#if it has a screen A03 will be seen

[saltymarshmall0w]

Danny goes all the way to Gotham, finds the Batcave, stalks the bats long enough to figure out the passcode to the Batcomputer.

Just to do the "If there's a screen A03 will be seen." trend on Tiktok, not expecting it to blow up as big as it did.

How was he supposed to expect anything else? He was chronically unpopular for a hero, most of his tiktoks only got a solid 100 likes, entirely from the teenagers in Amity who were fans of him (something about him looking photoshopped or like AI?)

While Phantom and therefore Amity Park is under a microscope, a smart thing to do would be to lay low or cooperate with the heroes to show he's not a threat.

Instead, he posts a follow-up tiktok from The Watchtower

[notsosubtlequeer]

Happy holidays! @cowboy-bec I hope you like it <3

This was such a fun prompt to work with so thank you so much for letting me write for you. I got a bit sappy with it.

This was made for @phandomgiftexchange their event!

Here's the A03 link. Under the cut is the full fic as well. Merry Christmas <3

Something Precious

(1639 words)

“Hey, skink, look at this.”

They're curled up on the cream sofa in their living room, the thing large and intentionally selected for their long limbs to fit comfortably on.

They're sat pressed against each other in the very corner in spite of all of this. Dan is practically in Phil's lap as they both look at their phones.

Dan is watching a documentary on a species of seabirds, the commentator's voice drifting through their living room.

Phil as he tends to be, is scrolling his socials and trying to catch up on what their fanbase has been saying.

Now, he's shoving his phone into Dan's face, almost knocking it into his nose with the force of it all.

Dan, eyes squinting at the offending light-mode twitter layout, sees a piece of fan art.

He almost brushes it off as another sister Daniel piece when he looks again.

It's Phil. Dressed up in a nun costume not unlike the one he had in a bag in the back of his closet. The thigh high stockings and garter belts sketched onto art-Phil are different though. And so is the choker around his neck.

It looks nice. It's a good piece of art and nothing they haven't seen before.

“That's a cool drawing bub,” he mutters, already slumping back down to get back into his previous position of Phil's chin jabbing his temple as he lies against his chest.

He is stopped by Phil pushing the phone into his face gently.

The tip of his nose touches the screen and the image zooms in on the exposed thigh of art-Phil.

“It… would look good on you?” he tries.

Things like this are a little bit of a guessing game with Phil sometimes. Not that he minds. Far from it even.

“You think so?” comes the soft reply, and Dan knows he's cracked the code.

-

Despite Dan’s insistence on them being the exact same size, they know Phil won't fit comfortably into the Sister Daniel costume.

So, Dan goes on a hunt.

Many online shops that only ship to America and dodgy websites full of things he's decidedly NOT looking for later, he ends up with a decent selection.

He shows Phil when they're sitting on the couch a few days later, pasta with white sauce on deep plates carefully balanced on their laps. On a side table next to him, Dan has got a glass of red wine, while Phil has a glass of ribena he pinky promised Dan he wouldn't spill.

“What do you think of this one bub?”

Phil's fork pauses halfway to his mouth and he makes wide eyes at the costume Dan is showing him.

The woman who's wearing it looks into the camera with a sultry expression and Phil feels the need to avoid her eyes.

“I have some accessories too. Like in the drawing. Only if you want of course.”

There's silence then as he patiently waits for Phil to get his thoughts together. He knows how confusing and scary the whole gender expression ordeal is, and he knows that whatever Phil wants to accomplish with this new little adventure of his, Dan wants to make sure they get it right.

“I think that one would look nice yeah,” comes the soft reply from Phil, barely above a whisper as he studies the costume.

“I like the layers on the skirt.”

“You'd look so pretty, bub.”

“Hmmm. You think so?”

They chat quietly for a while as Dan shows Phil the accessories, and the latter agrees with every single piece he’s presented with, his skin tinged a light pink when it comes to picking a collar from Dan’s preferred selection.

After the conversation, they continue with their evening, sitting so close their thighs press against each other lightly and Phil's arm jostles when Dan moves, almost spilling the Ribena.

They talk about it again right before Dan places the orders. But for now it still feels light. Like another thing they're trying just because they can. Just because when it's just them, none of it feels heavy or strange, because how could it?

-

It's two weeks later and Dan has been kicked out of their bedroom.

He waits patiently. Busying himself with putting away the dishes and wiping the counter and table free of the few crumbs gathered there since morning.

He's about to get the bag of coffee beans out to refill their machine when Phil calls out to him.

“Can you come in here?”

He sounds small. And when Dan walks up the stairs and into their bedroom he looks it, too.

The expression on his partner's face iwas something timid and frightened, vulnerable and raw.

He's stood in just his pants, arms wrapped around his naked waist and eyes searching for Dan's.

Dan wanted to gather him up in his arms and protect him. Pepper his face with kisses until his eyes lose the fear that's swirling around in them.

“Hey bub,” he says instead. He walks over to where Phil is standing next to the bed. All the items that had arrived today are laid out neatly on the sheets.

“What's happening?”

“It's stupid but. I'm scared? Clothes aren't scary but…”

“Not stupid,” Dan replies automatically, and reaches past Phil to pick up the nun costume of the bed.

It's slightly more frilly than Dan's and has a few layers to the skirt. There's a hole in the shape of a heart right on the chest of the dress and Dan can already imagine running his hands over the milky white skin that would be peeking out of it.

“Let me help you?”

He gets a nod in return from Phil and then he's kneeling, the costume held in such a way that Phil can step into it easily.

His hands brush Phil's legs gently as he moves the garment up his body, quietly instructing him to hold it in place while he gets up and moves around so he can do up the zipper on Phil's back.

The moment is quiet and there's warmth roaring through Dan's chest like an inferno. Urging him on to touch, to kiss, to keep safe.

So he does.

He noses into Phil's hair as he does up the zipper of the costume. Presses a warm kiss on the junction of his shoulder and neck as he fastens the clip to keep the zipper in place.

Sneaks his arms around Phil’s waist as soon as he's done just holding him close.

“Dan,” Phil hums, voice dripping with fondness and sweet like honey.

“You look so pretty, love.”

Phil's face, neck and ears are flushed a lovely pink when Dan moves away to grab the other items still laid out on the bed.

The gloves are next, he helps Phil slip them on, fingers trailing over soft skin and barely-there freckles as he adjusts the elastic fabric. It digs slightly into the skin of Phil's forearms and Dan zeros in on it for such a long time that Phil slaps his arm playfully and tells him to get on with it.

Phil puts on the stockings himself, tracing the black cross embroidered onto the material before reaching for the next item.

Once everything is done, he looks up at Dan, who had been hovering by the closet rummaging through the barely used makeup supplies he had laying around.

“I was thinking some eyeshadow might be nice,” Phil says. And there's still the nervous edge to his voice but there's something else now too. Something fond and familiar. And Dan feels the inferno in his chest roaring to new heights.

“Okay,” he says simply, and he takes out a makeup palette.

Hovering over Phil like this, his face so open and trusting as Dan gently puts a bit of black eyeshadow on his lids, makes the inferno in his chest blaze to never before seen heights.

It's the trust of it all, he thinks.

It's how Phil from 5 years ago would have shrunk away at the very thought of putting on a dress as a joke, let alone as something more.

And it is.

There's something else underneath all of this that isn't just nerves for a jokey Instagram post.

The something that makes Phil's fingers shake when he tugs at the hem of the skirt.

The something that made his laugh bubble out of him, bright and unfiltered, as he looks at the slightly messy smokey eye Dan had given him.

The something that now, as the costume is fully complete, makes him wrap his arms around Dan's neck and lean into him.

Dan's own arms circle Phil's waist as if it's second nature and they sway gently. Standing pressed close together in the silence of their bedroom.

“We made it. Didn't we?”

It's a nonsense phrase that should have Dan confused.

But then he thinks about the time Phil tried makeup and he'd come into their lounge crying because he couldn't make it look right.

Then he thinks about a 19 year old boy in Manchester looking at the women's section in a clothing store and feeling a pang of jealousy at the amount of options they had.

Then he thinks about messily painted nails and makeup palettes long abandoned because he was too scared to use them. About the skirts that got sent their way for a ‘viewers pick my outfit’ video.

About how, when he'd first put on the sister Daniel costume, he'd felt like a part of his brain that was constantly screaming had suddenly gone quiet.

He'd felt sexy for the first time in a long long time and had felt open enough to share it with the world.

And then he thinks about Phil, and the paths they walked together, and he gets it.

“Yeah. We made it bub.”

[still-a-morosexual-help]

[NAME REDACTED]

summary: Mammon's list of gender-neutral nicknames to call the ((cute)) stupid customer who keeps ordering shitty drinks

[Fic on A03]

He could feel a bead of sweat trickle down his neck as he stared at them.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck-

Damnit.

He stared at them more, holding the freezing cup at arm's length, as he tried to will them to look at him. Maybe he had developed some kind of psychic power in the last 5 minutes?

Turn around. Turn around. Turn around.

Nope. No powers. They still sat hunched, eyes glued to their phone as they scrolled through it. He was just as human and useless as he was 5 minutes ago.

Fuck. Stupid.

It wasn't a big deal. 

It shouldn't be a big deal. 

But Lucifer.

But Lucifer was a perfectionist asshole with eyes and ears in every corner. Any minor slip up on Mammon's part would be taken as yet another typical grand failure.

But Lucifer had got him this job. Had pulled strings with his boyfriend's boss's friend. Had bent over backwards to promise Barbatos that letting Mammon work at his small yet beloved coffee shop wasn't a bad decision. That Mammon wouldn't screw this up like all the other jobs he's had. Like all the other chances he'd been given. 

But Lucifer had said this would be his last chance. He knew it wasn't. It had been his last chance the time before. And the time before that. And the time before that. Lucifer would sigh and yell and sigh again but he'd clean up Mammon's messes. Pay his debts. And give him another chance.

But. Mammon didn't want to mess up. He wanted to keep this job. Wanted to pay off his own debt for once. Wanted to make his big brother proud.

What he didn't want was to piss off Barbatos by destroying his self proclaimed Perfect Customer Service™ on his second day.

Fuck.

This was all their fault. What special kind of dumbass ordered this ice blended caramel, chocolate caffeine monstrosity in the dead of winter anyway.

He took a breath. The chill of the drink was starting to numb his fingers, and condensation was forming on the sides of the cup. Fuck. Okay, he needed to get this over with. He opened his mouth,

"HEY, DUMBASS!"

FUCK.

The person stopped. Their frozen finger hovering over their screen before slowly, with robotic motions, they looked up to stare him dead in the eye. Again, with stilted movement, they looked around the empty shop before turning back to him.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck- 

Mammon's fingers trembled around the still awkwardly outstretched cup. His face flushed and he bit his cheek to stop his eyes from tearing up out of pure frustration. Why didn't he ever think before he spoke. Why was he so stu-

"Thank you."

Mammon blinked. 

They gently took the cup from his grip, face breaking out in a bright smile that crinkled their nose. "I've heard a lot of mispronounced names but Dumbass has gotta be a whole new one."

Mammon floundered. "I - uh -"

"Is it the beanie?" They cut him off, pointing at what was probably the ugliest, most misshapen, thing he had ever seen, sitting atop their head. "I made it myself," they said, beaming proudly.

"Was the drink. 'S cold," he answered in a bit of a stupor.

"Ah," they said, nodding wisely. 

They stared at each other for an hour long 5 seconds, Mammon resisting the urge to bounce on his heels, to say something while their grin transformed into something smaller, softer. 

"Well," they jiggled their cup making the icy liquid slosh against the cap, "I'll be going then. See you."

"See ya."

And they were gone.

His face burned.

 -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He could feel a bead of sweat trickle down his neck as he stared at them.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck-

Damnit.

It wasn't his fault. It wasn't. There had been a rush and he'd let his body work on autopilot as his mind had drifted to more interesting things. Specifically, payday. It made sense that he'd miss a name or two.

He glared at their turned back. Trying to drag their name out from whatever corner of his mind it had vanished to, he eyed the unintelligible squiggles he'd written on the side of the cup. He took a breath. Opened his mouth,

"OI RED!"

Christ what was wrong with him.

Their head snapped his way and oh. His gaze drifted down to the monstrosity in his hand. 

Oh.

His ears were already red when he looked at the same bright smile he had seen just a week prior. 

"I THOUGHT I WAS DUMBASS?" They yelled back from their seat across the cafe, seemingly taking no note of the audience they had gained.

With a snort and his own lopsided grin he waved them over. 

"Ya hoodie was so bright it overwhelmed the stupidity of ya drink."

They tugged at the offensively red hoodie in question. "That's fair."

"Ya made that too?"

"I'm honoured you have such faith in my craft."

He didn't know eyes could twinkle in real life. Wasn't that just something for Satan's books or Levi's anime. 

"It wasn't a compliment," he replied, a bit numbly as they smiled once more and turned around with a "See you."

 -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He stared at them and they stared back evenly. Shit. How'd he miss their name a third time!?

Taking a breath, 

"YO HUMAN!"

Even from across the room, he could hear the unflattering snort. It made something in his stomach flutter.

"Is this cause you're a demon?" They ask as they near the counter.

"What."

"Your name," they say, "Mammon. Isn't that demonic? Something about money?"

"How'd ya know my name!" He doesn't mean to snap but all he hears is Loan Shark. Loan Shark. Loan Shark. Loan Sha-

"Your nametag, dumbass." They say, tapping at their own chest.

Oh.

"Oh. Ya not a loan shark."

"Nope."

"Ah. Ugh...our father."

"What?" Their head tilts slightly.

Shit. Why was that cute.

"Guy was really religious. Decided to celebrate that by naming all his kids after demons. Ya should meet Lucifer, bastard really lives up to his name. Actually. Wait. Don't. Ya shouldn't meet him. You'd probably fall in love with him."

"Big guy? Grumpy face?"

"...ya know him?"

They shook their head. "I know Barbatos and Diavolo. Only met Lucifer a couple of times," they hum to themselves "didn't really fall in love with him."

"Good."

"Good?"

"I- um- ah that is!" Shit shit his face was heating up "he's such an asshole! And ya deserve a dumbass! Cause of ya...dumbassery..." He needed to throw himself in front of a speeding vehicle.

They smiled, nodding like he had said something profound instead of whatever word vomit he had just spewed, "You're right. I do deserve a dumbass. Thank you, Mammon."

They smile sweetly before heading out and Mammon is left feeling like he missed something monumental.  

 -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"Hey, Dummy! Gotcha caffeinated cavity in a cup right here."

"You're the best, Mammon!"

"I...am? Ah! Course I am! I'm The Great Mammon, after all! What'd ya do without me!"

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"Here you go, you gremlin. Enjoy."

Their smile is bright as ever. His heart threatens to burst.

 -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"Hey tiny! Ya hear?"

"Mammon, you're barely any taller than me!"

"Yeah, yeah, keep living in ya fantasy world! Now, did ya hear? 'Bout the vacation."

"Diavolo mentioned it. It'll be fun to meet the rest of your brothers."

"Pfffttt yeah right! Listen, ya knew me first so ya gotta spend time with me. I still needta figure out ya name. I can't have those jerks beatin' me to it!"

"Ah, sure Mammon. Anything to please my favourite barista."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"Ya still on for movie night?"

"Horror?"

"NO!"

"Why not? You're cute when you cling on to me and cry."

"Dick."

 -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"Can't ya ever order anythin' else, brat?"

"Nope."

 -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"Darlin',"

"Love,"

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

He wrapped his arms around their waist and hooked his chin over their shoulder. He could hear his brothers moving about the house. The smell of frying bacon probably waking them. 

"Babe." He said.

"Dumbass." They replied.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_‐_-

"Mine." He growled.

"Mine." They whispered.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"And this," he'd say to anyone who'd listen, "is my partner in crime."

->

[First Posted: 28th July 2020]

[Fic on AO3]

[mejcinta]

Don’t know how true this is but hey there were rumours that Alicent would betray the Greens by the end of S2 and that turned out to be true so anything goes now!

