#mine sort of struggles with defining himself;; how much left of him could be seen as human? can he still call himself one?

[darabeatha]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ❝ Y' got room for one more ? ❞

[oitommothetease]

Invisible String (13/15)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 2.2k words

Warning : angst, violence, sad reader, sad Bucky, shitty Rumlow, maybe Steve isn’t that bad, the doughnuts are back from chapter 11, did I mention angst?, angst, more angst

Everything was dark, you noticed. When you slowly returned to consciousness, you half expected to be in your bed with Bucky tangled beside you, just like in your dreams. He fit so perfectly in your bed — your life and you, as if he was a part of you, and you weren't sure where he ended and where you began. 

But when you moved to stretch your aching limbs, they moved a few inches before halting by some sort of restriction. Instantly, the bubble of your dreams burst, and everything came to your mind, and you abruptly looked around to find him. Bucky was still unconscious — tied to a chair, but instead of rope like yours, he was tied down with manacles. He had restraints on his wrists and ankles. You were sort of offended that they didn’t think you were strong enough to be captured like him. Not that you wanted those manacles anywhere near your body, but you preferred not to be treated as if you were meek.

What could be worse than getting kidnapped? It's definitely getting rekidnapped with the person who came to rescue you. Clint lied, he was working with Rumlow. His source was nothing but an ambush for Bucky. There were more than 4 of Rumlow’s men in the warehouse. Clint lied so that Bucky would come under prepared and he fell right into the trap.  

Earlier, it was just you in a room alone, but now it was you and Bucky in a dingy cell-like room with a closed door. He was still knocked out when the man known as Rumlow walked in. You recalled him from the time he came to the club, and you wanted nothing more than to run towards the safe embrace of your lover. 

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Rumlow’s steps halted when he was near your tied form. His hand came for your cheek and naturally, you recoiled away. Your rejection didn’t deter him, it only fueled his fury more as he held your chin tightly in his other hand and made you look at him. You attempted to get out of his grasp, which only angered him more, and he struck his hand to your face. It ached so much and it was so loud that it jolted Bucky up. 

“Will you look at that,” Rumlow mocked, pushing your face away from his hold. “Lover boy can feel her pain.”

It took a second for Bucky to drink in the sight and commemorate everything. Once everything came back to him, he looked at you deplorably, his eyes filled with concern and guilt as he saw the blood dripping down your face.

“Get away from her, Rumlow!” Bucky seethed when his gaze was back at the man who hurt you. Despite the warning, Rumlow moved more towards you. One hand running his knuckles on your face in an attempt to be soothing, while the other held your chin in a painful grip.

“Why do you get to keep such a pretty thing all to yourself?” Rumlow asked rhetorically. “I should get a taste too.”

Before Bucky could try to do something, a knock on the door attracted everyone’s attention. Clint came in with a look of victory on his face.

“You betraying son of a bitch,” you hissed. Unlike Bucky, you didn’t have much self-restraint or any wise escape plan cooking in your head. “Why the fuck did you do it?”

“You’re new, sweetheart,” Clint pointed out, his tone condescending. “You don't know how it works.” 

“What I know is that your wife is friends with Wanda's girlfriend,” you retorted back immediately. You were tired of being seen as weak. ”How will she feel when she finds out that you betrayed Bucky?”

A look of uncertainty came over Clint's face and you continued, “I might be new, sweetheart, but I’m not dumb.”

When Clint was astounded, Rumlow spoke up,” Ah, the power of pillow talk. You are one feisty little bitch. What else did he tell you? Did he tell you that his work is not illegal and he sells weapons to the government?”

You looked at Bucky, hoping that the man you knew and loved was nothing like this monster who assaulted you. Rumlow continued, “Barnes, Rogers and I started this whole a business together. They enjoyed the money that was brought in with our illegal escapade. He enjoyed girls like you every day. Until one day, the childhood buddies decided it was time to go clean. And they just left us in pursuit of some dream life.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you just looked over at Bucky who was staring at the floor as if waiting for it to open and swallow him whole. Was he ashamed of his past? Did he think that his past would make you love him any less? If he did, then he was highly mistaken because now you didn't see James as your arrogant boss. Now you saw a young boy who made some questionable choices and, to make a better life for himself and his family, he changed his direction. Now you saw a reckless boy who did stupid shit in his past like everyone in the world and instead of letting it define him, he made a better life for himself. Now you saw a hardworking boy who worked his ass off to build an empire for himself and his loved ones. All of these versions of him existed before you, but you only saw one — the one that mattered to you at least, you just saw the love of your life, your Bucky.

The universe might have listened to your pleas because Rumlow’s phone rang and both he and Clint exited the room. You didn’t know how to start a conversation with Bucky. He didn't want to, that you were sure of. What were you supposed to say? That his hardship and past made him look hotter in your eyes? You wanted to avoid romanticizing his struggles, so you resorted to the only thing you do when you are tense.

“This is not the lunch date I had in mind,” you teased, forcefully huffing to make the situation seem less intense. When Bucky did not respond or even looked at you, you retorted to another antic. “I remember that song name, you know — Invisible String. Taylor Swift, of course. It would make an excellent bakery name. We can -”

“We can what?” Bucky finally snapped, “You want me to fire my friends and convert the most profitable club into a fucking bakery, huh?” 

“Is that what you want? A life with a man who got you involved in this shit?” you flinched at his harsh words. You knew this wasn’t your Bucky — your Bucky was all about sweet touches, teasing words and passionate kisses. No, this was the Bucky that Rumlow recognized. 

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered, your tone gentle. “I’m sorry you're stuck here because of me, but -”

He cut you off. “Doll,” he exhaled, his voice devoid of all the venom present a moment ago, It was filled with the adoration towards you that you were used to; Nonetheless, it still made you feel dizzy all the time. His face softened before saying, “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I got you into this mess. I should have stayed away from you.”

You opened your mouth to object. You wanted to tell him that he was being stupid — that you would get through this together, but he sustained.

“I will stay away from you,” he pondered, his eyes avoiding yours again. 

No, you wouldn't let that happen. You finally had him, and you wouldn't let Rumlow get into Bucky's head. “We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

“There is nothing to talk about,” he concluded, “When we are out of here. I will maintain my distance.”

You tried to ask him to stop saying that, but he kept ignoring your words and looked at the wall behind you for almost an hour. When it got to your nerves, and you were starting to get pissed he started whistling a song you weren’t quite familiar with. “Seriously? How old are you? Five?”

He didn’t respond. “So what? You're just gonna ignore me while we’re tied here?”

 “Hey, let's play a game,” you tried again.

Before you could lose all your patience and start yelling at him, you heard grunting sounds from behind the door. You shuddered, swallowing the lump in your throat. You didn’t want to see Rumlow again, in fact, you never wanted to see Rumlow.

Sensing your discomfort made Bucky finally speak up. “Y/N, look at me,” his voice sweet as ever, as if he hadn't been ignoring you for the past hour. You looked at him, and he held your gaze, assuring you, “I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak anything. Both of you held your breath, waiting for someone to walk in and hurt you more, but it never came. All that came was a blond man with a gun in his hand, whom you recognized instantly — Steve. You didn't like that man one bit because he clearly disliked you, but at that moment, he was your angel who came to your rescue.

Immediately, Steve ran towards his pal who nodded his head towards you, indicating his friend to let you out of the restraint first. Again, he had manacles around his wrists and limbs, and he wanted you to be free of the rope that was around you. Steve took his friend’s request and freed you of your restriction before doing the same for Bucky.

When you stood up, the world stood up with you, and you realized that you hadn’t eaten anything in more than 24 hours. You almost collapsed on the floor when two strong hands came to your relief and held you. You didn’t need to keep your eyes open to see who it was. Likewise, you knew it was Bucky — you could recognize his touch anywhere, and just liked that you passed out.

The next time you gained awareness, you were moving swiftly. It took you a few seconds to acknowledge that you were in a car. You craned your neck upward to find your head situated on a hard and firm chest, Bucky looked down at you and engulfed you tighter to his side, your legs resting on his lap while his free hand was settled on the back of your thigh, holding you closer to him. 

“Doll,” his voice was barely audible, and you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't so close to him or if he didn't whisper it in your ear. “You gotta eat something.”

Tiredly, you nodded and Bucky nudged you softly, encouraging you to straighten up a little before eating something. You straightened your back and somebody passed a box from the passenger seat. Steve, you recognized him and the person in the driver's seat — Sam. Both of them looked at you sympathetically, and you smiled at them, or at least tried to. You were so exhausted.

Bucky opened the box and took out a doughnut, which you brought for him that morning, or was it the previous morning? How long had it been since you were kidnapped?

Two doughnuts and one bottle of water later, you were back at your apartment. Bucky’s hand rested on the small of your back as Steve and Sam followed both of you. You hesitated before unlocking the door, and Bucky ran his hand on your back reassuringly as he ensured you, “I’ve got you, doll.”

Bucky said something to Sam and Steve, but you were too exhausted to listen. Once they were gone, Bucky strode towards you, cupping your face in his hands as he scanned your face for all the wounds. “How about you clean up, and I’ll get the first aid kit. Okay, doll?”

Just like the whole night or day or whatever time it was, you didn't remember most of the bath. You remembered going into the shower — you remembered water running down your body — you remembered seeing red water (probably from your bruises) seeping in the drain — you remembered seeing someone in the mirror you didn't recognize — you remembered falling to the floor and crying and most importantly you remembered calling for Bucky.

As if standing outside the door, Bucky was crouched over you instantly . He wrapped a towel around your naked form and held you on the bathroom floor while you cried and finally acknowledged the trauma that you had encountered.

Bucky held you as you continued to cry in muffled sobs against his chest. When you fell asleep, he placed you and tucked you in your bed comfortably before getting in himself. You wrapped your arms around him in your sleep and held him like the anchor he was to you. Bucky pressed a kiss in your hair and whispered his love and apologies to you for pulling you into his messed up life. You couldn't fathom a word he confessed before sleep finally engulfed you.

TAGS : @bananapipedreams​ @akkinda10​ @rivers-rambles21​ @emmabarnes​ @valsworldofcreativity​ @boofy1998 @marvel-3407​ @mybuck​ @priii​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @ladydmalfoy​ @shaking-a-jar-of-bees @elizamalfoyy​ @maladaptivexxdaydreaming​ @sabrinathesimp

A/N - Hey, I finally made a Taglist .This was a very intense (please don’t hate me) I love you bye. Take care!

[aflyingcontradiction]

The Magnus Archives Relisten: Episode 117 - Testament

But Tim isn’t going to sit home and wait, and Elias seems pretty insistent I go along. Part of me thinks it’s just so he can see if whatever this “preparation” he’s been trying to do on me works. - Jon

I guess, yeah, that's part of it and the other part is that he wants to make absolutely sure Jon gets touched by as many powers as he possibly can and sending him right into the lion's den is a good way of doing that, I suppose.

I don’t quite get those two. I suppose what they’ve done, seeing what they’ve seen… it’s a hell of a bond. The sort of thing I’ve mostly done alone.

Ouch. That is a painful realisation right there! (The usual disclaimer of "I'm obviously not talking about the scale of cosmic horror here because duh or for that matter even the scale of massive trauma" but I actually think that realisation is on some level relatable because of the realisation I had multiple times in my life of "I don't really know what a close bond feels like because I've never actually been anywhere close to the best friend of the people I've considered my best friends." Fortunately my luck has shifted somewhat in the "close emotional bonds" department, or at least I hope I'm not kidding myself about that, but the realisation that some people have these fire-forged, ride-or-die relationships and you're just kinda doing your own thing, dipping a finger shallowly into human connection every once in a while and then watching it flow away, is a bit of a twinge.)

