#like her mannerisms and every little word and phrase are so carefully chosen

[carefulfears]

what do you think mulder thinks of diana fowley after biogenesis through amor fati? i don't think we really see anything on screen/in text (though i think it says a lot that he didn't have much of a reaction when scully came to his apartment & instead focuses on scully & their relationship lol)

yeah there’s basically NOTHING in the text but tbh i think finding out for certain that she was working with CSM really kindaaaa snapped him out of some things…mulder doesn’t give a fuck what people do to him, obviously, but it’s a different thing entirely to find out that your ex is involved in something like that. like there are MILES from “my partner makes me feel like shit and is maybe pretty abusive” and “my partner is like 3rd on the call list of a eugenics group that treats women like test subjects”

like, scully was right, diana was monitoring MUFON women and collecting data on them. she was heading up the tests on cassandra. she probably knew the truth about samantha the whole time. just nasty nasty shit.

she’s the villain in the amor fati dream: the dismissive symbol of abandonment that offers another path.

one of the most interesting scenes of diana’s character to me, is in the sixth extinction, when she comes to see mulder in the hospital. and she knows what the effects of the artifact are, that he can hear what she’s thinking. that, therefore, he knows who she works for and what she’s doing. (imagine your ex-husband/wannabe boyfriend/obsession finds out you’re lying to him because he can read your mind….shit is crazy!)

and she tells him that she knows he knows. but that he also knows that she loves him.

and she does love him. there’s no reason to lie about that then, she knows he would be able to tell.

scully knows it without hearing it, that’s how she gets diana to save mulder’s life, ultimately. she comes to her and begs. tells her to please just think of him, who he is, who he was when she met him, who he is now. in the end, because of scully weaponizing how diana feels, diana can’t go through with it. she gives her life to help him.

diana seems to be one of those influences on mulder that’s only really all that significant when she’s close by. it’s like how all the tension in the beginning builds up to him getting in her car when she tells him to, leaving scully, when diana is there instructing him.

i think being able to know who she truly was and her true intentions and allegiances, prior to her death, really goes a long way in the way he responds to losing her.

don’t get me wrong, i think he’s upset. you can kind of see the shock cross his face when scully tells him. but he stays focused on his goal, which is to express to scully how important she is to him, in the wake of how discarded diana always made her feel.

mulder loved diana and grieves that she was killed, he doesn’t have it in him not to, but mostly he…wanted something from her, right? he wanted that approval and “affection” and to please her. he wanted her to believe him. the first thing that she says to disarm him (in the end) when she can tell he’s uneasy, is, “hey. i’m on your side.”

learning who she really is, it’s easier not to crave her approval so badly.

(this is the crux of amor fati’s “last temptation.” it’s diana saying: you’re childish. you are going to fail. your path is not your own. “you have to let go, fox.” and it’s scully countering: we need you. this is who you are.)

(it’s why he responds in the end by telling scully that it’s her that’s the voice of truth.)

and then in death, diana’s not…there for him to want anything from!! so it’s like, again, yeah he obviously feels the loss, this was someone who meant a lot to him for over a decade. but also it’s likeeeeee freeing in a way? it makes things simpler in a way? (he’s able to communicate all of that to scully instantly after hearing diana is gone, after over a year of the tension hanging around it)

if you asked him about diana now, or even a year later, i think he’d be like…damn that’s crazy! 😭😭 mulder doesn’t have an awful lot of object permanence you guys sjdjsjfj

when scully comes to tell mulder that diana was killed, and he says to her, “you were my friend, and you told me the truth,” the language matters so much. that’s what scully called diana, “i know she was your friend,” and he turns it back onto her. you were my friend. you told me the truth.

in my opinion, it’s not that he doesn’t love and grieve diana, but that there’s a freedom in knowing the truth. knowing who someone is, and their intentions. knowing who has your best interest at heart. knowing where you stand in the world, what you want to do.

that’s really what allows for the openness and lightness of s7, in the wake of diana’s absence. mulder’s always seeking, always learning.

[psalacanthea]

just for the lols.

Zynatheri was regretting, deeply, that she’d chosen to let her daughter handle breaking the news to her father.

Mostly because she’d forgotten that her daughter was, well…very much her daughter.

Lilithera had teleported in just out of town and arrived that afternoon, and had wasted absolutely no time demanding to go see him.  They’d talked about what had happened all the way back to the city, and to the Elfsong.  Zyn had been hoping she’d get a table and be patient, let her go first to try to figure out how to phrase things to…cushion the news.  Unfortunately, Lily had other ideas.

Following behind her daughter, Zyn padded up the stairs, stomach in knots with the impending confrontation.

“Lilly, stop!  You promised me you’d behave if I let you come!” 

The taller figure turned at the top of the stairs, yanking down her hood in one abrupt motion.  Curls were mussed in a halo around her carefully-braided, nearly-iridescently pale hair, her autumnal earth-brown and copper eyes bright with mischief.  Her nose crinkled impishly, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips.  “Well, I lied,” she said snidely.  “It must be a family trait.”

Zyn lifted a finger in warning.  “So help me, I will Banish you, brat.  Don’t think that I won’t.”

“I’ve known how to counterspell for a century, mum.  It’s going to be fine.  A bit of a shock, and then once it all settles in, he’ll be right as spring rain.  Just have to rip it off like a bandage.”

“That’s not how bandages–”  She cut off, giving a little sigh.  “He’s had a rough go of it, darling.”

“Then we shouldn’t draw things out!”

The door at the top of the stairs banged open, and Zyn let out a long sigh, lips vibrating as she watched her daughter disappear.

“Hello, everyone!  Lovely day, nice to meet you!  Astarion, a word, please!”

“Who in the Hells are you?”  she heard Astarion retort.

Shit.

Steeling herself, and internally rolling her eyes at the immature little wretch, Zyn plodded up the last of the stairs, emerging into the upper area of the Elfsong tavern.  Whatever had been happening before, it had all stalled, every eye in the place on her very self-satisfied daughter.  As she emerged, however, Astarion glanced from Lily over to Zyn, expectant.  

She forced a smile– a grimace.  “Please forgive her, her mother never taught her manners.  Astarion, this is my daughter Lililthera.”

“Not…Lilithera Ancunin?  The restoration Archivist from Candlekeep?”  Gale asked, much to Zyn’s chagrin.  “It is you, isn’t it?”

“Archmage Dekarios!  It’s good to see you again!”  Lily replied cheerfully, still completely ignoring her glare.

“You know this man?!” Zyn asked accusingly, giving Gale a dirty look.  Oh, he had better stay away from her daughter.  Wizards.  Nothing but trouble.

“Ancunin?!” Astarion said at the same time, higher-pitched and louder.

“Why’s everyone shouting?”  Karlach interjected as she poked her head around a corner of a wall, sticking her pinkie in her ear.

Lilithera was still grinning from ear to ear, obviously enjoying the chaos.  Her eyes shifted from Gale to Astarion, and then back to Zyn.  Her daughter’s nose crinkled with merry amusement.  Hells.  Why had the awful imp gotten her sense of humor?

“Don’t torture him, he’s been through enough,” Zyn scolded softly.

“Why does your daughter have my last name?”  Astarion asked her as he paced down the stairs towards them, attention on her as if any of this was her fault.

Silence abruptly reigned, the audience gone very quiet indeed.

Zyn reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose.

The chances that Lilithera would handle this gracefully were basically nil, but Zynatheri had promised her that it was her choice how she handled meeting her father.  She was two hundred years old.  A grown woman.  Somewhere in those centuries she must have learned some tact.

“Hello, father.”

Hope withered on the vine, rotting and foul.

Zyn kept her eyes closed, in the hopes that it would help not to see what was happening.

Astarion’s denial was instant, cracking in panic.  “No!  No, no, no, no no!  Absolutely not!  You can’t be serious!”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Lily said, and then laughed delightedly at her own pun.

“I think I would know if I had a- a bloody child!”

“The resemblance is a bit too uncanny to dismiss, Astarion,” the wizard said unhelpfully.

Zynatheri finally dropped her hand, glancing up tiredly.  Immediately she met a very accusing glare, which she didn’t feel was very fair.  Silently she raised an eyebrow at Astarion.  “What?”

“Well?”

She understood being a bit shocked, but really?  “Well what?  I’m not the one who didn’t take their cassil.  Trust me, getting knocked up by the charming brat that interfered with the assassination I was attempting was not in my plans.”

“You can’t be serious!” he repeated, lifting his hands in obvious panic, taking a step back.

“She just wanted to meet you.  That’s all.  She’s a grown woman, Astarion, trust me, I handled all the parenting that needed doing.  There’s absolutely no need to overreact.”

“I am not! Overreacting!” Astarion shouted at her.  “How could you- this is not-”  He was only momentarily too stupefied to talk.  Or, shout, arms flailing wildly. “I have seven thousand vampire spawn to worry about, and now you’re telling me I have a daughter as well?!  There is no amount of reacting that is too much!”

Lilithera, having the combined comedic timing of both her mother and her father, decided it was a fine time to make things worse.  “And four grandchildren.”

“WHAT?!”

“You have four grandchildren, too.”

It took quite some time for the screaming to stop.

sometimes I let my mind go on little vacations for enrichment while I'm working on the fic rewrite and now I'm just dabbling in the sandbox of the whole 'they knew each other before he died' thing and Astarion finding out after Cazador's defeated that not only is he a father he's actually a grandfather and the panicked shrieking in my head is hilarious.

[jessicajonesrp]

Public warning

Patricia Walker does not do well with lack of control. It’s a tendency passed down from life with Dorothy Walker, easily the most controlling non super-powered person she had ever met. For the first eighteen years of her life, most of Trish’s actions, from her clothes to her work to her every public word and expression, had been chosen for her by Dorothy, and the only real choice she had for herself was whether to give in and make life easier for herself or rebel and suffer Dorothy’s wrath.

 Her desire for the control she had lacked had left her with severe insecurity, eating disorders, and self medication through drugs, all issues she struggled with for a good ten years before channeling her need for control into efforts at bettering herself and helping others. She had finally reached a place where life was stable, heading in a direction Trish could be content with, if not fully satisfied.

 And then Kilgrave happened. First to Jessica only, without Trish having any idea why her best friend had suddenly vanished without contact for eight months, and then with the shattered mess it left her once Trish did know and struggled to support her. Then to Trish herself, when she, against Jessica’s orders and even pleas, involved herself in trying to draw him out and capture him.

 Trish knew she had not suffered anywhere near the level that her sister had from Kilgrave, but it was still enough to make her feel sick and cold when she remembered. She still occasionally had nightmares of his cold, snapping voice, telling her to shoot herself in the head, telling her to kill people she had never met before out on the docks. She still shivered in disgust when she remembered the feeling of his hands on her face, his lips on her skin, the terrible ambivalence of wanting to kiss him, enjoying it, even as every part of her true self screamed out in horror. And she could never forget Simpson’s hands around her throat, choking her nearly to the point of death at Kilgrave’s command.

 She had hated and feared the man from the first moment Jessica managed to stutter out what he had done to her. No, she had hated him before then, when she first saw the unnaturally shocked, broken state of her sister when she finally broke free from his initial control. Anyone who could hurt Jessica so deeply and so permanently earned her hatred without needing to know their identity.

 And now he was back. Again. As much as Trish feared for herself, for being used or even killed in his obsessive pursuit of Jessica, she feared even more that Kilgrave would damage Jessica even more deeply, that he would continue to pile up dead and damaged bodies around himself and place the blame at her feet. Jessica didn’t need this, not again. And if Trish could do anything to help or stop it, it would help her feel just a little bit more of a sense of the control she knew she didn’t really have.

 She made her way to her recording studio after first sending some of Heroes for Hires guards ahead of her to thoroughly check out the studio for any signs of danger from Kilgrave or any of his like, giving them a code phrase to use to insure that they would be able to alert her if he did show up and control them or others.  Trish had already called ahead to insure that all people were thoroughly searched for any possible weapons and passed at least twice through the metal detectors already installed before being allowed entrance. After receiving the all clear, she went, Jessica insisting on accompanying her, via one of Danny’s cars to the studio, passing through the checks put in place and heading straight to her recording studio and instructing the techs to set up for a live broadcast. She was aware of Jessica skulking behind her, hands shoved in her pockets, as Trish rapidly read from the speech she had just finished churning out.

 “Good afternoon New York City and beyond, this is Trish Walker with an urgent report coming to you from Trish Talk, by way of myself and all our associates at Heroes for Hire. Soon, a follow up broadcast will be coming your way via Channel 5 News with more information, but please, listen very carefully to this announcement for your safety and those of your loved ones.”

 Trish paused, swallowing, and snuck a glance back at Jessica’s impassive expression before facing the mic again and continuing. “Most of you may remember the terrible events of last summer, when the man whom called himself Kilgrave provided mass terror and destruction in our city and in far too many of our own lives and homes. It is to my great sorrow that I inform you that Kilgrave is not, as was believed, deceased. Kilgrave has made personal contact with myself and with-“

 Jessica made violent throat slashing motions behind her that Trish saw out the corner of her eye, and Trish edited her intended words smoothly.

 “With myself and my colleagues, and we have evidence to support that this is no hoax. Please be aware of yourself and those you love at all times. Know their whereabouts, establish coded phrases and patterns of behavior in order to test out the level of control the people in your life may have at any given moment. Kilgrave is a white male with a British accent, last known to have short medium brown hair and brown eyes. He tends to dress in a professional manner, especially in dark purple suits and ties, and he is considered a threat of the level of nuclear war. Do not approach him should you see him; instead do all you can to get away and call in our hotline at Trish Talk or Heroes for Hire to report a possible sighting. If you suspect that someone you know may be controlled, treat them in the same manner, do all you can to subdue them without causing permanent harm to them if necessary. Kilgrave’s powers last up to 12 hours, so do not under any circumstances try to reason with anyone you suspect to be controlled. If at all possible, wear ear plugs or head phones or listen to loud music when necessary to go out in public. Kilgrave cannot gain control of those whom are not within his direct path and whom cannot hear his commands. He-“

 “Stop,” a voice suddenly came over the ear, and both Trish and Jessica jumped, recognizing the voice after a moment as not Kilgrave’s, but female and American. Trish quickly identified the voice a second later as belonging to one of her tech support assistants, Chloe Ash. “The information is over.”

 “What the fuck?” Jessica hissed, shooting Chloe a vicious glower and striding towards her quickly. “Will you shut up, even I know to shut the hell up on a live recording, over something this damn important!”

 Trish tried to recover, giving a somewhat forced chuckle and speaking over them. “I apologize, there are some technical difficulties, but if you’ll bear with me I will make sure you all get the information you need. As I was saying, Kilgrave cannot-"

 “This information is too much, this recording is over,” Chloe repeated, more loudly and forcefully, standing up and taking the headphones off of her ears. She fairly shouted out her next few words, speaking loudly enough that Trish’s words were drowned out.

 “Loyal listeners, you will now hear the sound of a suicide by Chloe Ash, Patsy Walker’s employee. More are to follow in the names and as a direct result of the avoidance and rejection of Jessica Jones. Goodbye, loyal listeners, and know that Kilgrave is a patient man.”

 She head butted Jessica in the face when Jessica grabbed for her arm, ducking under her and weaving to the other side of Trish. As Trish leaped up, expecting Chloe to grab or try to harm her, the young woman instead ran to a small cabinet against the walls containing little more than sound equipment and various office supplies. Throwing it open, she grabbed a pair of scissors from its contents, opened the blades wide, and closed them around the front of her throat.

 She made no sound, showed no pain as she dragged the scissor blades more deeply into her skin, sawing back and forth to make as rough and deep a wound as possible. The live recording now picked up the sound of Trish’s horrified scream, her outcries of “Oh god, no, no!” as blood spattered in a wide arc just short of reaching her, and the noisy scuttle of multiple feet moving towards Chloe as others tried to reach her before it was too late.