Anyway, there’s a rumour that they’re going to keep Jace around a bit longer because Harry’s popular with younger demographics, a bit like how GoT gave Richard Madden more screen time than actual PoV characters.

So it got me thinking, is this the real reason they had Alicent give up Kingslanding to Rhaenyra? After all in the books it’s Jace’s death that triggers her attack on the capital, but now Alicent’s handed it to her on a silver platter.

Did this “feminist” show screw over one of their female leads, cause GRRM to have a mental breakdown, annihilate Team Green, destroy the very foundation of the Dance just so a bunch of horny 20 somethings can enjoy some more screen time of a pretty boy???

God give me strength but if Jace doesn’t die in the first episode of S3 then I was right. I would cry if this wasn’t so comically insane yet in character for these writers 🙈

I still think the Dragonstone scene is rhaenicent fueled, because instead of basing the Dance on Rhaenyra and her relationship with her BROTHER, the second claimant to the throne that is arguably her doom, they instead want to push a feminist agenda in which prophecy rules the day and Alicent is a mediator that has seen the light and tries to help Rhaenyra bring the feminist utopia into effect but in the end the patriarchy tragically quashes their attempt and alters the history against Rhaenyra. Love could have won, but MEN destroyed it boo hoo.

Keeping Jace around is probably a byproduct of fucking up the episode count of season 2. Plus, Jace has not really had significant character development for his death to matter to us at this stage. Sara was cut, Cregan appeared only once and he barely has a relationship with Baela.

I am not opposed to Jace staying a bit longer. I think he couldget time to be redeemed from his petty hatred of the dragonseeds. He could become more friendly with them, train them, grow closer to Baela and Rhaenyra, rule on Dragonstone a little while then challenge his mother's shortsightedness when it comes to Alicent before finally, FINALLY, flying to his little brothers' rescue at the Gullet only to be killed. That emotional weight is much better, than briskly killing him off in episode 1 of season3.

Trust! Sara and Ryan HATE Rhaenyra and Alicent's children. Jace was made a mewing bitch who challenges Rhaenyra's decisions and Alicent's sons were suddenly turned into one note villains (rAtcAtchers, shArp pOInt) to JUSTIFY her betrayal on Dragonstone.

They are nothing but obstacles to Ryan and Sara who just want to write their feminist forward, sapphic love triangle a03 fic featuring Mysaria lmaooo.

I mean, I wish the show was deeper and more nuanced like in season 1 but it sadly isn't now because the writers we have now are untalented, superficial twats who want to force their way instead of adapting GRRM's story.

Long story short, I don't think they butchered Alicent for Jace. Everybody in this story clearly suffers when Rhaenyra the Mary Sue comes anywhere near them.

[dagger-n-ravvi]

Chapter 3: Leaving So Soon?

Trey gets Rook ready to spend the night, but the hunter has other plans.

Previous | Next Chapter | Fic Index

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49350448?view_full_work=true

Trey bites his lip, staring down at the back of Rook’s head. His hat fell off at the threshold of the door. With a shaky breath, Trey picks it up and sets it gently on the bedside table for him.

’Why were you REALLY here Rook?  Are you telling me the truth? I apologize for doing this to you, but I NEED to make sure. ’

He reaches down and unlaces Rook’s boots, trying to gauge how… oh Seven, how drugged he is, and also guiltily getting him more comfortable. It’s a little easier if he pretends he’s a drunk friend… just a drunk friend who had one too many shots, and now he needs a place to crash for the night... 

Rook’s eyes are closed, and he doesn’t react at all as his shoes and socks are taken, revealing slender feet with a line of odd, gold scales over his Achilles tendons. Trey frowns at them, and then lifts his eyebrows when he realizes that they’re actual, honest-to-goodness scales. Kind of like you’d see on a snake, or a lizard or…

Ohhhh. Like scales you’d see on the legs of a bird . Rook is a beastman? A bird beastman? That… ha. Actually, that makes a lot of sense. Certainly explains how he can see whether you have dandruff from fifty feet away, and hear your heartbeat from across the room. Eagles have incredible senses.

“Ahhh… Rook? Do you want the shirt on or off?” Trey lightly touches his shoulder. Rook doesn’t respond. His eyes are closed and his breathing has slowed and steadied. 

“… sorry.” Trey begins to gingerly work off his shirt and pants. He’s wearing black jeans and a long-sleeved, turtleneck shirt. Taken along with a pair of full-fingered gloves, also black, it looks very much like he was intentionally sneaking around at night. Certainly trying not to be seen, or leave fingerprints.

That suspicion is not particularly helped when he finds an alarmingly large hunting knife tucked into a sheath at the small of his back. It has a large magestone set into the hilt, so he could be carrying it around for magic more than for stabbing things. Possibly.

Fortunately, the contents of his pockets are a lot more mundane. His cellphone is a few years out of date, but it has a picture of Vil posing for an action movie poster on the lock screen. His key ring has a fob for a rental car. His wallet is almost empty, but it does have a credit card, and a few business cards with ‘Schroenheit Studios’ stamped across the front in glossy purple cursive. There's also a keycard for the ‘Caucus Race’ hotel. It's a super fancy one near the center of town. His room number is 1005.

And to Trey’s relief and growing shame, this all checks out with what he remembers about Rook. When Rook lies, it’s almost always a lie of omission. He’s selective about the truth, but he doesn’t outright fabricate stories. He really is here to do location scouting for Vil. He doesn’t know about that… or if he suspects, then he isn’t with the police.

And so the oddest thing about all this is once again, Rook himself. The scales on his ankles, and also the line of pale, downy feathers covering his spine. They start soft and fluffy at the center of his back, then thicken as they trail downward into glossy, golden feathers that match his hair. He has a tail. Or tail feathers, at least. That’s kind of adorable.

Great. So now he’s drugging his old classmates and stealing their clothes for no good reason. Just because he’s a paranoid mess. Wow that’s pathetic.

Feeling faintly awful, Trey neatly folds Rook’s clothes and places everything on the bedside table where he can easily find it in the morning. He takes one last look at him, and then shakes his head. “You’re still pretty mysterious, aren’t you? Let’s get you something to sleep in.”

He's about Trey's height, but much more slender. Pretty much everything Trey owns will be a little big on him, but that shouldn't matter much when it comes to pajamas. The trickiest part will be wrestling him into them. He's out cold and hasn't reacted at all to Trey's investigation. Somehow, that almost makes him feel a little worse. Rook would be acutely uncomfortable with this level of attention if he'd been conscious.

Carefully, he dresses Rook in an oversized, blue t-shirt and leaves it at that. Then he closes the door to give him at least a shred of privacy back, and crawls into his own bed. The adrenaline is fading fast, and that’s enough self-inflicted stupidity for one night…

The moment Rook is certain Trey's gone to bed, he sits up, heart pounding as he finally stops controlling his body's reactions. That... that was extremely unexpected. 

With the fluid ease of a shadow, he takes off Trey's night shirt and re-dresses in his own clothes. His eyes narrow and he looks around the guest room, suspicion thrown into its highest possible gear. Why in the world would meek, oh-so-normal TREY CLOVER drug him in a way that he'd barely been able to detect, and then search his person?! The boldness in and of itself is shocking, even without the clear evidence that Trey is hiding something.

He moves silently through the apartment, frowning at the carpet in the living room.  He found a single, red hair tangled into the fibers earlier. It was rather similar to Roi de Roses’ colour, but the smell clinging to it was all wrong. Lilac and vanilla.

He moves into the kitchen, and quickly finds a lot of very worrying herbs growing in a window box. Anyone else might have mistaken them for culinary plants, and some are. Basil, thyme, lemon balm. But across from them is Valerian, Angel's Trumpet, Foxglove, and Belladonna. He lightly runs his fingers through them, but only sees cuttings from the most innocuous valerian. A sedative and it smells very potent. Trey must have been cultivating it with magic. And… yes, he can feel that it is, slowly working as Trey intended and trying to put him to sleep. He should finish quickly and leave before he truly is unable to stand, and not merely play at being drugged.

He gives the bathroom one more look, glancing bemusedly over the magnificent variety of toothbrushes. He remembers seeing something similar at Night Raven but never discovering their purpose. Such a curious quirk…

Finally, he returns to the front door, intending to quietly slip out and leave when he notices that the carpet is slightly askew, and damaged in the center. He tilts his head, and then gives into his curiosity and carefully rolls it aside.

His eyes widen. The wood underneath is heavily marred by deep, pointed gouges. It’s been repeatedly stabbed, most likely by a very sharp knife. He looks up from the floor, and then around at the furniture at ankle level. Yes… there are scuffs and dents on the couch, the coffee table, and the stand holding Trey’s quaint little television. All consistent with someone thrashing around on the floor. There was a struggle in here. A violent one...

He draws the red hair out of his pocket and wraps it gently over his fingertip, tilting it into the faint light filtering in from the street outside. A struggle that someone did not walk away from, peut-être?

He blinks away a little dizziness, then straightens the carpet. He carefully tilts it into the orientation he found it in, and then pads to the front door, intending to slip outside and return to his hotel for the night.

"Rook?"

He jumps just a little. Behind him, Trey is standing in the darkened doorway of his bedroom, lit from behind by the streetlights."It's in the middle of night. Where are you going?"

Rook twists the deadbolt open and tries to open the door. It doesn't budge, and his eyes widen as he notices two additional deadbolts that have been installed above and below the door handle.

"I have an early start tomorrow. My apologies, I did not mean to wake you," he turns and smiles softly at Trey. Despite the attempted drugging, he does not believe that Trey is dangerous. Not toward him, at least.

Trey turns on the light, and rubs his eyes. "No worries. It’s just jarring, is all. I thought you were asleep." 

He approaches the door, and unlocks one of the other deadbolts. "Sorry, these can be tricky. Ah... Will I see you again?" He pauses over the last lock, turning to give Rook an unreadable expression.

"I will be in town for a few weeks," Room says softly. "I would let Vil know that your street is a lovely shooting location, but I think that the attention may not be to your liking, oui?" 

"Very much so. Thank you. I appreciate it,” Trey sighs, and gives himself a tired little hug with one arm. “Well, if this is the last time for a while, then please... Be careful tonight. Safe travels." 

He opens the last lock, and steps back to let Rook leave.

"And to you as well," Rook bows slightly, and then walks out the door. Trey closes it, and Rook hears the deadbolts slide into place with a series of muffled clicks. He walks down the stairs, then peers back up at Trey’s door, head tilted curiously to one side. Despite the growing wooziness, his eyes are laser focused as he listens to Trey’s footfalls heading back toward his bedroom, and then falling into bed. What a strange and beautiful mystery he’s stumbled upon. It seems almost as though Trey has killed someone~

He walks back down to the street toward the center of town, thoughts churning as he disappears into the darkness.

[wh0reformaryg0ore]

Mary goore headcannon #1

Mary definitely owns a shitty android. Specifically the Samsung A03s. He can't afford an iphone so he goes with samsung. The screen is pretty cracked, no case because he broke the damn case. The camera somehow is fine and the phone still works like he just got it too. The phone has seen hell and back, from drops, loosing it and throwing it. He definitely has the most random shit on it too. His wallpaper is definitely a picture of his black cat.

[madam-wakefield]

Historical Apology

Read on A03

TW: Homophobia Military Homophobia Internalized Homophobia

My work for the @berenaadvent Day 5 prompt “Historical”

Based around the The LGBT Veterans Independent review. Please do heed the homophobia warnings if that may be triggering.

Okay - so maybe this is a slightly stretch at the prompt “Historical” but once the thought was in my head it wouldn’t leave!

———

Serena comes home to fine the house eerily quiet. Bernie has had the day off and had told Serena she was planning to do a few of the DIY jobs that she’d got behind on because it’s July and they’ve spent all of their shared days off outside enjoying the sunshine. It’s not overly late just a little past 7pm and the temperature outside is still pleasant, so she wonders if maybe Bernie is outside, but isn’t convinced as she can’t hear any music playing. Bernie nearly always has music on if she’s tending the garden.

Serena places her shoes on the shoe rack by the front door, doesn’t want to walk through the house with her shoes on especially as she has her garden shoes by the conservatory door. She walks slowly through the house listening for signs of Bernie. Dinner hasn’t been prepped or started, though that in itself isn’t an issue, they are both quite used to eating post 9pm due to their shift patterns. Heads through into the conservatory but knows instantly Bernie isn’t outside due to the presence of her garden shoes on the doormat.

Serena doesn’t panic, there have been times before when she’s come home to a quiet house. Knows it might be a sign that Bernie just needs space, knows that Bernie has been part of things and seen things she will never understand. Knows that sometimes even out of the blue these things can play on her mind. She’ll go and find her girlfriend though, see if it’s space or company she needs and go from there.

She walks back through the house, and heads towards the stairs, it’s only as she approaches the last couple of steps that she can hear the faint sound of the telly coming from their bedroom. Wonders if Bernie has somehow got distracted during the DIY.

She pushes the door open, the shelf Bernie was meant to be putting up is discarded left propped up against the wall, though the brackets have definitely been screwed in. There are tools lay haphazardly on the ground underneath. Shes about to glance at the bed, wonders if Bernie has fallen asleep when the words coming from the TV stop her in her tracks.

The voice is unmistakable as the Prime Minister “The ban on LGBT people serving in our military until the year 2000 was an appalling failure of the British state – decades behind the law of this land.” She feels her own throat tighten at the words, can’t even comprehend the thoughts going through her girlfriend’s head. Wants to move, to say something, anything that might help. But she can only stare at the telly as the clip switches from the Prime Minister to the defence secretary Ben Wallace, can only listen to his words come from the TV screen.

“I am deeply sorry for what happened to you the very tolerance and values of western democracy that we expected you to fight for we denied to you. It was profoundly wrong.” Serena cannot describe the feeling in her chest at the words, the deep-seated heart ache that is so unlike anything she’s ever felt before. Knows the way she’s feeling is only a fraction of how Bernie is feeling. She forces her eyes away from the screen then, forces herself to look at the bed, to her girlfriend sat against the headboard, hunched over with her knees pulled to her chest, body shaking with silent sobs.

Serena walks to the telly, turns it off, walks in big strides over to the bed, slides up to her girlfriend and whispers her name more gently than she thinks she ever has in her life. “Bernie.” There is a pause, maybe for thirty seconds, but then Bernie moves her head, looks up at Serena. The sight before her breaks her heart, Bernie’s eyes red from crying, looking so anguished that Serena feels like her heart shatters.

“Cuddle?” Serena offers it as a question, knows Bernie may still want more space. Waits until Bernie nods before opening her arms. Bernie nestles against her, in a way that’s somewhat unusual for them, more often than not it’s Bernie holding her when they cuddle. Bernie settles her cheek against her chest, and Serena brings her arms around her tightly. Holds her close, rubs her hand gently up and down her arm. Doesn’t say anything else, knows from the time they’ve been together that Bernie will speak once she’s found the right words.

“Thank you,” is the first thing Bernie says, still not totally used to a partner who has her own best interests truly at heart. Shifts so that she can look as Serena as she talks, but instead connects their hands, her own way of grounding herself.

“I’ve known something like this was coming, ever since the report was commissioned. I’d known we’d get some big statement, but I didn’t except it to hit me so hard.” Bernie runs her thumb over Serena’s knuckles as she speaks, reminds herself that this is Serena that this conversation is okay, that Serena will never judge her for anything she has to say.

“I knew even before I was gay that I was destined to join the army. My brother, who should have been the one to join, had a form of childhood epilepsy that despite growing out of as a teen disqualified him from joining for safety reasons. We realised this when he was 16, I’d have been 12. I remember overhearing a conversation between my dad and granddad about the importance of the Wolfe family name carrying on, knew then and there that it was going to be me that carried that burden.” She can see the imagine vividly in her head, sat on their stairs of their house, leaning against the wall as her dad and grandad spoke. “I told them a few days later that I was going to join when I was old enough and I’ll never forget the pride in their eyes” and she can see it even now, can’t help but wonder if that pride would be the same now. She’d made it to major, a rank above them both, but would they be proud knowing that despite the fact she was a major that she’s also gay. She shakes her head gently can’t let that thought come into her mind now.