And… aside from some, uh, uh, office gossip which I, I’m not sure is necessary or, uh, conducive to a workplace that… hey, it, it, it’s natural it’s, it’s normal.

I love how Jon just goes from deep emotional turmoil to being a bit upset that people are gossipping about whatever may be going on in his love life. Talk about emotional roller coasters!

Oh, yeah, I found something on the other body the circus stole, this “George Icarus.” (...) Jurgen Leitner. I just can’t be rid of him.

Ah, okay, this is where we learn who George Icarus was. Also, the pseudonym is very fitting, I mean, Leitner did, in fact, fly too close to the goddamn sun and subsequently crash and burn when he decided to create a library of fear books, didn't he?

He always said, if you don’t like something, you accept it and you adapt, or you fight and you change it. Whining doesn’t help. I always tried to live like that. But I think sometimes you feel like you’re adapting, but it’s just denial. - Basira

This is definitely something I've experienced myself but it's also definitely something I've seen in some people who like to go on like Basira's dad about stiff-upper-lip-don't-whine-adapt-and-overcome to other people and shame others for expressing their emotional pain. When the cracks finally do start showing up (usually under the influence of alcohol), it's not so much a crack as a full-on explosion.

But at least Daisy’s coming. I mean, I know she’s… difficult. Everything they say about her, it’s true, it’s fair. But, she’s solid. She’s a… a fixed point, and if she’s there, I know exactly where I stand, exactly what I’m doing, relative to her.

It's tragic but also on some level a little bit heartwarming that Basira never actually stops doing things relative to Daisy, even when it takes everything out of her, even when Daisy starts destroying herself.

Still stuck, still miserable, still angry. New traumas, but they hurt just like the old ones. Elias thinks he’s got this ingenious way to hurt people, but it’s just the same old and a creepy new package. Arsehole. God, I just want to rip his – When did I start to lose the parts of me that weren’t just anger? - Melanie

I always have a soft spot for the angry ones, the ones who have to forcibly stop themselves from punching people in the teeth, who have to put every last shred of willpower into keeping a lid on the boiling, hissing, steaming pot that is their inner life. The ones whose willpower sometimes fails them and then they do end up hurting people or themselves because of their anger. And not to go all REPRESENTATION here, but I'm actually glad to see that in TMA that character archetype is basically all women, because the people exploding in violent anger or having to try so fucking hard to keep it in and occasionally failing are usually guys.

They did manifest, but they weren’t what I thought they’d be. They were fused, somehow, all mixed together, a huge angry mass of dead flesh and guns.

I'm kind of glad this isn't a fully-fledged statement because I feel like that sentence, that image, is really all I need and anything further would actually weaken rather than strengthen the horror.

Good luck, Jon. I do hope you win. But I also hope it hurts.

Damn, this episode is so good at summarising characters in a line or two, isn't it?

I, I’m scared, I guess. – no, wait. No, no, I mean, ah, I don’t want that to be my last message, the thing that defines me. “Martin Blackwood, he was always scared, then he died. The end.” I don’t want that. - Martin

I'm a very anxious person and this is INSANELY relatable, this fear that all that's going to be left of you is the things you didn't do because you were terrified. ... Martin, stop making me tear up by being too damn relatable!

I need them to be safe, I need him to be okay.

Aw, Martin!

I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be safe, like my plan’s not dangerous, but it’s, it’s mine. This last couple of years, I’ve always been running, always hiding, caught in someone else’s trap, but, but now it’s my trap, and, well, I think it’ll work. I know, I know it’s not exactly intricate, but it felt good leaving my own little web.

a) This thought process makes perfect sense. Sometimes you just need to express your goddamn agency, even if it's dangerous and even if it's bound to hurt and b) I know the podcast immediately lampshades the "web" thing, but WEB!MARTIN THOUGH! I MEAN! THINK ABOUT IT! That would've been such an amazing plot point and they had it all set up. I mean, he's got a lot of good Lonely-related shit going on later, too, but ... why not both? I do enjoy it when the powers squabble over a character!

I used to blame my brother for going off his own and poking around where he wasn’t wanted. I used to blame myself for not helping him. But now… now it doesn’t matter. I’ve read through enough of these things to know that this doesn’t matter. The only thing you need to have your life destroyed by this stuff is just bad luck. Talk to the wrong person, take the wrong train, open the wrong door, and that’s it! - Tim

I think Tim's view of this is actually very close to the way that TMA handles this. The Entities don't eat you because you deserve it. They just happen to happen to someone. And that makes the horror work so much better than if that wasn't the case. (It also feels closer to how LIFE actually works a lot of the time.) So I find it somewhat odd to see when people do read desert into it, I feel like that weakens the storytelling.

Honestly, I hope that Jon learned something from her because, because I don’t expect I’m going to be coming back from this. I don’t know if I want to. And if he needs to pull the trigger, to use me to stop it… well, he’d better have the guts to do it.

Well. Fuck!

Gerard’s page… Gerry. I-I know there’s more he could tell me – he he, wouldn’t of, of course, I, I know that but he, he… he would still be there, th-that, that knowledge, i-it would, it would still exist…(...) …y-you owe me one, Gerry. Rest in … Just rest. - Jon

Damn, seeing Jon struggle against the instinct to keep knowledge available to himself, seeing how much it literally hurts him and seeing him WIN is sure something. Also ... "Rest in ... just rest." ... make me cry, why don't you?

My impression of this episode

This is not so much horror as it is concentrated emotion and I adore it. I nearly teared up a few times on my relisten (I think I wasn't in quite the right headspace during my first time). The gut punch quotes come thick in this one. This may actually be my favourite plot development episode (as opposed to favourite statements that don't relate directly to the overall plot). The writing is just. so. good.

[anarchist-puppet-on-strings]

Stories Worth Telling

SUMMARY: Jackie only said yes to this interview in hopes of getting people to hate him less.

TW - VERY BRIEF MENTION OF PEDOPHILIA

Jackie’s nervous. He hopes to any higher being that may hear this that he doesn’t look as anxious as he feels. When people see him from afar they see someone calm and collected, a joke or witty comment at the ready. He prays this interview doesn’t reveal what a dorky mess he actually is to the public.

He watches with vague interest as the reporter he’d saved a week ago—Danny—got ready. A notebook was pulled out of her bag, pencil pulled from behind her ear, phone opened to the voice memo app and set on the table between them…. It seems like she really thought this whole thing through huh. Maybe she knew he'd say yes.

He fidgeted uncomfortably. He'd never done this sort of thing before. He’s talked to few people for extended amounts of time as Jackieboy Man and that was to calm a few victims, most being children—this is a journalist. The voice in his mind told him he'd mess this all up and make even more people hate him. Oddly enough, that thought is scarier than some criminals he's fought.

The phone sitting on the table, ready to record their whole conversation is more like a viper than a phone at this point. It stares at him like it’s waiting for him to fuck up once.

“Alrighty then looks like we're nearly ready!” Danny chirped happily. “I’m going to start recording our conversation—if that's okay with you,” she said, shooting him a questioning glance.

Against his better judgement, he swallowed and nodded nervously.

She tapped the screen and suddenly the interview had begun.

“So Jackieboy Man—can I call you Jackie?”

He nodded before catching his mistake. “Err yeah. Go for it.”

“Great,” she said absentmindedly, flipping through her small notebook. “First off: why’d you agree to this interview? You’ve shied away from reporters before.”

His mind blanked and he’s left struggling to pick out coherent thoughts. “Uh, well, I was kinda hoping this would clear up some questions people might have about me? I dunno, make them hate me less? And you seem less demanding and invasive than the other ones who’ve asked.”

She hummed, glancing up at him with a soft smile as she scribbled something down and flipped back a few pages. “What makes you think people hate you?”

He scoffed. “Oh please, I’ve seen the looks I get. And I can hear all the rumors.”

Someone started something saying he’s a leader of some new gang or something. While it’s kinda amusing, it hurts his fragile reputation of being the new hero in the city. Enough people didn’t trust him as it was and he didn’t need some stupid rumor messing things up even worse than they already were.

“Well, what you’re doing is illegal,” she pointed out dryly, giving him a look that he’s all too familiar with. Stay in your lane; it’s not your job. That look always pissed him off.

Jackie couldn’t help but bark a sardonic laugh, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. “Yeah, well, the cops aren’t doing shit, so I’m steppin’ up instead.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that because now her interest is peaked. Her hazel eyes were glittering in excitement as she leaned forward.

“Ah, I’m sorry; that was uncalled for-”

“No, no,” she said eagerly. “Go ahead. What’re your opinions on the cops?”

Relax, Jay; this is an interview. It’s all about you. You’re not gonna get in trouble… yet.

“Well, I don’t really needta tell anybody how corrupt this city’s justice system is. All I see when I turn on the news is about how some cop abused their power and aren’t gettin’ charged blah blah blah.” Now that he’s clearly listening to himself, he realized how bitter and… sad he sounded.

“It happens pretty often,” Danny noted, pencil scratching against paper.

“Christ, it’s like this happens every few weeks!” He complained, running a hand down his face and over his mask. “It’s stupid! I mean, it’s not hard to be a good person!”

“Is that why you’re doing this?” She cut in. “Because of all the corruption?”

“Well, yeah, why else would I be doin’ all this shit?” He asked. “I have a job and stuff to do. Why would I want to be doin’ something I don’t needta be doin’?”

“People can argue that you don’t have the right to do that. There’s law enforcement after all.”

“Technically we just talked about why we can’t trust the cops but I’ll humor you. Ya can’t just sit around, twiddling your thumbs while you wait for someone to stop the people everyone put in power cuz nobody’s gonna stop them. Sometimes ya have to step up and be karma.”

“That’s… that’s quite the statement. Very raw.”

Jackie hummed.

Silence fell for a minute until Danny spoke again. “A while ago, one of my coworkers caught a video of you stumbling into an alley after a gunfight between two gangs when she arrived on the scene. Did you get hurt?”

Shrugging helplessly, he glanced down at the ground. ”Maybe.”

“Do you… do you get hurt often?” She asked. To Jackie’s disbelief, he heard genuine concern in her voice.

“I mean, yeah… not too often for bad injuries but normally scrapes and bruises here and there every night.” He chuckled. “Most the minor ones are my fault anyways. I’m not exactly graceful.”

More writing.

“Aren’t you scared?” She asked.

“Of what?”

“Getting hurt.”

“Oh, nah, not really,” he said dismissively. “What happens happens. I just brush it off and keep going.”

“Do your family and friends know you’re doing this?” She asked.

He blinked. “What?”

She repeated the question.

“Uh—no. I don’t have any family or friends.” It slipped out before he could stop it.

The look he received was of pure pity. He hated it.

Danny tapped her pencil against the edge of the table, watching as his leg bounced up and down.

“So… tell me about your spray painting.”

“Uhm, what d’ya wanna know?” His brows furrowed. Of all the things she could’ve asked, she asked about that?

She hummed. “Well, what’s with all the messages? You have some pretty meaningful ones plastered across the walls.”

Trying to recall any only resulted in a jumble of memories. All he could really remember is the fumes of paint and the dark shielding him from prying eyes.

