you came here because you have concerns about reuniting with your son. On that end, I have a question for you.”

Rumpelstiltskin didn’t speak, but looked up from the ground to let Hopper know he was listening. 

“Do you think your son doesn’t know about what you think of as your faults?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Everything you were trying to hide from your son when he was a boy, everything you didn’t want him to know--do you think, right now, that he is unaware of those things?”

Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth. “No,” he said after a moment. “No, I don’t see how he could be ignorant anymore.”

When Bae was small, he had tried to be a regular father to him. He’d tried to keep him from understanding how wretched their poverty was, how unhappy Millah was, how far Rumpelstiltskin fell from being anything their world thought a man should be. But Bae had grown up and he had learned. And then he had seen that not only was his father less than a man--he was a monster. 

Bae had known that. And he had run from it. But now he was back. He had chosen to come back, to seek out Rumpelstiltskin.

“If that’s the case,” Hopper said, “though it might still be frightening, I don’t know if there’s any reason for you to feel like you need to hide from him anymore.”

He didn’t speak. He was too overwhelmed. He should see his son. He would see his son. He had to. 

“Do you know where mold grows, Mr. Gold?”

Wordless, Rumpelstiltskin shook his head.

“In the dark,” Hopper answered his own question. “Any rot, any corruption, it’s mostly going to happen in dark, hidden places. Basements, attics, the back of the fridge. It’s the same with emotions that people keep secret. If you don’t bring them out into the light, they’re just going to get… yucky.”

He allowed himself to grin. “You know, that sounds exactly like something my wife would say.”

****

   That night, when Rumpelstiltskin followed the motorcycle, it drove off into the woods. It took him a few minutes to realize that they were headed to Gold’s cabin. The same place where he had buried the dagger all those months ago. 

Good. That dagger had been the linchpin of the conflict between him and Bae. No matter how that conflict ended, the dagger would surely have some part to play. 

He parked the car beside the motorcycle. The cabin was dark, but moonlight reflected off the lake. The figure of a man stood by the shore. 

Rumpelstiltskin hesitated before going out to meet him. How was this going to play out? How angry would Baelfire be? How could he ever make up for leaving him, for embracing the darkness he had hated so much?

How could he ever be a father to him again?

Do the brave thing, Belle would have said. Bravery will follow after that. 

Leaning on his cane, Rumpelstiltskin stepped onto the grass and walked out to meet his fate. 

The man didn’t move as he heard him approach, but he did turn his head as they stood side by side in front of the water. 

“I didn’t know if you would come,” he said calmly.

Rumpelstiltskin planted his cane in front of him. Just barely, he resisted the impulse to weep. He wanted to throw his arms around his son, to get on his hands and knees and beg forgiveness from his beautiful boy.

“I didn’t know if I would be welcome,” he said honestly. “After… everything.”

Now Bae faced him fully. In the moonlight, his eyes sparkled blue--so like Millah, so like Belle. His eyes shone with unshed tears.

“Papa.” 

It was all he said. It was all he needed to say. Rumpelstiltskin’s resolve melted. His son was in his arms. They hugged and cried and apologized. Bae assured him that everything was alright, everything was forgiven. They were together again. They could be happy again. 

“Look at you!” Rumpelstiltskin held his son’s face in his hands. He had changed, but he had grown up to be a handsome, strong, capable man. Bae was everything he had ever hoped he would be. “Belle will be so happy to meet you at last.” 

Bae looked confused. “Who’s Belle?”

“My wife. Your--well, she’d like to be your step-mother, if you want to think of her that way.”

Belle had wanted to be a mother to his son, a mother to all the children they could have together, once the curse was broken and the world was safe.

“Of course, Papa,” he said. “I’m sure I’ll love Belle. She’s got to be a better wife to you than that girl who hangs around your shop.”

Rumpelstiltskin winced. He patted his son on the arm and began to walk toward the cabin. “Don’t judge Belle by Mrs. Gold, son. This curse… it is a terrible thing.”

“I know.” Bae began to walk ahead of him. Then he stopped and looked back. He waited for Rumpelstiltskin to catch up.

Limping, he chuckled at his son. “Just like old times, isn’t it?”

For a split-second, the man’s face was blank. Like he had no memories of running to the village on market day while his father hobbled on a staff, urging him to slow down, to stay close. The blankness remained in his blue eyes, even as he smiled and laughed. “Oh, right.” 

Had Bae always had Millah’s eyes?  

Rumpelstiltskin felt his jaw clench. A worm of worry had gnawed into this perfect moment. But he couldn’t worry. He couldn’t be afraid now. Not when he finally had Bae again. 

He had Bae. And Bae had forgiven him. It was so easy.

Too easy?

They kept walking, past the cabin and to the patch of woods where he had buried the dagger. There was a shovel in the cabin. The young man insisted that he do the digging. Rumpelstiltskin watched him work. He tried to keep a level head.

The deeper the man dug, the more worried Rumpelstiltskin found himself. Was that just his connection to the dagger? Dark magic knew when it was being threatened, it always worked to protect itself. Bae had tried to separate Rumpelstiltskin from the Dark One before. Did the dagger know that? Was it afraid that Bae would win this time?

Or was Rumpelstiltskin afraid that Booth wasn’t really Bae at all?

After unearthing the metal box, Booth handed it over to him. 

“Can you unlock this, Papa?”

The keys were in his trouser pocket. He didn’t reach for them. He held the box in both hands, in the dark and silent forest. 

“You know,” he said. “I gave the dagger to Belle, before I asked her to marry me. I knew it was the only way we could be together. If I kept my magic, she would have the power to control it.”

The young man looked up at him from his hole in the ground. “That’s… really sweet, Papa.”

Rumpelstiltskin let out a breath. “Funny thing, though,” he said. “In this world, I don’t have magic. Wasn’t that the whole point of coming here, Bae?”

Thinking clearly for the first time in days, Rumpelstiltskin looked August Wayne Booth in his lying blue eyes. 

“There is no magic in this world,” he said. “My son wanted to escape from magic. He would leave this dagger buried in the earth. You are not Baelfire, so who the hell are you?” 

Booth opened his mouth and held up his hands. “Papa, how can you--”

“Enough!” Rumpelstiltskin roared.       

By the time Booth had scrambled out of the hole, Rumpelstiltskin had unlocked the box and taken out the dagger. He pushed Booth up against a tree and held the point of the dagger to his lying throat. 

Booth’s breath went ragged. “You just said it doesn’t have magic.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn’t sharp, dearie. I think you should talk while you still have a voice box.”

He tried to swallow, then seemed to realize what a dangerous endeavor that would be. “I-I-I’m not your son.”

Rumpelstiltskin bared his teeth. “A little fairy told me she advised you to be honest. Now tell me something that I don’t already fucking know.”

“I know where he is!” Booth gasped out the words. “N-Baelfire. I’ve met him, I’ve talked to him. I can find him again.”

“See, if you started with that, you might have some credibility. But now I’m going to make you bleed, just because you insulted my son’s name by putting it in your mouth.”

He pushed the dagger into a spot under Booth’s ear, far away from any fatal areas. Rumpelstiltskin had seen blood in the moonlight before--it looked black and otherworldly and beautiful.

But Booth wasn’t bleeding. A trail of clear liquid rolled down the man’s neck, much more slowly than blood usually did. Rumpelstiltskin reached out a gloved hand to touch it.

“Who are you?” he asked. “What’s wrong with you? Were you not born in my world?”

Though clearly feeling pain, Booth was able to grin. “That’s where you’re wrong, Dark One. I wasn’t born at all.”

Rumpelstiltskin eased up on the point of the dagger, but kept Booth pushed up against the tree. “And?”

“I was carved,” he explained. “From the wood of an enchanted tree. And enchanted trees don’t do well in a land without magic.”

Now Rumpelstiltskin stepped back. Far enough away that Booth couldn’t grab the dagger away from him, but close enough that he could still rush the man if he needed to. 

“You need magic,” he said to the wooden man. “Did you think you could control me with this? Use me to keep yourself alive?”

“There are three people in this town who might have access to magic.” Now Booth leaned against the tree. He rubbed at his neck, wiping away the sap that had leaked from his skin. “It’s Emma, you, and the Evil Queen.”

Understanding dawned. “You’ve been hanging around Emma for months.”

“Trying to get her to believe.” Booth shook his head. “Hasn’t worked.” 

“Well, you couldn’t claim to be her long-lost child, could you?”

He had the good grace to chuckle at that. “I don’t have anything to offer Regina either. Hell, she wants me to be a pile of kindling.”

“You haven’t exactly endeared yourself to me either, sunshine.”

Hanging his head, Booth looked at him. Blue eyes--Bae’s were brown, they had always been brown, dammit!--had no hope in them. “Do you want to kill me now?” he asked. “Or do you want to watch my limbs and lungs and brain slowly turn into wood?”

“It’s a day in the park either way.” Rumpelstiltskin didn’t hide his satisfaction at this news. This man had lied to him, betrayed him in one of the most personal ways possible. He deserved to die. “Any guess as to how long you’ve got left?”

“Maybe weeks.” Booth pressed his hand to his thigh, then rapped his knuckles against his leather jacket. “Maybe days.”

“Hmm,” he grinned. “Well, Mr. Booth, for as long as you’re flesh and not furniture, you have a job to do.” He stepped up to the man, grabbed him by the collar and spoke loudly into his ear. “Get Emma Swan to break the curse. She is the Savior. Her magic is what will save us all.” He released Booth, tucked the dagger into his inside coat pocket, and walked back to the car. “Even those of us who don’t deserve it.”  

[bratzkoo]

GUCCI pt. 1

Author: bratzkoo | navi Pairing: Editor-in-Chief! OC x Creative Director! Taehyung Word Count: 2.5k  Genre: fluff, angst Rating: NC-17 Possible Warnings: implied sex, mentions of sex, taehyung is a horny bitch tbh many ocs im very sorry, it’s still valentine’s day and i wanna eat chocolates and cry [established relationship! au, fashion designer! au] Summary: Vante, a fashion designer and creative director of Gucci who keeps his life in private. No one really knows him aside from what he shares in public, no surprise when the media goes gaga over the leaked sketches of Vogue’s editor-in-chief Y/N Black in his journal. aka Taehyung is very secretive and he loves his girlfriend so much. -

Taehyung stares in awe at the sight of you wearing a black Madame Grès evening gown in front of the full mirror wall in your shared bedroom. "So, what do you think?" you ask Taehyung, looking unsure whether wearing a Madame Grès for the annual ball The Isle's host is a good idea. Taehyung watches you with fondness as he relaxes into the pillows. "You look exquisite, my darling, as always," Taehyung says seriously. "But I rather have you come back to bed, preferably naked." Taehyung still doesn't understand why you would ask him for his opinion, when you’ve always been an excellent dresser. You’re the editor-in-chief of Vogue, you know fashion like the back of your hand. You look at him, expressionless. "You want me to attend the ball naked?" You ask, stripping off the gown to hang it in the rack full of possible clothes you might wear for the ball and wear the new floral Gucci robe Taehyung gave you last month."Wouldn't they like to see that... Y/N Black- High Priestess of Fashion, stark naked in the Isle Ball." You pause before saying, "I hope they'll like what they see." in a teasing manner. Taehyung's cheeky grin slowly drops, he glares at you laughing as you walk over to your massive bed crawling next to him. You look up to Taehyung's glare and decide to tease him more. "Wouldn't I look pretty, Vante?" You say, using your boyfriend's fashion pseudonym. "You would also look pretty in ski jackets and pants, how about that? Make sure your ankles don't show or other men would go crazy." Taehyung says as he plays with the hem of your robes, kissing your forehead lightly. You lean towards Taehyung, finding comfort in his warmth. "Y/N Black shows her ankles in the Isle Ball. What a whore." You giggle with your imagination. Taehyung pulls you to the point where you're on top of him facing each other, Taehyung holds your face with gentleness and pulls you into a kiss. "Y/N— Dear heavens, they're going at it!" They hear Adriela's voice and pull away. Taehyung groans, head dropping down to his pillow. He really wants to change their passcode but you think you don't have to, but with their family and friends cockblocking him he really doesn't care what you say. You laugh and turn into a position where you’re lying on your back in Taehyung's chest. Adriela enters their bedroom with full makeup on and styled hair but still wearing her robes on. "The ball starts at 7 pm and you're having sex at 5 pm, may I remind you that you're not supposed to show up together much more, showing up late together?" Adriela says. "We should be having sex at 5 pm, now get out so we could continue," Taehyung says. Adriela scoffs at Taehyung's retort. "Get ready, Kim Taehyung and you," Adriela points at you with her perfectly manicured nails. "Your closet now." Adriela drags the clothing rack near the mirror inside as she disappears from your sight. "Sorry, Darling. I need to follow Adriela." You roll away from your boyfriend despite his protest and join Adriela inside your walk-in-closet. "I apologize for interrupting your lovey-dovey time with your darling, I just want you to know that the car will be arriving soon," Adriela says as she scans the dresses in the rack and stops to pull out a linen dress. "Buttercup-yellow gown... is this what I think it is?" You nod, "I have another Madame Grès too, I tried it on earlier." Adriela pulls out the black dress and lets out a sigh, "This is pure talent, pure art." "Ela, don't wet the clothes with your tears," You say. Adriela rolls her eyes and hands you the black dress. "Wear this and I'll come back in a few, I'll check on Taehyung." Adriela exits your sight and not a minute later hears her annoyed tone addressing Taehyung. "I will murder you, Kim Taehyung." "I'm up!" You giggle hearing Taehyung's panic tone when Adriela threatens him. You sit on your vanity to do your makeup. - Though Taehyung wants to indulge in the idea that he doesn’t have to attend the Isle’s ball, he arrives in the living room wearing a suit from the latest collection of Gucci. He sees you and Adriela eating cheesecake at the counter wearing your gowns. “My love, why are you eating cheesecake when we’re about to leave?” Taehyung asks you, coming up behind you and presses a kiss at the top of your head before he goes to open the fridge to get yogurt milk. "You are about to leave, Taeh. We're staying for 30 more minutes and arriving late." Adriela says, opening her phone wondering why her phone is flooding from notifications. "I hate that you have to ruin--" Adriela cuts what Taehyung was about to say and shoves her phone to his face. "What the hell is this?" Adriela asks with annoyance visible in her tone. "The announcement is scheduled next week, now I have to answer a lot of questions at the ball and I have to be seen with you at least twice in pictures!” Gucci announces working with Ada Rosier as the new global brand ambassador "You want me to save you from working for Yves Saint Laurent and this is how you repay me for doing so?" Taehyung retorts, welcoming you as you stand between his legs and leaning back into him. "That's because I have to tweet about my secret crush on Kim Seokjin because they think we're dating and Y/N’s being a jealous bitch. Technically, you owe me." Adriela says, they’re trying to link me to the wrong kim, she thought. You ignore your best friend's insult but scoffs at the reminder of the news 3 months ago, "Why would they even think that the two of you are dating when you can barely stand each other without bickering?" "I know, my love. Don't they know that she's not my type?" Taehyung says in a teasing manner, he receives a spoon Adriela throws in his way. "Hey, I'm holding Y/N!" "That's why I specifically aimed for your head. Better luck next time then," Adriela smirks and bites a spoonful of the cheesecake she's eating. Taehyung frowns and raises his middle finger towards Adriela. "Nice. Classy." Adriela sarcastically says. "I hate you Ada, and I have to go." Taehyung pecks your lips. "I'll see you later. Love you." "Love you too," you say. You hold Taehyung hands slowly letting go trying to make him stay. Adriela notices that it looks like it physically pains both you and Taehyung to be away from each other, she wonders how the media doesn't see the way you are so disgustingly in love. She's about to comment on how she's such a third wheel but decides to tease Taehyung instead. "Hey, why don’t I get an I love you from you, Taeh?" Adriela tries to say without laughing but fails. "Go to hell, Adriela," Taehyung says. "Make sure to save me a seat!" Adriela retorts. "I'm sure the devil would offer you his, you evil brat!" Taehyung says just before he closes the door. Adriela laughs at how she can easily annoy Taehyung. You sigh, "I miss him already." Adriela scrunches her nose, disgusted with the couple. "By the way," You straighten your back before continuing. "Is Lopez coming?" Adriela laughs. "You need to stop calling Kina with her last name." You roll your eyes, "Just answer my question." "No, Kina's in France preparing for fashion week," Adriela informs. "Besides, this fashion week is her biggest project yet, good for her." "She's not attending the ball and Kerhea's okay with that?" You ask in disbelief. "I guess this project is so big that she's fine with experiencing Kerhea's wrath for skipping the ball this year." You hum in agreement. "I guess so. Taehyung's going back to France next week, too. I’ll be in Italy in three days." You sigh, you might not even see Taehyung until the Gucci show because of your busy schedules during fashion weeks. Adriela stands up to collect the dessert plates and puts them in the dishwasher. "We need to go, we're past that fashionably late time." You nod, "How long is this ball going to last?" "I don't know, I leave when you leave. You're Y/N Black, it doesn't matter if you show up for 10 minutes and leave. They'll only care that you showed up." "I know that. I'll probably stay for 30 minutes tops and go to the office to get some work done." "Oh Y/N, never change!" Adriela says before laughing that you’re still the workaholic bitch that you are. - You step out of the car with your assistant- Sandra, trailing behind you as you walk on the red carpet. There are paparazzi waiting behind the ropes capturing your every move. You pay no effort to smile at them but you do stop for two questions. After all, Taehyung's the one who prefers staying away from the media. You enter the building, a footman handing you lilies of the valley just like what Charles IX did at Fontainebleau every May Day. The building is so delightful to the eyes and you took the time to take all the decorations in your mind. Right before you descend from the stairs, Kerhea Isle pounces on you and greets you with two cheek kisses. "I am so glad you could make it, Y/N," Kerhea says. "I have been informed by my secretary that you would only be staying for half an hour, I suggest getting the champagne they are absolutely delightful and I'll send a few hors d'oeuvres on your way." You nod and smile in appreciation of Kerhea's considerate attitude towards you, "Always grateful for you, Isle." Your friendship is something even the both of you find peculiar but you’re glad to have each other. "Always grateful for you too, Black." Kerhea returns the smile. "I'll go ahead and greet the other guest, Vante looks edible in his Gucci suit." You suppress your frown with Kerhea's comment about your boyfriend but you only graciously nod again, "You go do your thing, Isle." Kerhea leaves you alone to yourself as you both know you hate holding conversations in public more than it's supposed to go. You sigh as a server passes by with a tray of champagne glasses, you get two glasses knowing you need it to survive the thirty minutes you plan to stay in the event. You live with the fact that you can never tell Kerhea about your relationship status despite knowing each other for more than a decade, You would love to but telling her will result in Kerhea telling her sisters at some point during one of their monthly dinners at Le Dante's. Knowing her sister; Keisha Isle, it would result in being the hot topic of gossip blogs and front pages of newspapers overnight. So yes, you would rather listen to Kerhea's thirsty comments over Taehyung than have the whole world probe every detail about your dating and sex life. You shake your thoughts away when fashion designers and models approach you with friendly smiles. - Taehyung does his best to not keep his gaze on you and how you always manage to brighten every place you grace with your presence. Taehyung stops coming to events unless you decide your coming, as he only finds you important. He does go to fashion shows of his friends but prefers to stay at home or in his office than to go to parties. You understand that Taehyung simply didn’t find the need for them anymore now that he has his name established in the industry and he’s content with the friends he made, he doesn’t hook up with any of the guests even back then when he was single so there was really no need for attending anymore. This event, in particular, requires him to attend because he could never say no to Karlene Isle. “Vante, you made it.” Taehyung turns to smile at the matriarch of the Isle who’s standing behind him with a matching smile.It seems that time is very good for the 45-year-old woman with four children. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mrs. Isle,” Taehyung says as she pulls him into a hug which he returns. That’s a lie, I did try to miss it. If it weren’t for my love; Y/N and that dumb; Adriela. “I told you already, call me Auntie Karlene,” she says. “How’s the preparation for the fashion week? I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come to your show in Paris the last time but I’ll be sure to attend your Rome show, so please do save a sit for me.” Karlene gets a champagne glass after greeting Taehyung. “You know I never talk about what plans I have for fashion week, Mrs. Isle. I’ll have the invitation be sent to your home in Rome by tomorrow,” he replies. “I’m excited to see the collection this season, the last one was so groundbreaking everyone is praising your vision and what you have done to Gucci.” Taehyung bashfully smiles, he always reacts shyly when people praise his work. “I do my best, as long as I do my best I’m happy.” “Let’s see each other next week for the fashion show, and maybe plan a dinner with your cara mia.” Taehyung prevents himself from frowning at Mrs. Karlene trying to push him in meeting his girlfriend that she accidentally found out because she keeps on telling him to marry one of her daughters. “I’d love to have dinner with you and mi querida but she’s equally as busy as me, if not more.” He replied. “You just want to keep her all to yourself.” “I wish I could, but she has lots to do and I love watching her do the things she loves.” “Well, let’s all get together in the near future. I have to get back to overseeing everything I just wanted to say hello.” Karlene smiles warmly at him before she walks towards someone to greet them. Taehyung fumbles to get his phone in his suit pocket and sends a quick text to his driver to pick him up in 5 minutes before he opens your contact. to: mi cielita baby I’ll be at home Gonna order pizza Can we have sex after? Taehyung prevents himself from laughing out loud when he sees the three dots waiting for you to reply. from: mi cielita was about to go to the office today to do more work you’re so annoying text me when you get home He imagines you rolling your eyes typing your reply but he knows you’ll see each other at home. They always do.