“As I got older the used to tell me stories, of the things they done, of the people they’d worked with. They made it sound glamorous in a way. Talked to me about what I wanted to do, it was a tradition that the Wolfe’s always entered as officers, and in the end, I decided it was medicine that I wanted to do. Of course, as time passed, I realised that I had feelings for women, knew that it wasn’t even really accepted in society and that it definitely wasn’t accepted in the military. But I pushed it aside knew I had a duty to my family, and that came above my own feeling. The army paid for my medical training, on the agreement that I served for at least 10 years, and I agreed because it took so much pressure off the family.” She feels Serena squeeze her hand as she’s speaking a silent sign that she’s listen that Bernie can keep talking.

“It wasn’t until I first attended officer training that I realised just how unwelcome the true me was there. I was dating Marcus by this point, we’d met at med school, but I knew deep down it wasn’t the real me. We were made to read through reams of paperwork, so we knew what we were signing up for, so we realised we had minimum service terms and such like. I’d always known people like me weren’t welcome in the military but having it written in front of my eyes in black and white was another matter. I can see see the image of the writing on the crisp white paper as if it was yesterday. ‘Any person subject to military law who is guilty of disgraceful conduct of a cruel, indecent or unnatural kind shall, on conviction by court-martial, be liable to imprisonment for a term not exceeding two years.’ I was literally facing being found guilty of a criminal offence, if I so much as let my cover slip, it’s the reason I agreed to marry Marcus, I loved him, just not in the way he deserved, and it was the best protection for me. I’ll never not feel guilty for that, it isn’t what he deserved.

She pauses then, a big sigh coming from her lips, Serena places her hand gently under her chin, makes her look at her. “You did what you had to darling, no one can blame you for that. I know he was hurt when he first realised but I’m sure even Marcus understands deep down. Bernie nods minutely, not convinced totally understands that Marcus probably hate her and that her kids don’t think much better of her.

“I hate myself sometimes for staying, for allowing myself to enjoy being part of an institution that would have criminalised the real me. But I did love it, the army, it quickly became part of who I was. I built a big web of lies that at times even I believed. I rose through the ranks, and I convinced myself that that made it okay, that I’d earned respect despite everything. I lost friends though, a couple of good friends. I still remember as clearly as if it were yesterday the day Officer Cadet Richardson was accused of being homosexual, he’d always spoken about Jamie, but everyone though they were a woman, and of course Richardson, Paul, had never corrected them. You have to realise at this time there were literally teams within the army employed to basically witch hunt any gay people they could, and somehow, they found out, that Jamie was in fact a man. They pulled him out of bed in the middle of the night, read his letters in front of us all, made them seem disgusting by reiterating over and over again that they’d been written by a man. They took him away that night and I never saw him again; we’d been friends since the first day of officer training, and we were a week away from commissioning. That was one of the days I hated myself most for staying, I was Married to Marcus by this point, and I couldn’t afford not to, couldn’t afford for that to be me. But it ate me upside every day that I was willing to be so loyal to an organisation that literally destroyed the lives of people like me brave enough to be their true selves.” Tears are shining in her eyes now, can see the way Paul looked at her as he was dragged away, as if pleading with her to help him, and all she’d done is look away, not wanting to risk looking like she felt sorry for him for risk of outing herself, even with her giant web of lies. She’s quiet for a while now, wonders what the future ended up holding for Paul, if him and Jamie managed to stay together despite everything else.

“How long did it take to change?” Serena asks gently, she’d know the military were behind in their acceptance, but she never realised quite how deep it had run. It stopped being a criminal offence in the army in 1994, scary thought when you think all our children were born by then. But it didn’t become allowed until much later still. Every time there was a new act we were forced to agree to it, it’s one of the few times we could get out of our service outside our usual terms, I remember considering it when the 1995 act was given to me, but by this point I’d got a husband and two children, I’d go far too much to lose, so I was the opposite of brave because it was safer and I knew what to expect.

“Again, I can still see the writing as if it’s right under my face. The act stated amongst other things that ‘homosexuality isn’t compatible with securing the aims of the armed forces, because it undermines the order and discipline necessary for military effectiveness’. It went on to talk about how there was no other job like the military, and well as much I can concur with that that I cannot agree with the reasons they then gave as to why being a homosexual soldier was so wrong. They talked about the close proximity that soldiers live in. That they have no choice but to share same sex living quarters, as if implying the awful stereotype that gay people will want to try and sleep with everyone of the same sex. The worst part of it was the comment about the percentage of under 18s in the army, as if being homosexual made soldiers more likely to try and pray on the younger soldiers, stereotypes that within mainstream society were settling but in the army were being written into legislation that made my true self and the true self of so many others incompatible with jobs we’d literally risked our lives to do, in more ways than one.”

Serena can hear the shame in Bernie’s voice can’t help but put her arm around her and pull her close. Bernie rests her head against her shoulder and continues to speak, Serena knows now she’d opened this very deep seated can of worms that she needs to get it all out.

“I lost a few more friends in the coming years, friends who by every admission of the word are so much braver than I’ll ever be. They were tired of living a lie, wanted to be able to be their true selves, risked losing everything to do so. Something I despite over twenty-five years in the army wasn’t brave enough to do. Alex is notwithstanding in all of this because that was such a closely guarded secret because it was totally not allowed due to our ranks, without taking into the fact I was also married.” Bernie lets the feeling of Serena arm rubbing gently at her side give her the strength to keep speaking, some of the things coming from her lips are things she’s hidden in the depths of her soul for as long as she can remember. They are thoughts and feelings that have plagued her being for year but that she’s never shared with anyone before. She’s got better at sharing her emotions since leaving the army, got better and not hiding behind Great British reserve, especially with Serena. But laying herself so bare is still deeply uncomfortable for her, not because she doesn’t trust Serena but because her mind screams at her that what’s she’s doing and saying is wrong.

“It didn’t change for the better until the millennium, when it was finally allowed. But even then, it wasn’t right. The military has such a deep-rooted hatred of homosexuality that people who were out still faced marginalisation and judgement. They got looked over for promotion and such like. Once again, I could have been brave then, the children were older, but by this point I’d hidden my true self for so long I wasn’t even sure who that was anymore. I of course did what I could, made sure that as an officer of considerable rank that I helped the soldiers who were out and proud as much as possible. I Cut off homophobic comments, ensured soldiers under me got a fair go at promotions, but I still don’t feel like it was enough. Can you imagine how moral boosting it would have been for them people if I’d have been brave enough. What it would have meant to have a highly ranked officer be out and proud. But I couldn’t, I’d got to the point where I hated that part of myself, where I’d have done anything to change it, to really be able to love marcus. I’d have given anything to forget that I looked at woman and saw something innately beautiful.” The tears trickle down her cheeks slowly then, she’s not that woman anymore. Not the woman who hated the fact that she’s gay, she’s out and proud and loves Serena more than life itself. But sometimes the self-hatred she used to have for herself, that comes with years of repressing who you are to the point that you believe it is wrong yourself, is enough to overwhelm her.

She feels Serena thumb gently wiping at her face, knows that she won’t comment on it will just be here to listen for now, until its clear she’s finished.

“I kept that stance for the rest of my career getting promoted through the ranks. I was deployed overseas on multiple occasions include to Iraq and Afghanistan, ended up being promoted to Major, each year things seemed to get slightly better for the soldiers who were out, but I always tried to be the best ally I could even if I still wasn’t out. You know the rest of it from there, my affair with Alex, how it all would have stayed a secret had I not been blown back to reality.”

And Serena does know about that part well, they’ve discussed Alex and the affair in detail. It was clear a few months into their relationship that Serena’s biggest insecurity was that, while she trusted and trusts Bernie that the pain and suffering Edward had put her through, we’re definitely made more present by the knowledge that Bernie had too had an affair. Bernie had opened her heart to Serena, admit in a way that could confuse some that it was like she was a different person. She doesn’t excuse her affair, but she could explain it in some way. That it was like she had two separate personalities the one who was married to Marcus, had two children and would keep their sexuality hidden forever. And this second one who was made to come alive by Alex, that she didn’t do it to hurt Marcus or the kids but because she needed to feel something after so long of hating herself. That in some ways it worked but in others it made her hate herself more as she wasn’t that kind of person.

“You know as well as anyone that if it hadn’t had been for the IED and Alex, that I’d probably still be married to Marcus and still burying that part of me. Though it seems we’ve digressed from the initial point of this conversation.”

Serena’s answer is instantaneous, “But we haven’t though.” Serena says gently, and Bernie’s face is enough for Serena’s thoughts to be confirmed, that she herself needs to step in now and help her girlfriend understand.

“Everything you’ve just told me has led to us being here now.” Serena squeezes Bernie’s hand tightly then because there is no one else she could imagine a future with. “But that doesn’t make it okay, and I don’t mean what you did, I’ve already said you did what you had to. But it doesn’t make it okay that you had to. Does that make sense?” Bernie shakes her head gently, and Serena is so glad their relationship is built upon trust and honestly, that it’s allowing them to have this conversation.

“From what you’ve said to me today, I get why you behaved and acted the way you did for so long. I get why you hid the real you. You were forced so wrongly to do what you did; you made a choice to make your father and grandfather proud, but in doing so you were given no choice but to hide who you truly are. By the time you did have a chance to be honest about any of it, you’d been forced for too long to lie about it that it was too late. The damage had already been done. You’d already been forced to be something and somebody you were never destined to be. You should never have been put in that position and no one who hasn’t been in that position will ever understand what the mental torture of that did to you.”

“But it’s partially my fault, I chose to join, and I chose to stay. I can’t complain not when my colleagues were literally stripped of their medals, tortured and criminalised for it. That I at least got a choice to see it through to the end.”

“But that’s the point I’m making, it should never have been a choice the way it was. You shouldn’t have been made to choose between your true self and making your dad and grandfather proud, in continuing the Wolfe family name. Those two things shouldn’t have been mutually exclusive. The fact you were made to hide yourself to the point we both know you hated yourself is wrong. I think right now in your head you think that this apology for all the historic hurt that has been caused doesn’t include you. That because despite everything you managed to stay in the army to become a renowned front line trauma surgeon and medic. I think you don’t think you deserve this apology. I don’t think that you understand that while your colleagues and friends went through their own traumas with their sexuality being discovered that you went through your own kind of emotional trauma. The constant worry of being found out, either by the army or Marcus or the kids. The fact that you took on board so much of what was said to you that you literally hated yourself for being gay, something that you know as well as I do, you have absolutely no control over tells me that you deserve this apology just as much as anyone else. That you were hurt by the historic ban and far from thinking you aren’t brave you should know just how bloody brave you were, you are, be here where you are right now.”

She’s not sure at which point during Serena’s words the tears come, but come they do and they don’t seem to stop. She is pulled into Serena arms allows the steady beating of Serena’s heartbeat to calm her, to remind her that she did make it thought. That maybe Serena is right and she does have a right to accept the apology for the unacceptable historical chapter of the armed forces that was part of so much of her service. That she isn’t the one who needs to be ashamed, she’s risked her life for her country and that the only thing that was wrong in any of it was the institutionalised hatred she was forced to face every day. That on the contrary she has so much to be proud of, that she won’t ever let anyone make her ashamed again for being the LGBT veteran that she is and always will be.

[deering24]

Sullivan/Devine challenge, pt. 2 (Long Rant--Abandon Hope All Ye Who Must Clutch At Your “True Father Brown Fans Don’t Criticize” Pearls.)

Don: "She is not the person that you think she is."

David: "She's worried you have the wrong idea about her."

Don: "Everything about her is wrong."--Ghost Story

Mrs. Treadwell:  "I'm - I'm very fond of Mr. Carpenter, of course. Everybody is."

Lydecker: "I'm not. I'll be hanged if I am." --Laura

Several A03 fan-fic writers have done a solid job (certainly way better than the FB writing crew) of explaining Mrs. Devine's insecurities, awkwardness, previous marriage, and desperation to have a better deal than life has handed her so far.  But unfortunately, their best efforts can't make up for the fact that 1) her character is now all over the map, yet still not likeable;  2) there is still something rottenly-patronizing at her heart that no amount of talent, retconning or excuses can make up for. She continues to come off like the FB writers figured female viewers were stereotypical pathetic fans with a thing for Sullivan who would jest love any old adorkable, fake-ass-quirky lurve interest.

Worse yet, she's already proved three crucial times canon-wise that she is not the truly unconventional, intelligent, selfless, woman-of-substance people want her to be. In “The Beast Of Wedlock,” she and Brenda wander around the countryside looking for a killer beast/whatever with no weapons, backup, or help. Someone has already been gruesomely murdered, so shouldn't they have been ready for a human psycho nuthead at the least? Nope--Devine and Brenda act like there's no threat whatsoever. (The TV show Endeavor did a terrific ep. about a killer animal that was scary, suspenseful, and twisty--everything this episode was not. And I would have given anything to see Devine and Brenda dropped into that. Hell, the Scooby Gang shows more sense of danger than these two--and they're supposed to be comedic. 😝) In “The Hidden Man,” all Devine needed to do was pretend to be Father Brown--but she wanted to show off so much, she couldn't even manage that modest task. Which of course led to Flambeau getting jailed, Sullivan getting beat up, and Father Brown almost losing his life to a psycho.

And The Serpent Within was definitely Devine's Blip; her stake through the heart; her silver bullet; the sword to her neck--the episode that proved how hopeless she really is. (And sorry--fan-fiction writers have done their level best to explain her actions here, but it speaks volumes that nobody can really make sense of--or excuse--her.) She should have risen to the occasion and really proved her worth. Instead she ups the rock-stupid ante because her actor's ego again puts everyone at risk--this time even worse than before. Who did she think Father Brown was up against--Girl Guides high on their Thin Mint stash? Did she ever consider that maybe someone in Kembleford might have seen her on stage?  And did she really think that gangsters who were dropping bodies like they breathed--and had killed to frame Sullivan--would listen to her pleas for mercy? (Sweet Honkin' Jesus. That trope was laughed off movie and TV screens by the 1960's, and no one needs that mess coming back from the dead now.)  Can you imagine what Lady Felicia, Mrs. McCarthy, Sid, or Bunty would have done in this situation? (But, then, they would have had enough common sense to not get caught in the first place. 😝) To put this in proper perspective, think of Sid in "The Upcott Fraternity." Was he rolling around proclaiming he was the mostest dedicated humblest devouterest trainee priest ever--"Lookit me!! Lookit me!!"--and making the case all about his undercover talents? No? Well, then--case closed. Devine is still a terrible Father Brown associate. At the best, she is Damsel Scrappy--at her worst, she is Too Dumb To Live/The Ditz.

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/DamselScrappy

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TooDumbToLive

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TheDitz

And she still ain't a good love interest for Sullivan, who certainly deserves someone with more common sense, true caring, intelligence, and real selflessness. Come on, guys--are folks so desperate that Sullivan be in love that they'll settle for this hopelessly-retrograde, endlessly-simpering, vapid, self-centered idiot? Why? Can't FB writers (or fan-fiction ones) come up with better, more-credible alternatives? Even worse, does anyone really want to see the enticingly-tortured, officiously dashing, needing-real-love, caring-down-deep Sullivan turned into "Mr. Women's Institute/Kembleford's Own 'Honey-Do'??!?!!?"

Mark Twain perfectly nailed this kind of bad writing ages ago (in “Fenimore Cooper's Literary Offenses”--a great how-to piece on good fiction writing everyone should read. ASAP.) https://public.wsu.edu/~campbelld/engl368/fenimorecooper.pdf He said everything that needs to be said, so I'm just gonna paraphrase:

"She has no  . . . order, system, or logical sequence. She is confusedly drawn, and by her acts and words she proves she is not the sort of person the author swears up and down on a sky-high stack of Bibles that she is. Her humor is pathetic;  her pathos is funny.  Her conversations are indescribable;  and her love-scenes are fuckin' _odious_."