“Which ones? I’ve done a lot.”

She flipped through her notes again and pulled out a few pictures stuck between some pages. A bright green eyeball with the optic nerve hanging down with a blue iris and a black pupil was present in every picture but...

Danny spoke before he could examine them of them close enough. “‘Don’t tell me what you want to be; tell me what you want to do.’”

He shrugged. “It’s always what d’ya wanna be when you grow up. I think what you’re gonna do is much more important.”

She furrowed her brows while nodding before moving onto the next one.

“‘Respect existence or expect resistance,’” she read aloud.

“I think that’s pretty self explanatory.”

She gave him a patient smile. “Tell me anyway.”

Jackie sighed heavily. “People don’t respect one another and then suddenly everyone is surprised when others start to say something about it or try to do something. It’s hypocritical.”

Once he made it clear he wasn’t going any further, she continued down the line. “‘Smile because you’re loved.’”

That one made him smile slightly. It’s one of his favorites. “I think reminders are nice. People always have someone who cares, even if they don’t think so.”

She stared at him for a moment before smiling gently. “That’s a nice message.”

“Yeah, I wish people told each other more often.”

“‘Stop being silent.’” She tapped the mute button drawn next to the phrase.

He stared her in the eyes. “Citizens have power. They’re just not using it. They’re trying to scare us into silence and it’s working. We need to do something.

“‘How many have to die?’” She turned the paper towards herself and rattled off, “‘Charlie Unger, Hailey Davis, Michael Crow, Thomas Marsh, Cale Sanders, Macy Parish, Gail Sullivan…’ and there’s many more. These are names of protesters.”

“And people who the cops killed,” Jackie added steelily.

“Why those names?”

“People have argued whether some of these people were “good” or not, but here’s the thing: most of them were children. I know Macy was 16 and the others were mainly older highschool or college students. You can say they were adults but they were still in school. They had things they’ll never get to do now, and they’re not getting their justice. It isn’t fair.”

Danny’s silent as she slid the picture back into her bag. She turned her attention on the next one. “‘Divided we stand, united we fall.’ This is pretty similar to the American motto.”

“Mmm it’s switched around.”

“Why this one? Are you bashing America?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. “I’m bashing this city. We all have our differences, opinions, and stories, and we let those define us. But when we fall down, we fall together. We have the same fate eventually. We stand divided but we fall united.”

She hummed again (she did that a lot). “What about this one? ‘Always watching?’”

“I don’t remember doing that one.”

Danny frowned. “It has your calling card by it. Or, at least, what looks like it.”

He frowned, turning the picture to face him. The words were jagged and sloppy with little care for how it appeared. But the eye by the words was… wrong. It was black with a combined neon green iris and pupil. It looked… ominous.

“That’s not mine,” he said. He picked it up, trying to figure out where this was. “Do you know where this is?”

She reached over and plucked the photo out of his hand and flipped it over.

In scrawling letters it read: 65830 Detroit Boulevard

Drumming his fingers on his leg, he hummed.

“Can I, ah, take a picture of this?” He asked, flipping it back over and staring at the cryptic words.

“Go ahead.”

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he snapped a picture of the graffiti. He copied the address into the notes app before turning it off and putting it away. He slid the photo back to her so she could shuffle them back into her notebook.

She cleared her throat after a minute and continued. “Your latest stunt caused some controversy. People say you have no right to reveal people’s personal information like you did.”

“I’d say those rights are forfeited when you’re caught doin’ illegal things.”

“So it can be argued that your rights are forfeited as well?” She pointed out, jabbing her pencil at him.

He shrugged again. “I mean, yeah, sure.”

The answer must’ve let Danny down. “You’re pretty nonchalant about all this.”

He smiled. “Well, at least I know where my morals lie. I’m happy to say I’m not on the deep web watching little kids like McCallister was.”

At the mention of that, she became uncomfortable. “Why’d you reveal that information to the public?”

Jackie grinned. “Because he couldn’t be left off the hook with the whole city angry, no matter how corrupt the cops are. Even if he escapes criminal charges—which I doubt—people’ll throw him outta office. You have ta get people’s attention for them to listen.”

“I… I think that’s enough for now…” She said weakly.

“Oh? Am I free to go?” He asked.

She shoved her notebook into her bag and picked up her phone. “Sure, just give me some contact info, so I can get in touch to ask follow up questions.” It sounded like she didn’t realize what she’s saying. Contact info from a hero? Psssh.

He laughed as he made his way to the open window. “Nah, you’ll see me around. Just holler.”

“Hey! Wait!” She sputtered.

It’s too late—he’d already swung his legs over the windowsill and dropped down onto the fire escape.

Danny rushed to the window and peered out, watching him vault over the railing and drop into the darkness of the alleyway. She sighed, phone clutched in her hand. She looked at the new recording named by the date and time. “Oh well, at least I have this.”

This would be the biggest story since Jackie’s appearance—maybe even bigger! She could feel it.

(A/N) I’VE WORKED ON THIS FOR  D A Y S  AND IT’S FINALLY DONE!!!

Tag list: @assbutt-of-the-readers, @stuck-in-a-l-o-o-p, @bloodsoakedheretic 

[gumnut-logic]

Bo

This is a repost, a fic of mine you might have seen before, but I think it bears revisiting as I am rather fond of it. A friend of mine has thrown a prompt in and chosen Bo as the character to write about. So I think this is a good a time as any to share this again.

I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

-o-o-o-

Title: Bo

A TAG Secret Santa fic

Author: Gumnut

15 – 18 Dec 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Virgil meets a new friend, and, damnit, Scott was going to kill him.

Word count: 6184

Spoilers & warnings: Possible bushfire/wildfire triggers in the first part. For the rest none, except for vague nudity and fluff. Christmas fic. Gen.

Timeline: Origin story

Author’s note: Okay, so this is the first time I’ve ever participated in one of these so I’m new to this.

My prompts were

1.         Virgil covered in tinsel

2.         Tracy family Christmas

3.         Christmas Rescue Miracle (with Virg please)

The first one prompted all sorts of images not suitable for a PG audience. Hubby also suggested I blow up a tinsel factory. Overall, I did attempt to include all three prompts in the one fic. I hope I have succeeded in providing some enjoyment at least.

This does not belong to either Sotto Voce or Warm Rain and is pretty canon compliant. It is currently standalone. Consider it a possible origin story, there may be more, if I can think up some new plot lines. If you have any ideas, please let me know.

Many thanks to @tagsecretsanta for all her wonderful work putting the gift exchange together, and thanks to @photowizard17 for the inspiring prompts, @i-am-chidorixblossom for cheering me on when I couldn’t post daily and obsessively like I usually do, and to @the-lady-razorsharp for giving it an American beta so I don’t trip over being Australian (though the summer Christmas certainly helped :D).

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

“It’s the last house at the end of the street, Virgil.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.” It was said without the usual spark. The grey of the destroyed landscape sucked everything from everything. A pall of smoke and haze, black remnants of lives, homes and the tragedy of the night before.

International Rescue had been called to a massive bushfire in the Yarra Ranges in Victoria, Australia. The CFA had had it under control the previous day, John keeping an eye on it anyway, but an unexpected change in wind direction in the evening had it jumping firebreaks and tearing through an unprotected valley and directly through a township.

With the vast tall forests of mountain ash, eucalypts full of volatile oil just waiting to burst into flame, combined with the hot and blustery northerly, not even IR could stop the firestorm from taking lives and property.

Thunderbird Two had her fire suppression equipment, but the massive plane was a speck against the wall of flame.

There were forces of nature that just couldn’t be stopped.

The Tracys dodged and nabbed trapped people. Thunderbird Two deployed a huge water cannon, sourcing water from the local reservoir, as the CFA water bombed around them, desperate to protect what lives they could. But nothing was stopping the fire.

It tore through the town leaving agony in its wake.

Dawn was grey and dismal, but it brought rain. The sky rumbled, threatening to spark more fires in the ranges, but the deluge came and dampened the remaining flame enough to once again get the front under control.

But it was too late for the town.

It was gone.

Virgil walked the length of the street, his exo-suit rubbing on aching shoulders. Burnt out cars and collapsed homes lined the road from one end to the other. The skeletons of black trees marched off into the distance behind it all.

Haze hovered above ash-clogged puddles in the pavement.

It wasn’t what Christmas morning was supposed to be.

The last house at the end of the street had fully collapsed in on itself. A burnt-out car sat in the driveway, its trunk lid and one of its doors open.

Virgil closed his eyes for a moment, knowing what that likely meant.

He steeled himself and walked past the remains he knew he was going to find in the car.

Nothing could be done.

Nothing.

He focussed on the whine of his suit as his boots stepped in wet ash and strode across the front yard to the remains of the house. He had to clear his throat to speak to John. “Tell me where, Thunderbird Five.”

“Possibly in the basement? The lifesign is below ground level.”

The house had been old, the wooden floorboards disintegrating in the heat. Virgil leapt through the remains of a wall, landing on rubble in what had likely been a wine cellar. The heat had been so intense, that glass bottles had become slag.

Glass crunched under his boots. “Right or left?”

“Eastern side, southern corner.”

There was a mass of rubble collapsed against the only standing wall of the building.

“This is International Rescue. Can anyone hear me?”

He turned up the pickups on his exterior mikes.

Nothing. It was probably a blip. How the hell could anything survive this holocaust?

His shoulders dropped.

But then...something? A whimper?

Maybe?

Virgil began digging.

It took him a good fifteen minutes of solid work to move enough burnt masonry to reach a hole in the wall at the very base of the structure. And in what appeared to be the bottom of a dumb waiter he found the lifesign.

The little puppy whimpered at him, trembling with fear.

Aw, hell.

“John, lifesign is a dog.”

“One moment, Thunderbird Two.” The puppy stared, the green, yellow and blue of Virgil’s suit reflected in its brown eyes. “There is no dog registered at that address. Deliver to the local authorities. You are needed to airlift some survivors to Melbourne. Report to Scott on the other side of town.”

“FAB, Thunderbird Five.”

Virgil slid his arms out from the suit and bent aching knees. “Hey, little one, do you want to come with me?”

The puppy shivered and looked him up and down, hesitating.

“I’m with International Rescue, we’re here to help.” He took a step closer. “It’s okay, I promise.”

Maybe it was something in his voice, his stance, or simply because the puppy had no choice, but as Virgil reached into the box it was sitting in, the puppy made no protest as he picked it up.

A quick examination for injury revealed her to be a girl. She shuddered up against Virgil’s chest. “Don’t worry, it’s all over, you’re safe.”

Sliding one arm back into his suit, he started making his way out of the ruined building, turning his back on the tiny hole that had somehow saved the little dog’s life.

-o-o-o-

Perhaps it was because she sat so quietly with him. Perhaps because it was Christmas Day. Most likely it was because Virgil had reached his limit of pain.

When he found the RSPCA tent, specially set up for lost pets, he gently handed over the little puppy. She let out a whimper and began crying.

No barking, just this godawful crying that tore at his heart.

“You will be fine here, little one.” The attendant was one of those kindly older ladies and she hugged the gangly bundle of fluff to her chest as Virgil turned to leave, Scott in his ear.

But the puppy let out such a scream of anguish, Virgil turned around without thinking. She was struggling in the volunteer’s arms and before either of them could react, she managed to wriggle free and dash over to him, her little body trembling on his left boot.