[inqorporeal]

Future Tense

It was rare, Theron mused, that things were so quiet that they had a moment to relax like this. The cantina was bustling, and all of the advisors and primary staff had been able to justify taking the evening off. Theron got a lot of shit for being a workaholic, and even now he could feel the niggling itch of a puzzle left unsolved. But it could wait. For the moment, there were more important things to worry about.

Sitting in the booth beside him, the Commander cradled their drink between their hands and leaned a little more into Theron's space, seeking permission.

It was a… weird dynamic between them. The Commander was Imperial, Theron was a Republic spy. Feelings should never have developed between them; but what had begun as an uneasy alliance had blossomed into a mutual respect and even admiration. By the time Theron ran into them on their way to rescue him from the Revanites, well….

You couldn't fake that look of relief in a person's eyes. They had stood up for him, defended him, and hadn't agreed with Lana about her willful negligence which had led to Theron's capture. Seven years later and he was still awed that anyone had successfully extracted an apology, however reluctant, from a Sith Lord on his behalf. 

When they'd first begun their association chasing rumours of Revanites, Theron had been worried that the two Imperials might try to extract Republic secrets from him; neither had asked more than he was willing to offer, and even though he'd felt incredibly lonely during that time, he had also felt at ease. Nobody was leaning over his shoulder for once Marcus, nor prying into his downtime activities Jonas, and the people he had to work with had encouraged him to put the datapad down in the evenings to share a drink or two and talk shit about members of the Dark Council. Theron had felt free enough to dump some of his (non-classified) dirt on certain Senators, to the amused delight of his partners in conspiracy-routing.

So when the Commander had asked about Satele, Theron may have spilled a bit of long-held bitterness. It wasn't really fair of him -- Satele wouldn't have wanted to let Darth Marr know Theron might be leverage on her (he would be; her distance in his youth aside, Satele did care). But… he'd been tired. The painkillers had been wearing off. Maintaining a semblance of professional decorum during that meeting had consumed his remaining energy, and his patience had largely taken a leave of absence.

The Commander -- his ally, swiftly sliding into territory that could have tentatively been friendship -- had expressed concern, support, bantered lightly and teased him, drawing his mind away from the pressing issues for a precious moment. When they'd kissed him, it had felt real, like Theron was appreciated and cared for, like they had seen the worst sides of him and found the whole package worth the risk.

They had been risking everything, stealing private moments when and where they could on Yavin IV, surrounded by military detachments from both sides who clearly didn't trust each other. If anyone who had cared had caught them together, Theron would have lost his job and possibly been brought up for an official inquiry; who knew what the Commander had risked. Knowing the Sith, probably interrogation and/or death.

Just for him, Theron, a Jedi washout, an intelligence analyst with no life outside his work and a long list of past relationships that had never survived his career for more than a couple of months. The knowledge had shaken him to his core then, and it still did now: that someone had looked at Theron and found him worth risking death for.

Of course it could have been a ruse, but the looks Lana had been giving them said otherwise. She pretended not to see anything and didn't utter even one word of teasing. If Marr and Satele found out about them, it wouldn't be from her.

Saying goodbye had been unexpectedly painful. In truth, Theron had allowed things to continue because he hadn't believed they would live long enough to see the end of it. So, it seemed, had the Commander. Who needs words? they'd whispered, and kissed him, soft and tender, gloved fingers weaving into his hair and pulling him close. Theron had started to speak, to say how sorry he was, and they'd pressed a fingertip to his lips, with a smile so gentle and sorrowful it damn near broke his heart. Message received: don't apologise for the inevitable.

Theron had spent a year denying that it still ate at him, denying that he thought of them every day, denying that the reason he'd stopped joining Jonas for nights out that ended with casual hook-ups had less to do with working hard to re-prove his loyalty and more to do with the fact that a certain Imperial loyalist had claimed Theron's heart and he didn't want a replacement. Hearing about what had happened to Marr's fleet, though, had blasted that denial right out of the sky. Theron had got back in touch with Lana, asking what happened; maybe she'd actually liked him, or maybe she'd just been in shock, but she gave him straight answers instead of telling him where to get off, and then wrapped it up with, They're not dead, Theron. I can feel them, still. I'll be in touch.

Now he knew why the Commander had been pissed enough to force Lana to apologise to him a year earlier. The thought of the Commander imprisoned somewhere while everyone assumed they were dead nearly destroyed Theron. He'd thrown out all the alcohol in his Coruscant apartment so he wouldn't give into the temptation, and the feeling of time being wasted on the comparative minutiae of his actual job scratched and scraped at the back of his brain. Jonas, perceptive bastard that he is, had noticed; he'd suggested burning off Theron's restlessness with a night out and got snapped at for his trouble.

Theron had -- eventually -- apologised for that, but not before Lana had commed him on the secret, massively encrypted frequency he'd devised. Theron had sent his apology to Jonas taped to the only bottle of booze he'd kept, the unopened bottle of Corellian brandy Jonas had given him to celebrate Theron's most recent promotion.

He had no illusions that he'd effectively sunk his fifteen-year career in the SIS when he'd packed up his essentials and bought a shuttle ticket to Nar Shaddaa under a pseudonym, using credits from one of his other pseudonymic accounts. It wasn't like his work mattered anymore, anyway. In the last few months since Zakuul's Eternal Fleet had come out of nowhere and effectively annexed the Republic, their department heads had played at pretending everything was fine and normal, while all signs pointed to the contrary. According to Lana, the Empire was in much the same state.

Theron had long since grown tired of sitting on his hands instead of actually doing something. He never had dealt with periods of inactivity well.

And now… now he sat in a cantina surrounded by people he by rights should never have become friends with, with his arm openly around the shoulders of a certain ex-Imperial whose faith and loyalty had been well and truly shattered. They'd looked terrible when Theron had first seen them upon his arrival at Odessen: too thin, too exhausted, moving like everything hurt.

It hadn't prevented them from hugging him tightly -- right there in front of everyone -- and murmuring, "You're a sight for sore eyes," the same greeting they had offered on Ziost six years earlier. The feelings were still there, stronger than ever, and Theron had accepted the knowledge that this was his life now. Their lives, now.

The Commander was doing better since Valkorion had taken a cryptic leave of absence; better appetite, less prone to waking up in the middle of the night cursing out someone Theron couldn't throw out of the room, able to focus on work without drifting off to glare at the corner of the room every few minutes. Force only knew how much hassle the creepy Sith ghost had been giving them. It was a relief to Theron, as well -- both of them had been uneasy about the idea of the Sith Emperor watching them in the privacy of their quarters.

"What do you plan to do?" Theron found himself asking. "When this is all over and things go back to normal, I mean," he added when everyone at the table looked at him.

The Commander frowned into their drink. "I'm not sure 'normal' is ever going to happen," they answered. “Too much has changed in the galaxy. Everyone has been forced to adjust and adapt."

Theron gestured to the cheerful crowd beyond the relative privacy of their table. "I mean… the Alliance. Are we all going to have to just… go home?"

The Commander looked thoughtful, then glanced at Lana. "In your professional estimation--"

"Hah," Lana snorted, but she was smiling.

"Shush, you. In your estimation, how many friendships and romantic entanglements have occurred since the Alliance established itself?"

"On Odessen?"

"Everywhere we have operations."

The Sith frowned for a moment. "Hundreds. Thousands."

"Mmhmm, and in your estimation, how many of those would be considered cross-faction?"

Theron could see where this was going but he remained quiet -- his specialty was external intelligence; Lana's was internal.

"Roughly two-thirds, if we're considering smugglers, pirates, and bounty hunters their own faction."

The Commander looked back out at the bar. "Infrastructure is nothing without the people who make it tick, and those little alliances mean something. Say we win. Say we beat Valkorion at his own game. Do you really think people will happily give up everything they've built over the last few years and go back to what we were doing before? No. The defection rate would be tremendous. We're all here because the people we wanted to trust in sat back and did nothing, chose to use the opportunity to enrich themselves politically rather than combining their strength and fighting back." They turned their glass on the table, watching the water ring smear. "I'm not going back. I can't. I can't believe in that anymore. And if there are others who also don't want to go back…? Then we'll figure something out together."

Theron looked over at Lana, who met his eyes and shook her head. She couldn't go back, either. "Then maybe we should start thinking about future organisation," she ventured. "I know you don't want to remain in control forever--"

The Commander scoffed and leaned further into Theron's side. "I'm only the Commander because you pushed for it. Our Zakuul allies want me to sit on the Eternal Throne. I can guess why -- they think I'm Valkorion's next incarnation -- and I don't want that. Zakuul can figure its own shit out. But if we settle anywhere else, either the Republic, the Empire, or both will try to annex us. They already dislike the concept of a third power existing in the galaxy, and let's be real: Odessen isn't as secret as we wish it was. We should already be looking for a backup base; we might as well look for something that can be more permanent. I’m not just giving this up. Not again."

They hesitated, and glanced at Theron, something guilty in their eyes. Before they could apologise for making a choice without talking to him first, Theron pressed his temple against theirs. "Wherever we go, you can count on me to be there too."

[theoriquewitherseld]

Heck I DO wanna know more! I'm super interested in thia fic 👀

OK I am SUPER happy receiving this ask, but alas all I can offer is a lot of excerpts,, more under the cut

When Jacques arrives at Stain'd, he finds the records to be VERY accurate: it's a deadzone. That would likely explain the weird look the conductor gave him when he requested to get off. There's no longer anybody here

Back then there must have been some, perhaps, in order to enact Lem's apprenticeship. But he still regards the situation with an air of apprehension. Large chunk of reports were missing, reports that were leading up to his disappearance. It could be that VFD hid it, of course, but intentional or not, its denominator remains the same: something monumentally terrible occured for that to happen.

And he will have to walk straight to it. Or at least, its aftermath.

The rattle of the train leaving startles him, and he shakes off his nerves. He wants so badly to get back on the train, jump on the railings perhaps but the rear has gotten quite a distance away. He's already alone.

(Oh God I just realized I have no idea what people do after they get off trains. Should there be like people taking ur tickets or something?? Ive been on a train only once and that was super long ago)

The Stain'd Station was utterly deprived of life. Everything was cracked and looked in the danger of falling apart. Litter and dirt was strewn all around. There was no place that Jacques just wanted more to bail out of immediately (except, perhaps, that one wasp-infested area but that is besides the point). It unnerves him, to listen to the echoes of his footsteps in the abandoned station, with its business nothing more than a ghost of its past. It rattles him more than the rattle of train wheels on the tracks. But he trudges on, hoping to find some clue.

Out on the street was no better. All buildings were boarded up, some windows smashed. Brown grass was growing out of the sidewalks. There was few vehicles on the side of the road: a brown rusty one with its hood popped up and its insides gone, a yellow cab so terribly dented, and a black one with its paint job scratched and all four of its tires missing. It was a miserable place, not fit for any human life, much less an apprenticeship. He grimaces in dismay. This is where they dumped his brother? Even as a containment procedure, it was a bit much. No person should be in this place.

But that wasn't the most pressing issue. The most pressing issue is where to start. He does not have the faintest idea where he is in this desolate town, much less where his brother stayed for the duration in the past — except for the address of The Lost Arms. But that information was useless without a map, and every other map he scoured to know about the town has vehemently insisted that Stain'd-By-The-Sea does not exist. Whether VFD has already tampered with those maps, he can not tell.

He had hoped there may be a clue in there, some forgotten item, a thing accidentally left behind. But with no map, his best course of action is to simply search every establishment and hope for serendipity. Not all of the best things are necessarily good things.

He hears a rumble of an engine.