Nice try, guys. But tl;dr: "Upstairs Space For Let" Devine still sucks. And one can only hope her "Knight-In-Shining-Armor" teams up with a suitably-irate dragon--and "Dracaryses" her insufferable self into oblivion. Fooey.

[cotecoyotegrrrl]

Once Upon A Time - Still Kind of Beautiful - part 2

Not exactly a holiday story

There's a letter on the desktop that I dug out of a drawer  The last truce we ever came to from our adolescent war  And I start to feel the fever from the warm air through the screen You come regular like seasons shadowing my dreams 

Indigo Girls

You can find of this story in its entirety on A03 and FF

Summary:

Holly has come home for the holidays to visit family, and maybe, just maybe, find some holiday magic.

Part 2

Holly is home for the holidays. Home. What a strange and wonderful thing, even though she hasn't lived in this city in a decade, Toronto still feels like home. She comes home about once or twice a year to spend a few weeks to a month visiting friends and relatives, living in the guestroom of what is now her sister's townhouse, although she still owns it. On longer visits, like this one, she combines pleasure with business, hanging out in the morgue, getting caught up with old colleagues, and now that she let her boss talk her into being on that stupid show, giving lectures and making a few official public appearances, God or somebody help her.

It used to be easier avoiding Gail. When Sophie and Leo were young, all that Traci needed to do was to get Gail to babysit the kids for an evening and they would meet up for drinks at The Black Penny. Now that the kids are both old enough to be in collage, it's harder, even though Holly knows Gail doesn't really go out much anymore. She knows she's taken the coward's way out. As Traci says, it's been ten years for Christ's sake, what is she still afraid of? They did part as friends. Right? And now, Traci tells her, laughing at her the whole time, Sophie is a big fan of the show and wants to meet her. It's like she's become the butt of some bad, sad cosmic joke. She sighs and drops her forehead into her arms that are resting on the bar. Seamus, the regular bartender at the Penny, pushes a Jack and Coke in front of her without being asked.

"It's good to see you Doc!" He says as he goes back to polishing the glassware, "This one's on me."

"Thanks Seamus!" She smiles, sitting back up to lift the glass to her mouth. The barely tainted liquor burns all the way down.

Just the way Gail likes it, or did, in any case.

It's been ten years, three months, and sixteen days since she kissed the blonde officer goodbye at the airport on her way to her new life, not that she would know. Ten years, three months, sixteen days, and nine and a half hours since she boarded that plane to be exact, if she kept track of those kinds of things. Ten years, three months, sixteen days, and four hours since she left a message on Gail's voicemail letting her know that her flight had landed in San Francisco, and began to wait for a reply that never came. She thought about reaching out to Gail when Traci told her that Sophie's adoption didn't go through, and then again a year and a half later, when it did. She had wanted to fly home and rush to Gail's side when she heard about the internal corruption investigation, and then the trial where Gail and Steve had been forced to testify against their parents, pitting them against each other as well. But the wall of silence had stopped her. She had seen Gail from a distance on several of her visits home, always managing to slip away before she was noticed, not wanting her presence to intrude on Gail's life. She had heard from several of their mutual friends about how retched Gail had been after she left, and how Gail finally managed to pull herself together when it became clear that Children's Services were considering her once again as a parental candidate for Sophie, after Sophie's placement with a more traditional family fell apart. Who is she kidding? It isn't just Gail that she is trying to protect.

"Hey Girl! You are looking good!" She can hear the smile in Traci's voice even before she spins around on her bar stool to be grabbed into a warm hug.

"Traci!" She grins into the shoulder of the wool coat that is pressing into her cheek.

Traci pulls back, holding her at arms length for a moment and then lets go. She waives at Seamus and holds up two fingers. He nods and places two shots of bourbon and two pints of beer on the bar in front of them.

They settle into a booth in the back, talking about Holly's reluctant celebrity, and Traci's recent promotion to Regional Special Operations Team Leader and her move from Division 15 to the Ontario Police Headquarters, and about how she and Steve reconnected about a year ago and are giving dating another try.

"So you and Steve…?" Holly tilts her head, raising her eyebrows at Traci, "How is that working?"

"It's good." Traci smiles back, "I think we are really going to make a go of it this time. He has done a lot of work on himself around communication, and control, and trust."

"That's great Traci, I am really happy for you." Holly replies.

"Thanks!" Traci says, "And even better, Leo loves Steve, so he couldn't be more thrilled!"

"I can't believe he is in his second year at the University of Toronto! All grown up, and a starting Left Wing on the hockey team!" Holly smiles and shakes her head.

"You want me to get us tickets for a game while you're here?" Traci glows with pride.

"Of course!" Holly grins and finishes her drink. "Here let me get us another round."

The Penny has filled up quickly in the time they have been sitting wrapped in conversation, with the usual crowd of cops getting off the day shift, people from the neighborhood, and the occasional college student or two. Holly has to push her way to the bar and squeeze in between a couple or large guys to place their drink order. She fidgets as she waits for the new bartender she doesn't know to stop flirting a couple of girls sitting at the end of the bar. Sooner or later people she knows will be filing in after work, and then she will be here all night. She sighs and looks up to find Seamus placing their drinks before her.

"Sorry about that." He shrugs, "Jimmy doesn't know you, and he thought you were just some hot cougar out hunting cops." He smirks.

"So I'm no longer a badge bunny." She laughs, "Well at least he thinks I'm still hot."

"Darlin', you were never a badge bunny!" The voice says behind her, "And Seamus, put that on my tab."

She whirls around to be caught in a great hug that warms her down to her very soul.

"It's so good to see you." She murmurs into Oliver's ear.

"Yup. Yup, I could say the same." Oliver releases her, "Celery told me you were in town. So I figured it was only a matter of time before I caught you sneaking around down here."

"I am not sneaking around!" She replies indignantly.

"Sure you're not…" He laughs at her

"I'm not! I'm here with Traci, if you must know…" She gives him a playful shove.

"Yeah, yeah, sittin' in the back, ignoring all of us little people…" He teases. "Well look Darlin', I gotta go but maybe I'll see you when I get home on Monday?"

"Celery and I are just going to hang around the house after lunch, so you know you will." She smiles as he kisses her cheek and walks off in the direction of the dartboard.

Holly smiles to herself. It is good to be home. She has picked up the drinks and is carefully turning to return to her seat when she literally bumps into someone that stops her cold. The black leather jacket is shockingly familiar, from the tiny scull charm dangling from the zipper on the breast pocket to the knot she put in the waist belt so long ago. Looking up into eyes, framed by gold wire rimmed glasses, as dark and brown as her own, in a face she has only seen in pictures, makes Holly gasp.

"Hey! Watch it lady!" The dark curls that tumble out from underneath a watch cap, and the flawless milk-chocolate brown skin are unfamiliar, but the tone and the accompanying gesture are all Gail.

"Sophie?" Holly asks in a hushed tone.

"Oh my God!" Is all Sophie can manage as she gapes wide eyed at her hero, a blush rising in her cheeks. "Doc..Dr. Stewart? You… you know who I am?" She finally sputters.

Holly regains her composure as she watches the girl struggle.

"Wha... what are you doing here?" Sophie stutters, still obviously in shock.

Holly laughs, "I'm having a drink with your Aunt Traci."

"Oh." Sophie says, still frozen to the spot.

"Why don't you come over and say hello." Holly continues, leading the way back to the booth.

"Oh. Ok." Sophie follows like a puppy, all awkward and shy.

"Look who I found." Holly says while sliding back into the booth.

"Oh good! You've met." Traci looks up with a smile. "Hey Sophie! How's school?"

Sophie is still standing somewhat dumbstruck in front of them.

"Uh… good Aunt Traci, really good…" She finally manages.

"Sophie wants to be a Forensic Pathologist too." Traci smiles at Holly.

"Really?" Holly tilts her head with a smile, "So you want to be an uber-science nerd like me?

"Oh I don't think you're a nerd, Dr. Stewart! Well not in a bad way, anyway. I think you're amazing! And all of the cases you help solve…" Sophie gushes.

"Please. Call me Holly." She interrupts, her smile growing wider. So this is Sophie. This amazing young woman is the reason Gail couldn't come with her to San Francisco. Sitting here listening to Sophie ramble on, bubbling about forensic science, in much the same way she does herself, is like a gift she didn't know she needed. Until now. Holly finds the weight of ten years of disappointment and resentment for a life without Gail lifting as she sees the young woman before her begin to glow with excitement as she answers each question about their chosen profession. Traci is grinning ear to ear with pride across the table at her too.

"I have to say, I'm impressed." Holly grins as Sophie finishes telling them about the molecular biology project on the breakdown of DNA and methods of its reconstruction for analysis in the field she has been working on all semester. "That's quite advanced stuff you are working on!"

She watches Sophie blush, lick her lips and scuff her boot on the wooden floor and then look back up at her with wide, trusting eyes in a way that is just so Gail. It catches Holly completely off guard; it makes her want to cry all of a sudden. She can feel Traci's eyes, soft and motherly, watching her. It's all starting to be too much.

"Hey! There you are. I thought we were meeting at the bar…" Gail's annoyed voice cuts in behind Sophie.

Holly closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and leans her head against the wooden back of the booth.

"Hey Mom! I was just talking to Aunt Traci and Dr. Stewart… erm… I mean Holly!" Sophie exclaims, excitement sparkling in her eyes as she turns to face Gail.

"Oh." Gail says as all of the blood drains from her body. She licks her lips, feeling as if she has been plunged into ice water.

Traci is frozen too, looking from Holly to Gail to Sophie with frantic, worried eyes. She finally snaps out of it, springing from her seat to take Sophie gently by the arm. "Why don't we go get another round at the bar." She says, leading a thoroughly confused Sophie away from the booth.

Brown eyes open to meet blue and nothing else matters. The Penny, the noise, and everyone else all seem to disappear.

"Hello Gail." Holly says softly.

That's all it takes. Suddenly Holly is on her feet. Gail takes two quick strides forward to catch her and hold on tight.

"I've missed you." Holly finally manages to gasp in a strangled whisper.

"Me too, Holly, me too." Gail sobs quietly into her ear. "More than I can ever say."

[lilacmoon83]

Operation Castle

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 6: The Banshee's Cry

"What do you mean, ripped out? Cause this doesn't look like it was done with a knife. There's no knife wounds," Emma reasoned.

"Because it wasn't," Casey said.

"Wait…are you accusing someone of ripping a heart with magic?" David asked.

"It's possible…but we're not sure. The only two people we know about that can do something like that were accounted for at the time of death," Casey replied.

"Yes…they were with us at dinner last night," Killian agreed, referring to Gold and Regina.

"Which means we have someone that has either figured out magic or a way to use science to replicate a heart rip, as I understand it's called," Alivia said.

"That means it's someone from our land…or someone from your ranks and since you've assured us no one else is awake…that means it's the latter," Gold replied. There was a pregnant pause between them.

"We're aware that this could be the case, but the General isn't ruling out the possibility that this could be another magical creature that's popped up as another anomaly," Casey said. David raised an eyebrow.

"And they just got lucky and happened to choose someone from our land to kill?" he asked.

"Dave is right…what the bloody hell are you hiding? Is someone from your damn government hunting us?" Killian accused. Emma noticed the slight widening of Alivia's eyes, like she was surprised that he had made that conclusion so quickly. So they were hiding something.

"I'd watch your tone…Captain," Casey warned.

"I'm more than three hundred years old, mate. I've seen more bloody carnage and just pain bonkers stuff than you can imagine. The only thing I know about government or royals…" he said, as he paused for a moment.

"Save a few in my company…is that they can't be trusted," he growled.

"You have no power here…and you know it. We have told you what we're authorized to tell," Alivia said sternly.

"That wasn't a no," Emma said.

"Indeed," Gold agreed.

"Look…finding who did this is top priority. Regardless of who it was…someone has been killed with magic," Casey said.

"Or what looks like magic," Gold replied, as examined the autopsy photos.

"When I rip a heart…my hand passes cleanly into the chest. These are burn marks, if I'm not mistaken," he added.

"So someone did come up with a synthetic way to do it," David said.

"Enough," General Shaw bellowed, as he appeared on screen.

"Tell us the truth then. Are we being hunted?" Killian replied. There was another long pause.

"It appears so…we have another body, from your land," he revealed, as a picture of the body, post mortem, appeared on screen.

"Do you recognize him?" Emma asked.

"Not this one…which begs the question on how exactly you know he's from Storybrooke," David replied.

"That's classified," Shaw responded. He snorted in response.

"Of course it is," he replied, as there was an alert.

"Guess you're saved by the proverbial monster…for now," Emma said, as the image came in from the NSA main office, where they were monitoring all paranormal activity.

"What the hell is that thing?" Emma asked, as she watched an wispy, astral-like apparition float around what seemed to be a four block radius. Then they were all covering their ears, as it screeched an unholy sound.

"A Banshee…" Killian said.

"Yep, definitely, which is kind of new, but not all that surprising, considering our current situation," David replied.

"What do you mean?" Alivia asked.

"He means that a Banshee, at least in our land, heralds the death of someone. Usually it's a family member, but in the grand scheme of things, one of us is dead," Rumple reasoned.

"Wait…are you saying that the banshee has appeared, because someone from your land is dead?" Casey asked.

"There's no way to prove such…but it's a reasonable theory," Rumple replied.

"What kills a banshee? It looks like it's transparent," Alivia said, clearly freaking out a bit.

"It looks transparent…but she can be banished. They hate iron and steel. The reflections from our blades will eventually get her to flee, but the bright light of magic works even better," David said, as they armed themselves.

"Which we haven't figured out yet," Regina argued.

"No time like the present…" he said.

"It's not that easy!" Regina argued hotly.

"Then we'll have to figure it out…because right now, there's hundreds of cameras on this thing and this one won't be so easily explained away," Alivia said, as they hurried out to the cars.

~*~

Snow looked up from the papers she was grading. This was her free period, but she was covering a seventh grade study hall for an ill teacher that period. She noticed a couple boys on their phones, whispering about something, while occasionally casting looks at her.

"Is there something I can help you boys with?" she asked, calling them out. Others around them snickered and they clammed up pretty quickly.

"This is study hall and I'm sure you have homework to do," she said sternly. She was sure the boys would have needed further reprimanding, but fortunately for them, the period ended and she proceeded to the teacher's lounge to grab her lunch. She noticed a couple of the other teachers gathered at the table, watching something on one of their phones. Oddly, they looked up at her and back down at their phones, almost in disbelief. She didn't have time to ponder this though, as she turned when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Mrs. Nolan…I'm Dana Bishop, your new student teacher," she said, introducing herself with a meaningful look.

"Of…of course, I'll show you to my classroom," she replied, as they stepped out into the hallway.

"What's going on? I assume you're really from the NSA?" Snow asked. The woman nodded.

"There's another attack…your husband and the others are enroute already. There is a car waiting out front for you," she said. Snow sighed. It's not that she didn't want to go, but she had a feeling that people were already noticing something was off with her.

"How exactly are my absences being explained?" Snow asked.

"The Principal was informed that you are an asset and nothing more. No questions will be asked," Dana replied. Somehow, Snow doubted that, but walked away toward the front entrance of the school. She wanted to be there to watch the backs of the people she loved, after all.

~*~

Neal and Robin arrived at Lake Nostros a few hours later, but whatever Neal was expecting to see when they got there…it was anything but this.

"I guess we now know why the locals think it's quick sand," Robin mentioned, as they saw the dried up lake was nothing but sand again. But in the center, the sand was moving continuously.

"Except quicksand doesn't actually look like that. Usually you don't know you're in quicksand until it happens. It certainly doesn't move like that," Neal replied, as he cautiously moved closer. He knelt down at the edge of the moving sand and touched it. He saw it turn green at his touch and then he moved more sand around, again seeing green, just like the portal he had fallen through.