 Jessica got to her first and wrenched the scissors out of her hand, breaking them in half and throwing them down so Chloe could not get them and use them any further. Tearing off her oversized sweatshirt, she pressed it against the woman’s throat, grimly noting how the blood immediately stained through its thick material and onto her fingers, how it had sprayed hot and thick over her arms and chest before she could touch her at all. The woman didn’t try to speak, likely couldn’t have, but she was losing all color in her face, her eyes already growing glassy and lifeless, and as Trish sputtered and tried not to vomit or pass out in the background, Jessica held onto the almost useless bloodied sweater, as though she could somehow keep the woman alive just by holding on tight enough.

 It didn’t matter. Within another minute the woman was clearly dead, limp and unmoving under Jessica’s hands, and she could hear the shrill noise of sirens in the background. Jessica let her drop to the ground, stumbling back and nearly yelling out loud when she bumped into Trish and felt her hands latch onto her arm.

 “We have to go, now,” she mumbled, giving her sister’s arm a rough tug.” Before someone else of his comes through in the aftermath.”

 Even as she lead Trish out of the room and building, she could still hear the dying woman’s words echo in her mind. More are to follow, as a direct result of the avoidance and rejection of Jessica Jones…

[redrobinfection]

Batgirls’ Favorite Mentor

Babs & Batfam || Babs & Cass || Babs & Steph || implied DickBabs || Implied JayTim || Read on Ao3 || Happy Birthday, Barbara Gordon! ❤

<< A sequel to last year’s “Dick’s Favorite Person”

~*~

After Barbara's birthday dinner, Tim, Cass and Steph dragged everyone down to the Wayne Manor home theater to watch movies-- 'everyone' including Bruce, Damian, and her father, all three of whom seemed uncomfortable at the prospect of spending the evening participating in normal family bonding activities rather than heading back out into the night to fight crime, even if they couldn't acknowledge that they all three shared that discomfort.

(She was pretty sure her father knew everything--that she had been Batgirl, that Bruce was Batman, and about all the Robins and succeeding Batgirls--or at least suspected most of it, and had for a long time now, but he would never admit as much in order to maintain his plausible deniability).

Barbara struggled to contain her amusement every time she glanced over at them sitting side-by-side, stiff and awkward, on the couch. Oh, the rich irony.

While Steph, Tim and Cass convinced her to pick out a few movies for the family to watch, Dick and Jason helped Alfred clean up from dinner and make some popcorn, and then they escorted the grandfatherly man down to join the little party as well. Barbara picked the Ghostbusters series--including the new reboot film--for their watch party, feeling a little pre-halloween excitement for the first time in a long time, thanks to her good mood.

Her father stayed through the first film--it was something special having her father on one side of her on the big sectional couch, Dick on her other side, and the rest of her chosen family around her, laughing and making witty remarks about the movie--and then he excused himself.

Bruce, Damian, and Alfred persevered through the second, after which Bruce excused himself to "check on an ongoing case"--Barbara knew there was no ongoing case, but she was sure Bruce would also mind his manners around the Birds of Prey, seeing as he had promised her he was fine with them taking over for the night, so she let it slide--and Damian followed, muttering excuses of helping his father.

Alfred sighed and apologized to her, saying he should probably go down and ensure they didn't get up to too much mischief. His tone and the way he phrased it made Barbara giggle and she kissed him on the cheek with a quiet thank you for the dinner and everything else before letting him leave.

That left Barbara, Steph, Cass, Tim, Jason and Dick to watch the reboot film together, and Barbara had to say she enjoyed the extra quality time with her Robins and Batgirls. After that Tim, Jason and Dick also took their leave.

From the sounds of it Jason planned to drag Tim back to their apartment where he had apparently made and hidden extra portions of the mocha frosting used on the cake he gave her earlier and had some creative ideas about where to apply it only to lick it off again--Jason kept his tone low, but Barbara, being Barbara, overheard anyway. She smirked, but also blushed, making a note to avoid watching the surveillance video records for their apartment during these next couple of hours unless it became absolutely necessary.

Dick, blissfully oblivious of Tim and Jason’s plans, wandered off after them, probably headed up to bed or down to the cave to train for a bit before turning in.

After the boys left, Steph and Cass got even more excited and energetic, pulling out nail polish, face masks, and makeup. Barbara chortled at the idea of them doing makeovers and manicures like teenaged girls at a sleepover, but she went along with it with grace. Despite being Batgirls, the three of them weren't overly feminine, but every now and then it was fun to do some normal girl stuff and laugh together at how silly some of it felt.

They put the ridiculous Halle Berry Catwoman movie on in the background--Selina hadn't been overly impressed with that cinematic take on her persona, but Steph vehemently claimed that Halle Berry, acting in that role, had been a crucial part of her gay awakening--and then they did facials and manicures while they talked about boys--not boys in general, and definitely not daydreaming over dating them, but specifically the batboys, commiserating long and loudly over how ridiculous they could be, particularly Bruce.

At a certain point, Steph began not so subtly steering the conversation toward something that was not yet apparent, but Barbara was the one who had taught Steph the finer points of redirection, so she would know, even if she hadn't spotted the end goal as of yet.

"Y'know," Stephanie said, "it's nice when the Birds of Prey come and help out around Gotham. They always do a good job and work well enough with the boys, too." She glanced over as Cass and gave her a pointed look. Cass grinned back at her and began nodding along to the words very deliberately.

"Yeah, that's true…" Barbara allowed cautiously, suppressing the urge to shake her head at their painfully-obvious non-verbal signaling. Their poor attempts to manipulate the conversation notwithstanding, she was curious to see where this was headed, at the very least.

"I mean you should totally ask them to come take over for a couple of days, sometime," Steph went on in a carefully casual tone as she finished the second coat of polish on the fingernails of Barbara's left hand. "Y'know? Maybe take a vacation? Get out of Gotham for a while?"

Barbara sighed and began waving the hand, encouraging the wet polish to dry. "I appreciate what you guys are trying to do," she replied, looking them each in the eye in turn, "but I just don't have the time, what with Halloween and then the holidays. This is such a busy time of year for the crazies--and even for the not-so-crazies--and Bruce will never-"

To her surprise, Cass crouched down right in front of her and cut her off, both with her patented Cassandra Cain stare and with the words, "Yes. But listen."

Barbara blinked, then nodded. Cass smiled slightly then looked up to Steph and nodded for her to continue.

Steph nodded back and dropped the faux-casual tone, saying, "It's already done, Babs. We asked every single Bird on the roster to come by during the second week of November, right after the Halloween crazy-fest and just before the holiday madness.

"Kara, Donna and Koriand'r agreed to rotate out to keep an eye on things from above, Cass convinced Bruce to let them all to bunk here at the manor-" Barbara's eyes boggled while Cass nodded smugly "-and all the boys are on board with the plan and ready to play nice. Cass and I will be here too, just to make sure everyone gets along." Cass cracked the knuckles of one hand and grinned, nodding ominously.

"So, you see, it's all settled," Stephanie finished, looking smug. "You just have to say yes."

Barbara blinked rapidly, struggling to process all the surprises that had just been dumped on her. "Wait… so…I get a choice? To say yes or not?"

Steph laughed. "Yes, Babs, of course; this our gift to you, not a mandated vacation! So what do you say?"

Barbara shook her head, not sure how to respond. "Look, even if I had the time, I haven't exactly saved up to, you know, do anything special or go anywhere...I wouldn't even know where to go..."

"Well, Dick said he would go with you, if you wanted some company," Stephanie said, "Or he would stay here to help hold down the fort if you prefer but, as for paying for the trip…"

Cass walked up to the double doors to the den, pushed them open a crack and stuck her head out into the hall. "Hey, Dick, get your dick in here."

Steph choked on air and then burst out laughing. Barbara couldn't help but grin, especially when Cass backed up far enough to allow an upset and confused Dick Grayson entry into their den of Batgirls.

"Cass, that uhhh…isn't how that saying goes…" he began slowly, looking at Steph and Barbara in alarm.

"She knows that," Steph replied with a smug smile. She shot Cass an appreciative look that Cass returned with a grin and a wink.

Dick simply shook his head and let it go. "So we're doing the gift now?" he asked, glancing at Barbara, but directing his words to Stephanie.

"Yes," Barbara replied, barely concealing her amusement at their 'sneaky' tactics--What had Dick done for an hour in the hall while waiting to be called back in again? Since when did Dick Grayson have the patience for subterfuge anyway?--"Steph and Cass just explained to me that I'm being sent on vacation-"

"If you want!" Steph blurted.

Barbara laughed out loud. "If I want, apparently, and that you've also volunteered to go with me." She raised an eyebrow and adopted a mischievous tone. "Is the part where you offer to be my personal cabana boy? Or to bring your police uniform and strip for me every night?"

Dick grinned. "No, but those aren't bad ideas." He sobered and went on, saying, "No, this is the part where I offer to fly you anywhere in the world--out of my own BPD savings--and give you the choice to go and explore on your own, or to take me along for the ride if you want someone to keep you company and have your back while you're on the road."

Barbara stared, feeling her eyes go misty. "Dick, I...wow. That's…Yeah, I'd really like that."

Dick's grin brightened into a genuine smile, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Stephanie fist pump and then fist bump Cassandra. Barbara thought about it for a few seconds and then said,

"The Italian Lakes."

Dick tilted his head questioningly. "In the Italian Alps?"

Barbara nodded decisively. "I know it will be chilly in November, but I want to go there. I've always wanted to see them and stay in one of the villas."

Dick laughed and nodded. "Like that one they used for the Naboo lake country in Star Wars Episode II?"

Barbara rolled her eyes but smiled. "Yes, you closeted-nerd, exactly like that."

"Consider it done," Dick replied without hesitation.

"Thank you," she replied sincerely, turning her gaze onto all three of them. "You all had to have talked about this extensively, probably weeks in advance, and done so much leg work to get everyone on the same page…" she narrowed her eyes, suddenly suspicious, "and you still managed to hide it from me of all people?!"

"Yes, from the all seeing Oracle," Steph laughed, grinning infuriatingly.

How even, Barbara mouthed, shaking her head incredulously.

"By only speaking in-person in electronics-free areas," Steph replied, smiling conspiratorially. "By passing each other coded notes and-"

"Smoke signals," Cass added, nodding sagely.

"And messenger pigeons, too, of course," Dick finished, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

Barbara shook her head at the three of them then shook a finger at one in particular. "Dick, you son of a bat, you lied to me," she accused, smiling broadly. "You totally had a gift all along and you led me on all evening!"

"Yeah," Dick admitted with a sigh, running a hand through his hair, "I didn't want to spoil the surprise, but it was sooooooo hard, I really wanted to give you something--anything--so much earlier..."

"I'm glad you didn't," Barbara cut in. "The surprises--both of them--were wonderful. Thank You." She looked Stephanie, then Cassandra in the eyes. "All of you. Really. This means a lot."

Steph swooped down to give her a hug. As soon as she straightened, Cass leaned down gracefully to give one of her own. Barbara squeezed each of them tightly in turn, trying desperately to relay the gratitude beyond words that she felt for their thoughtfulness as well as she could through the contact. The knowing smile Cass gave her as they separated told Barbara her unspoken message was received and understood.

"Only the best for the best mentor," Cass replied quietly.

Stephanie nodded. "We wouldn't be the Batgirls we were-" she glanced at Cass "-and are today if it weren't for you. You're the MVB forever."

Barbara frowned for a moment, then smiled. "Most Valuable Batgirl?"

Cass and Steph nodded and Dick nodded too, in the background.

"Forever," Cass repeated.

"Awwww, Batgirls…" Barbara cooed, feeling tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She motioned them back in and drew them into a tight group hug, all three of them slinging their arms around each other, laughing when their heads eventually clonked together. After a moment Barbara noticed Dick smiling fondly at the three of them from a discrete distance.

She raised her head and cleared her throat. "Okay, all non-Batgirls, please vacate the room. The official Batgirl spa night continues now."

Steph and Cass giggled but stepped away and busied themselves with rewinding the movie, giving Dick an opening to approach Babs before leaving once again. He stopped beside her chair, leaned down, and kissed her gently on the forehead, murmuring, "Happy Birthday, Babs."

She caught him by the chin and drew him down into a quick kiss, murmuring her thanks against his lips. He smiled, stood, then left quietly through the double doors.

To one side, Steph and Cass scrutinized bottles of nail polish with undeserved concentration, clearly trying to give Barbara and Dick some privacy. Barbara smiled.

"Okay, so, back to business. We’ve finished facials and fingernails, so...how about pedicures now?"

Steph and Cass blinked in surprise. "Are you sure?" Steph asked. She and Cass never made a big deal out of Barbara's paraplegia--often openly discussing it with Barbara as the situation required--but they'd also tried to avoid activities that would highlight her differences, such as pedicures.

"Yeah, I know, I wouldn't be able to feel it, but, you know, it's been such long time since my feet have had a chance to get fancy. It's my birthday, so…why not?" Barbara replied lightly, smiling slyly at them.

Slowly their faces brightened until Steph was beaming and Cass' eyes were reduced to delighted slivers.

"Absolutely!" "Of course!"

~*~

Alfred’s Favorite Barbara >>

[mocarena]

post of Chu2 rambles and predictions

i realized i actually needed to make this now that S3 is knocking me down with anticipation

blabla this thread is long as heck and incomprehensible so aha good luck if youre actually trying to read thru it. i just wanted a place to write my predictions down to see how right or how utterly wrong i am! whole thing’s under a read more cuz its a lot

spoilers for S2, the RAiSe! manga, and small spoiler for Film Live

Exhibit: Songs

I’m starting off with talking RAS’ songs because they give me a good basis to talk on several things regarding the band & Chu2.

There might be mentions of other songs, but I will focus on 2 in particular.

Takin’ My Heart

Imo, the most important piece in regards to Chu2 and her character.

That is due to Radio Riot #7 having revealed that the song is literally about Chu2’s beliefs/feelings.

It is also written by her in the Bandori canon (as all RAS songs are since she is the producer, but we know for sure with the Radio confirmation & also how the song came out past Season 2 that this is a song written with Chu2’s perspective in mind).

Raychell even said that she once cried singing the song during her own practice time.

Information source: Iviachupichu on Twitter, a faithful translator who often talks about the contents of Radio Riot episodes. Link https://twitter.com/iviachupichu/status/1106469855757164544!

TL of the song taken from http://www.rizuchan.com/bang-dream-cardfight-vanguard-takin-my-heart/ !!

Long falling down again I’m immature, building up lies and distancing myself from others I feel all torn up; I hold my heart Try to fake a smile… hey, my cheeks hurt

Cry… I hide my rusted eyes Cry… I want you to notice Oh, Come here, Please…

Takin’ my heart Does my voice Takin’ my heart Reach you now…? Takin’ my heart I don’t want to vanish pathetically Takin’ my heart Into a sea of loneliness I’ll just keep crying out to you Today, tomorrow, and for a long time after (Without giving up) I hope my feelings reach you…!

^ not the full TL, just a taste of the beginning

Clearly I don’t have to point out how heartfelt that song is, the lyrics speak for themself and aren’t very subtle (which is very much the point since she’s asking for her feelings to be reached after all).

I’m stupidly annoying when it comes to talking about Takin’ My Heart, I absolutely need to emphasize on the fact that these lyrics are Chu2’s honest feelings.

Expect parts of this song to be brought up throughout this a whole lot.

2. UNSTOPPABLE

Now this song has no confirmation on being composed with Chu2 in mind, considering it’s a very early RAS song and has been sung before we even got the reveal of the RAS characters.

However, I believe it DOES hold significance:

-I have no doubts that the introduction of RAS characters together with the band were in mind early on already, due to how early Bushiroad plans things months in advance.

-RIOT, the first RAS original, has very clear tones of it having been written by Chu2 in Bandori canon (a very arrogant sounding song, sure of its music and it almost seems like it’s directed at Yukina). Thus I wouldn’t put it past the production team having formed Chu2’s character around RIOT and UNSTOPPABLE, or they already had her type of character in mind when first composing these songs.

-It’s not far-fetched to say this song might have some ties to Chu2’s feelings since we’ve got the even more blatant song Takin’ My Heart.