He reached down and gathered her into his arms. “You can’t come with me. I can’t-“ But she was rubbing her head up under his chin, little sounds in her throat.

And he couldn’t.

Just couldn’t.

His eyes met the eyes of the lady volunteer and she smiled. “We will keep her details if you would like to take her with you. If anyone contacts us, we can let you know.” And the volunteer was just as hopeful as the puppy in his arms. After all, there was no life at the RSPCA unless a home was found.

He looked down at her little brown eyes again.

No, he couldn’t.

Damnit, Scott was going to kill him.

Maybe for just a few days?

The excuse provided a simple solution, so he took it.

Without a word, he handed his IR contact details to the volunteer, and, puppy in hand, turned his back to the tent and strode towards the big green hulk parked in the distant haze.

“Well, little one, you have definitely made an interesting choice. Let me introduce you to my big green partner.”

-o-o-o-

It was well past Christmas lunch, or rather the lack of it, before IR was given the all clear to return to base. During the entire time, the little puppy sat beside Virgil’s pilot chair, apparently unfazed by the deep bass rumble of Thunderbird Two.

When he picked up both Gordon and Alan the dynamic changed just a little.

Gordon dragged himself onto the flight deck first, a groan in every step. “Christmas just gets more exciting every year.” It was true. Nine out of ten Christmas Days were side-swiped by a disaster, to the point that the Tracy Christmas tradition was a modular and movable celebration nowadays. No guarantees and no defined day. It happened around December twenty-fifth, there about, when they could, between call outs.

Suddenly the little puppy was in his lap.

“What is that?”

Virgil looked up. His brother was covered in soot and looked as tired as Virgil felt. “This is Bo.” And he had no idea where the name came from, it just seemed right and the moment clicked.

“Bo?”

“Yeah.” Newly christened Bo peered up at Gordon around Virgil’s arm. “She survived the fire.” A swallow. “Her family didn’t.”

“Oh.”

Alan, as always, had more energy than any of them, and showed it as he waltzed into the cabin. “So why aren’t we moving?”

Bo let off a sharp bark.

Everyone jumped.

“What the hell, Virgil?”

Bo was literally glaring at Alan.

“Hey, Bo, calm down, that’s just Alan. He’s annoying, but tolerable.” The little puppy looked up at him, her gorgeous brown eyes just melting him inside. He was so gone.

“Hey!” That from Alan.

“Scott’s going to kill you.” That from Gordon, who was approaching slowly.

“Yeah, I know.” It was a sigh.

Gordon crouched down beside Virgil’s chair. “Hey, little one, what gave you the idea to attach yourself to this big oaf?” Pulling off one of his gloves, the aquanaut reached out and offered the puppy his hand. She eyed him warily before tentatively sniffing at his fingers.

She sneezed.

Alan snorted.

Bo blinked and stared at Gordon for a moment. The aquanaut kept still and eventually she sniffed at him again, before nuzzling at his hand. He blatantly took that as permission and gently rubbed behind her ear. “You are a cute little thing, aren’t you.”

She licked his wrist.

“Oh, I can see why our heavy lifter fell for you. You’ve got it all in those brown eyes of yours, haven’t you.” Gordon shrugged. “Though I will admit they are the best colour for manipulation.”

“And he speaks from experience.” To Virgil’s surprise, Gordon actually jumped. “Did you forget I was here? Not absorbed by those brown eyes are we?” He couldn’t help but smile at his brother. At least one was as besotted as he had to admit he was.

Yes, Scott was definitely going to kill him.

“Shut up, Virgil.”

Bo backed off, once again hiding behind Virgil’s baldric.

“Hey, Gordon, watch the tone.”

“Sorry, Bo.”

“Are we actually going home at some point? I have a date with my bed.”

Gordon stood up, pulling out the co-pilot’s seat. “No rush, Allie, she’ll wait for you.”

“Augh.”

“Sit down, Alan, I’m just finishing pre-flight.” Tired and cranky could easily become nasty if not attended to.

Bo curled up, nestled against his harness, as Alan grumpily pulled out his seat.

“Virgil, where the hell are you?”

Speaking of tired and cranky... “Launching now, Thunderbird One.” As if prompted, he received clearance from Australian Air Control.

TB2 rumbled beneath as he activated VTOL, ash and dust swirling up around them. As soon as he had enough height, he engaged her rear thrusters and tore off over the Alps, across the coast and out into the Tasman.

“ETA fifteen minutes.” At least they weren’t too far from home.

Bo fell asleep in his lap.

-o-o-o-

Virgil was on the verge of joining Bo in slumber as Thunderbird Two spun slowly in her hanger, eventually coming to a final stop.

So tired.

Beside him, Alan poked Gordon awake. “Ugh, what? Oh.” You could almost hear his brain booting.

Virgil worked around Bo as he did his post-flight checks, his brothers, well, mostly Gordon, groaning as they got to their feet and waddled towards the hatch. “C’mon, Virg, Alan’s pining for his bed.”

“You two go ahead. I just need to finish post-flight.” He didn’t turn around, but he could feel Gordon’s eyes on him.

“Sure, whatever.” And he heard the hatch lower to the hangar floor.

His brothers gone, Virgil let himself relax back against his chair, his shoulders sagging. He let out a long breath. “So, Bo, how are we going to do this?”

The puppy woke as if on command and turned to stare up at him. Gently her tail began to wag.

Virgil let a tired smile cross his face.

Encouraged, Bo jumped up and put her two front paws on his chest, reaching up, trying to lick his face despite not quite being tall enough.

The smile became a grin.

“Okay, okay.” He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up as he pushed his seat backwards and stood. Immediately he was bathed in puppy drool. He couldn’t help but laugh. He surfaced above her licking and cradled her in his arms. “We need to get you some food.” His stomach rumbled ominously. “We need to get me some food.”

And a shower. A shower definitely wouldn’t hurt.

If he could hold off the sleep.

If he didn’t call it a stagger, it wasn’t a stagger, but he had obviously been sitting in his seat for far too long ferrying all those survivors to Melbourne on repeated trips. It was his turn to groan as both his back and legs complained loudly at the sudden demands for movement.

Bo started chewing on his glove.

Somehow he made it back to his rooms without encountering anyone. Shutting the door, he let Bo loose on the floor and began stripping off his uniform, hitting the buttons on his preprogrammed shower cubicle. Moments later he walked under the spray and let it wash the day from his skin.

God, that felt good.

As his muscles relaxed under the heat, sleep became more and more attractive, and by the time he stumbled out of the water, all thoughts of food had vanished.

He took the three steps across his room from the ensuite and threw himself facedown on the bed, still partly wet, still naked.

He was asleep within moments.

-o-o-o-

He was being kissed.

Her lips were warm, her tongue wet, her whiskers soft against his stubble...

Uh?

She licked his eye.

Wha-?

Virgil, always slow to respond upon waking, opened said eye only to get an eyeful of slobber. A soft paw thwapped him on the cheek. Huh? he blinked attempting to clear his eyesight, a hand coming up to defend himself.

Fortunately, his brain came online and memory kicked in. “B-Bo?”

A tongue wrapped around his nose and left it wet.

Ugh.

He wiped his face with his hand, stretching backwards on his pillow, desperate to get out of reach.

The puppy landed on his chest, her paws kneading his chest hair, her little claws completing his wake-up process rather abruptly.

Oh god.

“Bo, down, honey, down.”

He was completely ignored.

Sitting up, he attempted to grab her in his arms, but missed. The little puppy landed on things that puppies had no right to land on. Or stomp on for that matter.

He winced.

“Ooh, okay, come here.” He lifted her off his lap, holding her close, her tail pummelling his belly. “I’m awake, okay.” Again he found himself pinned by her brown eyes. “Aww, c’mon with the cute, Bo, you’re going to melt my brain.”

“Assuming you have a brain to melt.” And Scott was standing in his doorway.

Virgil glared up at him. “Don’t you knock?”

“I did. Grandma sent me to tell you that Christmas dinner is ready.”

Virgil frowned at his brother over the top of Bo’s ears, ignoring the glare the blue eyes were directing at the puppy in his arms. “I thought we’d do Christmas tomorrow.”

“We don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow. Grandma thought it would be best to sneak it in tonight, since it is Christmas Day, after all.” Scott’s lips thinned. “Where did you get that from?”

“She’s a rescue.”

“Usually we leave our rescues on the continent we find them.”

“She had no one.”

“Unfortunately, that is nothing new.” And one of his hands had moved to his hip.

Virgil sighed. “Scott, it’s fine, it’s only for a few days.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

Virgil held back his retort. He knew to pick his fights and now was not the time. “Her name is Bo.”

Scott looked at him and then at Bo. “Hurry up, your dinner is getting cold.” The ghost of a smirk. “And don’t forget to wear clothes.”

“Funny, funny, ha, ha.” But his brother had left.

Virgil let his shoulders drop. “Sorry, Bo, I think you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

Bo just licked him some more.

It wasn’t until he went looking for his boots that he discovered the wonderful deposits Bo had left for him on the floor.

Ugh.

And apparently one of his favourite boots had served as a meal also.

He closed his eyes and sighed again.

Half dressed, he cleaned up the mess, and five minutes later he waltzed downstairs, Bo in his arms and barefoot. Time to face the inevitable music.

-o-o-o-

A Tracy Christmas used to be snow, roast turkey, stockings by the fire, the occasional Christmas carol and family.

Since starting International Rescue it had changed.

Firstly, they were in the tropics. The only fires available in those temperatures were ones that required firefighting equipment. Having grown up with snow, it was still extremely weird. But it had its advantages. For one you could go outside in the minimum of clothing, something Gordon took advantage of every day of the year. There were no snowball fights, but these were fast replaced with water fights. There was no ice skating, but there was water skiing if anyone could get up the energy to get the boat out. And surfing, let’s not forget Scott’s attempts at that. Virgil would admit that he didn’t mind a little surfboard action himself. He wouldn’t say he was very good at it, but at least Gordon had never had to save him like he had Scott.

There were still Christmas trees and tinsel and stockings that no-one ever considered wearing hung from the nearest mantelpiece-looking piece of furniture.

There was still turkey and roast potatoes and all the yummy food crucial for a good Christmas meal, but it was often cooked outside in barbecue ovens and seafood and cold food had been added to the menu. In fact, the traditional dinner had become more of a banquet by the pool.

As Virgil walked out onto the patio, he couldn’t help but smile at the Christmas tree that had obviously been hurriedly moved out here from the comms room. It sat a little lopsided and the star on top was having a few issues with gravity. That was new, as was the liberal tinsel and Christmas lights strung from palm tree to palm tree, across the pool and back several times.

“Fifty bucks says Gordon tries to water volleyball the tinsel at least once.”

Virgil smirked as he stepped up beside his next youngest brother. “Not touching that one. I value my money.”

John was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and had a beer in his hand. Bo was immediately interested in this new person. She strained towards John, her nose literally twitching towards the hand holding the beer.

His brother must have caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and instinctively took a step away.

“Oh, sorry, John, this is Bo.” Bo was climbing over his arm, desperate to get closer to the astronaut. Virgil held her tight, worried she would fall.

“Uh, hello.” John turned towards them, frowning. “Since when do you own a dog?”

“Since this morning.”

“Does Scott know?” They both instinctively looked over at their eldest brother who was hovering over one of the barbecues energetically discussing something with Grandma - probably how not to burn the food.