His gaze snaps upwards, puzzled if whether or not he had imagined it. Then he can see the yellow dented cab making its way towards him at a snail's pace. Jacques's heart stops, and gripped his suitcase until his knuckles turned white. It was a trusty little suitcase, filled with tools and files that are of great use of him, but he's not so sure if it were of any use against a damned ghost cab. If it were really a ghost. If Kit was here, she would've scoffed at him. But he's not really feeling up to an argument, not when his feet was stuck to the pavement, body frozen into place. He stares, heart pounding like there was no tomorrow as the taxi pulls up to its side, exactly right in front of him, and stops.

But then the window rolls down, and Jacques felt very, very foolish, but immensely relieved, as it reveals a worn and much younger face of a boy with a busted blue cap.

"Well, hello there friend," he says, with a voice just as tired. "Another visitor was the last thing we expected, but —" he gives a small shrug, "— here we are. Need a taxi?"

It took him a moment to realize how stupid he looked with his mouth gaping open. "I-I'm sorry," Jacques stammered, once he found his voice. "We?"

Another younger face pops up from below the young driver, and Jacques nearly jumps in surprise. "That would be us, the Bellerophon brothers," he reveals with a squeaky but cracked voice. "I'm Pecuchet, and this—" he points upward, and his brother tipped his hat at him, " — is Bouvard, but that makes people's tongue tired, so you can call him Pip, and me, Squeak."

The driver known as "Pip" frowned. "Are you alright though? You've looked like you've seen a ghost."

His eyes fluttered. "Er  — Yes, yes, I... I am afraid I also didn't expect anyone to come here either." He tips his white hat at them in turn. "Greetings to you, I am Ja— James Moore."

Internally, he cringed. It was a sloppy pseudonym, but he can't risk revealing who he is in the potential situation VFD managed to track his trail, they wouldn't be able to hold incriminating evidence against him. Curiously, it didn't arouse much suspicion from the odd duo, except for a slight tilt of the head.

"Well, nice to meet you Mr. Moore. Do you need a ride anywhere?"

Jacques is not quite sure what to think of climbing into a cab with kids of odd names in an abandoned town. However, his relief in discovering that there is fellow life, inexplicable as it is, and a likelier possibility of gaining information triumphed over whatever reservations he had at the moment. In the pursuit of his search, with its very nonexistent lead, he'd take anything.

"I'd like to go to the Lost Arms please."

"Sure," Pip reached out behind him and opened the door. "Hop in."

He pauses, and then climbs in and closes it shut, and soon enough, the two brothers drive away from the Station with startlingly expert hands on both wheel and brakes. Jacques is fairly impressed at their coordination.

"Say," Pip starts, once they got a quite the distance away. "Apologies if it sounds prying, friend, but out of curiosity, what business does a stranger have with Stain'd-By-The-Sea?"

That shook him out of his stupor. Idiotically, he hasn't prepared for that, he was ascertain there won't be anyone here, he even got business cards and all but it's not in his suitcase (which he wants to smack himself on). His mind blanks for a moment, but he manages to scramble an answer that isn’t necessarily a lie nor a truth. "I am private investigator hired to search for someone last seen in this town."

Pip looked at him through the rearview mirror, which was a bit dirty and cracked. "Oh? That certainly does explain why someone wants to be in this town."

Jacques didn't bother to clarify he does NOT want to be here at all, but he nods his head instead.

He expertly steered the wheel. "You wouldn't happen to be allowed the details no? Sorry, but interesting things have rarely happened here since..."

"I'm afraid not, no," Jacques blinks. That felt off. "Speaking of visitors, you haven't happened to have driven someone around lately no?"

"Until you came along? Not one for the past year. No outsiders at the very least."

He deflates a little, but he's unsurprised. So he really wasn't here recently. He was about ask more, when the taxi came to a stop in front of a shabby and derelict building he would presume to be the Lost Arms.

Once again, Pip reached out to open the door for him. "Here we are then, Mr. Moore."

"Thank you," he says, retrieving his wallet. "How much is the fare?"

Pip blinked in surprise. Then his eyes flickered towards the wallet, and his eyes widened further. "Huh, I never expected a paying customer today either."

It puzzles him so much that he tilts his head. Did they just let him ride as a charity? "Well, it's only natural to pay for a service, no?"

He just shrugged. "It's alright. Keep the money, it's not gonna be much use anyways, with the state of the town. You may wanna give that to the proprietor though —" he nods to the building, "— Prosper Lost."

"Well, I shan't dare to think of leaving this taxi without giving something in return," Jacques insisted.

"How about a tip then?"

"A tip?" he frowns. "A tip what?"

"Anything really, s'long as its useful."

That got him thinking. He thought of giving them a tip of accepting money when they get it and leave this terrifying place, but decided against. He then looks up.

"Here's a tip, there's this book that..." he trails off, feeling a painful lump form in his throat. "That my associate enjoys. Champion of the World, heard of it?"

~

Ellington feels the bitter sweetness on her tongue. The air was damp and cold after the shower, having ceased into droplets. Everything reminded her the cool greens and blues of a watercolor painting. At the distance, the light of the morning sun peaks through. She's glad she's getting some pieces of her back, but some of the damage will be permanent, and some things are just lost forever. Seeing the Association and strangers and natives to Killdeer fields all work together to set things right was amazing, but also drove home on the tragedy of Armstrong Feint, whose pursuit of vengeance blinded him, destroyed himself and set back hopes of recovery for years. The pain he inflicted was an unnecessary cruelty, that if he had bothered to spare, even the tinniest bit of mercy and offered his help, he would've witnessed the return of the sea and the recovery of the environment, and they could've been together.

But he had made a decision. All of their parents did — the Mallahans, the Hixes, the Knights, the Bellerophons, the Losts. What's done is done.

She remembers a line that her father read her once, many years ago. It was the book where Snicket claimed a wizard was not so very helpful, and that her father loved because of its elaborate descriptions of trees. Many elaborate description of trees.

"'I wish it need not have happened in my time,' said Frodo." Ellington murmurs to herself.

"'So do I,' said Gandalf, 'and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.'"

She stares at the sky.

~

But there was a knock at the door

They both froze. Moxie is still on the phone — with who, Kellar didn't hear.

It could be anyone, Kellar thought, perhaps some coworkers who forgot their stuff, or has the intention to work overtime. It may even be some neighbor, asking for help or providing assistance. It could even be a fellow Associate. There's no reason really, to think there could be enemies on the other side.

But he walked anyway. His breathing far too loud and uneven, yet his pace cautious and fearful. He calls out, "Who's there?"

No answer.

"I'm warning you," he says slowly, attempting to keep the tremble out of his voice, "that I'm armed."

Silence. It's a blatant lie of course, but no matter how he strained his ears, he still can't hear anyone walking away. They’re not fooled.

He motions to Moxie to get ready to run. A few seconds, he could buy that. Enough seconds to scramble whatever data they need and bolt like hell. Kellar doesn't see if she saw it.

The door is inches away from him now. His heart pounded in his chest. His hands carefully placed on the dark wood, and he looked into the peephole.

Kellar had barely moved his head in time just to dodge the blast shot that would've blown away bits of his brain, but had blown off half of his right ear instead.

He screamed, it hurt, hurt worse than anything he'd known and he's sure he's lost his hearing there, but he let the wound bleed and instead ducked and braced himself against the door to keep them from opening it. "Moxie run!"

~

"Look at him. Look. At. Him." Pip hissed, and Squeak looked at them with an air of innocence. "You think that's an angel?? A beacon of innocence?? Wrong. That's bastard incarnate. The single source of maliciousness on this earthly realm. Look. Look how evil he looks. He's a little prick."

~

"Frankly, I'd love to have a sibling," Cleo said.

Kellar looked at her as if she said something deranged and jabs a thumb towards Lizzie. "No, you don't. I love my sister, but you think she won't sell me off to the circus first chance she gets?" He shook his head. "Think again."

~

"Dibs."

"What the—" Moxie then scowled. "That was too fast."

Snicket just shrugged. "I have two older siblings, Moxie. The true nature of siblings... Is natural selection."

"Are you certain you should be using big boy words like that?" Ellington asked, bemused. "I'm fairly certain you can't even differentiate a crocodile and an alligator."

~

"If I may introduce you to my family," Jacques says.

He points to Kit emerging from his side. "— Parasite number one—".

And he points to Snicket as he emerges from the other. "— and Parasite number two."

~

"Alright, does anyone have any questions?" Jacques asks tiredly.

They all raise their hands.

"That isn’t sarcastic," he snaps.

They all lowered their hands, disappointed.

Jacques sighs. "Lizzie, you've got the stage."

~

"Just what time is it?" Ellington inquires, exhausted.

"Hang on," Kit smiled, and instead of whipping out a clock, she instead produces a clarinet. She took a deep breath, and blew. Before she could even make it to the second note, they look up at the ceiling— startled— suddenly hearing a very muffled but very clear yell from Jacques, Kit, are you seriously playing the clarinet at 2 IN THE DAMN MORNING.

They look down. Kit still has a devilish smile plastered.

"It's 2 am," she announces.

[cherishingstydia]

Buck secretly writes children’s books that Chris has read and loved but he can’t bring himself to admit the truth to the 118, who still seem to look at him as not being capable of something like this. The truth comes out when Chris is gifted an early copy of his favorite author’s book and Chris accidentally reveals that buck told him the author was him

Buck loved to write, but he didn’t want any of his writing to be linked back to him. He wasn’t embarrassed although he did feel like people thought he was stupid, too stupid to write. He also didn’t want fame so he wrote under a pseudonym “Ethan Buckingham”. No one knew this secret not even the publishers knew who Ethan Buckingham really was.

Buck was at Eddies when he saw one of the fantasy books on the table. Chris was going on and on gushing over his love to the “Kids In Space” series. Bucks heart was pounding he never imagined that a kid he loves so much would be such a big fan. With Chris’s birthday coming up he gave him an early copy of the book.

“Buck how do you get it?” Chris asked in shock.

“You can keep a secret right??” Buck asked.

Chris nodded excitedly.

“I’m the author. Ethan Buckingham is just a fake name.” Buck said.

“Like how Clark Kent is Superman, or Peter Parker is Spider-Man??” Chris asked.

“Exactly. So don’t tell.” Buck smiled.

“Ok.” Chris nodded excitedly.

Later that night after Chris had gone to bed Eddie kept staring at his fiancé.

“So is there anything you can’t do?” Eddie smirked.

“What?”

“You’re a best selling children’s author Buck. That’s incredible.” Eddie smiled.

“Don’t tell anyone. Ok. I didn’t want anyone to know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” Buck said.

“I won’t tell. Maybe find a a way to keep my lips busy so I can’t talk.” Eddie winked causing Buck to blush before kissing him.

The next week was amazing Chris hadn’t told anyone yet. Chris came to visit the fire station Buck was speaking in rhymes goofing off.

“You’re no Dr. Suess.” Chimney joked.

This infuriated Chris. “He’s better! He’s the best writer in the whole wide world!”

“Um Chris.” Eddie shook his head, but it was too late.

“He writes “Kids In Space”. He didn’t want anyone to know it’s him it’s because you’re all big bullies.” Chris crossed his arms.

“Bud that’s ‘Ethan Buckingham’ he’s Evan Buckley.” Hen smiled.

“It’s him! He’s the same person it’s his fake name. He gave me the next book.

When no one would believe Chris Buck stepped in.

“It’s true, but it’s a secret so please just let this stay between us.” Buck said.

“Buck your books are amazing. Why do you hide it?” Hen asked.

“I love to write and share it but I don’t need the notoriety or fame. I just wanna share my stories with the world.Also I didn’t think anyone would think I was smart enough to write.”

“Apologize!” Chris demanded scowling at Hen and Chimney.

“Mijo!” Eddie shook his head.

“No we deserve it. Buck I’m sorry I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t smart. I know you are. You’re also an incredible author.” Hen smiled.

“Yeah I’m sorry too. I agree with everything Hen said.” Chimney smiled.

Later that evening Buck and Eddie were lying in bed.

“So are you ok?” Eddie asked. “With everyone knowing.”

“Yeah. They’re my family so I trust them not to tell.” Buck smiled.

“I’m sorry Chris told, but he just loves you so much he was trying to defend you.” Eddie sighed.

“I love that kid. It was one of the nicest things anyone’s done for me I could never be mad about that.” Buck said and Eddie kissed his temple. “I also love his dad.”

“I love his dad too.” Eddie smiled causing Buck to look slightly confused. “I mean you Evan.”

“Yeah?” Buck blushed.

“Definitely. I was thinking we could make official after we get married you could adopt him.”

“I’d love that!” Buck grinned.

[in-tua-deep]

What are your thoughts on Vanya’s book? I’m torn between knowing it was an empowering thing for her and being like damn girl, you were all abused, not cool putting that out there without their consent. The lines I’ve seen from it were about how Vanya’s siblings treated her but I don’t see how she can talk about their childhood without the abuse coming up. Do you think Vanya would have to apologize for the book as part of improving the siblings relationships?

I think that Vanya’s book was very important for her to write - for herself. I don’t think she should have published it without the consent of her siblings, because Vanya does not exist in a vacuum. If you think Allison was not absolutely grilled over the contents of that book in interviews and it didn’t continuously pop up in her world you’re wrong. And anyone who both knew the other siblings and read the book might make comments or ask questions or make assumptions. Vanya wrote an entire book about how terribly she was treated and then pointed the finger at her siblings.

Because the issue is this: Vanya was abused. Horrifically and terribly abused and neglected. She was drugged for the majority of her life against her consent, frequently emotionally abused and belittled, and isolated from the rest of her siblings. She has a right to be angry. BUT. That does not erase the fact that her siblings were all also abused and victims. And Vanya was so wrapped up in her own pain she couldn’t really see that. 

Of course, the reverse is also true. The others were all wrapped up in their own trauma to the extent that they never considered Vanya’s point of view or the ways that Vanya was being abused.

But imagine for a moment that you father raises you as a child soldier. You and all your siblings except one. While you’re running drills and learning to fight and gathering bruises and the only time you’re allowed to yourself is half an hour during the weekend - the life of the one sibling who is allowed to pursue her own passions (violin) and is generally ignored by your drill sergeant father seems to have it pretty darn good wouldn’t you think? You’d give your left leg to be invisible or not be forced to do the training. You’d give your left leg to have her freedom.

And then she publishes an entire book painting you the bad guy because, what, you didn’t include her in your half an hour of freetime? You had better things to do trying to survive your father’s regime than take a few to play happy family with her? You look at this book and ignore all the emotional abuse and gaslighting that she’s highlighting because you think she had it easy, and she’s saying in here that she was jealous of the attention your father gave you. Jealous. As if gaining your dad’s attention was ever a good thing. 

She spills a whole bunch of family secrets. Discusses your brother’s death, something you find very private (maybe you even witnessed it and she didn’t), with the entire world. She drags up all the shitty things you did as a child. A child raised in an emotionally and honestly probably physically abusive household from which your only adult human role model was your asshole father. He built you a robotic mother who obeys his orders and parrots his words. The only other person is a chimpanzee who also only ever seems to regurgitate Reginald’s ideas and always defended him even though he was hurting you. Abusing you.

Vanya deserved to write down those thoughts and discuss them. With a therapist. Or friends. Or anonymously!  Maybe a blog and give everyone pseudonyms and work through it that way. Because like it or not, her siblings did hurt her. They probably gaslit her about how bad things were, blowing her off because clearly her life wasn’t that bad. And they’d probably roll their eyes and call her lucky that she wasn’t included in training anyway. And Vanya would have to grit her teeth and smile and agree because it’s six against one.

Vanya was abused. But that doesn’t mean her siblings weren’t equally abused. Honestly I bet if Vanya had called up Diego and was like “hey I’m writing a whole book about how much growing up with old Reggie fucking sucked, thinking about publishing, wanna help?” Diego would be the first one on board like “HELL YEAH let’s ruin dad’s whole career I have like, seven stories about child endangerment off the top of my head let’s go”

the book we deserved to have was a collab by the whole family offering different points of views and discussing the trauma their siblings didn’t get to see - like private training. 

So what I’m saying is that Vanya does write a sequel to her book. Except this time it’s with everyone sharing. That’s the apology. The opportunity to set the record straight with what they’re comfortable sharing with the world. 

Luther can talk about never feeling good enough, can talk about his isolation at the top of the pyramid and his relationship with Allison who was also there. He can talk about impossible standards and his father never using his name. Strained muscles and terrible testing. The nonconsensual body modification and the isolation on the moon. The realization that four years of his life had been wasted because his dad never even bothered to read the reports - he didn’t even care enough to try. He can talk about the fact that he was so raised up as a child that he feels like a failure at everything he does now. 