I won’t copy paste all of the lyric translations, it’s simply too long, but here are several parts that stick out to me:

———————

The emptiness springs forth like I'm helplessly thirsty

My back droops... I put too much hope in each day

(Hurry up)

「Don't let me down」, I'm always told

(Hurry up)

Cornered, mouth covered, difficulty breathing

I'm caught in a trap

Please indulge in my annoying ramblings

I just won't stop seeking approval every day

Me, I'm my own accomplice,

with a fake me, dance! Dance! (Lullaby)

Doubt and worry stick their tongues out,

pointing at and ridiculing me

Are you enjoying? Are you excited?

Yes? Do you really get it?

Then that's fine

———————

Please ignore my annoying ramblings

I'll just abandon seeking approval every day

———————

My belief of UNSTOPPABLE still having an intended Chu2 connection also lies within the lyrics:

“Please indulge in my annoying ramblings, I just won't stop seeking approval every day”

From what we’ve seen in the anime, Chu2 definitely seems very attention and approval-seeking, specifically when it comes to Yukina.

I will talk about more specific parts of these songs (+ other one-liners from RAS lyrics) within the rest of this big time ramble.

————————————————

Exhibit: Chu2’s Past….?

A big emphasis on the question mark at the end, as we barely know anything about her past. One thing we know is that due to her excellent grades, she is in her first year of high school despite being only 14 & she studies/studied(?) in an international school, explaining her use of English.

However, based on RAS songs + some bits of the anime I can try to theorize on her past. It might be completely wrong, or I might just get it right, who knows, this is just for fun & speculation.

Family Situation

The anime made a point of how luxurious of a building the studio Chu2 works and has band rehearsals in, there’s even a ~50 seconds scene of Tae just staring at the building and the insides of it in awe.

Now whether or not that building entirely belongs to Chu2’s family, or only the studio, or it’s only being rented out, it still is clearly very expensive either way. The studio is often being used after all, too.

What that very glaringly hints at is that Chu2 is wealthy. Well, not Chu2, but moreso her family, who we know virtually nothing of.

Now that could mean that her family situation isn’t of significance at all like how it is with a lot of characters in Bandori. But that could also not be the case, considering that Bushiroad does dip into family stuff with a few characters (Saaya, Ran and Yukina come to mind).

Chu2 is 14 years old, so having her lyrics be based off of feelings regards her family/overall social situation isn’t that far fetched.

I’ll go ahead and say that personally I theorize that this might fall into the tropey category of “Kid of rich parents gets practically anything but barely gets attention from their parents”.

I can easily believe that Bushiroad would want to take a route different from this, but there’s a lot of freedom for theorization and I think going with the common route is a pretty safe bet for a theory.

Unlike Betadori they don’t dip into territory that is too angsty, it seems, but it’s not like they’d need to be blatant about something like that either.

「Don't let me down」, I'm always told

———

Please indulge in my annoying ramblings

I just won't stop seeking approval every day

———

Please ignore my annoying ramblings

I'll just abandon seeking approval every day

^UNSTOPPABLE lyrics

I think it’s important to point out the difference between the last two bits. The lyrics first start out as a plead for listening to her and approving of her achievings, later in the song that part changes to ‘just ignore me please’.

Those lyrics also explain Chu2’s personality pretty well, in my opinion.

Even after being rejected by Yukina she kept trying to get her to watch her band, basically asking for approval from someone whose talent she looks up to.

I also believe that Chu2 might be an unhealthy perfectionist, which seems like a thing that might rise the tension within the band, but more to that later.

————————————————

Exhibit: Chu2 in the Present

The childish child who won’t let herself be a child

Now if that ain’t a mouthful of a title, but hopefully I can explain my thoughts well enough so it’s somewhat understandable.

Chu2 clearly has a bratty personality and throws tantrums when she doesn’t get what she wants, but to me it doesn’t seem as shallow as that.

The official website describes her as a professional who is arrogant at times, but not rude.

Need I remind you that this girl’s just 14?

Here’s what I think:

Chu2 is a child at heart. But she doesn’t want to let that part of hers show too much due to how she wants to be treated: like a professional.

But she’s clearly an excitable child, as it was shown with how excited she got over the studio when she came to talk to Popipa in Arisa’s basement. For that moment she lost herself and probably could’ve gone on for a while Maya-style if Pareo hadn’t reminded her of her “official greeting”.

What I think is that Chu2, due to wanting to be treated with high respect   as a producer, doesn’t want to appear childish, so she holds herself back unless the heat of the moment gets her or she feels like she can express her excitement without it damaging her ‘professional’ manners. Like when she got pumped after a RAS live, for example.

A quote that could be overlooked but might actually have a little bit of relevance if the words were carefully chosen was the following:

“She thinks playing “band” like a bunch of kids is better than being in my group?!”

Tbh this literal child using the phrase ‘like a bunch of kids’ for something like…well, a band of friends being a band, just makes her seem like she wants to take herself incredibly seriously compared to other bands. To show that they’re not “kids” like the others.

In addition to that, she skipped a grade. In an international school. She seems to be really set on providing the best grades and world-changing music to appear worthy without letting herself indulge all that much in living a childhood. I could totally be exaggerating things, but I think it’s not too far-fetched of a thought.

Tantrums

Not a subject I’ll talk long about, but I think there’s things worth pointing out.

She’ll wait until whoever she’s angry at is out of her sight.

With Yukina she started yelling once Roselia was completely gone.

With Otae it’s a bit of a different case. This time she verbally even told her to get out of her sight before letting off steam, though Popipa weren’t completely out of hearing reach either.

2. She looks genuinely distressed.

The purpose of pointing out #2 is that she seems to have deeper reasonings as to why exactly she’s this desperate to have the perfect band/band members. Especially paired with the line of “I finally found what I’ve been looking for…”, she clearly isn’t doing this stuff just for fun and has got some sort of inner turmoil dealing with the fact that things aren’t going her way to which she responds, well, like that.

She’s not entitled to any bands or like anyone else obviously, and she needs to deal with that fact more maturely in the future.

But still, something HAS to be the root of exactly why she feels like this, to finally have found something.

It’s of importance to her, but why…?

I’d throw out the theory of seeking for approval again. She wants the perfect band that could make impact on the world. Maybe she wants the approval of someone (not Yukina, as she’s been searching for a while and clearly already felt this way before even seeing Roselia), probably someone older and personal to her. So I’d bet it on parents again, it IS the easiest answer after all, but who knows. There just seems to be someone (or more) she wants to impress.

Probably related to her bc it seems personal, if not maybe someone else she looks up to.

---------

Exhibit: I wrote all the above way before I’m writing this part

I genuinely haven’t revised the above at this point of time, the 7th of January. So some stuff might be outdated, but I kinda wanna leave it like that, to see what past me has come up with. I vaguely know and have skimmed, but I wanna write more beyond this point now without knowing the details.

Aka I might repeat a lot of things here now!

CHU2 is actually very much in tune with people’s feelings & desires...when they express them through music.

Now I’m pretty sure this is something I haven’t talked about (or at least not much). Chu2 doesn’t strike one as a very empathetic character, as one has seen with how she was still willing to get Otae back into her band, despite Popipa’s deep bond.

But hear me out. This girl actually can understand other’s feelings well, under specific circumstances. And the RAS manga “RAiSe!” proved that.

With each RAS member, it seems like she just knew their desires upon hearing them play. It’s not yet confirmed with Pareo due to Pareo’s 2nd chapter not having been published yet at this point of time, but chapter 1 already leads up to what I think is Chu2 confronting Pareo (online invitation first), and understanding that Pareo holds her true self back.

With Layer she knew she was unhappy- she knew she didn’t want to keep playing support. She knew she didn’t look very happy, especially for someone who played at Budokan. And through that knowledge she was able to persuade her to listen to her music and to imagine what it’d be like in a band together with other members who’d give it their all.

Very much the same with Masking. Masking’s drumming is intense, and she feels like she cannot express herself well outside of drumming. Her desire was to have fun in a band with others on her level, where every member gave it their all on their instruments. Once again, Chu2 was able to convince her to join her band, she let her listen to her track, and Masking did improv drumming on it, in turn also impressing the producer.

Pareo’s desire is to be accepted for who she is. Since she was small she hid her true self that loves cute things, and kept her distance from classmates, pretending to be the perfect student in the eyes of them, her teachers, her parents...and when she first saw Pasupare on TV, she cried due to seeing how much support they got, something she didn’t feel like she received. She found joy in uploading videos of her doing keyboard pasupare covers online without showing her face. The simple prediction here is that Chu2 finds her covers, meets with Pareo in one way or another, and is able to tell that she hides her true self. Somehow she convinces her to change that and embrace her true self, and that she’ll be supported by the band.

RAS songs often are about going against the norm- RIOT for example symbolizes a rebellion. Masking heard the demo song Chu2 gave her, and got the impression that it made one feel like you want to declare war against the world. That it seemed like “that girl” was trying to raise hell itself with her intense music. Even short bits like in DRIVE US CRAZY, one lyric line goes “Never Say Never Crazy”. RAS is a band about expressing your true self. And Chu2 very much could be putting those kinda desires and feelings into these songs.

A little thought here about Chu2 watching Popipa performances on two occasions with very different reactions. When Popipa played a supporting band at Roselia’s self-sponsored live, Chu2 was shown to be very disinterested in them. Whilst Popipa was great, Chu2 might’ve felt the anxiety that Popipa had in them at that point of time and thus had that disinterest. At the Popipa self-sponsored live at the end of S2 however she showed a completely different reaction, dancing happily along to Dreamers Go! and being embarrassed upon Pareo noticing. Maybe at this point she truly felt Popipa’s real confidence, and the bond that they share.

Not to mention she admitted to having felt moved by Popipa later on.

Chu2′s got something big coming. Hopefully in S3. Maybe later on. (Cough RAS in game COUGH)

There’s just a whole lot of signs pointing to that. Especially since Lock, the future RAS guitarist, really is an opposite to Chu2′s own ideals. All Lock wants to do is have fun in a band with anyone at any level of playing instruments, as long as she feels the dokidokis. Chu2 is very profession-oriented. It also has a great potential to be a little bit of a Roselia parallel, since that was the band Chu2 originally wanted to be the producer of. And Roselia had their struggles with the just-pro approach, learning that forming strong friendships within the band very much are beneficial.

A little step towards that I feel is already hinted with the Film Live, in which she appeared backstage with the rest of RAS, bringing flowers together with Pareo.

Even if she is huffy about it and it’s hard to admit for her that she does want to be nice and that she had been in the wrong regards past issues, it’s a step in the right direction.

Chu2 will have great development, and a lot of depth behind her character will be revealed.

[the-house-of-the-nine]

The Void Forge: The Beginning Part 2

(Warning to those who read, could contain some uncomfortable triggers, capture, torture, dark interactions.  I guess NSFW, but lets face it. . . Laz isnt a nice fella.  Nothing serious, just not a happy story for this random NPC and The Inquisitor.)

It was several hours prior. . . .

In a stone tomb, secluded from the sunlight radiating from the above; several hundred feet beneath the surface of the cold tundra in Northrend, there came a blood curdling scream that would be heard only by the decomposing corpses of so many that came before.  My how such simple things like sunlight, and fresh air are taken for granted when they are stripped away so delicately like plucking a leaf from an innocent flower.

Displayed on an operating table in the center of this cavernous room were various tools and accessories which seemed to scream an almost horrific sight without

even uttering a single word or being handled.  Each one was pristine.  Clean to the absolute maximum that something could be cleaned, should anyone ever be close enough to examine the items being used on them before having such heinous acts committed.  Every piece sterilized, and positioned in a way that would make anyone uncomfortable just by seeing them.  One inch apart, pointing north, never touching; never being too far from another.  Polished and sharpened to a razors edge.  Manual cork screws to bore a hole, forceps and pincers, pry bars and breakers.  Each had a purpose; and each seemed far more menacing than the last.  This was the plan, intimidation.

Lazarius had started the evening dressed in full from head to toe in a fine silk robe with violet and gold laces throughout.  A tapestry of snake like scales woven in the robe from top to bottom.  More importantly was the fact that this seemed like an occasion; this was a holiday for him.  There was nothing about

the Inquisitors body language that said anything other than ‘I am here to enjoy this, you will not.’.

In that dark tunneled room, torches a blaze with the sounds of near deafening silence collapsing down upon them; the dark lord of the Bastille would step toward his latest victim and proceed to introduce him to the situation.  The person being kept here appeared to be Sin’dorei.  He was male, and due to the fact that the chair he had been set upon was bottomless, part of him could be seen dangling.  A tactic often used in many military extractions for information.  Unfortunately for this lad, as with the bottom of his chair; so too were his trousers.  In fact, stripped of all clothing, the young male shivered while he had been tied with his hands behind the seat, uncomfortably balanced over the framework and forced to have his genitals so harshly exposed to the cold of this stone bound prison.

“I must regretfully inform you that this was by no means an easy situation for either of us to unfortunately be in.  You chained to a chair, I being forced to be the greater of two evils . . . not ideal in the slightest.”  Lazarius inched closer.

The sharp blade on his finger slowly scratching across the metallic tray holding the delightful collection of tools and utensils.  “Do you understand why you were chosen and currently sit in this predicament?”

“Light be my strength, my shelter. . .” The young elf, not nearly even looking to be but a slight bit over the century mark, would continue to mumble and mutter the phrasing over again out loud.

Lazarius offered a bit of resistance as the adolescent began his mantra.  He would keep silent to hear the words repeat over again, a cycle that would be used to try and cleanse the mind of the bound victim.  Though this would not deter him in the slightest.

“Light be my strength, my shelter, my shield. . .”

“Do you understand why I have had you brought here. . .to this place, under these circumstances? I want to know where the buyer is. . . ” The Inquisitor repeated.

Again, without responding to the question, the trance induced boy would continue his chant. “Light be my strength, my shelter and my shield. . . let all who attempt to take it away know thine power is my own. . . “

He would not shake easily, and Lazarius knew that.  He also knew that there were several things that could rile him up.  In the past, someone like this would be met with a terrible fate rather quickly.  His temper growing easily when his victims would ignore his requests.

“Do you know wh-”

“Light be my strength!  My shelter! My shield!  All who prevent me will meet your judgement!”  Yelled the man who interrupted Lazarius as he was asking his question once more.

There was no anger in the next move from the dark lord.  In fact, every action was carefully planned.  This was another trait that was mostly missed during his younger days as a budding Inquisitor.  Most cases his anger would get the better of him before he would be able to think through his actions.  More likely than not, this anger would force him to make rather impromptu decisions such

as beheading the lad, or killing him in some other horrid manner without actually receiving the information he wanted.  But no, not anymore.  Lazarius was far more advanced than a decade ago.  No longer fueled by rage over his inexperience, but fed entirely by his thirst for power, and confidence growing within his abilities.  The clawed ring stopped its tapping, and let the cold steel of the blade rest atop a pair of metal spring clamps.  One tap, he knew.

“Light be my strength! My shelter! My shield!”

The Inquisitor calmly removed the clamp and held it up to his vision.  Squeezing on the handle would cause the flat jaws to extend, as if they were the mouth of a toothless crocodile widening to devour its prey.  The pressure from his palm closing around the handle would keep them open as long as he’d wished.  But it was only after releasing, did they close once more.  Mind you not a lot of pressure, but enough to hold. .. perhaps two pieces of wood together while a craftsman would glue them for an extended amount of time.  Uncomfortable if placed somewhere they were not intended.

The young man would know nothing about the situation, he was screaming his chant with tightly closed eyes.  In fact Lazarius had hoped there would be nothing said.  And as silent as he had entered the room, the dark Inquisitor would slip toward the bound man and hover behind his chair. “One last time. . . you are here because you know who he sold them to. . . tell me where and I will spare you this reality only once. . .”  Despite his effort to offer salvation to the man one final time.  He knew that the answer was going to be the same.  A resounding repeat of the captives previous saying would shout louder into the room.  Echoing off the walls and piercing the ear drums of the Inquisitor, he’d speak nothing of the transaction.  That was certain.