“He does.”

“And you still have it?”

“Her.”

“Her.”

“Yes.”

“Good luck with that one.” John drank his beer.

“She had no one else.”

John arched an eyebrow at him and then frowned. “Oh, Virgil.” His shoulders slumped.

“I am an adult now, John. It won’t be like last time.”

“God, I hope not.”

Virgil stared at his brother, only to see the genuine concern in his green eyes. A sigh. “It won’t happen again.”

John reached out and gently touched his shoulder. “No, it won’t, because you will remember that you have four brothers who are all here for you, won’t you.” God, that green gaze was penetrating.

“It will be fine.”

Bo yipped at John, her tail beating Virgil’s chest.

The astronaut smiled and offered the little dog his hand. She sniffed and licked him almost immediately.

“I think you have been approved.”

John smiled and Virgil couldn’t help but do the same.

“Virgil!” And Grandma was arrowing in on his position.

“Incoming.” John was smirking.

“Hey, Grandma.”

But his grandmother only had eyes for Bo. “Who is this?”

Virgil smiled again. “This is Bo. Bo, this is Grandma.”

Bo whacked him with her tail and literally leapt from his arms into his grandmother’s.

“Woah.” Suddenly with arms full of wriggling puppy enthusiastically licking her face, his grandmother was laughing. “Oh dear, you are a cutie. Let me have a look at you.” And she held Bo out at arms length, her eyes critical. “A little hard to tell at her age, but my bet says she’s of boxer stock, around three months old. Such a beautiful brindle and that face.” Virgil couldn’t help but agree. Bo looked like she had dipped her face in a pot of ink, her brown eyes surrounded by gorgeous black coat that quickly bled to brindle down her back with a spot of white on her front. “Where did you find her?”

Virgil looked at his feet, remembered why they were bare, and looked back up at his grandmother. “This morning’s rescue. She lost everything.”

Grandma turned her attention back to Bo. “Oh, honey. You survived the fire?” Bo licked her nose. “Well, you are safe here.” Grandma curled her arms around the puppy and scratched her ears. “Has Virgil fed you anything yet?” She glanced at him and he shrugged. He got frowned at for his trouble. Grandma turned away, walking towards the barbecues with Bo in her arms. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Well, that didn’t take long, did it?” John was still smirking at him.

A series of barks and a yelp from Grandma, and suddenly Bo was dashing amongst legs in his direction. “Woah.” He crouched down and caught her as she leapt for him. She wriggled and licked, her little body trembling under his hands. “Hey, hey, honey, it’s okay, you’re safe.” She snuggled up under his chin. He couldn’t help but return the hug.

Grandma approached, worry on her face. “I’m sorry, Virgil, I didn’t realise.”

“It’s okay.” He reached an arm around his grandmother, bringing her into the hug. “She’s just had a scary day.” He pulled both of them close.

Scott was glaring at him from a distance.

John smiled at them and drank his beer.

Bo started chewing on his collar.

-o-o-o-

As the evening progressed, Bo slowly let herself part from Virgil as each of the members of his family, bar Alan and Scott, came to say hello or fed her from the table. There was one interesting moment when the little puppy encountered Sherbert for the first time.

Bo yipped.

Sherbert yapped.

And as the entire party fell silent, the two dogs stared each other down.

Virgil was poised for a rescue and Penelope was not far behind him, but a moment later Bo licked Sherbert across the nose, Sherbert gently butted the little puppy with his head, and from that point onwards they were best of friends, Sherbert quite proudly showing his new friend around.

But never out of sight of Virgil.

Bo and Parker had a staring moment not long after, but Sherbert barrelled on in and head butted the driver, snapping him out of it. It wasn’t long before the little puppy had him rubbing her ears as well.

Kayo stood her distance, assessing Bo as much as the puppy was assessing her. A calm arched eyebrow slowly rose as Bo tilted her head up at the security specialist. She pressed her lips together and faced Virgil. “There will be training.”

Virgil blinked and his sister turned and stalked off. Bo eyed her the entire time, only finally distracted by a yelp from Alan as Gordon threw him in the pool.

The engineer was left wondering if he should be worried or not.

The meal was delicious, of course. Scott had managed to keep Grandma away from the barbecues and MAX had been on task for a good part of the day. There was the mandatory turkey, and this year a couple of large snapper had been baked to perfection, along with some crayfish, oysters, salads and roast vegetables. This was followed by pie, oh, so much pie, Christmas cookies, and Christmas pudding with custard and the option of ice cream.

Virgil, as usual, made sure he took advantage of all the options. Consequently, post-banquet found him sprawled on a pool lounger staring up at the stars amongst the tinsel overhead. Bo, who had also eaten probably more than she should have, was curled up between his feet.

The soft sounds of quiet carols and muted conversation wafting across the water lulled him gently to sleep.

-o-o-o-

Scott felt like Scrooge. He was tired, worried and even a little angry. He was not enjoying himself, no matter how hard he tried. Grandma had cornered him at least twice, her hand on his shoulder trying to soothe his ire.

The annoying thing was that he wasn’t even sure what he was angry about. The rescue hadn’t been the best, but they had done what they could and some lives had been saved that otherwise wouldn’t have. The team had performed well, no one had been injured, they were all back home safe and sound.

And there was food, family and Christmas. There wasn’t really much more he could ask for.

His eyes settled on Virgil, asleep on one of the loungers, oblivious to the tinsel being draped across his hair by Gordon behind him.

Scott sighed.

But then a little head bobbed up between his brother’s bare feet and Bo barked at Gordon quite firmly.

Virgil was obviously far too out of it to wake, but Gordon looked appropriately abashed at the challenge.

Scott found himself smiling.

Realised he was smiling, dumped the smile and frowned.

Gordon scampered off leaving a sleeping Virgil in a crown of silver tinsel.

The little dog leapt off the lounger and chased after the aquanaut.

Okay, he had to admit the dog was adorable. He could see what had captured his brother’s eye, and Scott certainly had no objection to adding to their family.

But Virgil...when Virgil loved, he loved with his whole heart, and last time he had lost a pet, it had been bad, so bad.

They had lost so much in their lives already, why volunteer to lose more?

He sighed. It was stupid to think that way, but part of him could remember that devastated teenager, the depression and the mess that followed. Virgil had been as broken as the rest of them when their mother died, but when his dog died two years later, his reaction had been so self-destructive he had needed counselling and a therapist. Scott didn’t know if the two incidents were related or if it was how his brother connected to pets, or whatever. He only knew he never wanted to see his brother go through that again.

Their father was missing, and here was Virgil with a pet once again.

Sure, he was an adult now, and had tackled so much loss since, but...

Another sigh.

A yip and he looked down to see said dog staring up at him with a mouth full of tinsel, tail wagging.

“Gordon!”

“Yesssss, masster?” His brother sidled up with a bow.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Did you want to face your brother having to tell him that his new puppy died choking on tinsel?”

“Oh, shit.”

“Exactly.”

The aquanaut scooped up the little dog and with gentle words extricated the tinsel from her mouth.

A moment later Gordon held her up to his cheek and Scott had the experience of two sets of brown eyes staring at him adoration.

“Oh, for the love of-“

“A puppy?” Gordon grinned at him. “She is a rather cute, isn’t she?”

“Leave it, Gordon.”

His brother frowned. “What’s chewing on your underwear?”

“Gordon-“

“Hey, it was a legit question, bro. You’re a grumpy ass on Christmas Day. Where’s the merry? We have food and there will be presents. And there is a puppy. You couldn’t ask for more cuteness.” Gordon held up Bo who attempted to lick Scott’s nose.

“Gordon-‘

“Nope, so not going down with you, bro. We’ve earned some happy. We’re all here, in one piece, it’s lovely weather. Cheer up, for goodness sake.” Despite himself, Gordon frowned. “Here have some puppy love.” And suddenly Scott found himself with his arms full of wriggling Bo. Gordon turned and walked off, eventually calling out to Alan, no doubt looking for mischief.

Bo tilted her head to one side and stared up at him.

Aw, hell, weaponised cuteness.

She jumped up and licked his nose.

Scott sighed.

Voice low. “You know, you better look after my brother. He’s a good man and he does a lot of good things.” A swallow. “He’s a little prone to heroics. Perhaps we can team up in that department and help keep his butt alive.”

Her tongue lolled out one side of her mouth and she grinned.

“Maybe try that on the Hood and solve all our problems.”

He gave in and drew her close to his chest, rubbing under her chin.

“I really hope we don’t regret this.”

-o-o-o-

“PRESENTS!”

Alan’s voice cut through his slumber and shook him awake. Wha-?

“Time to wake up, sleepy head.” Scott’s voice.

A sharp little bark.

Bo.

He flung his eyes open, and immediately squinted at the fairy lights floating in the light breeze far above. A blink and to his left a shadow formed into his eldest brother. His blue eyes were smiling as he sat on the next lounge over, holding Bo, scratching her gently. She was obviously enjoying it.

Virgil frowned. “I thought you were pissed at me.”

“I was.” His brother shrugged. “I got over it.” Bo was licking Scott’s fingers.

Wow, the ability to tame the savage big brother. The little girl must be heaven-sent.

There was a whir of wheels and MAX tore out onto the patio decked out in tinsel and lugging brightly coloured presents. MiniMAX darted in behind him carrying a smaller present which was deposited carefully on the table before he disappeared inside only to return with another.

“You okay?”

“Huh?” Virgil peered up at his brother before stretching the length of the lounger. Several joints cracked and the ache across his shoulders from the morning vaguely made its presence known. A yawn. “I’m fine. Just tired. This morning sucked.”

Tinsel slid down his face. He sighed and threw it off. Gordon was getting repetitive.

Scott dipped his head, attempting to hide a smile, and looked down at Bo. “True.” He scratched her under her chin one more time before offering her to him. “Here.”

Bo didn’t bother to wait for him to sit up, she bounded out of Scott’s arms and onto Virgil’s belly. “Oof.” She then danced up and down on it.

Scott grinned at him. “She’s not going to be little when she grows up.”

“Augh, she’s not little now.” He managed to capture her enough so he could sit up, but she struggled free excitedly and dashed from his arms, jumping on the lounger, just as MiniMAX buzzed over with a small present.

Bo barked at him and MiniMAX dodged to deposit the present in Virgil’s lap. He caught it, but with his hands now occupied, he wasn’t fast enough to grab Bo before she let off another bark, jumped excitedly and latched her teeth onto the little robot.

The result was immediate.

MiniMAX shrieked, several of his legs caught in the puppy’s mouth, and with a whir of rotor blades, took off madly across the patio.

With Bo hanging on.

“Bo!” Virgil dropped the present and made a grab for the pair, but missed.

Every eye turned to see what the commotion was about. Virgil stumbled over the lounger and kicked it out of the way. He was vaguely aware of Scott doing something similar. “Brains!”

MiniMAX was obviously panicking. The little robot darted about trying to shake off his assailant. Bo was whining in her throat.

Virgil dashed after them.

Despite the puppy’s weight, MiniMAX still managed a great deal of height, Brains’ ‘build ‘em tough’ policy obviously carrying through to his robots. Despite having the strength to carry the puppy, the off-balance mass hampered MiniMAX’s navigation and they were wobbling all over the place.

All Virgil could see was a tragedy in the making. The pool, the concrete, anything horribly solid. He ran beneath them, desperately attempting to reach the now whining puppy. Family members and furniture were dodged and shoved out of the way as he clambered after them.