"What is it?" Robin asked.

"Call me crazy…but I think this is a portal," Neal replied.

"But how can that be? Portals don't stay open," Robin reasoned.

"You're right…that we know of. I've never known of a continuous portal opening. If the wrong people knew there was an open portal to other realms…" Neal realized.

"What are you going to do?" Robin asked. He grabbed his pack and shouldered it.

"I'm going to take a really big chance…and jump through it," Neal said.

"Are you crazy? You have no idea where that thing goes," Robin replied. Neal looked at him.

"I know…but this might be my only chance to find Henry and Emma," he said, as their eyes met and Robin understood. Neal would do anything for his son, just as Robin would for his.

"This…this isn't normal and it means something. If there is even a chance that Henry and my family are in danger of some kind…I have to take it," Neal said.

"You think Storybrooke is in trouble?" Robin asked. Neal snorted.

"Wouldn't be the first time. Who knows what Tamara and Greg did after I fell through the portal," he said. Robin nodded. He was familiar with them from the story that Neal told.

"I'll travel back and tell Mulan about this. It is likely that Phillip will want to send a rotation of guards here now to keep watch on this portal," Robin said. Neal nodded.

"It's a good idea. Trust me, Storybrooke doesn't need anymore crazies," he replied, as he took a deep breath.

"Good luck, my friend," he said, as they shook hands.

"Thanks…something tells me I'm going to need it," Neal said, as he took another deep breath and jumped into the moving sand. It flashed green briefly as he did and then returned to the moving sand. Robin sighed and took Roland's hand.

"Come along Roland…we need to go visit Mulan," he said.

~*~

They arrived at the scene where people ran screaming through the two block radius that the Banshee was terrorizing.

"Level with me…is this about where the body was found?" David asked.

"Yes…this is the neighborhood that the victim lived in," Casey confirmed.

"Mate…in my three-hundred years, I've never seen a Banshee act like this. It wails and shrieks, but flees once the victim is either properly buried or avenged or both," Killian mentioned. David clenched his jaw.

"But the body is probably in a morgue right now, being dissected. She's angry," Rumple said.

"That's standard procedure," Alivia said.

"Your procedure created this one!" David snapped.

"No…we didn't create this! This doesn't happen in our world!" Alivia shot back.

"Well, it does now…so how do we get rid of her?" Emma asked.

"Not sure…we've never seen one that wasn't able to go away on their own or one that turned violent," David replied.

"But it's an apparition…it can't really hurt anyone," Casey said. As he said that, an electrical box exploded above one apartment building, sending downed electrical phone lines into the streets and people scurrying to keep from being electrocuted.

"No…but she can cause a lot of damage that could," David said, as they rushed into the street to confront the being. A car arrived moments later and Snow and Belle got out, rushing to join them.

"A Banshee…" Snow realized.

"Yeah…I'll fill you in later, but we could use a magical solution right now," David said.

"I'm trying…I can almost feel it in the air, but it's not answering my call," Regina replied, as she held her hands up.

"She's right…it does not flow in the air like it did back home," Rumple agreed, as they saw his hand spark red momentarily, before fizzling out.

"There may be another way…" Snow said.

"Really?" David asked. She nodded.

"I saw the villagers deal with them a lot…you know, after many people were slaughtered by…" Snow said, as she looked at Regina, who shook her head in annoyance. Emma ignored the Queen though.

"How'd they do it without magic?" the blonde asked.

"A bonfire…which the Banshee's hated and would flee from, except they weren't able to, because of the rattling," Snow said.

"Rattling?" Killian asked.

"The villagers would rattle tin cups or whatever metal they could against another metal object to create a rattling noise. The Banshees can't stand it and they plunge themselves right into the fire," Snow recalled from her memories.

"This is absurd! You want us to build a bonfire in the middle of Brooklyn?" she asked. David spotted some trash cans in an alleyway.

"We don't need a bonfire for one," he said, as he dragged one that was only half full into the street. Casey rummaged through the glove box in the SUV and tossed a pack of matches to the Prince. David tossed a lit one in the can and a fire was soon roaring.

"Now for the rattling," Killian said, as he pulled something from his belt, revealing his old hook and grabbed a trash can lid. He started banging the metal hook on the tin trash lid and the Banshee shrieked and covered her ears in agony.

"That's it…more!" he called.

"This is insane…" Alivia growled, as she picked one up and started banging on it with a piece of discarded scaffolding from the alley. Emma grabbed a tire iron from the trunk and started banging on another trash can lid. This was enough to drive the one Banshee insane and it dove head first into the fire, burning up and dissipating. They all breathed a sigh of relief. And there was no way to hide this one, as they looked up at the dozens of apartment windows where people were filming with their camera phones.

"This is bad…" Emma said.

"The NSA will handle it," Alivia argued.

"There's no handling this! We're exposed like a vein! Believe me…I know what this world does to you when they think you're a freak!" Emma shouted.

"Enough…back to Castle," Casey ordered. Snow and David joined hands, as they walked toward the SUV.

"David…why was there a Banshee? They only occur under certain circumstances," Snow said. He looked over at her.

"I'll explain everything on the way back," he promised, as he kissed her cheek.

~*~

"Well…that wasn't inconspicuous at all," Tamara said, as they watched the spectacle taking place in Brooklyn now.

"Yes…there will be no keeping this under wraps now," General Aza replied.

"Guess it's time for our first broadcast, live from Brooklyn," Greg said, as his phone chimed. Tamara smirked.

"I'm going to enjoy this. Do you want us to reveal their identities?" she asked.

"Not yet…but dangle the reality that you will soon know who they are. They'll regret not masking their identities. Let the public do the rest," Aza said.

"Fine…as long as the Queen eventually pays," Greg said.

"She's already paying in a way…she doesn't have her son," Tamara reminded him.

"Not good enough…she killed my father and I want the whole world to know. I want her locked up at the very least," he said.

"And that time will come…if we do this right," Aza said, as he gave him a steely look.

"Do not think for a second about going rogue, Mr. Mendell. It will not end well for you if you do," he warned, as they were dismissed to do their first broadcast. They would be introduced as rookie beat reporters, but the subject of their reports would quickly see to it that they became very well known.

~*~

Unfortunately, on the way back to Castle, they discovered that there was a second Banshee and they had gone to deal with it too, much in the same way as the first one. Now it was clear. Two deaths of people from Storybrooke. The mood was somber, as they made their way into Castle for debriefing and General Shaw was waiting on the line.

"Who is hunting us?" David asked bluntly, as he stood at the head of the table, leaning against it with his hands firmly gripping the edges. Snow had seen this stance many times before, back in their land, in the castle war room.

"At ease, Agent Nolan," Shaw warned, but David didn't soften his stance or his glare.

"We don't know…but we fear we have a rogue operative. It is the only way someone could even know about your kind," Shaw said.

"Uh…our kind? We're human, just like you," Emma protested.

"You are…except your hearts are not like ours and it shows up as an extra marker in your DNA," he revealed.

"Bloody hell…" Killian said.

"So I was right…you've cataloged us all in your little database," Rumple said. Shaw gave them a stern gaze.

"As far as we know, your lot is the reason for all this insanity we're facing," he said.

"You can't know that…" Snow protested.

"I'm afraid we can and we do. The magical radiation from the trigger has so far had untold consequences for this country and possibly the entire world. The only reason you are walking free is we think you can help stop it," Shaw said.

"Then we need to know everything…but you're hiding half the picture from us," Emma replied.

"You'll know what you need to know. For now, you'll stand down," Shaw said, as his image blinked out.

"Stand down? He's got to be kidding! We're just supposed to stand by while one of our people could be the next victim?" David shouted.

"We've got more problems than that…" Casey said, as he unmuted the television, which was broadcasting a special report.

"Oh my God…" Regina uttered.

"Is that…" Snow also uttered.

"Bloody hell…these wankers," Killian said.

"They survived too…" David said.

"Greg and Tamara…" Emma said in shock.

~*~

Neal felt himself deposited unceremoniously on the hard ground.

"Oof…definitely need to work on my landings," he joked, though no one was around to hear him. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was, but he instantly saw something he recognized. He smiled and saw the well, before he hurried through the woods and when he emerged from the edge of the woods, expecting to see the familiar site of the clocktower, his smile quickly faded to a frown. He found there was a small clearing, but then more woods where Storybrooke should have been.

"What the hell happened?" he wondered, as fear gripped him. Storybrooke was gone…and so was his family.

[tigerinkangel]

Literally this. I have not seen 1 (one) single pro A03 app agreement that asks for a festure that isn't already there with JUST the mobile app.

"It lets me access A03 without needing a browser--"

You can make any webpage into an "App" on Android and Apple phones, I'm sure Google ones as well. I guarantee you that half of the app is going is literally that. Its not an "app" access version, A03 is already mobile friendly, the app is just going to the webpage with overlays for adds and other bs.

"Oh but it lets me chages the look of the page, I can make the screen X colour and the text X colour and---"

You can already do that with base A03, its called Themes and there are a shitton of free to use ones on their website if you dont know HTML enough to make your own

"But it lets me download fics and read them offline--"

That is literally a feature on A03, any fic you read at the top where the options to select the view type, chapter select bookmark, etc there is a Download button. Use that, boom pdf of the fic (or other option, there are multi download file types you can choose from).

"But it lets me save fics a like in categories, so they are more organized than the Bookmark feature on A03..."

1) you can filter search your bookmarks like you can for searching for fic, so if you wanna save a fic for X pairing and read it again later, use the bookmark feature and then you can filter for X pairing In Your Bookmarks to find it when you feel like reading it (or any of your bookmarked fic for X pairing) again.

2) if you want to do this for offline downloaded fic, there is this wonderful things called Folders you can make in 99% of devices, Make one for downloaded fanfic on your device. Boom, organization for your downloaded fic that Doesnt Rely On An App Working Forever

"But it has a screen reader function and therefore is more accessible--"

like mentioned above, I can almost garentee that the App is probably using a generic free screen reader that will do as good of a job reading to you as the ones that come available with most webbrowsers these days (or are an extension you can download to your browser). Also Podfic are a thing, they are fantastic, and were VERY common in older fandoms (mid 2000s or before), if you cant find podfic for the fandom/pairing/fic you are looking for, then you can request it from fandom spaces, podfic is a great VA practice tool (and are just fun to make) so people should try making them more. A03 supports more than just written media for fic and people seem to keep forgetting that.

Like please, bring me reasons you think an app provides value and I will point you to a feature already available on A03 itself that does it already.

With the latest crap of someone making an unofficial ao3 app and actually charging people to use it… why do you want an ao3 app so badly? Why are you willing to pay for an otherwise free website that works fine in mobile browsers? I’m so confused. Like, y’all are willing to have that as a security risk? And pay for it? I don’t understand at all. I saw people on the OTW’s recent post about it arguing for the existence of this app instead of against it.

Also, the whole thing is just so shady. There’s someone out there making money off of tons of people’s free work. Not cool, guys. Not cool. Don’t support the app.

[thetentaclecommander]

The Buzzing of Flies

The Buzzing of Flies ________________________________________________ Rated M for violence and suggestive situations. Fandom: Resident Evil Main Ship: Brad Vickers/Gwen Parsons (OC) Side Ship: Trent Haddens (OC)/Gwen Parsons (OC) Implied Side Ships: Albert Wesker/Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield/Jill Valentine Chapters: 2/2 CW: past adult/teen (fake ID mention/implied in past snapshots; Brad had to have some colossal dirt on him to abandon his counter terrorist level team like that over a pack of 'rabid dogs' imo so this fic gives him a reason), age gap (21 and 35 at end of fic), Brad being a genuinely conflicted coward who was easily cowed into all his choices, on screen character deaths including one of a child, Nemesis being Nemesis, unplanned pregnancy/secret love child, paranoia as if Brad's life has been under extensive surveillance for years, blackmail, survivor's guilt (full tag list on AO3) Summary: Lots of plot filling in gaps between the AU and RE3 centering around Brad Vickers. ________________________________________________ Excerpt: “I could have made him stop. But, you chose to refuse my deal and so both of their blood is on your hands. Pity.” The voice on the pay phone reverberated with cold finality in his ear. Brad could only sink to his knees, the receiver swaying and echoing the droning dial-tone. XxxxX Thank God. I finally got onto the team. Finally, I have something good to write home about to ya, ma! Guess what? I get to fly like I've always said I would. Yeah, I can see you now, making that face. But I'm not a soldier, I just fly. The sky never hurt anyone. I feel like a free bird when I fly. Like an eagle, any plane glides easily in the sky under my hands. I can conquer anything as long as I can fly. And then I found a bluebird, dancing around in her bright skirts, her cheer as beautiful as her smile. Oh, I forgot to mention her- A hand quickly leans down to erase the last two sentences; before furiously balling up the paper before tossing it into the wastebasket. The new arrival met with a few other discarded letters to the cadence of a pen tapping on a wood surface. XxxxX 35364.vid The flicker of tracking lines almost detracted from the video; a man is seen skittishly looking around the small office. He picked up a framed picture off the desk while combing nervously through his brown hair. Strewn around the office were posters and plaques depicting RPD department insignia as well as one that stuck out brighter than the rest for the separate S.T.A.R.S. department. He had turned the small silver framed photo around in his visibly shaking hands – containing a small family shot with a large bear of a man sticking out prominently - As the man fiddled with the small picture in his hand, a reflection beamed the camera flooding it temporarily with lens flare. For a moment, the man glanced directly into the camera, trying to figure out what he was staring at. As he rose to glare closer, the door opened and the man could only turn towards the new visitor. The clip then began to track thicker lines across the screen, making either person hard to make out. (Continue reading The Buzzing of Flies on A03)

[olderthannetfic]

Out of curiosity I looked up Clint/Coulson on A03 and 11k fics?! Just why? I mean I'm all about ship what you want but 11k fics! I'm curious about the appeal of these two together. Is it something from the comics? Because in fic a lot of people write MCU Clint like his comic counterpart.

--

Hahaha. Oh god.

No, it is absolutely not comics.

Okay, so, I dislike how C/C gets used in dumb arguments as though ships like this are commonplace when it's really just this one and maybe Kylux and/or Arthur/Eames... But I'm more than happy to talk about the weird outliers as that.

Clint/Coulson needs to be understood in the context of Avengers fandom where it sprang up. First, let's look at posting dates:

This is really a 2012 phenomenon that got big enough to be self-sustaining for a while. And being a 2012 phenomenon, it has nothing to do with Clint.

You heard me: Nobody cared about Clint. Nobody cared about comics. This was 100% fandom being Horny For Coulson.

At the time, MCU was some of the origin movies. Everyone was really looking forward to Avengers where the characters would meet for the first time. With fewer overall movies, the cameo characters stood out more, especially Coulson with his funny one-liners. People loved him in the first two Iron Mans, but there was nobody to ship him with. And then came Thor. Yeah, it's like two seconds, but he has that funny radio conversation with Hawkeye. Bingo! Shipping potential!

And then Avengers came out and killed Coulson.

So not only did people finally have a cardboard cutout who'd been in Coulson's vicinity to ship him with, but they had fixit fic to write, and fandom has always loved fixit fic. And Clint was conveniently mind controlled for 90% of his, at the time, very minimal screen time so he was a blank slate aside from the tasty built-in angst of him being mind controlled while Coulson was getting killed. Cue the bajillions of fics where they're secretly married and no one knew (boring) and the heaps where Clint had a secret crush and now it's too late to confess except oh wait (my jam).

It was at that point that people started going to comics (or, realistically, comics wikis) to fill in some actual personality and backstory for Clint. However, I read a bunch of the fic at the time, and it all had the unmistakable ring of being pure asset/handler trope. I'm a sucker for that, and I also love the trope of the dude who looks like an accountant but is a secret badass.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To Thor's Hammer is the most epic unadulterated dose of 'secret badass looks like an accountant' I've ever seen.