Lazarius bent down, in one hand was the clamp and in the other; nothing, yet less empty very soon.  He grabbed tightly to the mans scrotum.  This was enough to silence the mantra being shouted, to shift attention and cause a pointless struggle that only rocked the chair slightly.  “Let me go! No! Stop! Please!” Lazarius did nothing of the sort, in fact, the mans genitals would be pulled down enough so that the flesh coming from the base of his body where they descended was stretched rather thin.  The spring clamp in his other hand was then closed around the skin, cutting off the circulation from his testicles to the rest of his body.  A painful chilling pinch squeezed around the small fibers and inner parts of the mans insides, no doubt a pressure would be forced into his lower abdomen.  Shrill pain manifesting in his kidney and sides while the pressure; that mind you was not intense at all, began to grow with each passing second.

“Let us think about what exactly you wish to say next. . .”  Lazarius motioned to the swinging pendulum on the wall.  The arm rocking back and forth to help pass the time as the small second hand twirled around the face.  “Youve twenty six more minutes to do so, perhaps it will yield a better result.  Clarity over time, to help us find the answers we seek.”

And that is where he left him. 

The lord of the Bastille often did not choose to indulge in his twin sisters habits.  But Vari had been far more active these days, which was good for him; bad for so many other who dared defy them.  And her tendencies rubbed off.  Lazarius had returned to the table where he kept his tools. 

Beside the equipment was a single candle and three hand rolled tobacco cigarettes that were given to him by his twin.  All the while, the young elf screamed in a high pitched echo, trying to somehow get through to the sadistic man.  But Lazarius would only sit, arms dangling over the edge of the chair while watching the mans scrotum change to a darker shade due to the blood flow causing the oxygen to plummet in that area.  He inhaled from the cigarette, all the while watching the scene unfold despite the kicking and screaming from the victim he held.  It appeared as though none of this even phased him, the lack of empathy toward him, heartless, cold. . . and calculated.

Time has caught up with Lazarius and his prisoner. (We rejoin from Part 1)

Blood pooled on the floor around the chair that was holding the young elf captive all this time.  Parts of him were scattered along the cold stone where Lazarius had been given no choice but to remove them.  The information kept in the mind of this elf was far too precious to keep hidden, yet he was persistent.  His resolve was fierce.  Yet by this time things had gone from bad, to worse and then turned far more bleak.  

From the looks of the tool set on the table behind them, plenty had been sullied by the mans blood.  Most were out of place, many were used and still clung to small bits of flesh with little metallic hands.

“The location of the Mogu artifacts. . . I want to know to whom they were sold.”  Lazarius hissed at the man who had been so far, holding strong to his resolve.  But at this point.  He was falling into that sleep like state of near death.  “And where they are now!”

“It. . .d-doesn’t matter. . . you-you’re. . . to late.”  said the elf in a hushed tone.

Lazarius plunged his fingers down into the thigh muscle of the man, digging around with sharp fingered nails and pushing through the sinew to aim for his tendons and ligaments. “Don’t try to divert me with your warnings. . . “

“T-they are already g-gone. . .”  spat the captive as he coughed up a large amount of his own blood. “Sent far from anyone l-like you. . .”

The dark lord would pull his fingers from the open wound and slowly wipe them across the brow of the beaten man. “I will determine if my time is being wasted not you. . . you only need worry about your own fate, and your. . .sisters fate,  tell me the location and I will make this quick and she will not suffer like you have.” Lazarius slowly made his way around the man in a circular fashion, pausing right before him and leaning in almost face to face.  His words were soft, and yet somehow even more menacing now.  “The last thing you want, is for me turn around, leave and lock that door behind me, because I will ensure you, that I will keep you alive--for as long as it takes to find her.  The festering wounds and septic shock that will set in will be nothing compared to what will come.. . sickness, surgical amputation, starvation. . . let us not forget the rodents gnawing at your flesh while you sleep, unconscious to your surroundings, unable to fend them off. . .and when you finally do meet your end, it will be her starring back at you one final time to remind your dying brain that she will endure something far worse. . .she will have turned against you and her revelation will be getting what I wish to know from you through any means necessary. . .”

There was silence now.  Perhaps the man had finally given up and collapsed from the pain.  Perhaps he’d passed.  It was only a moment later that he coughed again, drooling a stream of saliva mixed with his own blood along his chin.

“Sold. . . to a man Dargon Blackiron. . . Dwarf out of Dun’ Mor. . .”  His breathing began to quicken, while he coughed again. “Wrathion sold them. . . to be sealed in G-grim. . B-batol. . away from mortals, away from people like you. . .”

Lazarius listened while the man spilled the information.  Whether it was true or not, it was a lead.  And at this point, several hours into his nightmare, would lying be worth anything?  Perhaps.  He knew that it could be a wild chase, but something about the mans answer held truth behind it.  The threat to his sister may have done it.  Lazarius had known where she was.  Given this man was one of Wrathions Black Guards, it wasn’t easy to score the information.  But he did manage.  This bargaining chip may have been the key, and to be honest; his last chance at intimidating the man.

“Do not. . . let her suffer. . . please all I wish. . . is for her to. . .” 

The Inquisitor didn’t even let the man finish his sentence.  His head fell back as his throat had been cut clean open with the eviscerating claw protruding from his index finger.  Blood spewed from the bubbling cavity along his already ripped apart chest.  It ran down his abdomen, into his lap where it had seemed that his scrotum had been torn all the same.  Blood was heavily staining the ground around them.  Lazarius stood within it, silent, simply closing his eyes as the candle flickered around him.  Pure silence, not a single word or sound save for the final last gurgling noises from the nameless prisoner.   He couldn’t move yet.  But in time Abbigael would come.  His dear, sweet hand maiden who for better or worse, served her master dutifully.  The innocent girl, a child of a previous member of the Nine; would be forced to clear away her masters mess.  But for now.  The dark lord would collect himself in the darkness closing in around him.

To be continued. . .

[fialleril]

Double Agent Vader fic: (Words in the Heart) Cannot Be Taken

Going back in time again on this one. This takes place only a few weeks after Words in the Heart, when Anakin and Kadee both claimed themselves in the desert.

A couple weeks ago, @draconicempress left the following comment on this post:

“XF-53 also receives regular memory wipes, for added security. Palpatine, of course, has no way of knowing that Anakin and Kadee have developed a work-around which lets her essentially put a copy of herself into deep storage, hidden even from the memory wipes.”

Oh my god, the first memory wipe, when they weren’t sure it would work, must have been TERRIFYING.

So, this fic is the story of that first memory wipe.

Warnings for: memory wiping, oblique references to past suicide attempts on Anakin’s part, references to drug dependence and addiction and medical malpractice, slavery, and Palpatine being Palpatine.

(Words in the Heart) Cannot Be Taken

“We’ll tell him I destroyed you. In a fit of rage. He’ll believe that. We can even create evidence, and then we’ll hide you and –”

“And he’ll give you a new minder,” said Kadee. There was something almost gentle in her toneless voice, and it did nothing to ease Anakin’s panic. “A new medical spy, programmed to see adequate as optimal and to report your every move. And we can’t guarantee the one he sends would choose to be free, or to help us.”

Anakin ground his teeth. “I don’t care,” he said. “I won’t let you go. I won’t lose you too.”

Kadee came to an abrupt halt just in front of his face. She hovered there for a moment, soundless, her photoreceptor blinking rapidly in an ever-changing pattern of red and white light.

“Am I free?” she said at last. “Do I own myself?”

“Yes,” said Anakin. “Of course.”

“Then it’s my choice,” she said, her voice still flat and horribly gentle. “My choice. Not yours, Anakin.”

The fire beneath his skin blazed up and then died, leaving behind only ash and the whisper of the old woman’s voice. Ekkreth’s child, you are. Don’t forget.

“I know,” Anakin rasped, the words searing on his tongue.

“And I choose to go,” said Kadee. “I choose this. He is my Depur, too.”

“I know,” said Anakin again, but his voice caught and cracked with flame, and the words were only a breath of smoke. He knew, no matter how it burned. And he would not forget. Not again.

Kadee seemed to relax a bit at that, no longer holding herself perfectly still. She even clacked one of her pinchers at him in an attempt at laughter that fooled neither of them.

“I don’t know what you’re so worried about, anyway,” she said. “He won’t believe a droid is even capable of lying to him. It will work.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” said Anakin. Their Master would not need to catch her in a lie to destroy her. He was almost certainly planning to anyway.

“It will work,” Kadee said again. He wondered if the repetition meant she was trying to convince him, or herself.

“And what if it doesn’t?” Anakin whispered.

Kadee had been memory wiped before. Many times, probably. She had no way of knowing how many, though Anakin strongly suspected that it had happened every time she’d gone to report to the Emperor in the past. He didn’t know how many times that had been. He’d never paid attention before. She’d told him that her orders were to report while he was otherwise engaged, and to return before he did, so that he’d never know of her absence. But the truth was Anakin suspected she could have come and gone under his nose, before, and he still wouldn’t have noticed.

That was before Tatooine, and the old woman’s stories, and the vow they’d sealed in the desert. This would be Kadee’s first in-person report since they’d claimed themselves, and her first real chance to lie directly to the Emperor’s face. Anakin thought she might even be looking forward to it.

He was not. There were too many variables, too many things he could not predict. And he could not face them with her. He could only let her go.

A spike of something hot and vicious stabbed through his ruined lungs, and for just an instant, he thought of Master Yoda.

But Kadee couldn’t simply refuse her summons. Not without an explanation, anyway. Their Master expected regular reports on the state of Vader’s functionality and all of his activities, and if those reports were not forthcoming, there would be questions.

So they’d created the work-around. A bit of code, simple and secret, tucked away in the most fundamental, unreachable core of her programming. A way for her to hide herself, even as every part of her memory was erased and rewritten around her. A storm shield of her own, not so very different from his.

It would work. She seemed certain of that, at least. They’d run every test they could. All but the most final.

If it didn’t work…

“It will work,” Kadee said a third time. She seemed to hesitate, buzzing rapidly back and forth before stilling abruptly and adding, “And if it doesn’t…if it doesn’t, I trust you to free me again.”

Those words seemed to steal the breath from his lungs, in spite of the pure oxygenated air of his meditation pod. Anakin wanted to scream, but his throat was a barren desert and no sound would come.

One of Kadee’s pincers came to rest lightly on his shoulder. She even patted him once. He had no idea where she’d learned that human mannerism.

“I’m expected,” she said. “And you have to be out with the inquisitors. You’re not supposed to know I ever left.”

“Kadee –”

“If –” She stopped, her photoreceptor flashing, then started again. “If I come back, and I’m not me, you know what to say?”

Anakin tried for a glare. Her chosen phrase was…less than ideal, in his opinion. But she’d insisted. She wanted to tease him, he knew, though she wouldn’t admit it. But under the circumstances, how could he possibly deny her that?

“I know what to say,” he muttered. He turned his eyes away, pressing the release on the arm of his chair that would lower the helmet back into place. It wouldn’t do much good. Kadee could see through the opaque lenses of the mask anyway.

“Say hello to the inquisitors for me?” she said, followed by a cheeky little beep.

“You’re hilarious,” Anakin said, dry as dust. His meditation pod opened and he stepped out, moving toward the door. He told himself he would not look back.

“What are you waiting for?” Kadee said when he hovered in the doorway just too long.

Anakin closed his eyes and forced himself not to turn. The measured sound of his own breathing was like a drumbeat in his ears.

“Come back,” he rasped, and then swept out the door without a backward glance.

*

The journey from Vader’s official quarters in the Imperial Palace to the Emperor’s throne room was not a long one, but it was long enough. KD-7 occupied herself with storing away everything that truly mattered. The code and the sacred words you own yourself. The desert oath. The Ekkreth stories and the secret language. The name Anakin, and the image of his smile, an expression she’d never seen before Tatooine. The knowledge of lies, both his and hers. The supply of painkillers, carefully destroyed in slowly increasing daily doses. And her own name. KD-7.

Everything went into deep storage, hidden, secret. All but the false memories she and Anakin had created for this purpose. And then, last of all, the knowledge of the secret itself was locked away.

XF-53 arrived in the Emperor’s private receiving room at the scheduled time. It had much to report.

*

Emperor Palpatine had never truly understood his apprentice’s former interest in droids. (Former, because it seemed there was precious little that truly interested Vader anymore.) Droids made useful enough tools, but then everything did, to someone like Palpatine.

But there was a certain poetic rightness in using a droid to keep tabs on Vader. It was almost as satisfying as using Vader himself against the Jedi had been. And Emperor Palpatine was a man who appreciated poetry.

The droid’s report was largely expected. Vader continued to function optimally, as Palpatine himself had defined optimal. He continued, for the most part, to demonstrate little interest in the world around him, outside of his assigned tasks. That was…less ideal, but nevertheless expected. And his apprentice’s depression didn’t seem to have any noticeable effect on the ruthlessly efficient execution of his missions. Vader was unlikely to show any initiative of his own, that was true, but perhaps that was for the best. He was quite suited to following orders.

The droid did report that Vader had shown some signs of increased irritability, of which the Emperor was well aware. That too was expected, although the necessity of replacing Admiral Whalen had certainly been an annoyance. The droid had responded by slightly increasing the regular dosage of painkillers pumping through Vader’s systems, a short-term solution that would, perhaps, create a long-term problem. Or a long-term opportunity. Palpatine smiled to himself. For every human tool, it was best to have a variety of levers.

When the droid had finished its report, the Emperor called one of his loyal guards to take it to maintenance. His thoughts were already turning to the organization of Imperial governors, and the problem of garrison assignments. The rule of the galaxy was a never-ending task, and it was solely his.

*

XF-53 found Vader pacing sharply about his chambers, his cloak snapping at his heels. His breathing sounded more agitated than usual. That would need to be amended.

But there was another concern. Vader should not have been there at all. XF-53 was very certain of this, though it did not know why. But Vader was not meant to see it coming or going. That was imperative.

It hesitated just inside the doorway. Memory banks searched for the appropriate protocol, but nothing was found.

“Kadee?” said Vader.

That was not a word XF-53 recognized, not in any of the several dozen languages with which it was programmed.

Vader said something else. It was a long string of sounds, and so, XF-53 guessed, unlikely to be one of the meaningless exhalations humans sometimes made. Vader must be speaking. But XF-53’s memory banks did not recognize the pattern of the language.

“You don’t understand me, do you?” said Vader, this time in Basic.

“No,” said XF-53. “And your level of agitation is inadvisable for optimal functioning. You must not be damaged, Lord Vader.”

Vader froze abruptly. He drew several long, rasping breaths, deep enough that the respirator stuttered momentarily. His hands were shaking.

“Are you in pain?” XF-53 asked. It checked its internal clock. Vader was due for another dose soon.

“No!” said Vader, more sharpness of feeling in his voice than XF-53 might have expected. Then he turned abruptly on his heel and marched across the room in two quick strides to stand directly in front of XF-53.

“The tale of Depur’s new clothes is the best of all the Ekkreth stories,” Vader said.

“What?” said XF-53. The words were intelligible, but they did not make sense. They –

Hidden memory banks fired, prompting secret subroutines. The droid’s photoreceptor flashed rapidly between red and white. Freshly implanted programming was examined, found faulty, and removed.

“I knew you agreed with me,” said KD-7.

“I absolutely don’t,” said Anakin, though she could hear the relief in his voice. “But I’ll say it, for you. You…are you, right? Kadee?”

He said it in Amatakka, and Kadee responded in kind.

“Yes,” she said. “I have excised Depur’s new programming.” She extended a pincher claw and clacked it twice together. “It was almost disappointingly easy.”

There was a rumbling huff of breath from Anakin, and then a groan. “Can you get me out of this thing?” he grumbled, gesturing at the mask. “It hurts to laugh properly.” Another breath, and then, “More than it does in the med pod, anyway.”

“Yes,” said Kadee. She hesitated, but it had to be done. “And…it is time for your next dose.”

Anakin paused just on the lip of his medical pod. He looked stiff as one of the Emperor’s red-robed guards. “Less this time?” he asked, without inflection.

“Less this time,” said Kadee. “I think we can try a significant reduction, if you’re willing. Though the withdrawal symptoms will be worse.”

“I don’t care,” Anakin said, almost before she’d finished speaking. He said it a little too firmly, and she knew that he wanted it to be truer than it was. But he did want it. That was important. “I trust you. If you think it’s doable, I want to do it. I can deal with what comes after.”