Allison can talk about her father forcing her to rumor her sister when they were both four years old. She can talk about the training, having to rumor her siblings and then later the random people Reginald would bring to her. Delivery men and door to door salesmen and girlscouts who were always rumored to forget after. (And then the homeless people, the people no one would miss. The ones who weren’t rumored to forget after because they didn’t go home. She doesn’t write about them though). She can talk about rumoring her way through life and never learning how to get anything without forcing people to give it to her. Constantly on the offensive. The way that’s impacted her career, her relationships.

Diego can talk about never being good enough. His stutter that Reginald had no patience with. The training, being forced to throw knives at the one person in the world he really truly cares about as she smiles at him with her plastic smile. Trying desperately to keep Klaus from drowning under the weight of Reginald’s expectations when he was barely treading water himself after Ben’s death. Leaving the first chance he did and never looking back. The way he still tried to prove himself by joining the police academy, and when he failed at that by becoming a vigilante. 

Klaus can talk about his father throwing him in a fucking mausoleum. Being scared of the dark and claustrophobic. The ghosts he sees screaming behind his eyelids and sometimes even when his eyes are open. The one escape that he found being looked down on by everyone around him when he was only doing his very best to survive because the sad truth is that he could not live that way. Not how it was. He can talk about Ben showing up after his death, and nobody believing him. Being homeless. Living on the streets with no one but a ghostly follower for company. Every moment of sobriety in that house was one of fear - and Klaus is just so very tired of being afraid. (Maybe he can bring himself to talk about Dave, the one person that made him feel safe and protected and loved and how he lost him. Maybe he can’t.)

Ben can talk through Klaus about his own life. He was forced to kill people against his will with a power he couldn’t really control and that he was afraid of. He ended missions covered in blood that he never wanted to shed. Then his death which was reportedly very bad. Then showing up again and only being able to talk to Klaus. Not being able to hug him or stop him or intervene - forced to become a spectator to his brother overdosing over and over again. Loving him but being so angry that he’s squandering the chances Ben wishes he could once again have. 

Five can talk about growing up pushing the boundaries and the way the others only seemed to notice when Reginald praised him and never when he was punished. And he was punished. Reginald tried over and over again to get Number Five to come to heel and never quite succeeded. Every point Five gained in his own personal score was gained through blood and bruises and willpower. There’s all that to talk about, and then there’s the time travel and forty years of isolation and Dolores and becoming an assassin and his plethora of issues regarding that he doesn’t even need to get into to make a whole book of his own. Coming back and seeing that cold portrait sitting on the mantle and knowing that Reginald used his presumed death in order to further control his siblings. 

And they write it together, sitting in the living room and contradicting each other’s memories of events (”No, Dad caught us because you tripped on the table!” “Nuh uh! It was because Klaus was whispering too loudly!” “Actually guys looking back I’m pretty sure Dad just checked the cameras and noticed us leaving.”) and maybe they don’t publish it! They don’t have to! Or maybe they do, taking out all the bits about, you know, murder and all of that sorry Ben they could probably just downgrade the language to ‘hurting a lot of people’ though I mean. He’s dead it’s not like they can charge him with excessive use of force at this point. 

And it’s a bonding experience. And they all come out of it better understanding that they were all traumatized and abused and groomed and gaslighted and neglected and just overall their childhoods were shit. Five will defend Vanya’s book with his fucking life and probably is instrumental in making the others see that just because her abuse looked different doesn’t make it less valid. And he’s also instrumental in making Vanya see that just because the others abuse looked different doesn’t make it any less valid, either. 

Do yeah, have enough material for a sequel? There’s enough material for a fucking series. 

Honestly though genuinely do you know what I think would have been a way better and more empowering move on Vanya’s part? Writing a fiction novel about an ordinary child in a world of magic and superpowers who saves the world. Writing about her own life through the lens of fiction. Basing her characters on real people, yeah, but not writing a tell all book about people whose lives it would very much still affect. Plus, I bet the others would actually read the book at least and recognize it. 

I mean, if they read an entire book about a character who was excluded and belittled and ignored and told she wasn’t worth anything because she wasn’t special in the context of this fictional world, I think they would sympathize. And then if Vanya told them hey, actually this is me projecting and I really did feel this way a lot then it might go over a sight better than hey I’m writing about our childhoods and all your friends are going to read about it

and honestly?? I think that’s a story that needs to be told to other little girls as well. Maybe they aren’t literally being told they’re ordinary because they don’t have superpowers, but there’s a lot of girls who are told they aren’t special and can’t do things and having an ordinary character save the world is an important and inspiring narrative. And it might help Vanya get some closure, because she gets to come up with an end to the story. Wish fulfillment. She gets to write about an ordinary little girl who saved the world. Or maybe she didn’t save the world. Maybe she saved her piece of the world and left the rest up to the people with powers. Small acts of kindness that change everything, for some people.

(and it would reach more people than whoever reads autobiographies and memoirs)

I have a lot of feelings about the book as you can probably tell lmao

I just think the book could have been handled better on Vanya’s part. But I also think she had a right to write it because she had a LOT of stuff to work through. Honestly I think the book originally began from an exercise her therapist gave her and took on a life of its own until it reached the publisher. But like I said, she doesn’t exist in a vacuum and her actions have effects on other people - specifically her family. 

Granted, it’s not like I’ve read the book in its entirety and can’t judge it because of that. But the others had a right to their privacy and I don’t blame them for feeling angry and betrayed because of that invasion of privacy I mean damn. And I doubt Vanya put any of the good stuff in there really, mostly bad. Because that’s how she was feeling.

(If I wrote a book about my childhood with my brother - I could talk about how he sold our joint runescape account without consultation despite all the hours I put in. I could talk about him chasing me through the house or eating my chocolate that I was saving. I could talk about some of his shitty views and his self-isolation, how he would call me stupid and never let me play with him. When he purposefully ditched me in Mini-Amsterdam when I was six and I had to find someone to call my mum for me. Maybe the time he left me on the school bus when I fell asleep next to him. When he pushed me into a bank of nettles, ouch. Or I could talk about how when my balloon popped when I was seven, he gave me his balloon. Or the time he won me a toy starfish on a crane machine. Or when he took me to school after my surgery so I could pick up my homework and when I went back before I was ready he was the one to pick me up again. Or the time when my sister and her friend were being horrible and he let me hang out with him and his friend in their secret base even though he usually didn’t give me the time of day.)

At the end of the day, you can frame people any way you want, and Vanya was going for the bad stuff. Because she was hurting. And she hurt them. And she needs to acknowledge that, so yeah I do think she needs to apologize for writing the book without asking or consulting in order to improve their relationship. I think the others need to apologize to her as well for what little shits they were as kids, because their own abuse is a reason but it doesn’t excuse what they did, either. Vanya was abused and they hurt her and they need to apologize for that. But that didn’t give Vanya the right to hurt them back, so she has to apologize as well if that makes sense??

I dunno this ended up longer than I thought it would oof but I hope it answers your question!!

[dragonstoravens]

Babylon Book 1, Chapter 1: Meetings

Azure looked at the comm line as it lit up and made a soft buzz. She wiped her hands on her pants and turned off the tool she was using, confused. "Ma's not supposed to call me this early in the month..." she muttered, donning a headset and tapping the answer key. "Ma? It’s a couple weeks early, isn't it?"

There was a long pause, before someone cleared their throat and an uncertain, yet extremely professional sounding male voice said, “...Dr. Zaraya? Is that you?”

“Been a while since someone’s called me Doctor, but no, I don’t think I’m the one you’re lookin’ for." She scratched her head, also confused. "This is Ma’s line.” She thought for a moment and added, “If you compromise her comfort I'll personally fling you into a star."

“...Her daughter?”

“Use child, kid, or spawn if you would. Not exactly a daughter.”

“My apologies,” he amended swiftly. “And your pronouns?”

“She and her, still. They’s too mushy in the mouth for me.” She smiled a little. It never got old to have someone ask and correct themselves that quickly.

Trinity made a soft noise of assent. “At least you know the Doctor. She’s been exceedingly difficult to find so far. My name is Trinity Jericho, and your mother built something for me some time ago. I need her to repair it.”

 "Oh boy. I got some awful news for you, pal." She transferred the line to a more secure one, a soft beep in the background as she did. "She doesn't really have the time to make fixes these days, she's under lock and key. She can't play mechanic for you, even if she wanted to."

Trinity let out a long, hissing breath. “She’s still under house arrest? I suppose they must have changed their security sometime in the past three years…” He sounded genuinely frustrated, even through that calm, professional voice. “Well... thank you for your time. I apologize about the wrong number.”

On the other end of the line, Azzy frowned. Of course her Ma was still under house arrest, she She would normally have let him hang up, but she hated the idea of something her mom made going obsolete. "Well now hold on a minute-” she blurted. ”I said she can't do it. If it's a fix you need, I can handle it." She shifted in her seat and set her feet on her desk with a heavy clunk. "Jericho, is it? What am I working with, and what was the year of installation? If it's Ma's custom work, you're not gonna find a single soul that can figure those connections out faster than I can, and you sound like the busy sort."

“...Hm.” He paused, considering. “Well, with anyone else I’d say it’s impossible, since the model is one of a kind, but it seems as if you’re the best chance I have. It’s a right eyeball, basic internal connection to the brain for sight, along with some extra capabilities. Installed in 30XX. Something went wrong about a week ago, and I lost all movement in that eye and most of my sight. I’d like to have depth perception again.” 

She rubbed her temple. "An eyeball in 30XX..." Another hum. "I think I remember her mentionin’ somethin’ like that. Here." A ping sounded to the device. "Head to those coordinates, I'll get you cleared with my cap’n to come aboard, and we'll get you seein' right faster’n a warp speed jump to your next door neighbor."

There was another chime sound from his end as he received the coordinates, and he hummed slightly, checking them over. They were a bit too high on the Z axis to be planetside, but otherwise not too terribly far from his location. “I can be there in an hour. Is your workshop on a space station, then?”

"Of a sort. Ping when you arrive, don't get too smart no matter how saucy the helmsman gets with you. Good luck." She leaned back in her chair and hit a button. "Indigo, I have a personal request, and I need it approved fast."

When the ship landed, the airlock door opened to reveal a handsome young man with sandy colored hair swept back away from his forehead. Behind one ear was a longer piece of hair braided neatly with a black glass bead, and tiny black studs glinted in his earlobes. He had a black cap pulled low over his face, a casual touch that looked completely out of place next to the rest of his clothes-- a dark green button down, black slacks, and dress shoes. He stood with his hands loose at his sides, a posture of practiced calm.

Azure, hands clean for once in her life, greeted him at the lock, cybernetics quietly crackling. Her beanie was slouching precariously towards the back of her head, her brassy red dyed hair braided neatly to the side. She carried herself with an easy slouch. One look and you could just tell this person did not ever sit in chairs properly if they could help it. "Azure. Pleasure to meet you, welcome to the ship. Hope Smalls didn't get too touchy with ya."

“The pleasure is mine.” In person, his voice was quiet, smooth, and just expressive enough to sound friendly. As he approached to shake her hand, she caught a glimpse of his right eye from under the brim of his cap. It was the same deep emerald green as the left one and looked perfectly normal, except for the fact that it was completely motionless, creating a somewhat unsettling effect that he was always staring directly at her. Unlike some visitors they had, he didn’t look like he’d been too put off by the ship’s snarky AI pilot. “He was fine, but I get the impression that your ship doesn’t typically get many visitors.” He looked around- with one eye, at least. The other stayed locked in place. “I… can’t say I’m too surprised. Forgive me, but this place looks more like a cargo carrier than a passenger ship or station.”

She was entirely unphased, peering into the motionless eye with a thoughtful look that softened the hard set of her jaw. "That's because it is. Handled the retrofittin’ myself." She turned and started walking, the crackling subsiding as it became clear he was actually here for maintenance and not to ransack the ship. "I hope you don't mind, I'm not great at pleasantries so I'm just gonna take you straight to the med for the standard exam. I’m a doctor in cybernetics, not you know...doctorin’."

“Of course. As long as you can fix my eye I don’t particularly care what your conversational skills are.” He put his hands in his pockets-- again, casual in a way that seemed like an affectation. He was a little too careful not to shove or ruin the line of the slacks. “Speaking of eyes, do you truly need me to close mine? Your pilot kept cracking jokes about security.”

She rolled her eyes. "Nah, Smalls is just fuckin’ with you. There’s enough firepower aboard the ship that you’d likely die on sight if you tried anythin’, and half the place is still storage anyway so it really ain’t worth much to get into." It didn’t seem like a real threat or warning, but a casual observation. She led him to an elevator and pressed a button. "As far as business goes, you might be interested to know I worked on your eye durin’ the initial blueprintin’ phases."

“Oh, is that so?” He sounded vaguely impressed. “I suppose more people knew about it than I thought. Up until now— well, up until recently, I assumed only I and your mother knew about it.” He didn’t seem too upset about the revelation, but perhaps it was just the unshakable calm that he seemed to carry with him. Neither his voice or his face betrayed much emotion beyond the words he spoke-- at best, the sort of interest one might have in talking about the weather.

"Oh, it’s just you me and Ma, unless you're a blabbermouth. And I didn’t know who it was for at all until you called." The elevator door slid open and she stepped inside, pressing another button and leaning leisurely against the wall. "She called your eye the Babylon Project. Joke about your name, I'm assumin'. I helped design some of the attachments and recordin’ implements."

He chuckled. “That’s a decent pseudonym, though I don’t think those two cities have any real biblical connection. Perhaps I’ll use it sometime.” He pursed his lips. “My work tends to require that I keep my mouth shut, so most of the details are under lock and key. Mistakes happen, but I intend to keep it that way as much as I can. I’m sure you can see how some of the functions work best if they stay unknown.” Unbidden, the memory of one time he hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut sprung to mind, and he frowned. He still hoped that particular interaction wouldn’t come back to bite him. He certainly wouldn’t be the one to seek it out.

"I'm nothin' if not able to keep a secret. Talkin’ makes me nervous." It could have been a joke, maybe. The elevator doors slid closed, and then opened a few long moments later. "You're about to meet Pthalo. She conducts all her business on paper so you can burn evidence if you wish. It's standard protocol to have an uninvolved medic test for health, I'm sure you're aware."

“Yes, I understand the need for doctors. There was a similar procedure when I got it.” He smiled. “The eye itself isn’t the secret, just the functions. Thanks to your mother, it looks like a high tech prosthetic unless you know better.”

"Unfortunately, more and more people know better lately." She grumbled, and it was clear she was mulling something over as she stepped out of the elevator. They were both greeted by a blue alien with a gentle yellow glow beneath her skin in a pristine white lab coat. Her voice was just barely noticeably dual-layered, harmonizing with itself under her breath. 

"Good evening, my name is Pthalo. Azure's going to let me take it from here, and I'll lead you to her workshop after the appointment." She gestured to the room behind her and to the right, windows looking into a pristine medical bay, a pitbull posted just outside the door.

“Hello, Pthalo, I’m Trinity Jericho.” He glanced down at Payne, his expression changing to make him look younger, somehow. “May I pet her?”

Pthalo gave a sunny smile. She oozed sunshine. "Oh you're more than welcome. Her name is Payne, she's the ship-wide emotional support animal." Payne's tail began a steady rhythmic thumping against the floor as he approached, eyes closing as soon as his hand touched her head. This was a very good dog.

Despite his earlier actions-- cooly professional posture, minute care for his fancy clothing-- Trinity now knelt down right next to the dog without a care for the dusty floor. He scratched industriously behind the ears, using both hands, and the first real smile Azure had seen from him came to his face. It was...cute. “Who’s a good girl? You are, yes you are!” After a while of similar whispered baby talk and petting he finally stood, almost reluctantly. The smile remained a moment longer, fading back into obscurity as he moved towards the med bay door. “Sorry for the delay. That’s a very good dog you have, ma’am. I’ve never seen a ship with an emotional support dog, but it’s actually quite a good idea. Maybe I’ll suggest it to my company.”

"It's no problem, being pet all day is her entire job." Pthalo gently closed the door behind them, and Azure could be seen making her way down the hall, presumably to her lab. "The ship takes all types, dogs couldn't judge if they wanted to. We have a few members that make use of her presence daily, she's become quite spoiled. I'd say anything that's good for low level employee morale and health is good for the company, but that's not news I'm sure." She gestured to an examination table. "Hop up, shirt off. Please point out where the prosthetic is."