Finding out Coulson was coming back for real fueled the fire more. Agents of SHIELD started in 2013... but Coulson fans weren't that wild about him on that show. Interest started to wane pretty quickly. People who liked the show mostly liked it for other things.

But the phenomenon was big, and it was so fanon-y and compartmentalized that it was easy to go play without knowing much about the comics or about the increasingly vast MCU. That kept it chugging along longer than some fads. Ships tend to be semi-self sustaining after a certain point because the back catalogue of fic itself attracts people and forms the canon in a sense.

I think a lot of people who lack this taste for secret badasses look at Coulson and assume he was picked for adjacency to Clint, but it's actually that fandom took one look at Coulson and went "RAW ME, DADDY!"

[artemiseamoon]

My world and yours

David Barron x Ofc (Geneviève Amaris Boyea) | words: 2213

Warnings: show canon warnings, drug world, mentions of violence and death, as usual my narcos disclaimer applies. You know it, I’ve said it a hundred times.

💫 arte releases a draft from the void💫 | gif credit to owners 💫

Any expansion to this will adhere to my new policy and post in full only to A03. Now that I’ve come across this again, I think I def want to add more. I’ll have time in January so if interested in more, stay tuned! Once it’s up, subscribe to the one shot on A03. 💕

This isn’t his kind of place, in fact, David’s only seen places like this from afar or the outside. Sometimes Benjamins meetings with his fancy friends didn’t happen in the light of day, or in sun filled restaurants, sometimes, though less frequently, they happened at night.

Luna Lounge has been here for decades, Juan Escarra, one of Benjamin's important friends, purchased the place two years ago and turned it into his own private lounge. He filled the seat with important people and movie stars and gave VIP treatment to those who he benefits from impressing.

Some nights, Juan closed the place down for special meetings, on other nights, he met them in the private back room, an extension of the lounge free from the general crowd's eyes and ears. It even has its own driveway, parking lot and entrance.

The soundproof two-way mirror on the stage reflected back only the performers and crowds faces on one side, on the private side, they could see everything without being seen themselves.

It’s in this very room David stands, on the outer edges, closer to the private bar to the far left. He’s keeping an eagle eye view on everything.

Just ahead, in the center of the room, Juan Escarra and Benjamin are having a conversation. Also at the bar is Juan’s personal security guy, Ricardo. When Juan signals the bar for another round of drinks, the bartender gets to it and Juan presses a button on the side of the table. Suddenly, the sounds of the other side of the mirror fill the room, dominating the soft music that was playing.

The crowd's clapping fades as the performers leave the stage. David is just about to look away when the next performer approaches. David’s already still posture remains so as his eyes follow her on the stage.

The beautiful sultry woman stands behind the mic, her back to them now. Across the way, Juan picks up a remote and the large tv comes on, revealing a clear shot of the stage. David was instantly captivated by her profile alone, seeing her fully on the screen only deepens his interest.

“Easy on the eyes right,” Ricardo leans over to him and whispers.

David doesn’t respond, his eyes remain fixed on the screen for less than a second. He then shifts his focus back to the scene before him. Benjamin and Juan are enjoying their drinks and watching the screen.

The meeting is winding down and will soon be over. David straightens up, no longer leaning against the counter and slides his hands into his pockets. He waits for Benjamin's signal.

...

“Hey man,”

David turns his head slightly to look at Ricardo.

“Advice don’t try it. That’s Boyea’s daughter.”

David takes in the information, and only responds with a slight head nod.

Because he’s the muscle, certain people tend to underestimate him. Sum him up to some dumb, violent gang banger. But he notices everything, he pays attention. He knows who the rich important people are, even if others assume he doesn't.

David doesn’t correct them when they do this, even though it pisses him off. It’s better to let them think that way. He knows exactly who Angelo Deon Boyea is. Most who hear his name don’t know his face, he’s a private man, and an important one.

Coming from Afro-Mexican and Caribbean roots, Angelo spent time living all over the world and studied both here in Mexico and the US. He’s a money man, numbers and though his face isn’t front and center, he’s a powerful hand behind many people. He has banks all over the world and is an important man to make friends with, which Juan did wisely. So did Benjamin.

David never saw Angelo Boyea in person, not yet at least. And from what he knows, Benjamin only met him once which seemed to be a common thing, if you work with him, you deal with his people who get back to him. And if you’re in, you get one meeting,

If you get close, if the Boyea family takes you in, he’s no longer a ghost or apparition. In this case, his phantom appearance is replaced by lavish parties, big dinners, and trips. Aside from the banks, Boyea has his hands in politics, naturally. This is where the connection to Juan and the Arellano-Félix deepens.

Angelo has two children that David knows of a son named Deon Javel Boyea, he’s wrapped up in sports and owns a team, secretly of course. The front face for the team is just some stand in for media purposes. Then, there’s his daughter, Geneviève Amaris Boyea.

Not much is known about her, unlike many children of important people, she lives her life quietly, has never been part of a scandal (as far as he and the public know) and is never seen in the popular clubs. Many bigwigs' adult children paired at Christine, and the family's establishments. Not Geneviève.

Like her father, she studied here, in France and the US. She knows four languages and has a love for singing. A year back she won a beauty contest and seems to just focus on performing. She’s made a few appearances in Telenovelas.

Barron gets the signal from Benjamin and halts his thoughts. Goodbyes are exchanged and they soon head toward the door. Just as they reach it Juan calls out to Benjamin.

“There’s a party next weekend.” He approaches them, “Boyea is impressed with you, your family. You’ve been invited.”

Party weekend

The sounds of the party seep into the bathroom, even with the door closed. As he washes his hands at the sink, David catches a glimpse of himself.

He’s not used to seeing himself dressed like this. But the party has a dress code. He also feels naked without his piece. There’s a strong no weapons rule for the party, and though this makes him uncomfortable, he had to respect it.

Security is through the roof at this place, and this party is in a mansion on an island in the middle of nowhere, even the boat they took to get here was crazy. It took some getting used to the world of the Arellano-Félix family. Riches, sprawling properties, only the best and most expensive of everything; this is that time 10.

His scrappy beginnings in the hood and rise up in the gang is a completely different world from all of this. Drying his hands, he looks himself over once more. It’s a nice ass suit, perfectly tailored.

In the back of his mind, he revisits what Benjamin told him, to keep an eye on things but relax, to have some fun. To be honest, he didn’t really know what to do with himself here, but he wasn’t alone. It was easy to spot, even in nice clothes, other people's security guards. All without weapons and trying to blend in.

Leaving the bathroom, David swings by the main room and watches for a while. Benjamin is off to the side, having a conversation with Angelo. David watches for a while, and everything seems fine. He decides to keep moving, and heads to the wrap around balcony.

With the floor to ceiling windows, he can still watch everything inside. The breeze from the ocean cools his skin. As he walks, his eyes shift from the landscape to the scene inside. When a group of people spill out onto the balcony, he decides to head to the ground level, and put some distance between himself and the crowd.

On the ground level, he heads into the banquet room and makes a plate of food. He declines the help of the servers and makes his plate himself. After having what he wants, he steps out and into the dining room. It’s empty, all the other party goers are either on the beach, or on the upper two floors.

David is only in there for a few minutes when someone else enters. David looks up and locks eyes with Geneviève. She must have entered from the other side, there are two routes to the banquet room.

In the back of his mind, he was wondering if she was here, he spotted her brother about a half hour ago, lounging on the couch with some models.

When she re-emerges, she has a plate of food and drink in her hands. When she sits at the table to his left, he tries not to look at her, but can’t help himself and steals a glance.

He’s quick, but she’s quicker and catches him.

“Hi.” She smiles.

David greets her back, then focuses on his plate. He takes a bite of food and from the corner of his eye, he steals another glance of her.

The two eat in silence for a while. A few moments later, Geneviève rests her chin in her palm and looks at him. David swallows his food and meets her eyes.

His gaze follows her hand as she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Delicate slim fingers with expensive rings on her middle finger and thumb. Nails painted the same shade of dark blue as her dress.

“Nice suit.”

“Thanks.” A small grin curves at the corner of his lips.

He accepts the compliment and tells himself to look away, but he can't. He's spelled by her deep velvety brown eyes and her long dark lashes.

She raises the drink in her hand to her lips, letting it linger there but not drinking.

Geneviève noticed him earlier. Handsome and pretty faces filled the room, but him- there’s something about him that’s captured her attention. She could tell this kind of setting isn’t his norm. Even in the clothes, he seems different from everyone else.

He’s also the finest man here, and something about his eyes pulls her to him. They’re deep, mysterious and shielded at the same time. Since first spotting him, she's been spinning up tales about who he could be. All she knows about him is he’s with Benjamin, and from the vibe he gives off, likely Benjamin's personal security.

When the prolonged eye contact becomes too much, and she feels heat rising under her skin and warming her cheeks, Geneviève looks away first and takes a drink. His eyes fix on her lips.

He knows he shouldn’t think about it, but his mind goes there anyway. He wonders if she’s as soft as she looks and what her lips taste like. He wonders if she’s quiet or loud when getting fucked and what his name would sound like on her lips -

His head turns to the door just before it opens, in comes a group of five, laughing and talking over each other. He sits up and eats the last bites of his food. He needs to get out of this room, and away from her. It doesn’t help that she smells so good, and it's the only scent he’s focused on, the food before him has long faded into the background of his mind.

As he takes a drink of water, he notices one of the men in the group. He’s seen his face before. The same man makes a b-line for Geneviève and grabs her face, planting a big kiss on her cheek before she could pull back.

“There she is, I’ve been looking for you.” he leans too hard against one of the chairs and it almost toppled over. He catches it.

“I needed some food.” She looks up at him, then secretly glances at David.

“How beautiful is she,” the tall man cups her face and looks back at the group.

“You’re drunk Mateo,” she grabs his forearm as he kisses her cheek again.

“I’m going to marry this one, watch.” He stands up and sighs, his eyes still fixed on her.

David walks away and discards his empty cup and plate. He can feel eyes on his back but goes about his business. Not rushing, not taking his time either.

Behind him the group speak among themselves, he hears everyone's voice but hers. Then it hits him,

Mateo Alverez. Mateo is heir to a fortune, his family made a name for themselves in handbags or some shit, half the people in this party are likely wearing something, a watch, a bag, a top, from the family's fashion empire. This isn’t an area David knows a lot about, or cares about, but he’s seen his face around and the tall brunette at the table, his sister, has been in commercials.

On his way out, David passes the table once more. The group is so wrapped up in themselves they barely give him a glance, except Geneviève. She has a person at either side, Mateo to her left, his eyes hungrily drink her up, and some unknown woman to her right, chipping away about something. Geneviève nods, pretending to listen.

David breaks eye contact and leaves the room. When the door closes behind him, he feels a sense of relief. There are a dozen reasons he should stay away from her and hopes they don’t cross paths again because resisting his urges has never been his strong point.

David takes a stroll around the balcony, then heads back to the second floor to check on Benjamin.

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[notalwayslate]

Driven to Love

For:  of-princes-and-savages.tumblr.com

Prompt: Enemies to Lovers, Road Trip

Summary:  As a snowstorm grounds the last flight to Maine, Belle French finds herself stranded at the airport. When she discovers the town pariah, Mr. Gold has rented the last car the two come to an agreement to travel together. They embark on a journey of self discovery, secrets, and confessions.

Read on A03 :  https://archiveofourown.org/works/43865535

She was cursed. There was simply no other reasonable explanation for it.

Any sane person would have known flying two days before Christmas was a bad idea, but she had only finished her final exams a week prior and spent the last week packing up her life preparing to move back home to Storybrooke.

Her immense joy of graduating with a degree in library science, a full semester early, was currently dampened as her tiny scrunched up frame sat between an overweight man, and an older woman eating a tuna fish sandwich.

The back of her seat thumped for the umpteenth time courteous of the screaming child behind her. Craning her neck, she peaked over the seats in front of her. The first-class curtain hung open just enough for her eyes to lock on the empty first-class aisle seat.

“Jerk,” she thought to herself, still miffed at the denial to sit there. She knew she should be grateful that she was at least on this plane, as the early morning flight she was originally booked on had been canceled, and hers was the last name to be called for standby. But being the last person to board a sold-out flight, you only have one option where to sit, or so she had thought.

Hope had risen in her chest, as the bubbly red headed flight attendant, stopped her mid aisle, whispering about an open first-class seat, and to let her see what she could do. She waited with eager anticipation, watching the smiling flight attendant make her way to first class, but returning soon after with a frown.

“Sorry. The very rude passenger bought both seats and insists the second stay empty.”

Disappointed she had sat down accepting her fate. One hour into the flight, the pilot announced the plane was being diverted due to a massive snowstorm hitting Maine. Fifteen minutes later, the plane pulled into the tiny airport of Pottsville, Pennsylvania. She popped up quickly, her small stature allowing her to stand in the aisle without hitting her head. Curiously, she kept on eye on the empty first-class seat, wanting to see what type of person demands two seats for themselves. Her jaw dropped as a familiar suited figure emerged from the window seat. It was no other than Mr. Gold.

How could she have not seen him when she boarded? Thinking back, she figured he must have been one of the passengers reading the newspaper as she passed. “Could this day get any worse?” she muttered under her breath.

That answer came as she was corralled off the plane into an overcrowded line of irate passengers. As the bad news that all flights were grounded until further notice made its way down the line, she glanced around searching for Mr. Gold, who was nowhere to be found. She could only assume he was being catered to in some first-class lounge.

Pulling out her phone, her first thought was to text her father to let him know of the delay but the thought of his heartbreak that she may miss Christmas sparked her to take a different course. Praying for some luck, she went on a travel site, her heart skipping a beat, as she saw one car left for rent.

Hastily she punched in her credit card information and clicked the book it button. She let out a victorious “yes!” as the confirmation number popped up on her screen.

She was thankful she traveled with only a carry on, as she quickly left the chaotic nightmare behind her boarding the shuttle bus for the rental car company. The wind was brisk, and although it was snowing, she knew it was nothing compared to what Maine was being hit with.

As the shuttle pulled up, she spotted the one lone brown car in the lot.

“Looks like you got the last one,” the driver exclaimed stopping the shuttle in front of the office.

“I guess my luck is changing,” she smiled back exiting the shuttle making her way into the small well-lit office. The lone employee, a middle-aged balding man, stood behind the counter, counting a wad of cash, which he quickly stuck into his shirt pocket as she approached.

Pulling out her phone, she smiled giving the man her name and confirmation number, but as he made no move to type in her information, her stomach clenched with dread.

“I’m sorry ma’am all of our cars are in use.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, she insisted she had a reservation for the car, but it fell upon death ears. Looking down, she spotted the latest rental contract on the counter, with an all too familiar signature on it. It was the same signature that graced every rental receipt her father ever received.

Looking out the window, the headlights turned on the car that was supposed to be hers. In that moment something snapped within her. With a fierce determination she stormed out the door, slamming her hands down on the hood of the rental car.

“Are you crazy?” a heavy accented voice boomed, as the driver side door flew open.

“This is my car, Mr. Gold.” She barked back noting his startled look at the use of his name. Squinting her way, recognition dawned on his puzzled face.

“Ms... Ms. French?” he asked.

She knew she sounded like a raging lunatic, as she stood before him listing out all his atrocities for that day, from the first-class seat to his payoff of the rental car employee. To his credit, he just stood there listening to her long-winded tirade against him.

“Well, we are destined for the same place, Ms. French. You are more than welcome to join me in MY car if you so choose, if not then I suggest you get out of my way.” With her chest still heaving from her emotional outburst, she felt a small triumph for the first time that day with his offer.

“I will go with you,” she nodded, moving towards the car, as he popped open the trunk. Lifting her suitcase in, she was surprised to find him suddenly standing next to her.

“You drive,” he commanded passing behind towards the passenger’s side.