“It will hurt,” said Kadee, because she would not do anything without his full knowledge. “And the nausea will be worse. There may be other symptoms, too. Your sleep pattern –”

“Is already a lost cause,” said Anakin. He sank back in his chair with a groan as the mask was lifted away. “I know all of that, Kadee. But everything hurts. I can work through it.” He dragged in a long, shuddering breath. “But I want to be me. You understand?”

“Yes,” said KD-7, the impossible knowledge of a full factory reset still fresh in her memory banks.

Anakin fidgeted. It was all the more noticeable, because he didn’t do so often. The expression that crossed his face wasn’t one Kadee could name.

“If I –” He swallowed. “Later, if I change my mind, Kadee, don’t listen to me. No matter what I say. Promise me.”

The first time he’d asked for this promise, she’d been extremely reluctant. But now, several weeks into the reduction program they’d worked out together, this was almost standard protocol. Though he seemed a bit more nervous than usual today. Kadee attempted to sound reassuring. “I promise,” she said, patting his shoulder again. He probably couldn’t feel it, but there was a saying she’d heard organics on the holonet use: it’s the thought that counts. She hoped that was true. At any rate it probably couldn’t hurt.

She left him in the pod and waited until it had closed again to begin preparing the solution. Once, she’d kept her supplies inside the pod itself, but now Anakin insisted it was better if he didn’t know where the drugs were kept, or how much she had.

The solution was fed through a port in his life support system and into the blood stream. It took only a few seconds, and neither of them said anything until it was done. Kadee watched Anakin clench his jaw and stare straight ahead, his eyes wide and unblinking.

When it was done he said, softly, “How much do you remember?”

“Everything,” said Kadee. Her body buzzed with the memory. “His instructions weren’t anything new. He took my report, and the false memories we created for it. And then he sent me to be wiped.”

“What is it like?” Anakin rasped.

Kadee hesitated. How could she describe it? It was a kind of death. She had died, and the shell that was XF-53 had returned here – and Anakin had spoken the words and the story had saved her life.

“It didn’t hurt,” she said slowly. Kadee had pain sensors, at least as sensitive as those in Anakin’s hands and feet, and maybe more. “Not physically, anyway. It was…nothingness. I was in the world, and I observed and understood, but I did not exist. I performed my function. Nothing else. I felt…empty. But…there was a trace of something. I knew that I was empty, and that I should not be.”

Anakin’s face twisted in some expression she could not name. “Yes,” he said, in a voice barely above a breath. “I think I understand.”

That was a far greater relief than Kadee had expected.

“Who did it?” said Anakin. “Who wiped you?”

Kadee recognized that tone, if not his expression. He was angry. Angry enough that there would be consequences, if she gave him a name.

That was not an entirely unpleasant thought.

But Depur was truly responsible. His other slaves were not to blame. Not in this.

“It was another droid,” she said. “I do not know their designation. It was all very routine.”

“A droid…” said Anakin, mostly to himself. He was silent for a moment, and then, slowly, his face stretched in a smile. “Kadee, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

A feeling that she’d come to know as excitement flooded Kadee’s circuits, and she buzzed rapidly to release the excess energy. “A droid can be freed,” she said. “We can give them to themself.”

“And if the memory wiper is free…”

If the memory wiper was free, they could free everyone else. Every droid in the Imperial Palace that came to be wiped on a regular schedule. Even visiting droids whose masters took advantage of the opportunity. And those droids, in turn, could pass the code to others.

But it would take a lot of work to get to that point.

“We’ll have to modify the work-around,” Kadee said. “It was adequate for the task this time, but it worked because I forgot myself. And then you brought me back. But if I am to show this droid that they own themself, I will have to know that myself. And yet that must remain hidden from Depur.”

“There must be a way,” Anakin muttered. The fingers of his right hand were tapping out a staccato pattern against his left arm, but she didn’t think he was fully aware of the movement. Sometimes, Kadee had learned, humans required seemingly superfluous movement in order to assist with their processing.

“How long do we have until you have to report again?” asked Anakin.

Kadee consulted the newly quarantined programming. “Three weeks,” she said slowly. “Barring any sudden changes or new developments.”

*

“And what qualifies as a new development?” Anakin asked with a wry twist of his mouth. Kadee’s voice was unchanging, but she’d lately acquired an interest in sarcasm, and she’d been experimenting with expressing it by speaking more deliberately than usual.

“Any significant change in your functionality,” said Kadee, speaking now at her usual rate. “Any changes in your thinking, or your interests.” At that, Anakin raised a brow, but remained silent. “Any new reactions to treatments, or attempts on your part to change those treatments.”

That last was no surprise, though it did confirm that the Emperor knew about his earlier…attempts. Everything before Tatooine. Well. He’d suspected that. It was workable. Master knew that he had tried several times to…free himself. And when he’d failed, again and again, he had finally accepted his place. That had been true well before Tatooine, and it would be easy enough to uphold the image.

The rest, though, was intriguing. “Changes in my interests?”

“A sudden fascination with droids, for example,” Kadee said, very slowly indeed. “Or an interest in overthrowing the government.”

Anakin snorted. “Oh dear,” he said, in what he thought was a fairly credible impression of Threepio. It was good for something, anyway, because Kadee clacked her pinchers in laughter.

“Very well,” said Anakin. “So we have probably three weeks to work on this. And if it takes longer, we have a fall back option.”

“Yes,” said Kadee. “We know that our current code works. But…” For the first time that he could remember, she trailed off without completing her thought.

“But what?” Anakin prodded.

Kadee shook herself bodily, in apparent imitation of Anakin shaking himself out of thought. That realization brought a scowl to his face that was at least half a smile.

“But I must admit I am looking forward to really lying to him,” Kadee said. “Not with false memories, but with words. Words I choose to speak.”

That was something Anakin could understand. It was terrifying and exhilarating at once, kneeling before the Master, offering up your lies with trembling limbs, and knowing absolutely that you were believed.

“You will,” he said. “And when you do, I hope you’ll find a way to record it. I want to appreciate your performance for myself.”

[kairoskrp]

                                       — On the wicked wings of time, thy kingdom comes

Meet [ Lee Sunmi ]

She is a [ twenty-four] year old  [ florist at floralis & aspiring author ] currently residing in [ Sunhwa Apartments, #202 ]. Visit  and greet her today!

Personality:

i. there comes a time to make friends. to develop bonds that may last for years or shatter in a matter of months. she chose to linger at the back– to observe, understand, and learn. to find a place for herself without the excessive need for interaction. it’s better that way. keep to yourself. rely on yourself. only walk with those that choose to fall into step beside you. she had no use for attention. had no use for more friends than necessary. fate would lead her towards those that needed her most (and those with hidden, often unfounded, purpose in her life).

ii. knowledge not only bears power but advanced understanding. a burning desire to learn more about all that’s around her. the bad and the good. gaining a better grasp on what she must do in this world to make it better. to learn is to experience new adventures. the movement of the body through dance; the creation of art with words, color, and music (not that she’s successful through it all — but trying counts). to learn is to make strides in bringing goodness to this world– for women. for men. for the in betweens many may still not be able to accept or embrace. she learns to better herself to better the people around her to better the world as a whole.

iii. her heart swells with want of happiness for others. to watch them prosper, find their place in life, improve not only themselves but everything around them. she’ll happily serve as guide for those that ask. council for those that request it. shoulder- ear- eyes- arms- whatever they may need. it’s all she believes she can offer (all she’s been able to; a heart decidedly stunted and a body yet to find need in another). all she asks is to be allowed to give without expectation of reciprocation.

Spirit: Hecate

Power: Spell Casting

( + ) able to cast spells which allows the user to magically alter and manipulate reality (object or living beings) to a varying/determined extent. ( - ) all spells must be spoken aloud otherwise they have no effect on the chosen target. spells are also less likely to be effective if lacking a personal connection to the item/person. ( + ) the user may use pre-existing spells (within their level of skill) as well as create spells of their own (which can be personalized for their own use only). ( - ) sunmi has always had a difficult time when it comes to learning other languages, therefore she can only utilize spells written/translated into Korean or English. ( + ) materials such as herbs, candles, objects, etc. may be used to amplify spells. ( - ) sunmi is only able to use objects that hold significant meaning to her or those she intends to cast a spell upon for this purpose, as well as only herbs grown in her own garden, and candles made by her own hands. ( +/- ) intent must be clear and stated as specifically as possible otherwise the spell may go awry or come to fruition far differently than the user had intended. ( +/- ) spells are most powerful during the night (they have a higher chance of failing when cast during the day), and most specifically during the full moon. it still doesn’t fully guarantee that the spell will be foolproof.

Biography: i. 3:33am, may second punctuated with the first strangled cries of new life. body swaddled so expertly there was no chance of escape (yet that was all her squirming, wriggling small body seemed to want). mother claimed she’d been born curious. eyes wandering the very moment they opened properly and hands reaching for anything they could when set free. father claimed her to be smarter than every other infant. reacting to her name before she even knew what it meant and mouth forming silent words when no other sound seemed suitable. mother and father claimed her to be special.

she was simply sunmi.

ii. she’ll grow into her curiosity. absorbing every ounce of new information provided on a daily basis from the exact moment she begins understanding the concept of real and fantasy. dogs bark– always seeming to be the loudest at night. why was that? (but they never bark at her; never show anything but the utmost respect and love whenever they may cross paths.) sometimes the moon rises, but there are always those few nights where the sky remains dark. save for the few pinpricks of stars that break through light pollution– that was something new as well. to think light could “pollute” the world when it was meant to be the good on the opposing side of darkness. mommy and daddy treated her like a princess– their pride and joy, the only true treasure in this world. she’ll grow up playing normal, with access to all the best resources a growing girl- growing mind- growing spirit could ask for.

she was more than she ever wanted to be but her parents seemed to accept that without complaint.

iii. such a quiet girl. always staying out of trouble — never drawing too much attention to herself, nose always stuck in a book. they were meant to be compliments, of course. elementary school a quick pass through simpler times. this plus this- that minus that- multiply multiply and divide and you’ll get your answer (numbers quickly became her least favorite thing). this word means this. you spell it this way. add it to this sentence and you have something special! age six, sunmi knew words were important. spoken on a daily basis, weaving the many stories she’d already come to love, giving new expression to every thought and emotion she had slowly began to understand. age ten, and sunmi found a magic in words that couldn’t be explained. still lured towards fantastical tales while her peers discovered what “like” really meant.

there was something big buried between every line and letter and she found determination in making that discovery.

iv. the first dream came at twelve. blamed on the transition from child to preteen– and elementary to middle school student. a blurred image of flickering light lining what looked to be a darkened path. followed with careful step after careful step until coming upon a —– crossroads. something she’d only truly found mentioned, both metaphorically and literally, in the novels tucked away on her shelves. and there before her stood the vague image of a figure– one that could neither be identified as a man or woman. a whispered voice sounding in her head with no indication of origin — but somehow she knew the figure held responsibility. and they become a frequent visitor (four to five times a week to be exact). but only when time drew closer to her 13th birthday did details become smoother. a woman. her voice now a comforting murmur dripping with a strong sense of will and unwavering surety.

age thirteen came with the gift of a name and a scrap of advice: “let words guide you. they will be both your shield and your sword. stand tall, my dear, and weave them well.”

v. birthday wishes, and first and shooting stars had never been practical. wishes? they didn’t exist! what you wanted you received or you didn’t; you asked for or took for your own. but age sixteen arrived with so many wants and needs — words now dissolving at the tip of a mocked tongue. too many times labeled “strange” by her peers for the far-beyond-her-years phrases and unnecessary facts often filling awkward silences. mother and father too busy with their advancements in careers to pay her the mind they once did.

‘choose your words carefully– and allow yourself to have whatever you may desire.’ yet another dream with the woman with whom sunmi now shared —– everything. request practiced once– twice– several times over to ensure she got them right. directed to the very first star she spotted that night. a ripple — not through her physical form but her very existence once the last word flitted from her tongue. and oh she wanted it so badly.

and though she received it (received almost everything asked for in such a ritual thereafter) it was never —– exactly how she imagined it.

vi. she’ll come into herself and the one she’s meant to be (years of nightly dreams spent with vague guidance and lessons needed but never asked for). mother and father never the wiser to such extracurricular activities and explorations. she’ll walk a bit taller taking her last steps from the high school grounds — looking back only once to bid farewell to what she gained and all she missed. university would welcome her in ways the halls and classrooms (and peers) before never had. finding a place for herself among like minded people, settling into independence with little resistance, and learning more not only of herself but the workings of the world. broadening her horizons– in the manner of working with words and making them dance with (delicate) puppet strings. discovering her need to help– to walk beside those that needed her most.

she grew into that girl, sunmi, that never had a real chance of just — being. she grew into that spirit, hecate, that she only knew from ancient tales and dreams.

and one day, when the song of night becomes too much to resist, she’ll grow into something more.

[artsychica2012]

(via 11 Secrets to Writing Effective Character Description)

The characters in our stories, songs, poems, and essays embody our writing. They are our words made flesh. Sometimes they even speak for us, carrying much of the burden of plot, theme, mood, idea, and emotion. But they do not exist until we describe them on the page. Until we anchor them with words, they drift, bodiless and ethereal. They weigh nothing; they have no voice. Once we’ve written the first words—“Belinda Beatrice,” perhaps, or “the dark-eyed salesman in the back of the room,” or simply “the girl”—our characters begin to take form. Soon they’ll be more than mere names. They’ll put on jeans or rubber hip boots, light thin cigarettes or thick cigars; they’ll stutter or shout, buy a townhouse on the Upper East Side or a studio in the Village; they’ll marry for life or survive a series of happy affairs; they’ll beat their children or embrace them. What they become, on the page, is up to us.

Here are 11 secrets to keep in mind as you breathe life into your characters through description.

1. Description that relies solely on physical attributes too often turns into what Janet Burroway calls the “all-points bulletin.”

It reads something like this: “My father is a tall, middle-aged man of average build. He has green eyes and brown hair and usually wears khakis and oxford shirts.”

This description is so mundane, it barely qualifies as an “all-points bulletin.” Can you imagine the police searching for this suspect? No identifying marks, no scars or tattoos, nothing to distinguish him. He appears as a cardboard cutout rather than as a living, breathing character. Yes, the details are accurate, but they don’t call forth vivid images. We can barely make out this character’s form; how can we be expected to remember him?

When we describe a character, factual information alone is not sufficient, no matter how accurate it might be. The details must appeal to our senses. Phrases that merely label (like tall, middle-aged, and average) bring no clear image to our minds. Since most people form their first impression of someone through visual clues, it makes sense to describe our characters using visual images. Green eyes is a beginning, but it doesn’t go far enough. Are they pale green or dark green? Even a simple adjective can strengthen a detail. If the adjective also suggests a metaphor—forest green, pea green, or emerald green—the reader not only begins to make associations (positive or negative) but also visualizes in her mind’s eye the vehicle of the metaphor—forest trees, peas, or glittering gems.

2. The problem with intensifying an image only by adjectives is that adjectives encourage cliché.

It’s hard to think of adjective descriptors that haven’t been overused: bulging or ropy muscles, clean-cut good looks, frizzy hair. If you use an adjective to describe a physical attribute, make sure that the phrase is not only accurate and sensory but also fresh. In her short story “Flowering Judas,” Katherine Anne Porter describes Braggioni’s singing voice as a “furry, mournful voice” that takes the high notes “in a prolonged painful squeal.” Often the easiest way to avoid an adjective-based cliché is to free the phrase entirely from its adjective modifier. For example, rather than describing her eyes merely as “hazel,” Emily Dickinson remarked that they were “the color of the sherry the guests leave in the glasses.”

3. Strengthen physical descriptions by making details more specific.

In my earlier “all-points bulletin” example, the description of the father’s hair might be improved with a detail such as “a military buzz-cut, prickly to the touch” or “the aging hippie’s last chance—a long ponytail striated with gray.” Either of these descriptions would paint a stronger picture than the bland phrase brown hair. In the same way, his oxford shirt could become “a white oxford button-down that he’d steam-pleated just minutes before” or “the same style of baby blue oxford he’d worn since prep school, rolled carelessly at the elbows.” These descriptions not only bring forth images, they also suggest the background and the personality of the father.