“No, I understand that concept well enough. I’m sure it’s just as good for you as it is for everyone else, huh girl?” He took off his hat, carefully fixing his hair that had been trapped beneath, and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a tattoo across his left collarbone showing three small but beautifully detailed birds in flight, just over his heart. Each one’s pattern and shape was unique. The opposite collarbone was decorated with something that looked like a half-destroyed tower. The tattoo seemed to continue onto his back, out of sight. He got onto the table, and looked back up and over at Pthalo. “Right here.” He pointed to the motionless eye.

Pthalo startled but recomposed herself almost instantaneously. "You know, I probably could have guessed that, eh?" A gentle smile. "Do you wash it regularly? Was this a loss of operation due to trauma or defect?" She was walking around to collect tools as she glanced at a clipboard. "Azure gave me a quick rundown, but these checkpoints are odd, even for a standard prosthesis upgrade...." She glanced over him once, then moved in to look closer at his eye.

“The nerves were damaged in an accident. I was legally blind for a while. The other eye was salvageable, but the right optic nerve kept deteriorating so I eventually just gave in and replaced it. It’s very high tech, for a prosthetic,” he explained. “I wash it regularly, and follow all the care instructions, so it should move freely but it started locking up about a week ago. That’s why I’m getting it fixed- or upgraded, I suppose,” he corrected. That would likely make more sense with Azure’s position as a cybernetic engineer. Cybernetic upgrades to an existing prosthetic weren’t uncommon.

"I have to wonder...." She continued to look him over quietly, clearly contemplating something as she checked his vitals. Now that she was doing work, she became much more serious. Her movements flowed like water, seamlessly transitioning from one test to another, until eventually the medically-minded dance ended, and she made a few marks on her clipboard. "Well, Mister Jericho," she smiled, "it would seem you're healthy as a clam. Happy as a horse? Oh, what's the saying? Terran idioms are difficult." She passed his shirt to him. "You may just want to keep that off, if I know anything about Azure's process, it may get dirty if you keep it on."

“To be honest, I prefer your versions of the idiom.” He carefully folded the shirt over his arm and slid off the table, giving Pthalo a professional smile. “Thank you.” He turned to head towards the door, just as the clunk of a pair of boots and the soft snuffling of two dogs greeting each other heralded someone in the hall outside. A woman poked her head through the door, a different pit bull in a red harness pressed up against her shin. 

“Hey, Pthalo, I—“ her eyes fell on Trinity and widened. Silence reigned for a brief moment, and then the woman shook her head as if to clear it. “Hold that thought.” The door shut again and heavy bootfalls clattered off down the hall again. Faster, this time, like she was running.

"Cadet! Cadet you can't just-" Someday, Pthalo thought, people would tell her what was going on. She sighed and rubbed her temple before turning to Trinity. "I'm sorry, could you stay here a moment?" She opened the door and gestured Payne in, who plopped down at his feet with her tongue out. "I've not been given enough information and I've an awful feeling I'm going to need to get Azure." With that, she quietly stepped outside to place some kind of call. Things didn’t ever stop moving on this ship.

Trinity frowned. Something had been strange about that woman, beyond just her reaction to seeing him. If he’d met her before, he certainly couldn’t place her. With not much else to work with, he sighed softly, sat back down, and started petting Payne. His good eye scanned the room for any possible exits— he hoped this wasn��t turning into a trap, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

 In the hall outside, Pthalo breathed a sigh of relief as the call was answered, Azure’s voice on the other end confused. "Azure, who is Mr. Jericho? I feel like maybe you've lied to me given Cadet bolted at the sight."

At the sound of her name, Cadet halted and turned to walk back towards the med bay. She sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Shit, ok. Pthalo, I don’t think she knows either.” She leaned over to speak into the receiver as well, addressing Azure. “I mean, unless you do know him, in which case that’s a whole different ball game.” 

Azure's voice over the comm came through with thinly veiled annoyance. "At most, he's a family client, and that's really stretchin' the definition. I'm on my way up, hold on a minute." 

Pthalo looked at Cadet. "What's the issue? He's here for cybernetic treatment, we're sending him on his way after."

“Well, hopefully that’s all he’s here for. I’ve only met the guy once, and his intentions were fine that time, if a bit misguided, but...” she lowered her voice a bit. “He works for Fate. I never got his name, but I recognize that face. It could be a coincidence he’s here now, but I don’t like it. We can’t take chances when that bastard’s involved.”

It was at that moment Azure stepped out of the elevator to join them, hanging up the call as the doors opened. "He never mentioned anything about his work. He needs his eye fixed, it isn’t movin’." Her left hand fiddled with a set of goggles in her pocket. 

Pthalo rubbed her temple again. Someday she’d have an aneurysm, and then they’d all be sorry. "Let's take care of him first and you can question him after. The man's shirtless in my med bay and I'd like him out so I can focus on some more important matters."

Cadet sighed. “Alright, fair enough. But we have a decision to make.” She looked around at the other two. “Are we telling Perry? Either he already knows she’s here, or he’s actually totally clueless again, and I don’t know how to tell. Plus, Perry basically told the guy they’d kill him if they saw him again. We might be looking at a tussle if things don’t go well.”

Azure glared up at the ceiling, trying her best to figure out how not to out who her mother was in the process. "He isn't here because he was specifically lookin’ for me, even. I really don't think he knows Perry is here. It seems he’s just real unlucky, not everyone can be God’s favorite." 

Pthalo's gaze bored into them both, but she said nothing.

Inside, Payne took to licking Trinity's face.

Cadet stared Azure down for a bit, as if she could somehow pull more details out of her with nothing but a steely gaze, then sighed. “Ok. I believe you. We just have to hope Perry stays away from the lab while you work, then, and best case scenario he leaves without ever knowing they’re here.”

"I'll take him straight down." Azzy wasted no time, stepping into the med bay with her hands in her pockets. Payne immediately ceased her licking and barked once. "Sorry Payne, you'll have to end your bath for now." She shifted her gaze to Trinity. "C'mon, we've got work to do. Doc cleared you so we're set."

Trinity smiled slightly as he got up, with one last pat to Payne and a quick backwards glance at Cadet as he followed Azure down the hall. He still couldn’t quite place her. Maybe it was the voice that was familiar, but she’d barely spoken directly to him so he didn’t have a lot to go on. His best bet was to do as he was asked without asking questions or protesting. Acting like something was wrong was never a good idea in a situation like this. Better to ride it out as quickly as possible.

Azzy led Trinity to the elevator and hit another button, much more alert and tense than when she first greeted him. As soon as the door was closed, she turned on him. She didn’t mince words, tone dry and calculated. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped against all hope he wouldn’t try and call her bluff. Perry’s safety depended on it.

"Who are you, and why are you here, and how did you get that number?"

Trinity took half a step back in the tight confines of the elevator, feeling a strange sense of deja vu. A knife-sharp British accent echoed in his mind-- ‘I know why you’re here. Do you?’ He kept his voice as steady as possible, easily slipping into the icily calm tone drilled into him through years of practice. He didn’t want to give her a reason to jump. “I’m Trinity Jericho, I’m here because my right eye doesn’t work, and I found the number after weeks of digging trying to get ahold of your mother so she could fix it.” He held his hands out, palms up, though despite the gesture of surrender his expression never wavered. “I swear on the Jericho name.”

Azure stepped towards Trinity, her diminutive height the only thing stopping her from truly towering as she searched his gaze. Static filled the elevator, making the hair on his neck stand on end. After a moment, she seemed satisfied, and the elevator doors opened. She shook her hands a little, and the crackling coming from them ceased. Her slouch returned. "I believe you, you don't seem the overtly underhanded sort. I'm sure I'll find out I’m wrong once I’m dead, though." She walked out and led him to a workshop with a single long glass wall, and one wall covered in plans and blueprints and molecular structures and anatomy drawings, some printed and some by hand. She gestured to a seat in the middle of the room. "How's your pain tolerance?"

Trinity frowned at Azure’s back as they headed into the room. She was certainly one to watch. That static was highly unusual, even among the most powerful cybernetics he’d worked with. “High. Especially around the eye, since the nerve’s completely cybernetic.” He sat, crossing his arms. “I don’t particularly enjoy being out of the loop,” he said, conversationally. “Would you care to explain any of that?”

Azure considered Trinity’s comment as she rummaged in a drawer. "I sure would love to, but that seems like it would invoke the ire of someone best left alone." She glanced at a screen and filled a syringe. "I will tell you one thing though; no one on this ship knows who my mother is, and it's best that it stay that way. The illustrious Dr. Zaraya is understandably tough to reach, and if every cred-hoarder with an itch for a bionic-dick knew I was out here and capable of practice, not one of us on this ship would get any of the privacy or quiet we need, least of all me." She turned and gestured to his arm while she continued. "I'm no good at lyin, it's usually better that I just don't say a damn thing, but this ship with all it's colorful backgrounds make that a little tough, and so on occasion I’m called to do some talkin’ I’m not suited for."

Trinity let out a long breath. “Alright, give me a moment to run that through my southern drawl translator.” There was a surprising level of joking sarcasm in the comment, despite the situation. Maybe because of the situation-- it seemed like his ability to keep that calm exterior was waning a tad. The sarcasm seemed more natural for him, somehow. He paused, then continued. “First of all, no one will get this number from me. I didn’t intend to find it in the first place, although I’m glad I did. And yes, the other people I’ve met so far do seem… colorful. Who is it you don’t wish to make angry, the woman with the... metal arm?” He frowned as he said it, a memory tickling the back of his mind.

"Cadet's just fine." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and held the syringe next to his arm. "One, two, three." She poked him, pressing in the plunger as she spoke. True to his word, he didn’t flinch. "It would seem you're just the ladder climbin' sort, which isn't the worst thing to be, truth be told. That just tends to not sit well with certain members of our little crew here is all. Bein' well connected is dangerous, and it's why I'm gonna have to be the only one you let touch this eye of yours. Anyone catches the signature on it, you're in for tinkerin'." She walked back over to her desk after removing the needle and started digging through drawers filled with various tools. "The problem with your eye can be handled without taking it out. It's not infected, and it looks like you take care of it exactly as you were told, so it oughta be a case of replacing a coupla nodes and maybe beefin up the temp control to preserve 'em for longer."

“Perfect. I don’t plan to let anyone see it, anyway. That’s why I was looking for your mother to do this in the first place. It’s best to keep it among people who already know how it works.” He smirked slightly. “On that note, since you know how it works, you can be confident I’m not bugging this ship.” He nodded slightly at her explanation. “That sounds good. Improvements should make it less likely I have to impose on you again for a while.”

"It's every cybernetics engineer's dream to make an installation and never see the person again, while somehow knowin' nobody else touched it." She passed him an eye patch. The front of it was embroidered with a skull and crossbones. "This is for your good eye. I'm turning this one off, so you can't watch me mess around. Tends to freak the brain out."

He pulled the eyepatch over his good eye. “I’ve been walking around with this one not moving or processing depth for over a week, and seeing at maybe half capacity. I think my vertigo has vertigo.”

Azure allowed herself a little giggle of amusement. It came out somewhere between a laugh and a snort. "Tell me about it. One little thing goes haywire and the whole thing stops workin'." There was the quiet buzz of a tool he couldn't see. "I'm a…” She searched for the term that preserved her identity best. “...fully integrated user, and sometimes, if I don't do maintenance at the exact right time, my ankle shuts off. I trip and drop whatever I’m holdin’ and it’s just a damn mess."

“Yes, I noticed the sparking. Unique, although that’s not surprising considering who your mother is. I’m no expert, but I’ve done a lot of research to make sure I use and care for mine properly. This is the first time it’s broken in a way I can’t fix since I got it, which is a testament to quality if I’ve ever heard one.”

"Flatterin’." It was said with amusement, but she was hard at work, her hands occasionally brushing against his face, a gentle sureness in her movement. "You're one of the smart ones, although that's because you don't treat 'em like a science set the way I do." She took an audible step back and hummed, the toe of her heavy boot tapping against the floor. "Remind me of the finer points of this thing. I recall the Babylon project well enough for my part in it, but I'm sure the good doctor put somethin’ else in this sucker for you."

“Right. I have found that the best ways to learn are observation and experimentation. I imagine you’re a bit of a climber yourself.” He smirked. “You probably know most of this, but I’ll give the rundown. The eye’s really just the center of the implant, there’s a cybernetic nervous system in place spreading from the optic nerve to the brain stem. The biggest feature she added besides the basic eye functions is the sensor. If I can get a clear line of sight to anything tech based, my eye can communicate with it and set up a one way sensor. Video and audio, streamed directly into my brain’s image processing centers. I can only have one up at a time unless I want to make my brain bleed, according to her. I’ve never tried. It’s extremely difficult to find even if you know exactly what you’re looking for. If it does get found, it’s one way so it doesn’t trace back, and it's programmed to decode itself if you dig too deep. Nothing’s infallible, though, so I prefer it if people don’t know I can do it at all. People tend to be suspicious of you if they know you have a nearly undetectable way to spy on them, and I prefer that people trust me.” He gave her a sardonic smile, seeming to recognize the irony of that statement, before continuing. 

“In terms of other cybernetics, there are a few implants I have that aren’t directly connected to the eye.” He patted his thigh. “Leg taser, installed separately by a different engineer. It’s basic tech, off the shelf. The other one’s connected to the same neural network as the eye, but it’s kind of a filter function, like an extremely fast-working cybernetic liver. I can drink all day and never feel it if I so desire, and it’s extremely useful if I think someone’s trying to poison me.” The bitter twist to his lips made her wonder how often that kind of situation came up in his daily life.

Azure looked him up and down, clearly thinking. Not that he could see, anyway. She didn’t say anything for a good little bit. "Who put in the liver filter? Cybernetics take up a lot of energy, alcohol is a great fuel for short bursts of speed or even to power the taser...." She was mumbling now and a few sparks flew from the eye before he heard her set the tool down and grabbed another one. "Wouldn't be hard to add something to give you a digital readout to an outside device to track things filtered, the filter itself could probably use an analyser update depending on when you got it, and if they're hooked to the same network but the thigh isn't, you're running at half energy efficiency and that's a cryin’ shame."

There was a soft click and his eye turned back on. She held a board in front of him with a few lines on it. "Here, calibrate a minute before you take the eye patch off."

He nodded, taking note of the changes she’d made as he waited for the eye to calibrate. It felt slightly cooler than it used to, a little less noticeable and more comfortable. His sight was mostly back to the same, but there was the suggestion of a zoom function tickling at the back of his head. She didn't mention that part, and it wasn’t immediately obvious how to activate it. Rather than try to figure it out immediately, he returned his attention to the question she’d asked him.

 “Your mother did most of the installation on the neural network, including the liver. I was a bit worried about poisoning at the time so I asked if cybernetics could do something about that. She went a bit above and beyond with it, but I won’t complain.” He blinked the eye a couple times, lining it up and getting used to the returned sight again. “Honestly, those updates sound helpful. I’ve taken to externally charging the taser so it doesn’t drain me so much, but I’ve got some burns to show for it when the external charges overheat or don’t line up right with the implant.”

“Lord mercy, do not ever charge that externally.” She frowned in his periphery, a cringe at the mention of the burns. “That’s how you wreck your actually organic nerves until they’re crispy. We're fixin' that today, shouldn't be hard. Where'd you have your main port installed?" She started circling and looked him over, eyes narrowed as the gears began turning in her head.

“What’s a little more nerve damage?” He quipped, but it seemed offhand. He was too busy ‘searching’ the eye for any further functions, squinting and experimenting as he looked around the room. There was an almost hungry look of excitement on his face as he did so, as well as evident relief at the more comfortable feeling. Somewhere in his brain, he found a "camera" function, complete with what felt like an output...idea? The suggestion of a way to export something. After a moment he seemed to process her question. He tapped the back of his neck, between the tops of his shoulder blades, easily concealed by almost any clothing. Just above it was a large, elaborate tattoo in the shape of a Celtic trinity knot, and another tattoo of a crumbling wall stretched across his toned back, curving over his spine and around his shoulder blades. It seemed meant to join up with the half-destroyed tower inked on his collarbone opposite the birds. The birds were flying towards it, she realized. Towards the wreckage-- or maybe away from the crumbling wall? As with all his tattoos, the placement and detail must have been painful. No wonder his pain tolerance was high.“Here. Direct to the spine.”

She walked around him once more and pulled a triple ended cord seemingly from nowhere. She handed a screen to him, one already set aside for herself. A few taps of her screen, and his lit up with a mapping of his nervous system and the cybernetics attached to it. "Oh man, you see that jumble there?" She points to what looked like a tangle of cables in his neck. "I'm going to move those."