Taking a deep calming breath, she got into the driver’s seat, adjusting the seat and mirrors, as he slid into the back seat. So now she was to be his chauffeur? This man was insufferable. She was about to tell him what she thought of him, when a small grunt of pain escaped his mouth. Glancing back, she observed him extending his bad leg across the backseat. She had not considered what a day of traveling, in this cold weather must be doing to it.

“So…Ms. French” she heard a crinkling of paper. Looking back, she watched him pull a roadmap from his coat. “The clerk said that we need Interstate 84.”

She could not suppress her laughter at such an archaic site. She knew Mr. Gold was old fashioned in his manner of dress and airs, but she did not realize that it bled into his technological advancement. Grabbing the phone from her purse, she pulled up google maps, typing in her father’s address.

“I’ve got this Mr. Gold.” His brows drew in confusion, as the phone chirped out the first direction. Sitting back, he folded up the map.

She made it to the interstate with little affair. Looking down at the screen it noted they were 10 hours away from Storybrooke. 10 hours. 10 hours locked inside a confined space with the infamous Mr. Gold.

The first half hour they drove in complete silence, as she acclimated to driving in the snowy weather. It was only after she seemed to have found her steady rhythm on the wintry road that Mr. Gold informed her, they needed to first drive to Maine’s Bangor airport to return the rental, and switch to his car parked there.

It dawned on her that she needed to call her father and let him know that she was now driving to get back home to him. She felt uncomfortable having to make such a personal call with Mr. Gold so near, but she had no other choice. Swiping the GPS closed, she placed her phone on speaker as she kept her attention on the road. On the second ring her father picked up. She quickly ran down the events of the day, purposely leaving out the details of her driving companion, before promising him she would be home for Christmas. Although he expressed his concern about her driving in the weather, he was excited for her return.

“I can’t tell you what it means to me Bluebell to have you back here for good.”

Stealing a peek through the rearview mirror, she could see Mr. Gold’s eyebrows shoot up at the revelation. With the excuse of needing to focus on the road, she quickly ended the call.

“So, you’re moving back to Storybrooke?”

“I am.”

“So, what brings you back to our fair town?”

“You if you must know.”

“What?” he gasped his bewilderment evident in his tone.

Taking a breath, she kept her eyes forward on the road.

“Since you decided to raise the rent on my father’s shop and apartment, he can no longer afford both, so I’m moving back home, to help make ends meet.”

She waited for some snarky retort but was met with his silence. Letting out a small sigh, she could no longer stand the quiet, as she turned on the radio.

“Turn that damn thing off. It is an insult to my ears.”

Rolling her eyes, she clicked the radio off. Keeping one eye on the road she reached for her purse, pulling out her air buds placing them in her ears. She was debating which audiobook to listen to when his stern voice rung out.

“It is not safe to wear earphones while you are driving. Take those out at once.”

She pulled the buds from her ears. “You know I am not your child, nor your employer. You cannot just bark your orders at me.”

Stuffing the air buds back in her purse, silence filled the car once again leaving her to nothing but her own thoughts. She was trying to recall her mother’s green bean casserole recipe when Mr. Gold’s voice broke her train of thought.

“I didn’t raise your father’s rent.”

Perplexed by his statement it was her turn to respond with silence.

“I don’t know what he told you, but I didn’t raise his rent.”

His words slowly sunk into the depths of her stomach. Mr. Gold was many things, but she never knew him to be a liar, unlike her father. She wondered if his gambling addiction had gotten ahold of him again. Or worse yet, was the lie some elaborate hoax to get her to come back home simply because he was lonely? Either way she knew that he needed her, and as angry as she was at his deception, home was where she needed to be.

Not knowing how to respond she continued driving, wondering what Mr. Gold thought of her and her lying father.

The snow fell heavier as they continued traveling north.

“We…we can change positions at the next town if you like? I can take a shift driving.”

She was surprised at his gentle tone.

“That sounds good,” she smiled softly.

It felt good to stretch her legs as she made her way into the gas station. She let out a small chuckle still picturing the look of distaste on Mr. Gold’s face when she asked if he wanted anything to eat. Waiting in line to purchase her chips and drink, she looked out at him pumping gas. If anyone had told her that she would be spending Christmas Eve’s eve on a road trip with Mr. Gold, she would have thought they were crazy.

After purchasing the snacks, she let out a dauntless squeal as the snow pelted her tiny frame as she ran towards the car. Her instinct was to head for the passenger front door, but she shot into the back seat figuring he would be more comfortable with her from a distance.

He was a much more cautious driver than she, constantly checking his mirrors, and driving primarily in the right lane far below the posted speed limit. At this rate, it would take far longer to get back home. Letting out a bored sigh, she chomped down on a chip.

“So why were you in Pennsylvania Mr. Gold?” she asked before taking a small swig of water.

“Business,” he replied.

“What kind of business?” she pressed nosily, eating another chip.

“The kind that’s none of yours Dearie.”

Shrugging at the quick dismissal, she continued eating.

“How can you eat such trash?” he asked his judgment evident in his tone.

“Well, we all can’t dine on first class food now can we Mr. Gold?” she snarked back, purposefully taking a loud crunchy bite.

“So, what are you plans for Christmas Mr. Gold?”

She was genuinely curious why a man who had no family or friends that she knew of, was willing to bribe a rental car worker to get home for Christmas.

“I have business to attend to.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Business on Christmas? But isn’t your shop closed that day. What business could you possibly have on Christmas day?”

He shrugged. “Debts to collect.”

Her mouth fell open. Was he really going to go around on Christmas and collect money from those obviously less fortunate than he?

“Scrooge,” she muttered crossing her arms. “How did I ever have a crush on you?”

The moment the words fell from her mouth her heart stopped. Did she just say that aloud?

“What did you just say?” he asked his voice an octave higher than usual.

“Nothing, forget it,” she replied mortified.

“Crush,” he scoffed shaking his head with a bitter laugh. “Oh, please dearie.”

A prick of hurt nicked her heart at his arrogant response.

“Oh please…what?” she asked defensively.

He gave her a deadpan look through the rearview mirror. “Young girl with daddy issues. Rich older man. Let me guess you use to dream that I would swoop in and wipe out your father’s debts and shower you with jewelry and clothes, and everything your poor little daddy could not buy you. Does that sound about right?”

Her entire body quaked with a rage that erupted from the pit of her soul.

“How dare you!” she spat out in a half cry half scream. She tried to stop the tears as they fell from her eyes, wiping them with the sleeve of her sweater. “You can go to hell.”

He did not say a word, as she laid her forehead against the window looking out at the untouched fields of snow. Neither spoke a word for the next hour. The sun was setting, and glancing down at her phone, she saw they had another 4 hours to go. Her stomach grumbled loudly protesting that she had only eaten a single bag of chips that day.

“You need to eat,” he spoke softly.

Although she was still furious with him, she was also hungry, deciding to table the argument for now.

“Yes, I think we both need to,” she replied gently.

15 minutes later they came upon a small town that reminded her a lot like Storybrooke. The only place open in this weather was a Chinese restaurant. They exited the car in silence, and took a booth near the back, to get away from the chill of the front door. She was surprised when he sat across from her, half expecting him to sit by himself at a separate table. After both ordering he finally broke the awkward silence.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

His apology caught her off guard for she had never known him to apologize to anyone. “I’m not some gold digger,” she muttered.

“No. No you are not,” he declared. “And what I said to you was appalling. But please understand that I meant it more of an insult towards myself, than you. I mean look at your Ms. French. When you said you had a crush on me, the only thing I thought was why would a young intelligent beautiful woman ever like someone like me? The only thing I really have to offer is money, and well…” She could see he was stumbling to find the words. “All I can do is ask for your forgiveness.”

There was a somber vulnerability in his eyes. She found herself feeling sorry for him that the only redeeming quality he saw in himself was his wealth.

“You’re forgiven Mr. Gold.”

It was freeing to let go of the anger that had festered for the last few hours. She felt lighter, more relaxed, and in turn so did he. She was speaking to him about taking the position of assistant librarian at the Storybrooke library when his phone rung.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a flip phone, and she no longer wondered how he had been so oblivious to a GPS app. He answered with a clipped, “This is Gold.”

The restaurant was empty, the snowy weather keeping the inhabitants of the small town locked away warm in their houses, which allowed her to clearly overhear the male voice on the other end of the line, and dogs barking? Gold turned towards the window his voice lowering

“Yes. I got held up, but I will be there Christmas day.” He paused. “No really, it’s fine. You do not need to come in, spend Christmas with Mary Margaret and the baby.”

Mary Margaret? She knew she recognized that voice. It was Mary’s husband David Nolan, manager of the animal shelter. She feigned interest at the dessert menu, while he finished the conversation.

Once done, he slid the phone back into his suit pocket, sitting back half abashed as she smiled knowingly at him.

“Who was that Mr. Gold?”

“Just a bit of business Ms. French,” he replied sternly, his tone clearly a wall to her inquisitiveness. Smiling she reached for her glass of tea, taking a small gulp, before gently putting it back down.

“So how long have you been helping David out at the animal shelter Mr. Gold?”

His eyes narrowed, but as they continued to linger on her a half smile crept on his face.

“It appears I have been found out.”

Sitting back, Mr. Gold went into detail about his adversarial business relationship with the town Mayor for her refusal to increase the animal shelter’s funding. “Less funding means less staff, and well animals still need to eat and be taken care of on holidays. And since the shelter does not have the money to pay someone, I volunteer.”

“You go in every holiday?” she asked incredulously.

“Aye. David’s got a family, and well…” he trailed off sorrowfully. “There are worse things then spending a Christmas with a room full of dogs.”

Reaching out she placed her hand on top of his. He was startled by the touch, but made no move to pull away

“You know you’re nothing like they say you are, and I’m glad.”

He gave her a lopsided smile.

“David is sworn to secrecy about this. How would that look for my reputation? The fearsome proprietor playing with puppies? So now you know, what am I going to do with you?” he asked his eyes boring into hers.

A heat swirled in her belly, as her thoughts immediately went dirty thinking of all the ways he could punish her for telling his secret. Squirming in her seat she took another sip of iced tea trying to cool her heated flesh.

“Well, I propose a deal Mr. Gold,” she countered raising her eyebrows.

Folding his fingers, he leaned forward. “I’m all ears Ms. French,” he purred his accent sending a jolt of electricity down her spine. She had never been the type of woman who flirted easily, but no other man had brought out such a carnal desire within her.

“Well…” her words were caught off, as the server approached.

“I hate to cut your dinner short, but I just got a call from my husband, and the county just implemented the snow control order.”

“What does that mean exactly?” Belle questioned.

“State roads are closed for now, until they can get the snow plows out to clear them. I would not plan to go anywhere till morning.”

Her heart dropped at the news. Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and they still had a good four hours of driving left. The waitress informed them that there were vacancies at the Village Inn next door.

Resigned to the will of the weather, they both agreed to stay there for the night, and leave early the next morning.

The two of them made their way over to the motel, having retrieved their luggage from the car. The warm lobby was a welcoming retreat from the frigid air.

The clerk came out of the backroom his eyes roaming over her body.

“Can I help you love?” he purred completely ignoring Mr. Gold standing next to her.

“We need two rooms,” Mr. Gold barked, commanding his attention.

“Two rooms?” the clerk repeated, his eyes giving her a once over yet again. Taking a protective step forward Mr. Gold blocked the clerk’s view, as he filled out the paperwork.

“Here we are,” the clerk slid the first key to Mr. Gold. “115 for you sir, and..” his hand reached around Mr. Gold to give her the second key. “117 for you little lady.”

As she took the key from him, he gave her a small wink, her stomach curling in disgust at the gesture. The wind howled as they quickly made their way outside, heading down to their rooms.

Stopping for a moment outside the door, Mr. Gold looked at her.

“We can leave first thing in the morning.” He pulled the collar up on his coat trying to block the cold. “Say 7:30? They should have the roads plowed by then.” Giving a quick nod she bid him good night as she entered her room. Her body was frozen, but it was nothing a hot shower could not fix.

She had not realized just how tired she was, until she was lying in bed an hour later, struggling to keep her eyes open as she read her book. It was weird to think that Mr. Gold was just on the other side of the wall. She wondered what he slept in, silk pajamas, boxers, nothing at all. Her cheeks blushed at the thought. She hoped his leg was doing alright. She could not imagine what the cold weather was doing to it.

With a final text to her father letting him know that she was again delayed and would be arriving tomorrow afternoon, she plugged her phone into the charger, and closed her eyes.

The harsh knock on the door startled her awake. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was 10:37. “Mr. Gold,” she whispered to herself, darting out of the bed. Was something wrong? With little thought she undid the chain on the door flinging it open. Her stomach dropped as the front desk clerk stood before her, a seedy smile on his lips.

"Hello there beautiful. I was wondering if I could interest you in a nightcap?" He lifted a bottle of whiskey, with two plastic cups. Her primal instinct was to slam the door in his face, but she went with a more tempered “no thank you."

She went to the close the door, but his foot blocked it.

"Come now love, it’s cold out here. Just one drink to warm us up."

Suddenly his body jerked back, as the door slammed closed with his foot no longer there to block it. She stood there stunned, her mind trying to process what just occurred, when she heard scuffling outside the door. Quickly moving to the window, she pulled the curtain back in time to see the clerk pinned against her door by no other than Mr. Gold. Scurrying back, she flung open the door, as both men tumbled forward to the ground.

“Mr. Gold,” she cried out, bending over trying to pull him off the other man. With snarled lips he looked her way. “Please Mr. Gold, I’m okay, let him go,” she pleaded more concerned for his safety then the clerk. He looked back down at the man, then at her, his resolve softening. He released his hold on the man’s neck, who wasted no time scrambling to his feet.

“Sorry s.s.s.sir,” the clerk sputtered out beelining for the door. “I was...j…j. Just seeing if your daughter needed anything. Have a good night, “and with that he was gone. Hastily she locked the door before returning her attention to Mr. Gold on the floor.

His chest was heaving as his eyes searched her own. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Are you?” She knelt beside him, worryingly looking him over. She did not see any apparent injuries.

“I could not help but overhear, and well…when he would not leave. I just…. reacted.” He looked down suddenly seeming embarrassed by his actions.

“I’m glad you did,” she spoke softly, lifting his chin with her finger, hoping her eyes could convey how grateful she was. “How is your leg?”

“Fine,” he replied staggering to stand without assistance. “I should get back to my room.” Once righted, he hobbled toward the door, before stopping.

“I think I may have a problem here. I was so quick to react, that I may have just locked myself out of my room.”

With both insisting the other not interact with the clerk again, he had reluctantly agreed to her proposed solution of staying the night in her room. Although she should have felt uncomfortable having him sleep in the other double bed, she didn’t. With the lights off, they laid in silence.

“Ms. French?”

She smiled at the formality.

“You know you can call me Belle.”

After a beat he spoke again.

“Belle?”

“Yes,” she replied turning on her side seeing the outline of his body looking back at her.

“Did you really have a crush on me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked incredulously.

In the cover of darkness, it was easy to bare her soul.

“I never really fit in with the rest of the high school crowd. While everyone was at a football game, or partying I preferred the library. I could easily block out the rest of the world, lost in the pages of some adventure. Well, that is…” she paused a moment gathering the last bit of courage, “until you showed up.”

“Me?”

“You would come in researching some new antique you had acquired. It was fascinating to watch. You were always so thorough, so focused on whatever reference books or papers you had requested. And then I would see you sitting alone at Granny’s the next day, no one daring to sit within ten feet of you. I so badly wanted to sit down next to you and discover what mysteries your research had uncovered.”

She let out a small chuckle. “And you being the most handsome man I had ever seen certainly didn’t help matters in the crush department.”

“Miss French?”

“Belle,” she chided.

“Belle,” he breathed, her name on his lips bringing a shiver to her body. “I’m truly sorry for what I said to you today.”

“I know you are. And you already apologized for it, so there’s nothing more to discuss.”

She could hear his breathing getting heavier. “You asked me what business I had in Pennsylvania.”