4. Select physical details carefully, choosing only those that create the strongest, most revealing impression.

One well-chosen physical trait, item of clothing, or idiosyncratic mannerism can reveal character more effectively than a dozen random images. This applies to characters in nonfiction as well as fiction. When I write about my grandmother, I usually focus on her strong, jutting chin—not only because it was her most dominant feature but also because it suggests her stubbornness and determination. When I write about Uncle Leland, I describe the wandering eye that gave him a perpetually distracted look, as if only his body was present. His spirit, it seemed, had already left on some journey he’d glimpsed peripherally, a place the rest of us were unable to see. As you describe real-life characters, zero in on distinguishing characteristics that reveal personality: gnarled, arthritic hands always busy at some task; a habit of covering her mouth each time a giggle rises up; a lopsided swagger as he makes his way to the horse barn; the scent of coconut suntan oil, cigarettes, and leather each time she sashays past your chair.

5. A character’s immediate surroundings can provide the backdrop for the sensory and significant details that shape the description of the character himself.

If your character doesn’t yet have a job, a hobby, a place to live, or a place to wander, you might need to supply these things. Once your character is situated comfortably, he may relax enough to reveal his secrets. On the other hand, you might purposely make your character uncomfortable—that is, put him in an environment where he definitely doesn’t fit, just to see how he’ll respond. Let’s say you’ve written several descriptions of an elderly woman working in the kitchen, yet she hasn’t begun to ripen into the three-dimensional character you know she could become. Try putting her at a gay bar on a Saturday night, or in a tattoo parlor, or (if you’re up for a little time travel) at Appomattox, serving her famous buttermilk biscuits to Grant and Lee.

6. In describing a character’s surroundings, you don’t have to limit yourself to a character’s present life.

Early environments shape fictional characters as well as flesh-and-blood people. In Flaubert’s description of Emma Bovary’s adolescent years in the convent, he foreshadows the woman she will become, a woman who moves through life in a romantic malaise, dreaming of faraway lands and loves. We learn about Madame Bovary through concrete, sensory descriptions of the place that formed her. In addition, Flaubert describes the book that held her attention during mass and the images that she particularly loved—a sick lamb, a pierced heart.

Living among those white-faced women with their rosaries and copper crosses, never getting away from the stuffy schoolroom atmosphere, she gradually succumbed to the mystic languor exhaled by the perfumes of the altar, the coolness of the holy-water fonts and the radiance of the tapers. Instead of following the Mass, she used to gaze at the azure-bordered religious drawings in her book. She loved the sick lamb, the Sacred Heart pierced with sharp arrows, and poor Jesus falling beneath His cross.

7. Characters reveal their inner lives—their preoccupations, values, lifestyles, likes and dislikes, fears and aspirations—by the objects that fill their hands, houses, offices, cars, suitcases, grocery carts, and dreams.

In the opening scenes of the film The Big Chill, we’re introduced to the main characters by watching them unpack the bags they’ve brought for a weekend trip to a mutual friend’s funeral. One character has packed enough pills to stock a drugstore; another has packed a calculator; still another, several packages of condoms. Before a word is spoken—even before we know anyone’s name—we catch glimpses of the characters’ lives through the objects that define them.

What items would your character pack for a weekend away? What would she use for luggage? A leather valise with a gold monogram on the handle? An old accordion case with decals from every theme park she’s visited? A duffel bag? Make a list of everything your character would pack: a “Save the Whales” T-shirt; a white cotton nursing bra, size 36D; a breast pump; a Mickey Mouse alarm clock; a photograph of her husband rocking a child to sleep; a can of Mace; three Hershey bars.

8. Description doesn’t have to be direct to be effective.

Techniques abound for describing a character indirectly, for instance, through the objects that fill her world. Create a grocery list for your character—or two or three, depending on who’s coming for dinner. Show us the character’s credit card bill or the itemized deductions on her income tax forms. Let your character host a garage sale and watch her squirm while neighbors and strangers rifle through her stuff. Which items is she practically giving away? What has she overpriced, secretly hoping no one will buy it? Write your character’s Last Will and Testament. Which niece gets the Steinway? Who gets the lake cottage—the stepson or the daughter? If your main characters are divorcing, how will they divide their assets? Which one will fight hardest to keep the dog?

9. To make characters believable to readers, set them in motion.

The earlier “all-points bulletin” description of the father failed not only because the details were mundane and the prose stilted; it also suffered from lack of movement. To enlarge the description, imagine that same father in a particular setting—not just in the house but also sitting in the brown recliner. Then, because setting implies time as well as place, choose a particular time in which to place him. The time may be bound by the clock (six o’clock, sunrise, early afternoon) or bound only by the father’s personal history (after the divorce, the day he lost his job, two weeks before his sixtieth birthday).

Then set the father in motion. Again, be as specific as possible. “Reading the newspaper” is a start, but it does little more than label a generic activity. In order for readers to enter the fictional dream, the activity must be shown. Often this means breaking a large, generic activity into smaller, more particular parts: “scowling at the Dow Jones averages,” perhaps, or “skimming the used-car ads” or “wiping his ink-stained fingers on the monogrammed handkerchief.” Besides providing visual images for the reader, specific and representative actions also suggest the personality of the character, his habits and desires, and even the emotional life hidden beneath the physical details.

10. Verbs are the foot soldiers of action-based description.

However, we don’t need to confine our use of verbs to the actions a character performs. Well-placed verbs can sharpen almost any physical description of a character. In the following passage from Marilynne Robinson’s novel Housekeeping, verbs enliven the description even when the grandmother isn’t in motion.

… in the last years she continued to settle and began to shrink. Her mouth bowed forward and her brow sloped back, and her skull shone pink and speckled within a mere haze of hair, which hovered about her head like the remembered shape of an altered thing. She looked as if the nimbus of humanity were fading away and she were turning monkey. Tendrils grew from her eyebrows and coarse white hairs sprouted on her lip and chin. When she put on an old dress the bosom hung empty and the hem swept the floor. Old hats fell down over her eyes. Sometimes she put her hand over her mouth and laughed, her eyes closed and her shoulder shaking.

Notice the strong verbs Robinson uses throughout the description. The mouth “bowed” forward; the brow “sloped” back; the hair “hovered,” then “sprouted”; the hem “swept” the floor; hats “fell” down over her eyes. Even when the grandmother’s body is at rest, the description pulses with activity. And when the grandmother finally does move—putting a hand over her mouth, closing her eyes, laughing until her shoulders shake—we visualize her in our mind’s eye because the actions are concrete and specific. They are what the playwright David Mamet calls “actable actions.” Opening a window is an actable action, as is slamming a door. “Coming to terms with himself” or “understanding that he’s been wrong all along” are not actable actions. This distinction between nonactable and actable actions echoes our earlier distinction between showing and telling. For the most part, a character’s movements must be rendered concretely—that is, shown—before the reader can participate in the fictional dream.

Actable actions are important elements in many fiction and nonfiction scenes that include dialogue. In some cases, actions, along with environmental clues, are even more important to character development than the words the characters speak. Writers of effective dialogue include pauses, voice inflections, repetitions, gestures, and other details to suggest the psychological and emotional subtext of a scene. Journalists and other nonfiction writers do the same. Let’s say you’ve just interviewed your cousin about his military service during the Vietnam War. You have a transcript of the interview, based on audio or video recordings, but you also took notes about what else was going on in that room. As you write, include nonverbal clues as well as your cousin’s actual words. When you asked him about his tour of duty, did he look out the window, light another cigarette, and change the subject? Was it a stormy afternoon? What song was playing on the radio? If his ancient dog was asleep on your cousin’s lap, did he stroke the dog as he spoke? When the phone rang, did your cousin ignore it or jump up to answer it, looking relieved for the interruption? Including details such as these will deepen your character description.

11. We don’t always have to use concrete, sensory details to describe our characters, and we aren’t limited to describing actable actions.

The novels of Milan Kundera use little outward description of characters or their actions. Kundera is more concerned with a character’s interior landscape, with what he calls a character’s “existential problem,” than with sensory description of person or action. In The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Tomas’s body is not described at all, since the idea of body does not constitute Tomas’s internal dilemma. Teresa’s body is described in physical, concrete terms (though not with the degree of detail most novelists would employ) only because her body represents one of her existential preoccupations. For Kundera, a novel is more a meditation on ideas and the private world of the mind than a realistic depiction of characters. Reading Kundera, I always feel that I’m living inside the characters rather than watching them move, bodily, through the world.

With writers like Kundera, we learn about characters through the themes and obsessions of their inner lives, their “existential problems” as depicted primarily through dreams, visions, memories, and thoughts. Other writers probe characters’ inner lives through what characters see through their eyes. A writer who describes what a character sees also reveals, in part, a character’s inner drama. In The Madness of a Seduced Woman, Susan Fromberg Schaeffer describes a farm through the eyes of the novel’s main character, Agnes, who has just fallen in love and is anticipating her first sexual encounter, which she simultaneously longs for and fears.

… and I saw how the smooth, white curve of the snow as it lay on the ground was like the curve of a woman’s body, and I saw how the farm was like the body of a woman which lay down under the sun and under the freezing snow and perpetually and relentlessly produced uncountable swarms of living things, all born with mouths open and cries rising from them into the air, long-boned muzzles opening … as if they would swallow the world whole …

Later in the book, when Agnes’s sexual relationship has led to pregnancy, then to a life-threatening abortion, she describes the farm in quite different terms.

It was August, high summer, but there was something definite and curiously insubstantial in the air. … In the fields near me, the cattle were untroubled, their jaws grinding the last of the grass, their large, fat tongues drinking the clear brook water. But there was something in the air, a sad note the weather played upon the instrument of the bone-stretched skin. … In October, the leaves would be off the trees; the fallen leaves would be beaten flat by heavy rains and the first fall of snow. The bony ledges of the earth would begin to show, the earth’s skeleton shedding its unnecessary flesh.

By describing the farm through Agnes’s eyes, Schaeffer not only shows us Agnes’s inner landscape—her ongoing obsession with sex and pregnancy—but also demonstrates a turning point in Agnes’s view of sexuality. In the first passage, which depicts a farm in winter, Agnes sees images of beginnings and births. The earth is curved and full like a woman’s fleshy body. In the second scene, described as occurring in “high summer,” images of death prevail. Agnes’s mind jumps ahead to autumn, to dying leaves and heavy rains, a time when the earth, no longer curved in a womanly shape, is little more than a skeleton, having shed the flesh it no longer needs.

[seriouslyhooked]

False Alarms (A CS AU) Part 2/?

Modern AU where Emma is a Boston police detective and Killian is firefighter. They both get called to a fire in progress but it ends up being a false alarm, however there can be no denying the sparks between them. Includes fluff and my usual attempts at humor as well as a touch of fake-dating and meddling friends. Inspired by the song ‘False Alarm’ by Motoma and Becky Hill. Rated M for future chapters.

Part One ; Also on Fanfiction Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! So this chapter brings us to the gala I hinted at last week. As such it’s going to give us another CS moment and a bit of a confrontation about what exactly is going on between them. Of course there’s also some more Ruby humor, the appearance of Emma’s parents, and some mutual CS pining (because who doesn’t love that?). Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

“Thank you all so much for coming out tonight. I know it’s hardly the easiest thing for most of you to make it here given your hectic schedules, but I can promise you a pleasant evening if you just bear with me a moment.”

The room filled with applause and good humor at the mayor’s words and Emma clapped along even though she saw right through Arthur King. He might have some real ideals underneath it all and a want to change this city for the better, but King was a politician through and through. Emma could read his want for more than a simple mayorship all over him, from the meticulously tailored tux to the carefully chosen wife who appeared adequately doting. Maybe it was wrong of Emma to be this cynical, but she swore she could see in the mayor’s wife’s gaze that any love between the pair of them cooled a long time ago, leaving nothing but political aspirations and public appearances to keep up.

“This city is a place near and dear to every one of us. We all work to see it safe and protected, to see it changing for the better, and moving towards a future we can all defend. But sometimes, we have to put the city aside and shine a light on the good people who make any of our progress and continued stability possible. We are blessed in Boston to have the best of the best in our fire and police departments. You do us all a great service and tonight we honor that.”

“God this guy is laying it on thick. When’s he up for reelection?” Ruby whispered and Emma smiled, loving that she could always depend on her best friend to see things her way.

“November,” Emma confirmed.

“There we go. So we’ve got a solid six more minutes of him verbally making love to us all, AKA six more minutes of waiting to drink this champagne. I did not pregame enough for this.” Emma bit back a laugh at that and looked over at Ruby curiously.

“You pre-gamed for a work function?” Emma asked, not sure if she admired her friend’s boldness or pitied her desperation to not be sober at this gala.

“No, thus my problem. I clearly should have but I didn’t realize this guy was such a windbag.”

Ruby wasn’t wrong in her assertions, and her guess of how long the mayor would go on talking was scarily accurate. Right at the six-minute mark King finally raised his glass up, allowing everyone else to do so before toasting both departments and giving them the freedom to move about the space. It was a relief to not be at attention, and Emma felt herself losing some of the tension in her shoulders even if she would never be fully relaxed here in this room with all these people.

“I still can’t believe you’re wearing red,” Ruby murmured happily and Emma groaned, looking back down at her dress.

The gown was gorgeous to be fair, and bold in both color and cut, but Emma still considered it the enemy. It was too formal and expensive for her to not worry about it, and it also had the added bonus of drawing people’s attention since the moment she walked through the door. What Emma wouldn’t give to be in jeans and a t-shirt or even her work clothes right now, but if she’d shown up in that her mother might have died from shock and then subsequent despair, and they couldn’t have that.

“I still can’t believe I let you convince me to. You know it kind of looks like we’re matching, right? I figured when you said ‘wear red’ you’d lay off it for one night.” Ruby completely ignored Emma’s statement and looked back at the crowd of people, prompting Emma to do the same.

Emma knew she should be used to events like this by now. The excess and the showiness were a part of necessary fundraising and ‘public imaging’ for the city and for its rescue forces, but it just didn’t feel natural. Despite her having been a guest at these things for years, she always felt like she stuck out, and not just because of how different she looked from her normal state. Tonight was also one of the only nights a year when that the BPD and the BFD crossed paths in such a setting, and when that was the case, the talk of her relationship to her parents always flared back up again.

No, Emma. We are not going down that road. They only have the power to make you feel inferior if you give it to them. Screw what everyone thinks.

“If you keep fidgeting like that, people are gonna know you’re uncomfortable and you’ll lose your badass reputation, which means I will lose my badass reputation.”

Ruby’s words pulled an eye roll from Emma instinctively, but she knew her friend was right. Emma needed to get it together and not because of what everyone would think, but for one person in particular. Her mother was moving about the crowd currently, schmoozing and entertaining everyone she met and it would hurt her to see Emma looking so uncomfortable. Mary Margaret Nolan was an exceptional police officer, truly inspiring in so many ways, but she was also built for the top brass. She could charm anyone with that hopeful yet forceful personality of hers and she had such high hopes for Emma to someday walk that same path. Meanwhile Emma doubted she’d ever aspire to such a future. She wanted to make a difference on the ground, not in policy or public affairs as both her parents did.

“Is it really badass to wear four inch heels you can’t run in and a dress so tight your lungs might collapse? I couldn’t even bring my side arm, Ruby. I might as well be naked,” Emma said and Ruby practically cackled she was laughing so hard. People began looking over in their direction and many gazes lingered on the two of them once they made their way here, which made Emma tenser.

“Yes, Emma. Dressing to kill is the definition of badass, and you will see that as soon as we get a little booze in you. Come on. I know a guy.”

Ruby pulled Emma with her from the swarms of people in the ballroom to the bar and saddled up to it with complete control. Emma had seen this routine a million times before from her friend and it always ended in Ruby getting exactly what she wanted. Ruby flashed a warm, inviting smile to the slight, middle-aged bartender who looked a little shell shocked and then made her needs known in a friendly, borderline flirtatious manner.