“Go right ahead.” He watched the screen, entranced. “Did you make this? What a useful way to interface. I usually just end up poking around till I find what I need. It’s nice to see it all laid out like this.”

She kept tapping and then suddenly, he could not feel his liver or taser. But he could feel, as if through a fog, something sliding beneath his skin. On the screen, tendrils of nodes and wiring pulled away from nerves and muscles.

"Yeah, made it myself. Diagnostic tools're incredibly helpful, do you not have one?" She wasn’t looking at him, looking intently at her screen. "The extra screen you're holding I programmed myself, I figured it was useful for those of us who're a little on the paranoid side when it comes to physical interactions. I'm tryin to find a way to adapt it to standard medicine but my expertise isn't in temporary cybernetics, so I'm still doin’ research on how to make that work."

“I have a simple one, but it really only works for the taser because that’s standard. It gets confused trying to diagnose anything your mother did, and sets off all kinds of alarms when nothing’s wrong.” He grinned as he watched the wiring pull away on the screen. “That’s… very cool, though. I’ve dabbled in temp cybernetics, just a part of my business, but I’m not the company expert. Maybe it could work like a cybernetic endoscope, where you swallow a camera and get to see the live feed? Only for your nerves instead of your throat or digestive system.”

"That's an interestin’ idea, I'll look into it." She sounded genuine enough, for how distracted she looked. More tapping, and the wiring changed direction, beginning to spread along the length of the spine and daisy-chaining itself along the vertebrae. "As for the diagnostic tool, it makes sense that the consumer basic one wouldn't work with Ma's design. I'll get you one that works, I got plenty, and upkeep's important enough to your health that it's gonna be necessary anyway." She laughed a little to herself. "Not to mention I feel annoyed FOR you with the false alarms."

He chuckled too, nearly too quietly to hear. “Yes, I’ll admit it is frustrating. Thank you... Azure.” It took him a minute to remember her name, having only heard it a few times since boarding the ship, but as soon as he did, his brow furrowed, like he was remembering something. “...What was it you called that other woman, before?”

She glanced up at him, confused, but returned to her work amomet later. "Pthalo? The doctor?" After a moment, her brow also furrowed, and she squinted at him. If he was putting pieces together, then she really needed to get him out of here, for his own safety. "...or are you talking about Cadet?"

His fingers dug into his thigh. She winced, visualizing the newly placed wiring there, but he didn’t flinch. “Cadet, that was it. Now where do I...” he paused again, thinking.

His liver reconnected, and so did his taser. She continued tapping on her screen, and slowly but surely, a couple more function concepts entered his brain. "You should feel a little less tired at the end of the day now, and you shouldn't need to eat nearly as often."

He shook his head, looking back at her. “That’s going to be quite helpful, thank you. And how do I activate the other functions you added? I can tell it’s there, but I don’t know your signature.”

She looked up at him, almost confused for a moment, and then it looked like something clicked in her head, and for the first time since he'd met her, she looked bashful. "Oh, my bad. I always forget about new people." She scratched her head. "It uh.... requires some attuning. I don't like telling people how to live their lives so-" she waved vaguely at the air, "you'll need to assign a thought pattern or physical movement to each of them, and it'll write to the main core."

“Smart.” He smiled. “I’ll have to take some time to do that later. I like the way you have it set up, though, where I know it’s there without being told. It feels natural.” He still sounded a tiny bit distracted, like he was lost in thought, but genuinely happy about the developments.

"I don't like being overly aware of mine, so I assume non obtrusive is the way to go for others as well." She detached her cords and handed him his shirt, and started rummaging through her things, head in cupboards. "Let me know if things start actin’ strange, I'll send you my regular ping address so I don't confuse you for Ma again. That line isn’t really supposed to ring unless it’s her, you can imagine how confused I was."

“I appreciate it. Thank you for the tune-up, as well as the other updates.” He stood up and pulled his shirt on, buttoning it all the way up once more. “How much do I owe—“ he froze suddenly as he finally put the pieces together, eyes wide. For some reason, even as his face grew more expressive, his voice became less so. “Oh. I should really leave.”

"Oh it’s only a few-" She squinted at him, and then sighed. God damn it, she’d REALLY hoped to avoid a freakout. She kept her voice level and closed the cupboard. "You frequent a very specific bar, do you not?”

He nodded with a tight little smile, and began to move towards the door. “If I recall, you owed someone 10 credits from that little situation.” She almost had to strain to hear him, even from just a few feet away. “They asked you if having an eye like mine was possible, to verify my story. That’s where I heard your name. And you knew from before we got in the elevator.” He faced her, expression deadly serious. “I will swear to you again that I didn’t track anyone down to get here except your mother. But I’d prefer not to be found here, just in case someone else doesn’t believe me.”

She sighed again, hands crackling once more as she shook them. Sparks flew to the ground and petered out. “That bet ended in a draw, thanks to Ma. Follow me, move quiet, get your hat on and don't talk." She looked at a nearby screen for a moment, thinking, nodes at her joints beneath her skin glowing a pale purple. "I believe you, there's no way for you to have found that number without knowing who my ma is. You're not gonna die, I can talk them down, but that's not something I WANT to do because I’m shit at talkin’, so let's just go." She brushed past him and began her trek down the hall.

He did as she said, pulling the cap down over his face and following behind her. “I know I’ve already been recognized, so I assume the only reason I’m still onboard is that you and the others who saw me agreed not to share that information.”

Azure sighed as she entered the elevator, bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet. "Cadet recognized you, but I don't think she or Pthalo really want to bother you at this point." She glanced over. "One hell of an impression you must have made, your neck wasn't snapped on sight." She curled her hand into a fist and then shot her fingers out over and over, little static pulses emanating through the room each time. "I don't think I need to tell you that you can probably find a much better role model than the one you've got. Partially because you can probably tell by now, and partially because my opinion ain't gonna matter to you much."

He shook his head incredulously, and backed up just slightly from her crackling hands to lean against the elevator wall. “You know, I think this is a first for me. The only other people I’ve met who treat me like a criminal over who I work for are business competitors.” He sighed, still watching her hands carefully. “I appreciate the opinion, but no one’s perfect. He’s a great leader and a great businessman, and at the very least I can learn from that. I don’t appreciate his advances towards your friend, and I understand the danger he poses, but considering how well defended everyone on this ship seems to be, is it truly this much of a problem?”

Azure looked at him, her voice measured. The accent seemed to disappear with how carefully she spoke. Each word dripped with weight. "Did you ever think about why he tries to find her, when she so clearly doesn't want to be found? Did you really think about the fact he does this so often, so routinely, the same way every time, to the point where if it had been anyone else that had made that eye, you'd have been doing the same goddamned thing? You don't know what he did before he got to be the cutthroat he is, and why he's that way to begin with." She glared at the elevator doors as they opened. "You're a climber, and that's all well and dandy, so you probably don't really care all that much because it's none of your business, therefore it shouldn’t have anythin’ to do with you. But it is OUR business. And we don't like him because he's maybe the lowest life form we're aware of, and they’re...important to us."

He watched her as she spoke, expression impassive. He allowed silence to reign for a few moments after she finished, taking the time to process her words before responding, slow and calm. “I understand. I have accepted that I am a criminal to some, and I’m sure it’s justified in many cases. At least I can appreciate your loyalty. I have some of my own.” He looked over at her, meeting her eyes with a directness that seemed to cut through all the tension between them. “Here is what I can promise you. No one will be getting that number, and no one will learn anything about this ship or who’s on it from me. I’ll pay you for the fix and improvements, and hopefully stay well out of your way from now on. But if the eye breaks again... I’d rather have you fix it than anyone else. I’ll understand if that isn’t an option.”

Azure looked up at him and something behind her eyes softened, though her hands continued crackling. She looked almost concerned, even after her diatribe, and stepped out of the elevator to beeline for the docking bay. "I'll always fix somethin' Ma made when it breaks. Hopefully it doesn't break often though. Bill will reach you later. Won't be much, I made some easy adjustments." She looked back at him. "And I never said I thought you were a criminal. I said your boss sucked ass. I think you've got lofty goals and an eye for progress, and for some people the ends to that progress justify the means, and I’m not really one to act like I know what’s right or wrong in that situation."

“Fair enough.” He watched her hands with just a touch of apprehension, and adopted a slightly more casual tone. “If anyone here could be considered a criminal, I wouldn’t be too surprised if it was you and your friends. Not that I have room to judge.”

She laughed. "Hey, I'm just the mechanic, unregistered custom implants notwithstanding. You'd be behind on your paperwork too if you tinkered as often as I do."

“I realize those implants are absolutely not industry standard… but neither are mine. I doubt anything your family makes is. You realize you could easily rip me apart using those, yes?”

Her brows shot up into her beanie, then quickly lowered themselves as she ran numbers in her head. She looked down at her hands, crackling with nervous energy, like they were an interesting puzzle. "...I hadn't thought about it. I wouldn't know where to start to get the accuracy high enough to accomplish dismemberment." She looked at him, expression far away and distracted. "...SHOULD I be able to rip you apart?"

He huffed out a quiet breath, on the edge of becoming an anxious laugh. “I’d very much rather you didn’t. I’m just saying I’ve never seen anything like your cybernetics before. You’re telling me you’re that powerful of an integrated user and you’ve never realized what you could do?”

She looked down at her arms, and her brow furrowed. "I'm always tinkerin’ with 'em, I knew they were good but I figured the market for 'em was high enough someone else would've had 'em figured out as well eventually. I guess throwin' trains isn't a common necessity. Technically it's not necessary for me either but....I need them to be like this to accomplish the goals that I’ve got for later. I’m on a steppin’ stone right now." Her face was almost bewildered. "...I could kick Crim's ass."

“You shouldn’t be directly fighting anyone, with that kind of power!” His volume rose a degree, and he clamped his lips back over the sound before anything else could escape. Logically, he knew she was probably joking, but the idea of what she could do to another human being with those tiny, sparking hands was genuinely unsettling. He removed his hat to run a hand anxiously through his hair, replacing it immediately afterwards, and muttered something to himself that sounded a bit like the beginning of a Hail Mary with a touch more swearing. This was certainly a different side of him than the buttoned up businessman that had presented himself in the ship’s airlock a few hours ago. “Trains. God. I’m damned glad you haven’t decided I’m your enemy, Azure.”

"Shit, me too." She would have giggled if she didn’t feel sort of foolish for not having the realization herself. "It's not that hard, I just eat a lot. It only gets tough when I'm nervous." The airlock was within sight now. She gestured ahead. "Your ride is waiting."

He shook his head, letting out a long breath. “I feel like I’ve dodged at least three bullets and I’ve barely been here an hour.” He held out a hand to her with a crooked smile. “Nice to meet you, Azure. It’s been bad for my blood pressure.”

She shook off the static again and shook his hand. "Pleasure's mine, Trinity. See a doctor about that." She gave a little wave and hollered to no one in particular, "Disembarking personnel bay five, open the airlock!"

And with that, the doors slid open.

Trinity gave her a final wave before that cool businesslike persona reasserted itself over the person Azure had somehow caught a glimpse of-- someone who smiled, baby-talked dogs, and bastardized Catholic prayers if you caught him off guard. Shoulders back, he turned and strode down the gangplank to where his own pod waited to return him home.

---

Taglists (ask to be added or removed!): @glitterandstarshine @rainbowcoloreddays @the-starlight-chills @erased-in-stone

General: @elywritesbydarkness @residentofthedisc @humour-and-hyperfocus @skyfirewrites

[adverb-slut]

To Be Human (Fanfiction) Part 4/?

I know I said that every chapter would begin with a Celestial Realm Michael scene, but as I was writing this fast (totally forgot to update my fics), I couldn't think of a good scene to write, so, unfortunately, I shall skip this chapter's initial Celestial Realm scene; I apologize!  As per the usual, this chapter is available on AO3 here!

Title:

To Be Human

Summary:

When a mysterious force attacks the Devildom and destroys it, the brothers are forced to turn to their Father in the Celestial Realm for answers and assistance. However, the Almighty is still miffed at the seven due to their involvement in the Great Celestial War, and sends them to seek asylum in the one place they have yet to make their mark—the Human World.

Without the help of their beloved MC, the brothers must learn to assimilate into this strange new world, all while trying to figure out who is responsible for the destruction of the Devildom and take back their home.

Rating:

T

Word Count:

3446

Previous Chapter:

Read Chapter 3 here!

-

Satan raised his eyebrow at the establishment before them.  “Wal-Mart,” he read aloud. 

“You think it’s like the old War-Mart retail chain back in the Devildom?” Belphie wondered.

Satan stroked his chin.  If this store was anything like the store at home, it would be an adequate location in which to shop for groceries, especially on a budget as they were forced to do now.  As the seven brothers had originally been dubbed the “Seven Rulers of Hell” and were very wealthy, they never had a need to frequent War-Mart, but Satan had heard of the store from one of his less-fortunate friends.

He nodded.  “I believe so.”  It wasn’t as if they had any other choice; Belphie and he had wandered the streets within a mile-radius from their new home, and this was the only store that they had seen.  “Let’s go in.”

Belphegor followed his brother, grumbling under his breath, “It’s just like Lucifer to put us two on shopping duty.”

He raised an eyebrow.  “I’d rather be out here shopping than cooped inside that hovel with the others.”

“I guess.”  Belphie shrugged.  “You have the grocery list, right?”  He pat his pockets.  “I have the debit card from Simeon.”

Satan bobbed his head.  “Yes.”  He unfurled the paper in his hand and read aloud the angel’s loopy handwriting, “Here are some economical foods from the Human World I’d thought you’d like!”  Underneath were written about forty different items, twenty-five of which Lucifer had taken the liberty of circling in red, for they were foods that were also found in the Devildom. 

As the pair walked into Wal-Mart, Satan did a double-take.  Humans flooded every corner of the store, pushing around metal carts piled high with not just foodstuffs, but other household items, as well.  He raised an eyebrow as several people stopped to stare at the two demons who stood in the entryway.  

Belphegor leaned closer to him and whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Satan … why are they staring at us?”

He remembered their new human names and hissed, “Call me,” he gagged, “Nathan.  And I don’t know … ‘Eigh.’”

“Don’t call me ‘Eigh,’” Belphie snapped back.  He turned to the left to scan the various products that sat at the entryway to immediately grab customers’ attention.  His eyes lingered on a box of toilet paper, reading the brand name.  “Call me ‘Scott.’”

Satan wrinkled his nose at the name, intent on chastising his brother for such an idiotic choice, but before he could say a word, the brothers’ attention was diverted by the sound of a camera flash.  Their heads whipped in the direction of the noise, and they stared accusingly at the culprit, who gave herself away with her raised phone.  

“Damn it,” the woman cursed, pocketing her phone and hurrying away.  “Forgot to turn off the ringer.”

With this, a crowd began to form in front of the demons—a crowd who whispered furiously amongst themselves loudly, saying “They’re so hot—they must be celebrities!” and “I swear that I’ve seen them on TikTok before!” and “I wanna take a picture with them and post it on Instagram!” Someone even ventured to mutter, “Wonder if they’d be interested in a threesome …”

“Belphegor,” Satan muttered under his breath, momentarily forgetting his brother’s human pseudonym, “we can’t shop here.”

“What choice do we have?” Belphie replied, backing away as the crowd drew closer and closer.  “There are no other stores around.”

Satan pursed his lips as more people began to whip out their phones and snap pictures of the handsome duo.  Getting photographed was not in their definition of “lying low,” and although he knew that this debacle would piss his eldest brother off to no end, the idea of self-preservation quelled even his most devious side.  “We have to put a stop to this.”

“You don’t think we should use our powers, do you?” Belphegor asked.  

“And cause this to be an even bigger scene than it already is?” demanded Satan.  He raised an eyebrow.  “No.  I have an idea.  Just play along.”  He gagged inwardly at the thought that had taken formation in his mind, but he knew it had to be done if he and Belphie were to shop in peace.  Satan puckered his lips, closed his eyes, and leaned toward the seventhborn demon.  

“Sat—Nathan, what’re you—” was all Belphie could ask before his lips met his brother’s.

Satan could feel his mouth fill with bile (He!  Was!  Kissing!  His!  Brother!  How!  Disgusting!), but he swallowed it down as he saw from the corner of his eye that the crowd began to yell shouts of aversion and start to disperse.  Some of the teenage girls stayed to ogle at the “scandalous” PDA and video-record the scene before they were yanked away by what he could only assume were their small-minded parents.  