A chair ended up in the pool. Gordon squawked and almost joined it. Virgil leapt off an empty lounge, made a grab for them, missed and ended up in the Christmas tree.

Fake pine needles jabbed him in the face as he went down in a pile of tinsel and Christmas baubles. He swore, his clothing caught, his hair caught, and his everything tangled in tinsel, but he made it to his feet just in time to see Bo let go.

“No!”

Oblivious to everything other than the puppy falling, Virgil finally got traction under his bare feet, took a running leap and grabbed Bo from the air. He instinctively wrapped himself around her, rolling in midair, tinsel and baubles flung in all directions.

As he plummeted into the pool.

The splash took his senses, muffling exclamations, and repeated shouts of his name. There was dark blue, and wet, and, for a moment, blessed silence.

Then logic reasserted itself and he kicked for the surface.

Sound, light and cool air on his skin. He blinked water out of his eyes as he lifted Bo up so she could breathe, his legs kicking to keep them afloat.

She whined at him as if to tell him off, sneezed, and began enthusiastically licking the saltwater off his face.

He couldn’t help but grin, and he knew he wasn’t the only one as laughter drifted across the water.

“You trashed the tree, Virg.”

“I don’t think he cares, Gordon.” He looked up to see Grandma smiling at him.

And no, he didn’t. As Scott poked him with a pole to help drag him to the edge and Bo decided his ear might do for her next meal, he suddenly felt joy. It could simply have been relief, but he was going to tack it up as Christmas joy and enjoy it while he could.

-o-o-o-

“Only you, Virgil.”

“It wasn’t intentional.”

“I have no doubt of that, it never is.”

“Aw, c’mon, Scott.”

“If it was intentional then I would have to accuse you of doing it deliberately just to get out of helping with the Christmas dishes.”

“We have a dishwasher.” Bo let off a bark as MiniMAX flew past dragging a bag full of recyclable cups, plates and cutlery, giving Virgil and his dog an extremely wide berth. “And there are hardly any dishes.”

“You are still getting out of clean up.”

“C’mon, Scott, you know me better than that. Ow!”

“Sit still. I’ve almost got all of it.”

Virgil leant back against the lounge, Bo curled up in his lap. “I’m not particularly happy about this either you know.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I know that, Ow!”

“Well, if you would watch where you were going, you wouldn’t have collided with the Christmas tree. And what’s with the bare feet anyway?”

“Bo ate one of my boots.”

Scott snorted and pulled out yet another tiny piece of glass Christmas bauble from the bottom of Virgil’s left foot. “She hasn’t been here twenty-four hours yet and she has already caused havoc.”

“She’s a puppy.”

“I noticed.” Scott sighed, peering through his magnifying visor at his brother’s foot. “I think that’s all of it. Please don’t do that again. You’ll be limping for a week.”

“I’m not planning on it.”

As Scott wrapped his foot in gauze, he eyed the puppy on Virgil’s lap. “And you, young lady, I thought we had a deal.”

To Virgil’s surprise, Bo’s head bobbed up and she looked distinctly guilty.

Scott arched an eyebrow. “Hmm, don’t let it happen again.”

Bo yapped at him.

Virgil stared at both of them. “What?”

“None of your business, you just lay back and look after yourself.” And Scott was smirking.

Ooookaay.

He relaxed back against the lounge and stared up at the fairy lights above.

Bo stomped up the length of him and licked his eyeball.

He coughed up a laugh and grabbed an armful of wriggly puppy.

“I think that was a Merry Christmas, Virg.” Scott held his injured foot and grinned. “Merry Christmas.”

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[onceuponmystory]

I Have Finally Found Peace With The Rise of Skywalker

And it's all thanks to my crazy, wonderful, just-as-obsessed-with-Star-Wars-as-I-am best friends.

But before I tell you how we did it, I have to give you guys two rather important warnings concerning this post. 

First and foremost, please beware that there will be MAJOR SPOILERS for The Rise of Skywalker in this post. If you haven't seen the movie, proceed at your own risk, and don't say I didn't warn you.

Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, this post is quite critical of the movie. I examine in detail everything I thought was bad about The Rise of Skywalker, and give my opinion on how it could have been done better.

But that doesn't mean this is a negative post - in fact, I hope to achieve quite the opposite. With the help of my friends, I realised that the best way to make your peace with The Rise of Skywalker is to talk through it and play Teacher With A Red Pen on the parts you didn't like.

I have to warn you that I tend to get a little carried away playing Teacher With A Red Pen. There's just so much to say about this movie... But if you're up to reading an insanely long post, I really think it'll be worth your while. 

Now, since this is a free era, we are all entitled to our own opinions, and this is mine. You are perfectly welcome to disagree with me, just please do it politely. And with that out of the way, let's jump right in, shall we? 

First Things First: Ben Solo's Death

I think one of the biggest WHY??? moments in the entire movie was Ben Solo's sacrifice and death. I'll say it now - I hated that twist, absolutely hated it. And not just because I'm a huge fan of Reylo, either. 

To start, it's predictable, the exact mirror of the Darth Vader sacrifice/death scene from Return of the Jedi. And while it worked for Darth Vader, doing it again with Ben was not only cliché and repetitive, but also a slap in the face to the character.

Because Ben Solo deserved better. He really, really did.

Kylo Ren/Ben Solo was from the start a very conflicted character - the son of two of the galaxy's greatest heroes, and the nephew of the last Jedi, manipulated from birth by Emperor Palpatine. Yes, he did terrible things, but he also had terrible things done to him. At the very least, he deserved the chance to atone for some of those terrible things.

While we're talking about slaps in the face, Ben dying made the deaths of Han, Luke and Leia mean so much less. All three of those people gave their lives so that their son (nephew, in Luke's case) would turn back to the light. Especially Leia - she literally used the last of her energy to reach out to her son and turn him back. Killing Ben off makes her sacrifice almost meaningless - didn't she die so he would be able to live a better life? 

And my last point about the Massive Unfairness of Ben's Death has to do with Rey. She and Ben love each other, don't they? They are literally described as "two of us who are one" - which is about as close as we're going to get to soulmates in Star Wars. With Ben's death, Rey lost half of who she is - not to mention the man she loved.

George Lucas once said, and I quote, that "I have always hated that in movies, when you go along and one of the main characters gets killed. This is a fairytale. You want everybody to live happily ever after and nothing bad happens to anybody."

So yes, maybe it's not the most perfect of arguments, but this is Star Wars. And after all these years of love and admiration, we all deserve that happy ending. 

And While We're At It: Ben Deserved A Proper Redemption Arc

I know I've just spent a long time ranting about why Ben deserved better, but I'm not quite done yet. Because yes, Ben absolutely deserved better - and most of all, he deserved a proper redemption.

Now, I don't know how many of you have seen Avatar The Last Airbender, but that show contains a prime example of a really good redemption arc. It's not simple, and it's not at all easy, but it's worth it.

In ATLA, Fire Prince Zuko starts off as the villain of the series, but ends up seeing that the way he was raised was wrong. He decides to make amends by joining his former enemy, Avatar Aang, and helping him save the world.

But what makes it really good is that it's not easy for Zuko. He struggles, he genuinely does, and he has to really work to earn the trust of the people who used to be his enemies. And time-consuming and difficult as it was, it ultimately ended up being worth it a thousand times over.

That, my friends, is a redemption arc. It takes time, and work, and real atonement. More than anything, I wanted to see that for Ben. I wanted him to struggle, and be distrusted, and hate himself, because that is the only way he can really redeem himself - by rising above all that and saying, "I was wrong, I'm sorry, and I'll take whatever punishment you want to give me, because I really want to change."

Death is taking the easy way out - in fact, it's lazy writing. Ben didn't have to die - his whole story, which is already so defined by struggle and conflict, would have been far more meaningful if he had had a final struggle, this time to prove that he really had changed. 

Unfortunately, the writers chose to take the cliché easy way out, killing off the character instead of giving him a much deeper, more meaningful ending.

If there was one thing - just one thing - I could change about The Rise of Skywalker, it would be that. I would give Ben the chance to properly redeem himself, because he really, truly deserves it.

Moving On: Rose Tico

With the Ben arc out of the way, I can move on to the next biggest issue I had with The Rise of Skywalker - and that's the horrible sidelining of one of my favourite characters from The Last Jedi, Rose Tico.

Now, I get that not everyone liked Rose's character - and that's fine. But there was no reason - none at all - for basically removing Rose, who played quite a significant role in The Last Jedi, from the new movie. Additionally, given all the racist and sexist harassment that Kelly Marie Tran suffered at the hands of malcontent fans, cutting Rose from the film almost seems like caving to those trolls.

And that is not acceptable. If you let a bully have his way, stopping him becomes near impossible. So even if it was just to show the trolls that bullying will not get you what you want, Rose Tico deserved a bigger role.

What bigger role, you may ask? Many people have said, and I grudgingly agree, that there wasn't really space for Rose to go along on the whole wayfinder quest. All right, fine. But sidelining her completely is not the right course of action. If you can't take her along on the main quest, then give her a significant sub-plot, for example joining Lando to call for aid for the Resistance.

Remember, Rose Tico was the person who turned Finn from an ex-stormtrooper more than ready to desert the Resistance into a loyal fighter for the cause he believes in - to such an extent that he was willing to sacrifice his own life for the survival of the Resistance. If there's anyone who could give the galaxy enough hope again to send help to the Resistance, it's Rose Tico.

Oh, and some more Finnrose would have been nice. You don't have to agree with me - I know many of you don't - but you have to admit that Finn and Rose definitely had some sort of a bond forged in The Last Jedi, even if it was just a platonic one. Basically ignoring that like they did in The Rise of Skywalker is just bad writing.

So I'm not saying that Rose needed to be the main star of the show - that would have been unrealistic, after all. But I do think, and I will stand by this opinion no matter what, that Rose deserved a lot better than what she got.

And On That Track: Jannah Was An Unnecessary Character

Don't get me wrong, I love Naomi Ackie, and I appreciate that Star Wars is trying to incorporate a more diverse cast. But despite it all, I just couldn't bring myself to like Jannah's character, or see why she was actually necessary.

See, if you take out Jannah, nothing much changes. Yes, it was nice for Finn to have someone to talk and relate to, but it wasn't necessary. We already know that Finn was a stormtrooper, just like we already know he left it behind him.

Also, Finn already had a female character he had a significant bond to - none other than Rose Tico from my previous rant. Why force in an all-new potential love interest at the last minute when you already have one with far more development? Not only could Rose have conceivably replaced Jannah in pretty much every scene, she also has a lot more development and history with Finn than Jannah does, which would have made their interactions that much more meaningful. 

And as for the attack on Pryde's Destroyer with the Orbaks (and no, I didn't know that's what those cow things were called, either, until I Googled it a few seconds ago) - that was a nice touch, but there's a simple way it could have been much better. Instead of introducing an all-new character and cow things with a name no-one knew unless they looked it up on Wookieepedia, bring back the fathiers from Canto Bight and that little Force-sensitive kid with the broom from The Last Jedi.

At this point, some of you may be wondering why I'm not attacking Zorii Bliss as well - isn't she also a brand-new character with very little real development? The answer to that is yes, she is, but she gives Poe Dameron some much-needed backstory. If you cut Zorii, Poe has no significant backstory, which means that she was actually important to the plot. (Also, Keri Russell is awesome, and has stunning eyes. Enough said.) 