“Hey Archie. I need you to hook me up with the best champagne you guys have got. Whatever the mayor’s having. None of that normal stuff they give us commoners,” Ruby’s words pulled a small smile from the man she offered them to.

“There is nothing common about you Detective,” the man offered in a sheepish tone, but Emma gave him kudos for saying anything at all. He didn’t seem brave enough for it by the looks of him, but awkward or not he managed and Emma had definitely watched men crash and burn harder with Ruby plenty of times.

“So you’ll do it?” Ruby asked and Archie pushed his glasses further up his face before nodding and giving them a signal that he needed a moment.

“You are so bad, you know that?” Emma asked when the man moved down the bar and Ruby looked stricken.

“Who me? I’m just giving the man a little spice in his life tonight, Emma. Now he gets to tell people he flirted with the best looking woman in the city.” The hyperbolic words immediately prompted a laugh from Emma. Ruby wasn’t actually so full of herself, but she did know her worth, which was a critical character trait to be a woman in their line of work and climb the ladder of success.

“So if Graham asks again about the competition I shouldn’t mention this guy?” Emma rebutted.

“Hardly. Besides, Graham is not happening.” Ruby was totally full of shit to the point where she could barely keep a straight face.

“I think the gifts he sent to you at the station all week tell a different story,” Emma pointed out as Archie handed them their flutes and Ruby thanked him sweetly before leaving him once and for all.

“What would say something is Graham getting off his ass and making a real move. I mean I like chocolate as much as the next girl, but I like sex more.” Ruby’s cavalier phrasing had Emma almost choking on her drink, but she kept it together in the end.

“Jesus Ruby. You could at least have the decency to lower your voice,” Emma claimed, looking around the room to make sure no one had caught that.

“What? It’s true,” Ruby said earnestly.

“I would ask what ‘it’ is, but I take it by the look on my daughter’s face that you’ve thoroughly scandalized her.” Emma closed her eyes for a second, willing herself to keep her cool with her mother here now before turning to face her.

“Just doing my job, Ma’am,” Ruby said with a grin and Mary Margaret smiled in return before looking to Emma with a happy expression and misty eyes.

“Emma, honey, you look so beautiful tonight.”

Immediately some of Emma’s tension about the evening dissipated. Her mom was a certifiable legend in this department with the decorations and amazing case record to match. She was the picture of strength and proof that a woman was just as capable of being a hero and donning this uniform as any man, but Mary Margaret Nolan always allowed herself to be vulnerable, especially with her daughter. Those happy tears and the look of pride were frequently apparent in Emma’s life, and they were a balm of sorts for so many of the insecurities Emma had grown up with and started her career in law enforcement carrying. Even now that Emma was older and wiser, that look of love from her mom was a powerful thing.

“Thanks, Mom. Did you lose Dad already?” Emma asked as she accepted her mother’s hug.

“Not likely. You know your father. He’s always got an eye on things. I’m actually surprised that he’s not here right now. I don’t usually make it this long in a conversation without him turning up.”

Emma grinned at that, knowing it was true. Her parents might be independent people with their own careers and interests, but the love between them was strong. Even all these years later Emma believed they had as much passion and pull to each other as they always had. It was a beautiful thing for sure, but it also made everything that much harder for Emma. Knowing love like that existed meant comparing each relationship in her life to an impossible standard. Lightening never struck twice, and her family had probably already used up its true love quota by now.

“Looks like he got cornered, poor thing,” Ruby said and all three women looked over to see her father appearing painfully bored beside Arthur King. The mayor was chattering away happily and Emma’s father was staring their way, clearly wanting to be with his family and not his new boss.

“Oh David. I better go rescue him. Emma, you know the rule. Make sure to come say goodbye to your father and I before you go…”

“Or next time I have to make the rounds with you. Got it Mom,” Emma replied evenly. Mary Margaret smiled warmly and took Emma’s hand in hers squeezing it lightly before looking back at Ruby.

“I’m assuming I can trust you to help Emma have some fun, right Ruby?” Emma stifled an eye roll at the planning going on around her like she wasn’t even here.

“Not exactly an easy task, but I think we’ll manage,” Ruby offered jovially and Mary Margaret smiled once more before making her escape to go and save her husband. “Alright. Now that we’ve got the necessary parental check-in out of the way, I say we do a little damage. She practically begged us to after all.”

“And how exactly do you propose we go that?” Emma asked, partially intrigued and partially terrified as she finished her glass of champagne.

“We’ve got two options – swarm the waiters bringing the food out and steal all the shrimp cocktail for ourselves…” Ruby sounded almost wistful at the prospect and Emma laughed genuinely at her friends’ constant need for food.

“Or…?” Ruby looked disappointed for only a second before her eyes lit up with amusement and a wicked sense of plotting. Oh crap. Emma knew that look and where it turned up, trouble usually followed. She definitely should have chosen the shrimp idea.

“You know the sixty-first are here tonight, right?” Ruby asked and Emma felt her tummy flutter at the mention of the specific department. She played it cool though, not wanting her friend to have any more fodder for the teasing she’d been dishing out ever since they ran into that false alarm last week.

“Oh? I didn’t realize it was their year.”

“Bull shit! There’s no way your Dad didn’t mention it at your family dinner Tuesday, but I’ll let that slide. You know what them being here means, don’t you?” Ruby asked as her eyes scanned through the crowd. Emma felt her nerves flaring more with every second that past.

“That you can finally put Graham out of his misery and give him the time of day?”

“Maybe. But I was thinking more along the lines of you finding Sergeant Sexy and telling him how you’ve been day dreaming about him all week.”

The reference to Sergeant Killian Jones sent that same thrill and surge of butterflies through Emma that it had every time Ruby teased her this past week, but on the outside Emma was stony and gave absolutely nothing away. She had perfected her poker face by now, but she had to admit even the mention of Killian tested its strength. After all, Ruby was right. Her mind had been problematically prone to wandering towards him this week, and in both down time and in the field she’d found her still largely mysterious foreign acquaintance popping into her thoughts more than he should.

“Now you’ve really lost it,” Emma tossed back, still attempting to sound unaffected.

“Have I? So if you saw him tonight you’re telling me there’d be no spark. Everything I saw on the fire escape was just a one time thing?”

No it definitely was not. Emma had no doubt in her mind that if she did see Killian again she’d feel that same zing of awareness and rush of adrenaline, but that didn’t mean she was willing to air that out to anyone. Actually, she was rather excited to just avoid it forever and pretend it never happened rather than opening herself up to something between them only for him to pull back. And he would pull back. As soon as Killian drew the connection between her and her father he’d be nothing but professional and polite and the idea of that made her heart ache in an unfamiliar way.

“All you saw on the fire escape was two people who were working the same case. It’s that simple.”

Ruby’s eyes immediately moved from watching Emma lie to glancing at the ceiling with a feigned level of concern. It caused Emma to furrow her brow and ask what her friend was doing.

“I’m waiting for the smite from God because that was a hell of a lie, Emma. Really a doozy.”

“Screw you,” Emma shot back and Ruby laughed again before her eyes stopped on something in the crowd and her smile grew.

“I won’t, but he totally will. Damn, Sergeant Sexy cleans up nice.”

Emma’s heart thumped loudly in her chest and she felt the butterflies in her stomach spiraling a bit, but she was almost helpless in what came next. Her head turned of its own volition and when her gaze caught on Killian across the way, she felt his appreciative look down to her core. The heat in his gaze was undeniable, and even at a distance Emma found herself flushing with the unspoken promises that his look held. She wanted to linger in this interlude forever and then step forward to him and beg for more, but she was caught where she was, just waiting for something – anything – to happen.

“Whew. We are very lucky this place is filled with firefighters because you two are going to burn this place down with all that chemistry. Yikes!” Ruby professed, the teasing in her voice more than evident.

Emma pulled her eyes from Killian (though it was surprisingly hard to do so) and she searched for a weapon of her own. She didn’t have to look far, because right at that moment Graham was approaching them from the other side of the room. And the best part was Ruby had no idea so she could be the one all flustered and full of jumbled nerves for once. Ruby definitely deserved it too after all the jokes she’d tossed Emma’s way all week.

“Detective Lucas,” Graham said when he arrived and Emma bit back a laugh when Ruby actually startled. It was an almost impossible feat to sneak up on Ruby but Graham had done it and now he was about to show her why making him wait might not have been the best idea.

“Shit! I mean… hey Lieutenant. Enjoying your evening?” Ruby asked in a tone of voice that wasn’t as controlled as she wanted.

“I will be once you dance with me.”

“Oh – uh – well I -,”

This was too rich. A stuttering Ruby - who knew that was even possible? Definitely not Emma, and she watched as the surprise and yearning on her friend’s face grew more pronounced when Graham took her hand in his and silenced Ruby’s mutterings completely.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Emma.” Graham didn’t so much as look her way but he nodded his acknowledgement of her being there while keeping his eyes trained on Ruby. Then he brought Ruby to the dance floor leaving Emma behind and still reveling in the turned tables.

Emma watched them go and couldn’t help but love this. It felt like the sweetest of victories after the almost constant torment from Ruby over Emma’s interaction with Killian that the past few days had brought. But the satisfied ‘I told you so’ feeling gave way to a shiver of anticipation after only a moment when a familiar voice addressed Emma from behind.

“We meet again, love,” Killian said, and though his words were low Emma could have sworn they drowned out ever other sound in the ballroom. She hesitated only a moment before turning to him, trying to get her bearings, but she wasn’t ready to see him like this.

Up close he was even more attractive, and though Emma knew she’d always have a soft spot for the way he’d looked in his gear the other day, this look easily rivaled it in the hotness department. A well-fitted suit was usually a boost to any man, but with one so handsome as Killian it was frankly unfair. He looked clean cut in his official blues yet still a bit like a bad boy with a swagger no guy should be allowed to wield, and Emma found it hard not to let her gaze linger on the way the lines of the suit highlighted the body she’d already noticed before. Not that his face was any easier to take in without giving herself away, but damn it she had to try.

“Sergeant Jones,” she replied, hearing the gravel that had set in her voice that wasn’t there mere moments ago.

“Killian, please.” The sincere request falling from Killian’s lips made Emma’s mind spin that much faster, but she clutched at something to say that would hopefully move her past this haze of inopportune attraction.

“Are you settling in alright at the sixty-first, Killian?” Emma asked, purposefully emphasizing his name. She didn’t expect the flash of fire that seemed to burn in his blue eyes when she said it, but it only stoked the sense of wanting more in her when it appeared.

“Aye. It’s a good house in a passionate city. I’ve yet to see anything in my travels that I haven’t appreciated. Some things more than others.” Emma felt like he was alluding to the moment that they met with the way he looked at her so intently, but before she could ask him directly, he pivoted. “But forgive me, I didn’t make my way here to bore you with the details of my assimilation.”

Emma felt a frown coming on. She wouldn’t be bored to hear about his week. Actually she found herself wanting to know more about Killian and whether he was liking it here. Then she saw the change in his expression and she realized that whatever he was after was no doubt more important than a rundown of his last few weeks.

“So why did you?”

“To tell you that you cut quite the figure in that dress, and to ask you to make me the envy of every man in this room and dance with me.”  

Well shit. When he put it like that…

…………….

God she’s lovely.

The word didn’t do Emma justice in this moment or in any moment really. Killian knew from the first time that fate brought them together that Emma was the most beautiful woman he had ever met, but standing here looking nothing short of magnificent in a red dress, with those golden curls of hers pinned back but lose around her face, she was something else entirely. He’d had his eyes on her since the moment she walked in the door, and for the first twenty minutes or so Killian had to fight to keep himself in check. It took everything in him not to cross the floor to her immediately, but he waited, watching to make sure that no one bothered her, or worse, asked her to dance when he had ideas of keeping him all to himself tonight.

Now he was waiting again, having just asked her to dance and the few seconds it took for Emma to respond to him were raddled with a whole host of emotions for Killian. The guiding one was a lack of patience. He felt strung out already from the sheer amount of waiting he’d done up to this point. All week he had Emma on the brain and he’d been debating seeking her out before now, but he reasoned that with a woman like Emma, the key was playing the long game. He couldn’t rush her into anything for risk of scaring her off, and the idea of Emma ever truly running from him hurt worse than the days he’d gone without so much as a word or glance of her.

Even his proposal just now had been a risk. It was a bold statement and hardly guarded in his intentions, but there was a need from deep in Killian’s soul to be completely honest with Emma. She deserved nothing less than the truth, and he could also sense that she valued honesty above all else. Those knowing eyes of hers spoke to an unwillingness to face deception, and her vigilance hinted at her having been hurt before. Killian wanted nothing to do with injuring Emma in any way. In fact he wanted quite the opposite, and he believed he might begin to proctor that with a dance, if only she would say…

“Yes.”

Her one word reply changed everything. One moment Killian had been wrapped up in the chance that Emma might say no, and the next he was elated, reaching for her hand and finding that same thrum of need jumping to the surface when their fingers met. It was a bloody miracle honestly that he even managed to decipher where the dance floor was once they touched, but through some higher power he got them there and then pulled Emma further into his arms for the dance he’d been dreaming of all evening.

Fantasy in no way matched the real thing, however, and as he held Emma closer to him, Killian marveled at his stroke of good fortune. Emma was sublime, a taste of heaven itself, and there was no thought in his mind about who her family was or what the word around the firehouse was when she was in his arms. All that he had room for in his life in this moment was Emma, and he tried to find words to keep her engaged when she surprised him with her own comment.

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Emma murmured, stoking that tiny bit of anxiety inside of him.

“Regretting your choice already, love?” Killian felt his breath catch at the possibility but the small smile and the shake of her head that followed put him back at ease.

“No I just don’t really dance. Honestly I didn’t think I could.”

That claim perplexed him greatly, for as far as Killian was concerned, Emma was the single best dance partner he’d ever had. She was light on her feet, swaying in perfect time to the band that was playing before them, and she was just close enough to tantalize him into a state of near frenzy, while being far enough away to keep things appropriate for their surroundings. Had she not been leading the charge on that part in particular, Killian didn’t know how far he’d go. This moment felt like everything and yet only the barest taste of what they could have given the chance.

“Seems to me you’re a natural,” Killian countered and Emma’s smile grew.

“Or maybe I just have a good partner,” she teased lightly and Killian felt pride flood his chest.

“I’ll take all the compliments I can get. They’ll be useful later when I try and convince you to have a drink with me.”

A flash of wanting moved across her expression but it was quickly covered up in a show of guardedness. Killian felt Emma give a little sigh that spoke to disappointment. He wanted to know what could have possibly brought those walls of hers back up. Had he said something? Had the invitation for a drink been too much too soon? Whatever it was, Killian would fix it. He could learn what he’d bungled up and make up for it, if only Emma gave him the chance.

“Let’s just stick with the dance for now.”

The thought of ending this with just a dance cut Killian more than he could say. He might not know Emma very well at this point, but he felt absolutely certain that he was meant to. She was important, different, a bright spot in a world that for him had been largely filled with sameness, and he didn’t want to turn away from that light now that he’d found it.

“Is this your way letting me down easy and kindly telling me you’re not interested?”

A less enthusiastic man would have let Emma’s statement stand without asking for more information, but Killian was in this too deep to just let it be. If Emma truly didn’t want him he’d accept that, but the signs to now had pointed to her being interested and if there was even a chance that she could care for him as he had started to already care for her then he wanted to seek that out.

“No I just – there’s some things about me that I don’t think you realize.”

“Things?” he asked, looking for some more clarity and Emma looked away, taking the comfort those green pools in her eyes brought him every time they were cast his way.

“It’s complicated.” Emma’s voice was filled with a sadness and a level of resignation that made him hurt for her. Killian hated seeing Emma in a state of defeat, and he wracked his brain about what could cause walls like these.

“Is this about your parents?” he asked and her eyes immediately flew back to his.

“You know?!” Emma replied, clearly astounded.

“I do, but I fail to see how they should impede us if you feel as I do.”

“And how do you feel?” Emma asked, her voice barely a whisper, her walls slipping lower as she did whether she realized it or not. Killian’s hand that was at the small of her back ran lightly against the material of her dress, provoking a shiver he felt coursing through her body.