As soon as he saw that the group had gone, he ripped his lips off of Belphie, scrubbing them voraciously with his forearm, while Belphegor dry heaved several times and covered his mouth.

“That was disgusting,” Belphie decided.  He scowled at his brother.  “Never do that again.”

Satan reassured, “I don’t plan to.  And besides, at least we got everyone to leave.”  He revealed the crumpled grocery list in his hand.  “Now we can shop peacefully.”

Belphegor continued to mutter obscenities under his breath as he followed Satan to get a cart. 

The fourthborn scanned the grocery list as he pushed the cart down the aisle.  They had five hundred American dollars to spend on food and they had to buy enough to satiate all seven brothers, including the gluttonous Beel; they had to be economical.  The first item on the list that Simeon had given them was “apples,” so Satan reached for a bag of the cheapest kind and placed it into the cart.

“Lucifer likes apples, doesn’t he?” mused Belphie.  

Satan nodded.  “His favorite food are Princess’ Poison Apples.”

Belphie smiled strangely and lifted the bag of apples out and threw them back on the shelf.  “I’m going to guess he wouldn’t be too happy if we came home without his favorite food.” 

Satan raised an eyebrow.  “In case you forgot, I like apples, too; apple pie is my favorite, but … I suppose I’ll make a sacrifice this once.”  He rubbed his chin pensively.  “And that gives me an idea.”  He showed the list to Belphie and nodded, smirking.  “Let’s use this opportunity to torture Lucifer and skip everything on this list that we think he’d like.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

-

Meanwhile, Lucifer scanned the list of prospective jobs that Simeon had given him.  

The angel had warned them that since none of the demons had college degrees, it might be harder for them to get any “serious” jobs—therefore, most of the jobs on the list simply called for “unskilled labor.”  Perusing the list caused Lucifer to wonder what humans considered “unskilled” for all of the possible jobs on the sheet still seemed to require prodigious talent and dedication.  

He had already marked that he would work at the local War-Mart—although in the Human World it was called “Wal-Mart—” and he figured that Satan would like to work at the Cedar Bridge Public Library.  Levi, who had whined himself to sleep when he found out that there were no Ruri-chan merchandise stores nearby, had already called working at GameStop, hoping that his salary would allow him to finally buy a gaming computer to use instead of the ancient laptop that had come along with the house.  Lucifer had no idea what kind of job would be fit for Belphegor, so he decided to hold off on choosing something for him until he returned from shopping with Satan.  

That left Mammon, Asmo, and Beel’s prospective careers to look into.

… And therein lie the headache.

“Beel, you can’t work at any kind of establishment that serves food,” repeated Lucifer, holding the bridge of his nose.  “Maybe in the Devildom it was okay for you to constantly munch on the food being served—no one would reprimand you because you were one of the Seven Rulers of Hell, but you can’t do that here.”  He stared at the sixthborn demon firmly.  “I will not have you work anywhere near food since I can’t trust you not to give in to temptation.”

“Yeah,” Mammon agreed, shrugging.  “If ya eat any of the food, they’ll prob’ly make you pay for it, and y’know we’re broke as fuck up here.”

Beelzebub twiddled his fingers, looking down.  “Fine, I won’t take the McDonald’s job, then.”  He peered over Lucifer’s shoulder at the sheet.  “Or the Wendy’s job.  Or the Chick-fil-a one.  Or the one at Burger King.”

“Wow, it seems that Simeon marked a lot of these jobs as ‘foodservice,’” Asmo observed.  He smiled.  “Good thing my job has nothing to do with it!”  He poked his chin cutely.  “Although I suppose they serve food sometimes in strip clubs.”

Another headache.

“Asmodeus,” Lucifer bellowed, staring at the fifthborn.  “I already told you: you are not going to become a stripper.  That’s final.”

Asmo frowned and held up a fist.  “What is your problem, Lucifer?  I’ve done it before in the Devildom tons of times.”

The other demons raised an eyebrow at “tons of times,” and Lucifer rolled his eyes.  “You can strip as much as you want in the Devildom; it’s not frowned upon there, but Simeon expressly told me that it is here.  We are not going to be known as the family where one of the members is a stripper.  Think of all the negative attention it’ll draw.”

“That’s bullshit!” Asmo growled.  A black miasma began to surround the fifthborn.  Horns started to sprout out of his head and wings burst forth out of his back.  But before his demon transformation was complete, Mammon put his hands on his shoulders and gave him a good shake.

“Calm down, ya idiot!  You can’t transform here of all places.  People’ll see us through the windows!”  Mammon gestured toward Beel, who rushed to cover the closest window with his large form, for the brothers had yet to purchase any curtains.  He wrestled off Asmo’s arms as the younger demon tried to shove him off and said, “Come on.  I’m plannin’ on going into modeling down here like I did in the Devildom.  You like that kinda thing don’t ya?  We can both do it, y’know.”

Asmo glared at Mammon, finally succeeding in ripping his hands off of his shoulders.  He wheeled toward Lucifer.  “And that’s another thing!  How come you’re okay with Mammon going into something as prestigious as modeling, which will no doubt draw attention, but you’re worried about the attention I’ll bring if I become a stripper?”

Lucifer massaged his temple.  This actually was the first he was hearing of Mammon’s interest in Human World modeling, but he supposed that it was an appropriate career path for him, for looking pretty was one of the secondborn’s least annoying skills.  

“The difference is,” Lucifer began, “that here, modeling convoys positive attention while stripping brings the opposite, for humans are small-minded, as you are aware.  While I’d rather draw as little attention as possible, I can see where that could be seen as suspicious, so positive attention is all I’ll condone.”  He turned toward Mammon and nodded.  “But yes, both of you feel free to take up a modeling job.”

“On Simeon’s list here, it says that there’s only one position that they're looking to fill in the modeling agency he recommended,” Beelzebub observed, reading off the prospective jobs.  

Mammon and Asmo exchanged glances, before simultaneously shouting, “I’ll take it!”

“People will actually want to see my beautiful face instead of your ugly mug!” Asmodeus yelled.

“Oh, yeah?  Well, I ain’t got no other talents ‘sides modeling, so I actually need this job!” Mammon yelled back.

His fervor never waning, Asmo spat, “You have other talents!”

“No, I don’t!” 

“You’re a very talented individual, Mammon!”

“Yeah, well, so are you!”

“You should take the modeling job!”

“Nah, you do it!”

Lucifer sighed at the pair, whose voices rose with every sentence.  He held the bridge of his nose, as he said, “You both can call the number for the modeling agency and see which one of you two they like better.  We’ll find another job for whoever doesn’t end up getting it.”  

He was also going to have to call to see if he could get jobs for his other brothers and himself, and Simeon had graciously provided numbers for them to call.  However … there was still the matter of figuring out if the Celestial Realm had tapped their phones and were also looking through their Internet searches.  To mitigate any trouble, Lucifer had forbidden anyone from using the phone or laptop until they could get solid information regarding the issue, unless it was for something important, like getting a job.

Speaking of jobs, he realized that now with Mammon and Asmo battling on who would be the model of the family, that left Beel (and Belphie) in dire need of work. 

He turned toward the sixthborn.  “Any idea of a non-food-related job, Beel?” 

“I don’t think so …” Beel muttered, still perusing through Simeon’s list of jobs.  He raised an eyebrow a moment later.  “Wait … it says here that there are some people close by looking for tutors in basic math for their kids.  You think I should do that?”

Lucifer nodded.  “Good idea.  Give them a call later, actually—I’m sure Belphie won’t mind doing that job, too, provided he’s doing it with you—see if they’d be willing to hire two tutors.”

Beel nodded obediently.  “So, I guess that’s it.  Everyone has a job, now.”

“Yeah.  Problem is,” realized Mammon, “that all of you guys who work close by have it easy.  Then there’s some of us who’ve gotta find a way to hitch a ride to our jobs.”

Asmo pursed his lips.  “He’s right.  We don’t have a car, not to mention licenses to drive.” 

Lucifer sunk into one of the understuffed dining room chairs, running a hand through his hair.  “One problem at a time, Asmo.  One problem at a time.”

-

“I just wanna say,” Mammon announced, twirling a limp spaghetti noodle on his fork, “I think I understand why Solomon’s food tastes like crap.”  He dropped his utensil back onto his chipped plate.  “‘Cause all Human World food tastes like crap!”

Leviathan, who had just been relieved from his Ruri-chan-filled dreams a few moments ago, blinked sleepily and said, “MC was from the Human World and made good food.”

“Maybe stop criticizing my cooking and just eat your dinner,” Lucifer snapped.  

He blithely spun his noodles across the plate, secretly admitting that the Human World fare of spaghetti and tomato sauce that he had prepared for dinner paled in comparison to their usual supper courses of Scorpion Thermidor and Havoc Devil Crown Roast.  In his defense, he had never prepared meals with food from this world and had just used the recipe on the back of the box of bargain-bin spaghetti that Satan and Belphie had brought home.

Beelzebub grinned, eating his pasta straight from the massive stockpot that the Junior Guardian Angels had magnanimously purchased for them.  The other brothers had already taken their servings and the remaining thirty-two were left for Beel.  “I think you made a really tasty meal considering you just used two ingredients.”  

“There’s no seasoning,” complained Asmo.  “And it's not even pretty enough to post online.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow in irritation.  “You can always go to bed without dinner.”

“And you’d miss dessert!” Beel gasped.  “Although … there’d be more for me, then.”

“Speakin’ of dessert,” Mammon said, “what’re we havin’?”

Lucifer grimaced.  He had been intent on trying to make an apple pie, but since some demons had thought it funny to not bring home any apples, he’d been forced to be a little more … creative, thinking carefully of foods that the two mischief-makers despised to incorporate into the dessert. 

“We don’t have a large variety of ingredients to work with, so I modified a simple Devildom recipe for venom-infused vanilla mousse and made White Chocolate Mousse with white chocolate, heavy cream, and sugar.”  He looked directly at Satan and Belphie as he said this, for it was no secret that the pair didn’t take a liking to oversweet desserts.

Belphegor blanched at the statement, and Satan frowned, snapping, “That sounds completely unpalatable.”

All Lucifer could do was smirk as he went back to the miniature kitchen to get the mousse from the fridge.  He passed out the dessert, and turned to Mammon, saying, “Hearing you speak of Solomon earlier got me thinking on whether or not we should contact him.  I know I said not to bother MC while we’re in the Human World for their own protection, but Solomon’s a sorcerer, so perhaps he could be of service.”

“Yeah, he might even be able to help us figure out how information was stolen from Father’s omniscience,” added Leviathan, gagging as the mousse slid down his throat because frankly, Lucifer was not an exceptional chef.

Lucifer, who noticed this, mentally vowed to put Levi on cooking duty next for his insolence.  “Asmo, you were the one closest to Solomon.  Have you any means to contact him?”

“Ever since the exchange program ended, we kind of fell out of touch,” the fifthborn admitted sadly, shaking his head.  He tapped his chin.  “I think I remember his number, though.”

Lucifer grimaced.  He really didn’t want to use the phone unless it was absolutely necessary, but Solomon seemed to be their best bet in unraveling this mystery regarding their Father.  “Call him then.  Put him on speaker.”

Picking up his cup of mousse, Asmo meandered over to the landline.  He picked up the phone and clicked the speaker button, which was covered in a layer of dust, for he was the first of the brothers to use the phone in the Human World.  To their surprise, there was no dial tone and an automated female voice spoke out from the device.

“Welcome to the Celestial Realm Cellular Service and Internet Provider, ” the voice said.  “This machine is preloaded with three contact numbers by Simeon the Gatekeeper for your convenience.  If you would like to hear them, press one.  If you would like to dial a different number, press two.  If you would like to speak to His Majesty, the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, the Great I Am, the Good Shepherd—”

“Sorry, I just pressed one,” Asmo said, rolling his eyes.  “She didn’t sound like she was going to stop listing titles any time soon.”

“The three contacts saved to your device are as follows: press one if you would like to call Simeon the Gatekeeper, press two if you would like to call Luke the Junior Guardian Angel, press three if you would like to call his Imperial Majesty, King Solomon of Israel.”

Lucifer did a double-take.  It couldn’t be … could it?  Could that Solomon that visited the Devildom be the one and the same King Solomon, the wisest man who ever lived, from the Bible?  He shook his head to clear it of such foolish thoughts … it had been millennia since King Solomon had ruled over ancient Israel, and the exchange student Solomon was a youthful young man.  

“Wait a second—that can’t be our Solomon, can it?” asked Mammon, echoing Lucifer’s thoughts.  “I haven’t read the Bible in like, three thousand years, but I’m pretty damn sure that King Solomon died a long time ago.”

The group was silent for a moment before Satan snapped his fingers, his eyes widening.  “The pacts.”

“What about them?”  asked Belphegor.  

Satan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.  “We know the exchange student Solomon made hundreds and hundreds of pacts with demons.  Isn’t it possible that that was the same Solomon from the Bible, only he’s retained his youthful looks and even gained immortality, perhaps, with the aid of demons?”

“Only one way to find out, I suppose.”  Asmodeus shrugged.  He pressed the number three on the keypad.  

“Calling his Imperial Majesty, King Solomon of Israel,” the automated voice chirped. 

Lucifer’s blood ran cold as the phone rang for a mere two seconds before a voice flooded the room.  

“May I ask who this is?” Solomon’s voice was overlaid with static, but the brothers could still very much recognize the low baritone of the former exchange student.  

“So Solomon really is King Solomon from the Bible,” Levi gasped.  “Roll infinity for ‘Did Not See That Coming.’”  

[anntidote]

:get to know me

what is this?

❁ a bunch of questions if you wanted to get to know me. they’re random facts, tid bits, and stories behind how i got to love bts, writing, and what i do beside writing these fics.

story behind your handle?

❁ you can call me: ann.

❁ the meaning of ‘anntidote’ is a mix of my pseudonym and a play off of the word, ‘antidote’, which is defined as a medicine.

❁ as most of the work i write is mature and/or explicit, this blog acts as a ‘cure’ for these thoughts.

how did you start writing ff?

❁ i started writing fan fiction in 2014. i was apart of a minecraft fandom, and wrote fan fiction for certain YouTubers in that friend group. then, i switched fandoms, in writing for an australian pop-punk band. afterwards, leading to where i am now- which is writing for: international kpop sensation sunshine rainbow traditional transfer usb hub shrimp, BTS. i grew up on anime due to my older brother. hq is no exception to this creative outlet, and i couldn’t be happier.

❁ just because i started writing in 2014 doesn’t mean i wasn’t an avid fan of other things. in no particular order: i liked o2l, had a swift phase, made rubber band bracelets, and loved musicals (still do).

how did you start liking bts?

❁ the prior group i liked (no hate towards the group, as i still love their music) lacked fan involvement and fresh frequent content. it’d been over a year since they’d put out something new, and i needed something else to listen to. i knew my friends were really into k-pop, so i thought- fuck it- why not? i approached them and they gave me recommendations based off of my music taste (heavy hip-hop, pop, and alternative rock). i listened to the music without prejudice and found myself enjoying it. i remember listening to the cypher series, save me, and simply being amazed.

how did you start liking haikyuu!! ?

my best friends and others in my friend group kept nudging me to watch. it took awhile but i eventually gave in, especially since i liked knb a lot. i’m truly glad i gave it a chance, as i kind of fell for tsukki the minute i saw him— he took none of the freak duo’s bs. and it was history from there.

how did you know your bias was rm?

❁ summer of 2017, lying on my couch and scrolling through YouTube, i spotted jimin’s ‘serendipity’ mv had just dropped. although i had been already listening to bts for a couple weeks before that, ly:her (DNA era) would be my first comeback. i fell in love with serendipity’s lyricism and looked into who wrote it. i fell in love with namjoon- right then and there. (note: this was when namjoon was still called ‘rap monster’ and everyday, i thank him for realizing that that name would not age well, and consequently changing it.)

❁ i always tell to new armys, “you don’t choose your bias. your bias chooses you.” although that sounds insanely cliche and stupid- i find it to be true. upon hearing namjoon’s voice for the first time, i did a double take. he knocked me out of my seat and didn’t need to apologize. there’s so much i could gush in adoration toward that man, but let’s move on.

besides writing, what are your hobbies?

❁ i major in audio technology and am enrolled in a mixing and mastering course. i aspire to work in the music industry, and i write songs in my free time. as i’m training to be a mixing engineer/producer, writing songs leads me to writing other ideas- which is one of the reasons why i’m here! c: i’ve also been singing my entire life- which may or may not attribute to the fire. being an army has only reinforced my dreams and expectations ten fold.