So I'm sorry, Naomi Ackie, but I really wish that Jannah <i>wasn't</i> in The Rise of Skywalker. She's just there for too short to have any real development, and I'd rather use the time I gain from cutting her to focus on Rose and the actual plot.

While I'm Talking About The Plot: What On Earth Happened? Is Star Wars A Video Game, Now?

Ah, yes. Another big issue with The Rise of Skywalker is its rather disappointing lack of actual plot.

I'm sure some of you are frowning quite heavily at me right now, so let me backtrack a little and explain.

Upon first watching, The Rise of Skywalker seems like quite a good movie, really. (Except the ending, of course - but We Do Not Talk About The Ending.) It's only when you re-watch the movie that you realise that there is, in fact, very little really significant plot there.

To put it simply, a large part of the movie is a group of characters going to a Place to find a Thing that will help them find another Thing that will take them to another Place where they will save the world. Does this sound like a video game to anyone?

The thing with this kind of plot is that it works well the first time, when you don't know what's going to happen, and when the lack of plot can be hidden by dramatic explosions and cool fight scenes. Oh, and flying stormtroopers.

This is Star Wars, so there just has to be some explosions, as well as a quest of some kind. I don't deny that. But when said quest and explosions fill the story to such a degree that they become the plot, you're in cinematic trouble.

This is pretty much proven when you re-watch The Rise of Skywalker. Where the heroic quest and explosions and jetpack-sporting stormtroopers had you at the edge of your seat last time, now that you know what's coming, you start to see that very little actually happens in these scenes. Sure, they look cool, but they don't really affect the overall movement of the story in a significant way.

And that's a problem, given that most of the movie consists of scenes like these, or exposition. There are precious few scenes in which two or more characters have meaningful development in a way that will continue to affect them and the plot. This, unfortunately, means that the movie falls flat a bit when you watch it for the second time.

How would I change this?

Well, for starters, I would focus less on the actual hunt for the dagger and the wayfinder and whatever and more on the characters. How do they feel? Why do they feel it? And most importantly, how does this affect what happens to the rest of the characters and the plot?

Also, like I said before, more attention has to be given to a) Ben's redemption and b) an interesting sub-plot for Rose. And you know what? The lightsaber fight scenes could have been a lot cooler, as well.

Some More Complaining About The Plot: This Time, It's Plot Holes

Where to start, where to start. All movies have a plot hole of some kind, it's only natural, but The Rise of Skywalker is simply riddled with them.

Of course, this can be attributed to the lack of plot as explained in the previous rant. Since there is so little time spent actually developing the plot, it just stands to reason that said plot isn't the most watertight.

It's sort of spectacular, though, how quickly the first plot hole pops up. It must be just five minutes into the script - you guessed it, on Exegol.

Not only was the Emperor's resurrection never properly explained, but we also have about a thousand creepy Sith guys who are just suddenly there when needed for plot purposes. Who are they? Where did they come from? How did we not know about them before?

The Rise of Skywalker doesn't even try to answer any of these questions. It just gets glossed over in a classic example of How To Write A Glaring Plot Hole.

And while we're talking about Palpatine, let's take a look at his lackey-in-chief, Allegiant General Pryde, who oh-so-dramatically declares that he serves Palpatine "as I served you in the old wars."

Wait a minute. The old wars? As in the Return of the Jedi wars? Well then why on earth haven't we heard of Pryde before?

Sure, maybe he wasn't a major enough character to show in the original trilogy. But if he was such a faithful servant of Palpatine's, shouldn't he at least have made some kind of cameo in The Last Jedi or The Force Awakens? That would also have been some nice foreshadowing for the Emperor's return. 

Also, when and how did Rey fix Anakin's lightsaber? As I recall, at the end of The Last Jedi, it snapped in half. But when we skip to Rey in The Rise of Skywalker, it's perfectly whole again, with not a hint of explanation on the horizon.

Yes, maybe this isn't the biggest plot hole, but it's annoying. At least just have someone mention in passing "Oh well done Rey, you finished fixing the lightsaber" so it's not quite so out of the blue. 

And there's more. When Rey and Kylo have their big fight on Kef Bir, Rey quite clearly takes Kylo's TIE fighter. Since the Falcon most definitely did not stop by for him, how did Ben get off Kef Bir? 

This is never explained. He just pitches up on Exegol, and immediately starts fighting the Knights of Ren so you forget about wondering how he got there in the first place.

Can I just say the Knights of Ren were a disappointment? I was hoping for a lot more... anything, actually. They did pretty much nothing except look menacing for the entirety of the movie, unless you count getting thoroughly beaten by Ben on Exegol. 

I've probably missed another plot hole or seven, but I think I've had enough for the moment. You can only pull faces for so long, after all. I'm moving on.

  Last Thing: Too Much Fan Service

Picking up from where I left off - bad plot - I'll start by breaking a few hearts and saying that I thought Chewie should have died.

Wait, wait, don't run away screaming "Traitor!" like that! Dead Chewie would have been absolutely heart-breaking, I know, but it would have made for a really good plot point.

Rey thought she killed Chewie, and that quite understandably broke her heart. But then she finds out, oh no, wait, he's actually alive, there was another transport in the desert, ha ha, don't worry, fans. 

While that satisfies fans, looking at it critically, it would have been better to really kill Chewie. Very sad, yes, but better.

Let me explain. If Rey killed Chewie, really killed him, she would have been devastated. Being Rey, she probably would have isolated herself so she wouldn't accidentally hurt anyone else. She would have grieved, and her friends would have had to really work to comfort her and get her to trust herself again. This experience would have left Rey that much sadder and wiser, but stronger because of it.

This can be summed up quite simply: sad moments make the happy moments mean that much more.

But unfortunately for Rey's character development, Chewie is not really dead. The fans might be happy that they didn't lose a beloved character, but what they don't realise is that they lost a significant character progression instead.

And, sadly, this is not the only spot where the movie indulges its fans rather than a deeper plot.

For example, Rey buries Luke and Leia's lightsabers on Tattooine, and we fans get a warm tingly feeling in our stomachs because yay, we've come full circle.

But have we?

Tattooine holds nothing but bad memories for the Skywalker twins - Luke spent his entire life trying to get off the planet, and that homestead holds only bad memories for him. Easy as it is to forget, the last time Luke saw that homestead was when his aunt and uncle had been brutally murdered there. I somehow can't imagine that's where he would want his lightsaber buried - that's the equivalent of burying Harry Potter's wand at Number Four Privet Drive, for crying out loud. 

The same can be said for Leia. Her one experience of Tattooine was the infamous gold bikini scene with Jabba the Hutt - totally the place where she'd want to have her lightsaber, her legacy, buried, hmm?

My conclusion is that the "hopeful and uplifting" Tattooine ending scene is really only that way if you don't think too hard about it. Pure fan service, in other words.

Which is sad, if you consider the ending we could have had. We could have had Rey burying the lightsabers on Naboo, because that's where her grandfather came from, to symbolise that she really was leaving the past behind.

And if you have to be fan service-y, at least do it in the right way. Give Rey and Ben their happy ending, because as George Lucas puts it, having the boy and the girl walk into the sunset hand-in-hand adds ten million to the box office. (And a sunset across Naboo's seas would look very pretty, wouldn't it?)

In Conclusion: TROS Being So Bad Is Actually A Good Thing, Because Now We Get To Fix It The Way We Want

Take a moment to consider that. If The Rise of Skywalker was so bad that we no longer consider it canon, well, that means we can invent our own canon, doesn't it?

This is how I made my peace with The Rise of Skywalker - by accepting that the movie Disney gave us needed some severe changes, and applying them in my head. You won't believe how much better I feel now that I have "my" version of The Rise of Skywalker accepted as canon in my head.

That's my message to you all: if TROS has upset you as much as it did me, don't try to deny it to yourself. Gather a group of good friends around you and have a The Rise of Skywalker fix-it session, and talk it out until you've made the movie into what you want to see.

We are the fans, my friends, and we deserve the movie that we want to see. So get out there and make it for yourselves!

[skylar-river-blog]

Living With Wings

Growing up in an Illyrian camp isn’t easy. Constant training, flying lessons, not to mention the terrible beds. But being a woman in an Illyrian camp is a different story. After running away at a young age, River has had to survive in ways her mother and father could never imagine, even with all of the struggles her mother had to face when she first came to the camp. With the impending war with Hybern, the Illyrian forces need all of the help they can get. There’s just one problem: women aren’t allowed wings, and they sure as hell aren’t allowed on the battle field, the one place River knows she belongs.

Chapter 1

The forest is quiet. This sort of quiet is not one that is wanted. Ever. It suggests the presence of the naga or the Bogge. They haven’t been seen in these areas for a few months, this being the only reason I set up camp here. My senses are on high-alert, waiting for the smallest shift in the atmosphere, waiting for the perfect time to strike. My body is stone. Frail and thin, but stable, strong. The weapons around my waist are nothing that I would pick from a lineup, but they are the best I have: a knife I carved from a stone and a spear head taken from an arrow. Living on your own is nothing to brag about, especially when you might be devoured if you make one wrong step.

A twig snapped from a few hundred feet away, and I made my move. I ran northeast, a bit to the left from where I heard the sound. Hopefully this would give me the upper hand and a fair shot at killing it, whatever it was. Running through the trees I heard only my feet crunching leaves, reassuring my suspicion. With this I turn and run north. There is nothing within me that I fear enough for the Bogge to kill me. I have nothing to love or care for. The closer I got, the quieter it became. Almost 30 feet away, I stop, only to become aware of my surroundings, of all of my escape routes. It’s definitely quieter here. I turned in place and saw nothing. Throwing a rock at a nearby tree, I grabbed my knife and waited. For what, I didn’t know. The longer I waited the more the silence began to devour me, the more I began to lose myself.

I slowly dropped to a crouch and turned, until I came face to face with my father. I stumbled back on my knees and quickly got to my feet.

“It’s time you come home.” His voice was strong and rough.

“Why are you here? And how did you find me?”

“That doesn’t matter. It’s time you stopped playing these games of survival and came back to your mother.” Figures. He’s only here because my mother sent him.

“You couldn’t care less about me. Yet you let mother convince you to hunt me.” My father never did anything he didn’t want to. Only something valued by my father would be accepted for him to go out of his way like this. Dear Gods, what did she promise him?! “I’ll ask you again. Why are you here.”

“Your mother.” There was a kind of fear and worry as he said it. “Come home.”

“What’s wrong with mother.” A command, not a question.

“See for yourself.” Behind my father, I then realized, stood three Illyrian soldiers in their fighting leathers. My father was going to take me back, with or without a fight. I contemplated running, straight toward them, hoping to catch them off guard. Then I remembered my mother. Something must be horribly wrong if he hunted me, even after my rough departure.

I began walking east. Even after not seeing a sign of my birth camp, the location has never left. For months after I left I made the first few steps back, thinking of how much it would hurt my mother, how much easier it would be to return home and live in constant protection, even if I would be disregarded and treated as less than the ground they walked on.

Then I thought of them. I thought of all of the other women in the camp., all of the others that tried to escape and never made it. This wasn’t just for me. This was for them, too. This was for my mother. She left her camp in hopes of a new life until the my father’s captain found her. She still had hers at the time,. Until they were publicly ripped from her in the center of the camp as a lesson for anyone else who tried to run. Had my father not secretly sent that healer to her tent that night, she would have died.