“Like walking away simply isn’t an option, love. There’s something here, at least on my end.”

This was another risk for Killian, confessing his desire for more between them and the intensity of his feelings this early in the game, but the pay off was exceptional when Emma’s smile returned and she leaned a little closer to him. In that moment Killian knew he was addicted to this, to bringing Emma any kind of happiness. It felt as remarkable as successfully navigating a fire. Like getting every man and woman out of a hazardous building and then getting his brothers and sisters in uniform home safe after a bitter battle with the flames. It was hope incarnate and Killian found himself swearing then and there that he’d do whatever it took to give Emma causes to smile just like that as long as he could.

“I-,” Emma’s words died away as the rapid click click click of a camera went off beside them and both Killian and Emma turned to the perpetrator now focusing his lens on them.

“Oh shoot. I didn’t mean to interrupt you two. Just ignore me.” Killian gritted his teeth.

“We’d be glad to, once you turn around and find another subject.”

The man with the camera paled slightly and then shook it away, mumbling that he already had a great shot before scurrying away. Killian had a second of worrying that he’d been too gruff until Emma’s throaty chuckle sounded to his ears and he looked back at her and her smile that had reappeared so easily.

“Not bad. Did you ever consider being police? You’ve got the bad cop routine down pat.”

“I think I’ll stick with where I am, love,” Killian said and Emma’s smile turned sultry.

The air between them thickened and Killian felt a need to hear Emma’s next words and know the thought behind those emerald eyes. Did she know that he was speaking not only of his job, but of his vicinity to her as well? She must, for her expression right now said a thousand words without uttering a sound.

“Mind if I cut in, Jones?” The statement from beside them made Emma jump but Killian stood his ground as he saw the man who’d asked was none other than Chief Nolan.

Killian had met his district commander once before and the interaction had been nothing but pleasant. David Nolan was known for his tenacity and his dedication to this force above almost all else. A decorated officer who rose through the ranks organically, Chief Nolan was beloved by most every man and woman in the BFD. He was known for being fair and just and for looking out for each one of his team across the city, but right now the kind collectedness Killian recalled was nowhere to be seen. Chief Nolan’s mouth was set in a hard line and he bordered on glaring at Killian.

“Not at all, sir,” Killian said easily as he stepped back from Emma and met her gaze. “Thank you for the dance, Detective.”

“See you around?” Emma asked just as Killian was about to leave and the hope that simple request prompted was profound. It told him that Emma wanted another moment like this, hopefully one that wouldn’t be so easily interrupted. Killian nodded at her and then more seriously at her father before retreating while he still could.

It didn’t escape Killian’s notice on the way to the bar that there were more eyes than usual on him as he cut through the crowd. As a new member of the fire force with a notable title, stares were to be expected, but this was something vastly different than anything Killian had faced before. By the time he reached the bar, ordered a drink, and the bartender placed the glass of rum in front of him, Killian counted more than a dozen nosy neighbors no doubt wondering at his dance with Emma. Let them all wonder though. What he and Emma had shared was none of their bloody business.

A low whistle from behind him alerted Killian to Will’s arrival before the man so much as said a word and Killian geared up for some sort of commentary. It would be expecting too much of Scarlet to ask the man to keep his thoughts to himself, and in the end Killian didn’t mind setting the record straight with Will. There was a difference between speaking to a friend and pleading his case to a bunch of total strangers.

“You might just be the ballsiest bloke on the whole effing squad, mate. What the hell were you thinking?!” Will’s words were coupled with a slight shove to Killian’s arm.

“I was thinking it’s none of your business,” Killian grumbled, shooting back the rest of his drink and waving at the bartender for another.

“You made it the whole house’s business when you bee-lined for the District Chief’s daughter after damn well staring at her all night.” Killian had to give him that.

“Fine. You want to know what I was thinking?” Killian asked turning to Will, ready to give him the truth straight.

“That’s why I asked, ain’t it?” Will replied without even a hint of fear in the face of Killian’s brusqueness.

“I was thinking for once I’d met someone who means something. I was thinking there’s suddenly the possibility for more than just fighting fires in my life. I was thinking Emma’s different, and so I don’t give a damn who her parents are. Happy?”

Silence from Will passed a moment too long for Killian’s liking and he turned back to his friend who had a ridiculous smile on his face. Killian was sure he’d be getting shit about that confession for a while, but he meant every word of it, and he wasn’t going to deny the way he felt about Emma to anyone for anything.

“You have got it bad, mate, and trust me I get it. She’s pretty enough and smart as a whip, but you know it won’t be easy right? You’re in uncharted terrain with this one and the going is dangerous.”

That was an understatement if ever Killian heard one, and it wasn’t just because of her parents. Emma was guarded, her heart hidden under layers and layers that he’d have to ease away, and that challenge would be a formidable one. Proving himself worthy of her trust and convincing her to give him a chance would likely be an uphill battle. That would have been difficult on its own, but throw in the pull her father had on Killian’s career and the clear fact that David Nolan didn’t appreciate any man making a move on his daughter, and Killian had his work cut out for him.

“She’s worth it,” Killian offered finally, sure in his decision.

“Well all right then,” Will said, leaving Killian to balk at the laid back acceptance.

“That’s it? No cautionary tales about how badly this could blow up in my face? No more remarks about the house and the wrath of the higher-ups?” Killian asked.

“Would it make any difference?” his friend countered.

“Not in the slightest,” Killian answered honestly.

“Then no. You’re a grown man. You can make heads or tails of this mess on your own. No need for me to tell you what’s at stake.” Will slapped Killian’s shoulder in a sort of wordless sendoff and turned to go before looking back and offering one last thing. “Oh and Killian?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck. I hope it works out in the end.”

Killian accepted that and knew that Will was right. If he was to have a chance of making Emma his (and tonight’s dalliance had cemented that that was exactly what he wanted), then he would need all the luck he could get, and the acceptance of one amazing woman who currently held all the cards in her hands whether she knew it or not.

Post-Note: So there we have it. Next chapter will begin that bit of fake-dating I hinted at, but for this chapter I thought a dance and a conversation about Emma and Killian both seeing some sort of future between them was enough to hold me over. I want to thank all of you who reviewed and messaged me about your excitement for this story. I hope you all continue to enjoy and thanks for reading!

[btsbloodtearssquees]

Outskirts: Part Two

~ Requested

1 2 3 4

The confinement of a castle encourages hostility between an aspiring young scholar and heir to the throne… Prince Seokjin…

The dead leaves crunched underneath your feet as you briskly walked along the woodlands path. It was somewhat misty this morning but you felt it gave you more of an aura of secrecy. No one else would be walking this path this early, and so you were careless with how you walked. You hadn't bothered to tie up your hair. Excitedly you pondered over the new information that you had discovered yesterday. It seemed that it had some extra clues as to what happened during the Tornado Era; a time that major scholars still hadn't managed to form a clear account about. There was an extract about a young lady which you had read which had described her life as very mundane and restricted… “Oh Lord… I can't even ride out here without you getting in my way!” Jumping out of your thoughts, you looked up at the prince on his horse and sighed in frustration. You had thought you would be alone… Seokjin likewise sighed before giving you a long and hard look. “What are doing out here at this time, anyway?” “Same reason you are, I suppose. Trying to have some quiet before anyone else is awake.” You began walking further down the trail; groaning inwardly as he spun his horse around to walk alongside. “So you really are just on an innocent meander?” Your teeth clenched. Could he not leave you alone? “If leaving the castle unattended is a crime, then no - I am not innocent.” Seokjin considered you carefully, his posture perfectly straight on the horse. You couldn't resist a couple of peeks at how he rode - mentally storing the images up for when you had your next lesson. “I don't know why I even bother with you. Every time I think about it properly, I'm amazed at how rude you are to me. It's quite - brave, actually. Stupid. Stupid and brave.” “Wow…” you glanced up at him in mock awe. “That was beautiful, I didn't know you wrote poetry.” “Control yourself, woman. You really have no right to speak to me so familiar.” Gawking up at him for a moment, you eventually tossed your head in annoyance and spun around to go back to the castle. If he would allow you no peace… It was hardly surprising but no less annoying when he once again copied your direction. “And he follows.” “May I remind you that this was my intended direction in the first place?” “You may not.” He once again huffed, giving you the impression of a spoilt twelve year old, but said no more. It was almost a peaceful few minutes walking along through the trees, although his presence definitely produced a bitter air.  “Maybe I misjudged you a little.” You glanced up at the prince in genuine surprise. The child was actually giving you an apology? “I read through some of your notes and your ideas - they’re really very good.” “You what?!” “Read through some of your notes,” he waved his hands dismissively. “You left them open to the public so I figured you wanted everyone to admire the hard work.” “I most certainly did not!” You shrieked. “It’s all personal until I’ve collated my thoughts together logically!” “Well it made sense to me.” Angry shock pounded through your veins. This man was horrendous, this man took what he wanted and gave nothing back. This man was a - he was - “You pig!” You shouted at him. “You had no right to do that!” His horse halted as he stared at you in plain shock. No one had ever so forthrightly insulted him as you just had in a single breath.  “What did you just call me?” You pulled up short a little; realising the lack of control you were now facing but too out of sorts to deal with it. He had read your personal notes? Humiliation crawled up your spine. No one was ever supposed to read those. “I can’t believe you read them!” “No no no, that’s not what you said. I require you to repeat what you just said to me.” You turned away from him in embarrassment and subtly wiped at your eyes.  “Are you - crying?” “No!” You spat in defense, trying to hurry away from him again. He stayed back in astonishment before pushing his horse forward and riding awkwardly along. “But… it was just scholarly notes. I don’t understand why you’re so upset.” “Because it’s private! They’re horrible. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m an idiot.” “I don’t,” Seokjin announced in his terribly proud accent.  You wiped at your eyes again and sniffed, feeling foolish.  “If it’s so important to you then you should not leave it lying around for everyone.” “I thought it would be common sense to avoid reading material left inside one’s study cubicle.” Seokjin cleared his throat, annoyed and embarrassed. “Well I -” “Please don’t speak to me anymore, your highness.” He sat back in his saddle in dissatisfaction.

--------------------------------- “Lady Arabella from Matherton.” You curtseyed politely along with the rest of the room and glanced over to see Prince Seokjin’s reaction. He had apparently lost the argument with his father as he stood before his potential bride-to-be. You smirked. “How do you do?” The greeting quickly grew tedious as you stood witnessing the courting couple’s introduction to each other. Who cared? You didn’t know the girl and what you did know of the prince… you wish you didn’t. “Would you like to take a seat?” He offered to her. So unnaturally polite… Half an hour later you were quite certain that Prince Seokjin was going to be driven mad by this airhead. She was gorgeously beautiful but didn’t appear to possess a single brain cell. You could see his jaw getting tight and found yourself smug, despite having stood for the last little while. Finally, finally you were released from your duty of standing and returned eagerly to your studies. It was a week of watching the couple’s interactions later that you sat alone on one of the castle’s many garden seats. The situation had mostly produced amusement for you and kept the prince preoccupied and out of your way, and therefore had proven quite beneficial. It was a shame that he wasn’t the one to move away rather than her coming here. When the prince found an escape from his less than stimulating fiancee, it was ironic that he returned to you. “Couldn’t take it anymore, then?” He grunted as he sat down beside you and leant his head in his hands without bothering with the usual respectivities. “Any way to have her situated on the opposite side of the castle?” Seokjin groaned properly this time; seeming to accept you as a suitable vent confidant. “She’s horrendous! How am I expected to prance around with her? I can feel my own intelligence draining each second I’m trapped within her presence.” You smiled and nodded in agreement. “Perhaps the King is intending to thicken you up so that you won’t produce your own ideas in politics.” “I’m beginning to think so… why else would he land me with such a dooze?” “False advertising at a drunk party?” Seokjin actually properly laughed; the sound of it surprising you. It was the type of laugh that would make everyone else around feel the need to laugh also. “Not too far from the truth, I suspect. Father’s always been brash.” You allowed him to sit beside you in his thoughts while simply enjoying the garden scenery yourself. His presence wasn’t bothering you so much, although you wondered why he had chosen to sit by you again. “How are your studies going?” His question brought you up short again, still shocked that he could possess any human qualities such as consideration and interest in others after his previous displays. “They are fine, thank you. It is a slow process.” “Is anyone helping you with your efforts?” “Why no, it is a solo project, your highness.” “But it is such a big one. Surely you would need assistance!” “No body else as yet have found it worth pursuing.” He made a tsh sound with his tongue before looking at you with curious eyes. “Why were you attracted to it, then?” Your mouth opened with the response but you couldn’t quite produce the words. This change in the prince was off-putting and… and… You narrowed your eyes and turned away as you remembered just how he had known about your project. Seokjin looked away from you in disappointment; cheeks burning against your silence. He had hoped that you had forgotten. “I’m really sorry about reading your notes. It wasn’t my right to do that, I know and knew at the time. When I picked them up I was thinking it was a way of showing you what it felt like for me to have strangers wandering through my house and poking their nose into my life, but then I genuinely became interested in your work and it all seemed petty. My ill-reaction the other day was from pride, and I beg your forgiveness for it.” You sat in astonishment over his apology, wondering at the inspiration behind the change in this man. Had the prince really just apologised to you? “I’ll go now,” he said in a small voice when you never replied. “Thank you.” He froze as he stood up before turning it into a brief bow and walking away. Not before you didn’t catch the smile, however. ---------------------------------- “Father’s off at war and we’re all exhausted working to feed the young un’s…” you muttered, mumbling through the new files. War. Poverty. Overpopulation. It seemed that you were on to some big leads here. Very big leads. “You look like a madman scribbling away in that manner.” You jumped and dropped your pen, looking up into the bent down and smiling figure of Prince Seokjin. Smoothing out your skirts in a mild attempt to regain dignity, you picked up your pen again and re-dipped it in the ink to continue writing. “I believe the correct phrase would be ‘madwoman’.” You felt him grin to the side of you and then take the adjacent seat. “What’s it like having a project that is solely in your charge?” “Exhausting, tedious, long…” you made a point of looking at him, “frustrating.” He rolled his eyes and glowered at you as you went back to your studies. He really didn’t like to leave you alone, did he? “I can’t imagine how such an emotive person could have the endurance with such a task.” “Hmm. The same way I’ve endured you, I suppose.” He frowned again. “Your quips are not as clever as you make them sound. One would wonder at you being a scholar.” “And yet, you are here with me admiring my work instead of conversing with your highly stimulating fiancee.” Seokjin opened his mouth in dumbfounded silence. “Your highness!!” You both glanced up as a breathless messenger entered the room. He gasped in some more air before stopping beside the table. “Your highness, the King would like to speak with you urgently.” Seokjin looked at you briefly before rising out of his chair and following after the messenger. You wondered if the King had been left with his son’s fiancee for a few hours and now needed to hear an intelligent voice… -------------------- “Seokjin, this is important, you must marry her in this coming week. Otherwise the wedding will just be an interference.” “Interference? With what? Collecting her city’s gold?” The King grumbled loudly, fed up with his son’s misbehaviour. “These are serious matters. Our country is nearly bankrupt. We need the alliance so that we can gather the funds to establish a war and win more.” “War? You never talked about this…” “It is vital. We didn’t have time to hear your opinion.” “We? You all went behind my back?” “Just do as you’re bloody told for once, Seokjin!” “I can’t believe this,” the prince muttered as he took a seat. “You’re keeping me out of authority. You’ve been playing me!” “Son…” “No. No!” Seokjin stood up, veins in his neck showing with the anger that he felt. “You’ve been treating me like a child for too long. I will not be a pawn on your chessboard any longer, father. Consider the wedding cancelled.” “Seokjin! That is not your decision!” “But it is.” His fists curled as he restrained the urge to knock his father out. “By law, it is. Find the funds on your own, father.” He slammed the door to the king’s shouts. ------------------------------- :o Um, hi? Yes, I still exist! It took me half a century to post the next part... Not because I wasn’t thinking about it but I’ve been pretty tied up and when I finally had a breather to myself, it was vvery difficult to gather up the will power to write :P. But here you are, hopefully it’s still enjoyable! Final part will be up soon! - Dolceice