She nodded unsure if he could it in the darkness.

“It was… family business. I went to see my son.”

Surprised by the revelation, she sat up. Leaning against the headboard she brought her legs up to her chest, hugging them as Mr. Gold spoke of a history, she was sure only a few knew. It was captivating to get a glimpse underneath the mask of the town monster.

He spoke of an old flame, Milah, who had become pregnant when they were only nineteen. Although terrified, he was ready to marry her, until she informed him the child, she was carrying was not his.

“I hadn’t heard from her in 15 years, when one day she showed up on my doorstep proclaiming that the child was in fact mine.” His voice broke. “You must understand, I had just received a huge settlement from a drunk driving incident that permanently damaged my leg. I thought she was lying, that her and her husband Killian were just trying to cash in on my misery. But when the paternity test did in fact prove that I was his father all she wanted from me was the money. I wanted to get to know him, know my son, but she filled his head with such lies, that he wanted nothing to do with me.”

Her heart broke for him.

“I tried to make it up to him, the only way I knew how. I sent gifts, money, paid for his schooling, but he still rejected any type of relationship with me.”

He let out a heartbreaking sigh. “I missed so much of his life. But a few years ago, he met a young woman, Emma, and she encouraged him to try and mend his relationship with me. It is still hard for him, but little by little he lets me in. This was the first time he allowed me to come to his home to visit. I was hoping to spend Christmas there, but he wasn’t ready for that yet.”

As a sob erupted from his throat, and she immediately went to him, wrapping her arms around his shaking frame.

“I am such a terrible father.”

“No,” she cooed whispering in his ear, as he sobbed in her arms. Bringing her hand up, she cupped his cheek. “You are not a terrible father. What Milah did to you, to both of you, was wrong. But it will get better with time.”

“I’m a difficult man to love,” he mumbled bitterly.

For a moment she was tempted to kiss his lips, to pour all the tenderness and love she could into his broken soul, but she knew she needed to move slowly, cautiously if she had any chance to convince him of his worth. Her lips planted a feathery soft kiss on his cheek. Pulling away, his brown puppy dog eyes looked upon her with a fondness that melted her heart. “I think you could be an easy man to love, Mr. Gold.”

“Rumford. Please call me Rumford.”

A sensual tension lingered in the air as they stared at each other. He was vulnerable, his eyes raw with the burdens of his past and even though she wanted him she moved back to her own bed. She was worried that after such an emotional exchange sleep would not come easy for either of them, but once again Rumford had surprised her by falling asleep well before she.

She awoke the next morning to nearby voices. Feeling a twinge of cold, she opened her eyes, to find Rumford standing in the open doorway talking to someone out of view. It did not take long for her to decipher it was the housekeeper, who agreed to let him back into his room. Thirty minutes later, she met him by the car, as he scraped the nightly snowfall from the windshield, before setting out on their way.

The new day brought a new beginning for the two of them, as she sat in the front seat next to him.

He informed her that he spoke to the motel manager that morning, and their little visitor from last night would be spending his Christmas in the unemployment line. For a moment she felt a pang of guilt for a man to lose his job right before the holiday, but then reminded herself that every woman had the right to feel safe when staying at a motel. It was apparent the road crews worked all night, as the roads were cleared for their journey.

They stopped at a Starbucks drive-thru, he getting a black coffee, and her a honey citrus mint tea. While the tea warmed her body, his genuine laughter warmed her heart, as she implored him to stop at the Dunkin donuts so he could try a munchkin.

“Not so bad is it Rumford?” she teased popping another donut hole in her mouth.

“I concede,” he smiled his hand reaching in the bag for another. “They are quite delicious.”

With Christmas carols playing on the radio, she sang along to I will be home for Christmas while he quietly hummed the tune. It was a perfect Christmas Eve car ride. A few hours later, they followed the rental return signs as they neared Bangor Maine airport. One quick shuttle car later, she was standing in front of Rumford’s 1990 Cadillac Brougham.

Getting in she ran her fingers along the velour door. The atmosphere felt more elegant than the rental. This was his car. His world, that many saw at a distance but few ever entered. Looking over her shoulder, she noted the large back seat, her cheeks blushing at the impure thought that intruded her mind.

She watched as he climbed in, turning to her with a soft smile. How long had it been since anyone sat next to him in his own car?

Driving along she felt the burning desire to hold his hand. Closing her eyes, it was easy to imagine them driving home from a date, her head on his shoulder, his hand on her leg. Her phone rung pulling her from the beautiful daydream. Seeing it was her father, she picked up excitedly informing him she was only 40 minutes from town.

“I’ve been thinking Bluebelle that maybe you should return the car at the airport, and I can pick you up there. There is no need to pay for extra days when it will just sit outside the shop.””

There was no point avoiding this discussion any longer, she thought to herself, informing him that the rental car had already been returned and she was traveling back to town with Mr. Gold. Holding the phone away from her ear, her father’s boisterous cursed laced tirade filled the air. Glancing over at Rumford’s bleak face she tried giving him a reassuring smile, but he kept his attention on the road.

Affirming for the third time that she was truly alright, her father eventually agreed to end the call.

“Well, that was interesting,” she said jokingly trying to lighten the suddenly somber mood. The reality of…their reality started seeping in as they moved closer to Storybrooke.

Judging by her father’s reaction, she knew that it would not be easy for them to continue the friendship they had forged over the last few days. Would he go back to the rigid town monster, and she the introvert watching him from afar?

Pulling up to her father’s apartment, the car came to a stop. She made no move to get out, instead turning to take his hand.

“Rumford I…”

“Hold that thought,” he interrupted as her father came bustling out of the door heading straight for her. She had never seen her father move so quickly as he flung open her car door, dragging her from the seat.

“Hello, my girl!” he boasted engulfing her in tight a bear hug. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“Of course, I’m safe, Papa.”

Wrapping his arm around her protectively, they rounded the car, her father, pounding the trunk with his fist. Mr. Gold clearly received the message as the trunk clicked ajar and her father took out her small suitcase.

“Now come inside girl, I have a ham cooking,” he said ushering her towards the door. Everything was happening so quickly, and as she tried to turn her attention back to Rumford, her father stepped in front of her.

“Wait Papa, I need to talk to him,” she pleaded, as her father turned staring daggers at the car.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold, for the ride. I assume your bill for transporting my daughter will be added to next month’s rent.”

“Papa,” Belle yelped horrified at her father’s rude behavior. Her heart sunk as Mr. Gold gave a stern nod before driving off.

The moment he drove off she felt a pang of disappointment in the pit of her stomach. She tried to enjoy Christmas Eve with her father, but her thoughts kept straying to Rumford. Laying in her childhood bed that night she contemplated what her life would be like now that she was back home. It was odd to have taken such a huge leap forward in life by graduating, only to stumble back into her old life. If she was to be truly happy here in Storybrooke, she knew what she needed to do.

Christmas morning arrived, along with the smells of fresh eggs and bacon. After a hearty breakfast, her father surprised her with a pair of earrings, calling them a graduation/Christmas present. After watching A Muppet Christmas Carol, she let her father know she was heading out to visit friends.

Bundling up, she walked the few blocks to the Storbrooke animal shelter. Her heart raced as her eyes fell upon the Cadillac parked out front. An orchestra of barking rung out as she knocked on the front glass door. A few moments later, she saw Rumford hobble into the hallway, his pace quickening as he laid his eyes upon her.

“Belle?” he questioned, opening the door, and ushering her into the lobby, locking the door behind them. “Is everything alright? Are you alright?”

“Yes.” she paused for a moment, “and no.” His brows drew in concern. “I’m sorry for how we parted yesterday…my father acted rudely.”

“I do not blame him. No one wants their child around a monster.”

“You’re not a monster,” she whispered taking a step towards him.

She would not let him retreat back into a shell of self-loathing. She needed to be brave for the both of them.

“Merry Christmas Rum,” she whispered, her lips finding his.

The kiss was gentle at first, but as he opened his mouth for her, the heat rose in her cheeks as her tongue touched his. Far too soon the kiss ended as he slowly pulled his lips away. Leaning down, he placed his forehead on hers.

“A Merry Christmas indeed, Belle.” X

With a bored yawn, Graham shut off the old black and white television. Checking his watch, it was half past midnight, plenty of time for the New Year’s festivities to be coming to an end. Wrapping his scarf around his neck, he headed out the door for his holiday patrol. New Year’s Eve was usually a quiet affair in Storybrooke, as he looked up and down the snowy streets. The small upper crust of society attended the mayor’s party at her mansion miles away while the not so rich found their holiday spirit at the Rabbit Hole.

With snow crushing under his boots he headed towards the town center. It was peaceful as he passed by the closed businesses. Nothing seemed amiss, until he saw Mr. Gold’s Cadillac parked down the alley rocking side to side in a slow steady rhythm.

Letting out a sigh, he reached for his flashlight. He knew alcohol caused people to do crazy things, but for two people to sneak into Mr. Gold’s car for a drunken New Year’s tryst, well that was just downright dangerous.

With a loud cough, he walked up to the car, banging his flashlight on the back window.

“Alright kids the fun is over for tonight.”

As the two tangled half clothed bodies stilled, Graham froze as a disheveled looking Mr. Gold rose from the backseat, followed by a woman, who looked to be the florist’s daughter, Ms. French.

“I’m s.s…sorry Mr. Gold, I had no idea it was you,” he stuttered stumbling back away from the car. Shaking his head in disbelief, he heard the two lovers giggle as he hightailed it back to the main road.

‘This is going to be a strange year,” he thought to himself, as he heard the car rocking again behind him.

[sugalaritae]

summary: on the set of the music video he has choreographed, Hoseok finds himself stressed and frustrated. He can't have the thing he craves so he reaches out to you.

word count: 1365

rating: series rating is 18+

warnings: cigarettes

a/n: after weeks of hating everything i was writing, i was finally able to get this little thing written. this Hobi is killing me and he is a wonder to write! thank you so much to @miscelunaaa and @reliablemitten for looking this over and giving such amazing advice, it truly made the whole thing better. again, @wwilloww made this absolutely fantastic banner (it takes my breath away a little). i hope you all enjoy this this is part of an ongoing series. this is the masterlist tag list: @miscelunaaa @herecomesjoon @neverendingforever

© sugalaritae, 2022. you do not have permission to repost, translate, or edit my work. even if you give credit. all of this is mine. i only post on tumblr and a03.

He can’t remember the last time that he danced for himself. The problem with doing the thing that you love as a career is that if you’re not careful it becomes a job. Hoseok stands behind the cameras as they film the music video. He watches the group of people dancing the choreography that he created and he is jealous of them. He can’t remember the last time that he moved his body because he wanted to and not because he had to.

“Cut!” He hears the Director call and his brain switches back into work mode, a space that he now feels more comfortable in these last few weeks. He’s not sure what that means or if returning back to normal life will be a bit of a shock considering how hard he’s been working for the last four weeks.

He looks at the screen and watches the playback. There was a mistake, no, four. At the beginning he thought it was a humbling experience to be around what the world considered professionals and watch them make mistakes, but they’ve been working at this for a week now and they should be able to have it down.

“They need to do another take,” he says to the Director, who nods in agreement.

“Ten minute break and then another take,” a production assistant yells after the Director tells her and Hoseok excuses himself. He has the mistakes memorized by the playback and he needs a break. He’d love a cigarette but he’s been trying to give it up, or rather he and Taehyung are trying to give it up. Who knows if Taehyung is keeping his end of the bargain.

He pulls out his phone as he walks through the doors to the lot. The sun is hot but it feels so good given that he’s spent the last two hours inside the studio with hot, fake lights surrounding him.

Hoseok [17:39]: Are you sleeping?

Normally he checks the time before he texts you just to make sure that you’re not sleeping. He does this with all of his friends.

His body occupying in the time zone that he sleeps, eats, and works in; while the rest of him, the part that loves and laughs, is stuck with all of all of his friends. 

You [17:39]: Well since it’s 7am I am not. Just thinking about getting up out of bed and getting dressed for the day. Please convince me that it is not necessary.

Hoseok [17:40]: I would love to but you’re talking to the wrong guy. If you want someone to convince you to stay in bed then Jimin is your man.

You [17:40]: Yeah? Should I call him?

Hoseok [17:40]: You might have to.

This is what your relationship has been like for the last four weeks, a strange friendship that lives in your phones and laptops. The two of you typing words of flirtation like it’s one of those online games of pool that he used to play when he was younger and his parents were asleep, not aware that he was using the family computer to talk to strangers online.

You [17:41]: How is the shoot going?

Hoseok [17:41]: I want a cigarette. Have you seen Taehyung smoking when you went out with them last night?

You [17:41]: I didn’t go. I decided I wanted to have a night in.

Hoseok [17:42]: Why? You would have had fun! You’re supposed to be my spy.

You [17:42]: I thought the dad of the group was Jin or Namjoon.

He chuckles to himself as he leans against a wall and closes his eyes as the sun beamed down on his face. He didn’t want to stay too long but he needed to breathe something in that wasn’t recycled air and sweat from the performers. He needed to get out of his head and he needed to just remember what he loved about his job.

Maybe he was missing his friends too much and that was what was getting to him. There is something going on in this head of his; he just needs to get it figured out so that he could feel like he was breathing again. Or thinking again. He isn’t sure which one it is but he needs something. His body needs to do something to get his brain working again. Or maybe it is vice versa.

Texting you provides a certain kind of comfort that even his friends cannot provide. They fuel him but you are the spark to his engine. 

Hoseok [17:45]: You are correct but I still need a spy to be able to tell me what’s going on so if they leave anything out then I can accuse them of doing so.

You [17:45]: Next time they invite me out then I will go out, I promise.

Hoseok [17:45]: They like you, you know.  We all like you and that is why they invite you out.

He watches the notification that you’re typing appear and disappear from his phone, and he thinks perhaps he’s made a mistake by saying that. He doesn’t want to make you feel pressured to go out with the group. Jin told them about you when you first started to build a friendship with him and Hoseok remembers how quiet Jin had described you as. That you always left the office to go on your lunch break and spoke of the television shows like they were your friends. Hoseok wants you to become part of the group but he doesn’t want you to feel like you’re being forced into it. This has to be your decision, no one can make that for you.

You [17:46]: Jin did mention something in a few weeks.

Hoseok [17:46]: Go spy!

You [17:47]: Just call me 007

You [17:47]: But without the killing.

You [17:47]: Or promiscuity.

Hoseok [17:48]: And you call yourself a spy.

He chuckles and pushes himself up off the wall and takes the few steps back toward the door. Ten minutes is not long enough.

You [17:48]: I am your spy. Are you sure you want those things to be included?

Hoseok [17:48]: You do what you have to do to get the job done.

He can hear Yoongi’s voice in his head telling him that is something that he doesn’t want to happen, and his head-Yoongi is correct. He would prefer it if you didn’t get close with any of his friends so that he could be the one that gets to kiss you and wake up in the morning with you. 

He wants to see if that comfort will be there in person. If you will be able to wrap him up and calm his active mind. 

He wants to give that to you. 

Hoseok [17:49]: Back to work for me.

You [17:49]: I have to get out of this bed and go to work myself. Text me later.

You [17:49]: We still need to have that meal together. So think of a time that works for you and I’ll work around it. Maybe this weekend?

Hoseok [17:49]: I’ll let you know what my schedule is like.

Hoseok [17:49]: Have a good day

He wants to be able to tell you that he is looking forward to seeing your face again. Wants to tell you that even this small exchange has helped alleviate the weight just a little. Instead, he slips his phone back into his pocket and walks over to the group that are laughing loudly on the stage. A few of them are practicing the moves but it isn’t the ones that he wants. The ones that keep making mistakes are standing together and laughing. 

He tries to hold onto that feeling your texts gave him as the frustration begins to knock on his mind, threatening to take over. He can do this. He can hold onto the thought of you while he gives them notes. 

“Okay,” he calls and they all turn to him. “We need to go over the second chorus again.”