❁ when i’m not burying myself in work, i’m either cooking, catching up on my shows, or sleeping. there’s no in between.

- cooking is therapeutic for me. (wrapping meat dumplings, frying chicken or potatoes, or emulsifying pasta sauce.)

- other than bts variety shows, i watch a lot of anime. i love sports (haikyuu & kuroko no basket, etc), classics (sailor moon, fairy tale, fruits basket, dbz, naruto, etc.), and others. i love romance, comedy, and competition.

how do you get inspiration?

❁ by doing nothing. and i know this sounds stupid, but it’s the truth- whether you like it or not. namjoon also partakes in this stupidity (he’s said this in an interview). i could be avidly searching everywhere for what i need to write next, or i could kick back, relax, and let the thoughts come and go as they please. i simply try to enjoy the tasks i do on the daily, and notice the small things that lead me on to creative trains of thought. (ie: seeing a plane fly overhead, and thinking of seatbelts.) “i do nothing for twelve hours... but when i get to the studio, my mind clicks.”

trademark facts about yourself

❁ i love salty chips. specifically, spicy ones. hot cheetos are glorified in this household. due to covid, i haven’t been able to have them- and i swear, i’m hitting withdrawals. (takis, sweet & spicy doritos, hot cheetos, kettle cooked potato chips, etc.)

❁ my favorite color is red. it used to be pink, because i wanted to spite people on the color’s duality. but this was the color of one of the boy’s i liked- so i changed it. even though i got over the boy, i still liked the color because of how empowered it made me feel.

❁ i’m introverted. very much so. it’s kind of crippling... my out of pocket posts may lead you to think otherwise, but no. trust me. i just seem extroverted at times because i get really passionate about what i do. (my MBTI is ISFP-T.)

❁ i don’t like coffee. perhaps i’m too young, but when i write, i love drinking hot chocolate- even in the summer.

❁ i’d fallen in love with music before i stanned bts. i’ve always participated in music and have been captivated by how singers tell stories without borders. bts empowers change and reinforces the voice of youth, that has been shunned so many times. i’m so happy to support their cause.

message to those who read

❁ thank you for taking the time/having interest in what i post. it truly means a lot to me. i hope you have a beautiful day or night, wherever you’re from. i love you guys, and i love namjoon too- haha.

[solange-lol]

not so typical love song - ch. 1/13

Chapter Title: Rollarcoaster

Words: 3,050

Note: my piece for the @pjo-hoo-bigbang !!! special thanks to @shelbychild and @wisdom-walks-alone for editing and helping me develop this story! it wouldnt exist w/o y’all!

Art by @lizzybizzyo! <3

[ one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight (coming soon)]

read on ao3

—

Nico is staring at his computer, wordless. This isn't writer's block or surprise; it’s just the unknown reality of what this situation could lead to.

Another gay kid in his school. Another gay kid that isn’t Mitchell—who’s been out since 8th grade, and the only one to be out since then. Another kid at their school who’s hiding a secret. 

Nico doesn’t even know if this kid is a boy or a girl or what, and frankly, he doesn’t care. There’s another kid like him. And he has no idea how to respond to the post.

The post is a submission from their school’s gossip blog on Tumblr, the notorious ‘hb-secrets.’ Piper had called him an hour ago, asking if he’d seen it yet.

“Seen what?” he had responded.

“The post on hb-secrets? About the closeted gay kid?” It hit Nico like a wall of bricks as he quickly went to pull up the website. Did somebody know? It was a relief when he saw the clipart Ferris wheel and a few short lines submitted by a blog called blue0919.

“I bet it’s that Brazilian sophomore. Paolo or whatever? Or maybe it’s Connor Stoll! I swear he’s been flirting with Mitchell, but Annabeth keeps telling me that he’s into Lacy or someone,” Piper continued as he read, but it was going in one ear and out the other as he processed the words on the screen

Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck on a Ferris wheel. One minute I’m on top of the world, and the next minute I’m at rock bottom. Over and over all day long, because a lot of my life is great. But nobody knows I’m gay.

“Gotta go. I’ll talk later,” Nico said quickly, switching off his phone. He knew it would raise suspicion, but it felt like time was turning in on itself. Nobody knew about Nico. In fact, nobody ever even suspected. He’s never been called names besides “Death Boy.” And yet, there were the exact words that described his life, written out in front of him like they were a second thought.

And now, he was staring at his computer with an empty Gmail draft open. The original poster had left their email at the end of the post, so Nico after glancing quickly at his Panic! at the Disco poster still proudly hanging on his wall, typed out a new address. He was stuck, though, unsure of what to say from here. 

So, he started from the beginning.

From: bettertoburn@gmail.com

To: blue0919@gmail.com

Date: Oct 2 at 6:48 PM

Subject: Hey

Somehow you’ve managed to type exactly what I feel. Sorta scary, as if you’re inside my head or something. Maybe it’s just a gay thing to be speaking in metaphors about the pressure of everyday society.

That’s what I am. Gay. I don’t know if I’ve ever really said it out loud to myself.

It’s weird because I never really had a perfectly normal life. My mom died when I was young, so I never really got to meet her. My sister and I have always been super close until she went away to college. Now, not as much. I guess that’s just what happens when you live a million miles away. 

And I’ve known my stepmom longer than I knew my real mom, but it was only a few years ago when I met my half-sister when she came to live with us because her mom died as well. Meaning, she isn’t the daughter of my stepmom. It’s a long story, and not really one I want to get into.

She’s super nice though. It’s funny, but despite being polar opposites with my older sister, they’re both mushy inside. Same with my stepmom. And my dad… he tries his best. We’re like exactly what you expect from a slightly broken family. Plus my dog who my cousin gave to me during a rough time. Honestly, she’s probably my favorite sibling out of them all. (Both my sisters would kill me if they knew I wrote that.)

And then there are my friends. I have some that are closer than others; Two of them I’ve known for a while now, and one who I only met recently but treats me better than some of the people I’ve known my whole life. While I admit, I’m not the most social person in the world, they’re pretty amazing as far as friends go. 

So there it is. My perfectly normal life. Except for that huge ass secret.

He typed and retyped each line what felt like a thousand times, deleting word after word. He didn't know what was too much. It all felt like too much, really. He didn’t even know if he could trust this person.

Signing it was the worst part; he didn’t have any good pseudonyms. Eventually, he decided to leave it blank.

Without a second thought, Nico hit ‘send’ before leaning back in his chair and putting his hands over his head. Only a second later, a light knock came from the door, causing him to quickly sit up as Hazel popped her head in.

“Dinner’s ready if you wanna eat,” she smiled. She left just as quickly as she came, curls bouncing as she walked away. They had gotten over the awkwardness of having a new sibling only months after Hazel moved in, but there was still some strangeness. To this day, Nico was still a lot closer to her than Bianca was. Either way, Nico knew he would do anything for her. (Not that he would admit that. He didn't even need to, Hazel already knew.)

Nico glanced back at his computer, but there was nothing in his inbox besides the Gmail “Welcome” email. It was stupid to think this person would respond that quickly, seeing as Nico didn't even know if they would respond at all. Heaving a sigh, he got up to join his family for dinner. Maybe he could even convince them to watch Steven Universe instead of The Bachelor.

---

Dinner went as expected. It’d been a while, actually, since they were all together for a meal. Hazel talked about her psycho geometry teacher and a boy she talked in the class named Frank, who seemed sweet but apparently had a shared hatred for math just like her. Nico didn’t say much, although chimed in at the latter, saying he better be the flower boy at their wedding. That even got a short scoff out of his father, which tended to be the closest Nico ever got him laughing. So, that was a win. 

However, he was a little more distant than usual. The pending email response was in the back of his mind during the entire meal.

Even afterward, as they watched reruns of Glee (a compromise made between Hazel and Nico, much to their father’s dismay), Nico couldn’t focus. It felt like a weight was burning through his back pocket. After the second episode (and laughing his ass off at his father’s reaction to Kurt’s ‘Single Ladies’ dance) he finally excused himself. 

He tapped the Gmail app on his phone as soon as he had reached his room. It felt like his heart skipped a beat when he noticed the new notification, a response from the original poster. With slightly shaky hands, he tapped the response, and a message opened up.

From: blue0919@gmail.com

To: bettertoburn@gmail.com

Date: Oct 2 at 8:12 PM

Subject: I’ve never done this before

Dear anonymous person on the internet,

I really don’t know where to begin. I’m also not sure if you're a real person. For all I know you could be some random pedophile like one of those cases they warned us about in health class for the past 5 years, even though it’s never happened within the last decade.

But in case you are real, hello! I’m the original poster from that hb-secrets thread about life being a Ferris wheel. I’m rereading what I wrote there and I can’t stop cringing, so I’ll start by apologizing for that. I’m not usually one for metaphors, even the bad ones.

Anyway, it sounds like you identify with what I wrote. I’m glad you emailed me; I didn’t think anyone would actually do anything with the email that I left. Except maybe be extremely homophobic. But it made me feel less like I was shouting into the void, so thanks for that. And I assume you’re okay with me writing back since you sent me the first email. Though, I can’t believe I’m actually writing to you. I really didn’t think I would.

I guess I’m thinking it could be nice to talk with someone who can relate to how I’m feeling. No pressure, of course, but feel free to write back if you want to. I don’t want to use my real name, but you can call me Blue. 

It was surreal. Someone who was like Nico. Someone who wanted to talk to Nico because they were like him. 

He started to type again, with more excitement than he’s ever felt. He’s never been able to express this part of him before. It was almost like first date jitters-type feeling. 

(Not that he really knew what that was like.)

From: bettertoburn@gmail.com

To: blue0919@gmail.com

Date: Oct 2 at 8:23 PM

Subject: Re: I’ve never done this before

Hi, Blue

Wow, I’m actually kind of flipping out right now, because I seriously didn’t think I’d hear from you, especially so quickly. Wow. Okay. First of all, thanks for your email and also for your Tumblr post. I really liked it, Blue, and it wasn’t cringy at all, I promise.

So do you go here (here meaning HBHS)? I do, I’m a junior. And I’m a guy (are you a guy?) Anyway, I could relate a lot to your post, Like, pretty much all of it, but especially the part about being gay. You probably figured that out already though. And I’m not out yet either, which you probably figured that part out too. 

I guess a part of me wants to be out, but a part of me’s like… no. It’s hard to explain. I don’t know. Maybe you get it.

So yeah, it’s really nice to meet you! This is kind of cool, right? Even writing this email makes me feel eleven times less alone.

-Angel (not my real name either, two can play at this game. It’s not like a pet-name type thing. If you ever find out who I am, you’ll understand why.) 

He was worried about the whole name-signing thing. ‘Angel’ was just the easiest thing; it was a direct translation of his last name. He was really hoping Blue still didn’t take it in a weird way, even with that last note.

Relief flooded through him when he read the first sentence of Blue’s next email. 

From: blue0919@gmail.com

To: bettertoburn@gmail.com

Date: Oct 2 at 8:41 PM

Subject: Re: I’ve never done this before

Angel, huh? Maybe like guardian angel perhaps. 

Also, eleven times less alone? That’s oddly specific. :) But I know exactly what you mean.

Anyway, wow. Hi. You wrote back, and quickly too. I’m really glad you liked my post. Now I’m actually happy I put it out there. I have to admit, it’s strange to be writing a somewhat personal email to you when we don’t know each other’s identities. Though, in a way, I guess that makes it easier. Sorta like a therapist, except we’re both blindfolded and have the same problem. So not really a therapist, I guess.

Do you think therapists have therapists? Like, if the problems get to be too much for them? Is there an Almighty Therapist who just absorbs everyone's issues and feels nothing?

Anyway, I am a guy, and I’m also a junior at HB. I think you’re actually the first other gay guy I’ve met here. It’s pretty surreal to be talking to you. (In a good way though.) I wonder if we know each other in real life. 

And I think I understand what you mean. I feel like I’m constantly going back and forth about wanting to come out. I have these moments where I’m almost bursting to tell people. Of course, that’s where I was when I posted the thing on Tumblr. But I always feel so weird about it a few hours later, and sometimes I’m intensely relieved no one knows yet. What about you?

-Blue

From: bettertoburn@gmail.com

To: blue0919@gmail.com

Date: Oct 2 at 9:12 PM

Subject: Re: I’ve never done this before

I mean, let’s be real, eleven is the best number, which is perfect because we’re both in eleventh grade. And I can't believe we’re both juniors. The class is pretty small compared to the others, so I bet we do know each other, which is weird to think about. What if we’re actually enemies in real life? Do you have enemies? I don’t think I do, not really. Various people tend to annoy me a lot. It’s not even their fault; some people just have really punchable faces.

 (I’m usually a really nonviolent person. I’m more like a violent person who at the same doesn’t really want to hurt anyone, so I have to resort to fantasizing about punching people, which just ends in eating my feelings in large quantities of McDonald’s.)

It’s funny for me, it’s actually not so much that go back and forth about wanting to come out. It’s like I simultaneously do and don’t want to be out. Which is pretty freaking exhausting, honestly. Like I’m in this constant state of JUST SAY IT and NO NEVER. Do you think that ever ends? I don’t know, maybe I’m just a really indecisive person. I think part of me is also just holding out until college when I’m away from anyone I know and can just reinvent myself.

So what kind of stuff do you like to do after school and everything?

-Angel

From: blue0919@gmail.com

To: bettertoburn@gmail.com

Date: Oct 2 at 9:34 PM

Subject: Re: I’ve never done this before

I don’t think I have any enemies, but now I’m definitely wondering if I’m the guy with the punchable face. How do you know if you have a punchable face? I’ve never been punched, so hopefully, that’s a good sign. 

I will say, I’m definitely with you on the issue of eating your feelings. I’m the person who has never smoked a cigarette or gotten drunk or anything like that, and I'm usually relatively healthy. However, I once ate five jars of Nutella in one sitting. I do not recommend, 

I’m indecisive, too, in some ways. Okay, full disclosure: I was really conflicted when you sent me that email. I kept going back and forth about whether I should email you. I was (and am) definitely intrigued, but I guess I was also a little bit paranoid. It’s just that you could have been anyone, and it’s hard to know sometimes if someone’s being a jerk or if they’re being sincere. Plus my cousin sort of actually outed me. Not to anyone else, he’s the only one who knows, but now I’m super paranoid about coming out. (Exactly what you said about holding out until college. I’m thinking I can move to LA or somewhere where nobody really cares. Although I wouldn’t want to reinvent myself. And I don’t want you to reinvent yourself either, you’re pretty cool as you are I think.) Anyway, I’m really glad I decided to email you, though.

So, you’re probably going to think I’m ridiculous, but I’d rather not answer your last question. It’s just… I think I like being anonymous for now. Is that okay?

-Blue

Okay, that last part was fair. Nico understood the wanting-to-be-anonymous thing. Sure, they go to the same school. But Blue had no reason to entirely trust him; Nico didn’t really trust Blue at all. This could entirely be some random asshole anywhere in the world trying to find him and beat him up, or worse. It sucked that homophobia was still a thing in their day and age. 

But Blue said he liked talking to Nico, and it was thrilling to talk to him. It was another secret of his, but not one he entirely minded keeping. So, he chose to believe that Blue was actually who he said he was. 

From: bettertoburn@gmail.com

To: blue0919@gmail.com

Date: Oct 2 at 9:57 PM

Subject: Punchability

Blue, you have so much to learn about the rules of punchability, starting with the fact that it is completely impossible for you to have a punchable face. Rule number one: guys who make metaphors about Ferris wheels are automatically unpunchable. Rule number two: There isn’t one. Just rule number one, so memorize it. Everyone else can catch these fists. (Catch these fists? These hands? This would probably be more intimidating if I knew the correct phrasing)

Also, five jars of Nutella in one sitting is the worst idea I’ve ever heard in my life. Challenge accepted.

I don’t think you’re ridiculous, Blue. I totally understand why you don't want to tell me about your extracurricular activities (I’m guessing interpretive dance, though, you seem like the type.) But seriously, I get it. It’s this weird contradiction, right? It’s so much easier to be open with someone who doesn't know you at all. We’ll be each other's Ultimate Therapists. 

(Except I don’t think I could ever be a therapist.)

Anyway, I’m really glad you decided to email me back, too :)

-Angel

That smiley face was really unlike him. 

Nico sent the email, but after nearly an hour, he didn’t get on back, which meant Blue was probably asleep. Which was different from what Nico was used to; he tended to stay awake until the early hours of the morning most nights. But it wasn’t anything he minded. He had a conversation with Blue, and even if that was the last one they would ever have (which, he was hoping it wouldn’t be), it was good to know that there was somewhere out there like him.