I would not let this go to waste.

This is for her.

Then why am I leading my father back to the camp? Why am I reminding him that I never forgot where they were, even if he didn’t care? My mother is much stronger that that. She may have lost them, but they never left. She would have sent word herself. She would have alerted me. Somehow. This was too easy. Too simple.

He gave no details of her condition. No hint or suggestion at her well-being. This is what made me feel the unease that gripped my chest with its sharp talons.

Nevertheless I continued on.

~~~~~~

We were at the camp by sundown. I hadn’t realized how far I had traveled from the camp. It still looked the same. Even after all of these years, nothing has changed except for the youth running around with copper swords and wooden shields. We were given wooden swords.

I walked through the crowd with my head high. Everyone knew who I was and, what I’d done. I could smell their rage as I walked to my tent.

Nothing.

My mother was nowhere to be seen. I went through every room and found nothing. I couldn’t even smell her there. It felt as though she had never lived at all.

Turning around I smelled there were more soldiers in the tent.

“Where is my mother?” Their expressions hinted at nothing. I scanned the soldiers, looking each of them in the eye as I did.

And I was gone.

In a blink I was behind the line of soldiers, running towards the woods. And in a heartbeat they were in the air. Flying above me they flapped their broad, muscular wings downwards, making it harder for me to breathe. I kept running, forcing air in and out of my lungs, ignoring the burning as it entered ice cold into my fiery chest.

The soldiers began to descend, further restricting my breathing. They are taught this strategy as soon as they to learn to fly. The camp started swarming with soldiers, at least five from every angle. The ground was clear and I had one clear shot, one last chance.

I summoned them. Within seconds I was off the ground, soaring into the sky. I flapped my wings in smooth and quick repetitions, hoping to gain as much altitude as possible. The wind burned my eyes and the cold air burned my lungs. My body screamed at me to look back, to see if we were in the clear.

I didn’t dare.

The tears began to stream down my face as the rage I had bottled up escaped. How dare my father use my mother. How dare he abuse my love for her. How dare I believe him. How dare I think that he would come to me if my mother truly was in danger.

How dare I.

The tears began falling faster as I let out a scream. My wing. I tried flapping them, tried to gain altitude as my body began hurtling toward the forest below me. I looked to my left; there was an ash arrow through my wing. I looked to my right, only to find the same thing in the other. Snapping the body of the arrow, I pulled the other half from my wing, letting out a faint scream. After releasing the other arrow I tucked them in close. The last thing I would do is give them another target.

With my feet grazing the treetops, I opened my wings and glided to the ground, grunting with the pain it brought on. They had missed one of the vital veins, but it would still take time to heal. I sprinted between the trees, using their canopies as cover. When they had all flown past and there was no sign or smell of their company within a ten mile radius I walked to a stream nearby and began washing my wings in hopes of washing away any splinters from the arrows.

“And where do you think you’re goin’?” The voice was deep, commanding, but gentle. I tucked my wings in tight, turning to the man.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to stare?” I spat, not caring about the sting it may have carried.

“And didn’t anyone tell you to keep those hidden?” He motioned to my wings that were peaking out on my sides. I noticed his were dark, strong and defined. Mine were stark white, with streaks of blood running down and staining my feathers.

“Apparently I have been doing just that if I still have them.”

“And you might just as easily lose them if you aren’t careful.” The smirk that crossed his face made me want to slap it right off.

“And you might as well lose yours if you don’t watch how you talk to me.”

He chuckled before saying, “And who are you to speak to me in this way? I would think again before I opened my mouth if I were you.”

“Who are you, then? You clearly don’t look like you live in the forest.” His arms were toned, legs defined, and chest broad and muscular. Everything about him screamed High Fae. Everything about him screamed at me to run.

“I’m not High Fae, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Emissary?” He shook his head. “Commander of an army?” Shook his head again. “If you’re not High Fae, or emissary, or a commander, then who are you?”

He stood up straight, and it wasn’t until then that I had realized he was slouching. His wings must have been pure muscle if they caused him to slouch like that. “I am your greatest ally you have, at the moment. Call me Alekos, Defender of Mankind. Or faekind, in this case.” His tone of voice as he said his name was comedic, almost as though he named himself.

“Okay, Alekos, wher--”

“Alekos, Defender of Faekind.” He corrected with a smirk. He had the mannerisms of someone I knew growing up. Someone pompous, flirtatious, snarky.

“Yeah, whatever. Where are you from then?”

“I can definitely show you to my tent, if that’s what you mean,” he said with a grin. Definitely familiar.

“No, I’m fine, thank you. I’ll go back to my camp then, if that’s all the help you’re going to be,” I said with a bite, whether intentional or not, I wasn’t sure.

“You won’t get anywhere with those wings in that condition. Maybe a mile or two, but not more, and it’s my best guess to say that your camp isn’t two miles away. I have something at my camp that can help with those wounds. But that would mean following me to my tent, and I’m not sure we’re quite ready for that yet.” He finished his last sentence with a smirk, with which I replied with a mocking smile. I spread my wings, taking another look at the holes that weren’t healing.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve lived through worse.” I made to take flight before he could stop me, but the pain shooting through them and down my spine stopped me before he even had the chance. I winced, taking a step back to regain my balance.

“You won’t last a hundred yards. Let me give you something for the ashwood. Then I’ll take you back to your camp.” This time there was no smirk, no grin. A straight, serious face looked down at me. His prominent cheekbones and deep blue eyes complimented each other, while still allowing his strong, cut jawline to show his assertion.

“How far off?” I would take the help, only because I couldn’t do this alone without a salve, or anything to initiate the healing.

He gestured farther south. “Maybe three miles out. We can make it within the hour if we run, but we’ll make it within the half hour if I carry you.”

“I don’t need to be carried, I’m not lame.” My attitude was obvious. He looked me up and down. Alec assessed my body, taking the most time with my wings. I tucked them back in closer, wincing at the pain again shooting through my spine. “I can walk.”

“Then we’d better get going. Those soldiers will come looking for you soon enough.” He was right. They would look by the water, knowing I was injured and would attempt to clean my wounds. Knowing going back to my camp would be a death wish for me, I motioned him to lead the way, keeping a few paces back.

[imagine-loki]

The Shadow Of Your Heart

TITLE: The Shadow Of Your Heart

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 7 (of 10)

AUTHOR: FadingCoast

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you are Sigyn who saves Loki from torture.

RATING: Mature.

NOTES/WARNINGS: Sexual innuendos (no explicit sex) / blood / violence / torture.

Loki and Sigyn have known eachother since childhood. Tired of waiting, she gets engaged to another man, but Loki won’t accept it, and tricks Sigyn into marrying him instead. Will they get through married life, children and Ragnarok (sort of)?

Chapter warnings: Mentions of blood and torture, again. I should mention that english isn’t my first language, and I often struggle with synonyms and rephrasing ideas. Writing this chapter was hard because of that: my head was sure of what I wanted to portray, but words failed me a few times. So, I apologize if, at times, it is a little redundant.

Recommended song: Heavy In Your Arms - Florence and the Machine.

Also on Ao3

.-

Ch. 7: Are you strong enough to stand protecting both your heart and mine?

Breathe.

Inhale– A wave of pain stopped his chest from moving.

He had to be reminded on how to get air inside his lungs. It hurt. The peeled skin left his flesh exposed, with each intake his burns ripped open all over again. Blood trickled down his shoulders and his chest, his lower back punctured of the rocks underneath. His hair was sticking to his forehead, matted with blood and sweat.

Breathe.

He tried again, this time slower. The pain was a little more bearable, but it still made his muscles scream in agony. He pulled at the chains in his wrists, the metal digging into his forearms served as a distraction from the pain in his torso. He gulped the air down greedily, keeping it in his lungs for as long as he could before breathing out slowly.

Loki kept his eyes shut, it made no difference in the pitch black cave. He braced himself, now that he was awake, he would feel every bit of the dripping poison in his bare body. Every spell he had tried to use to block it had been useless: the venom would find a way.

It would burn his skin, it would expose his flesh, it would make him bleed, it would make him scream until his throat was sore, it would leave smoking traces and an acrid smell of burnt meat. The next drops would melt into his muscles, turning them into a gelatinous gunk, until it would reach the bone. His shoulder blades had already suffered, he had spent the last of his energy trying to heal the wound and cover the exposed bone. That’s when he had passed out.

“Loki?”

He heard a small whisper in the back of his head. Sigyn, he thought. He had been so drained of his magic, that he had stopped trying to reach for her.

“Loki, please…”

He heard again and blinked his eyes open. A faint light was flooding the cave and he gasped, surprised. He regretted it immediately, as the wounds in his chest reopened.

“Shit.” Loki was screaming now, but it was short lived. Soon, a cool sensation against his flesh soothed the pain a bit. And he realized.

“The Hel are you doing here? How did you find me?” He said hoarsely, staring at his wife. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Yet here I am.” Sigyn said with a quivering voice. “As how I found you, remember we’re bound together. There’s nowhere you can go that I won’t find you.”

Loki took in the picture in front of him: Sigyn’s skin was gastly white, her eyes bloodshot and swollen, with purple rings around them, her hair was a braided mess. Her robe was torn and dirty, with stains that he recognized as dry blood. Her trousers were ripped, showing several skid marks on her knee and leg. Her hands had been burnt, and they were shaking as they tended to his wounds. Suddenly, breathing became a lot easier.

“Here.” Sigyn said, offering Loki some water. After a couple of gulps, he felt better. “Not too much, I don’t want you throwing up on top of everything.” Loki just stared at her as she cleaned his face of the blood and the dirt before allowing him to drink a bit more.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Loki said softly. Sigyn cupped his face as gently as she could and kissed his chapped lips. Somehow, he managed to smile.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.” Sigyn said, pressing her forehead on his.

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve been falling in and out of consciousness.” Loki shuffled uncomfortably, but in his position, there was only so much he could do. “How did you make the poison stop? I tried everything.”

“I didn’t make it stop.” Sigyn pointed to a circular bowl floating several inches above his head. “It will take a while to be full, but I do need you to get better before it does. I cannot drain it with magic.”

Loki nodded in understanding. “The handcuffs?”

“Sealed with a spell. In fact, those things are restraining your magic, not the poison.” As she spoke, Sigyn fed Loki small bits of fruit and chocolate.

Loki took a deep breath. It still hurt, but at least it didn’t feel like he was being skinned alive. Sigyn put her hand in the middle of his chest, making it glow gold. Loki could feel the soft tingle of magic surging through him. At first he resisted, as he didn’t want to wear her out, but she insisted. He managed to heal his wrists at last.

“Why doesn’t this work on the other wounds?”

“That’s snake venom. Skadi provided the snake. It must be cleansed before you can heal those wounds. Unfortunately, I can’t do it here. It requires a lot more than the satchel of herbs I managed to steal.” Sigyn helped Loki to get more comfortable against the rocks, using her cape.

“What now?” Loki said in a low voice.

“Now we try and figure something out, I guess.” Sigyn sat down between Loki’s legs, trying to clean his wounds as gently as she could. “You will get out of here, I promise.”

The bowl above them started shaking slightly. Sigyn looked at it and stood up in a rush. With one wordless look, Loki knew what was coming. He tried to brace himself, but sheer fear was breaking all his will.

Sigyn held the bowl. “Are you ready?”

Loki just nodded, pressing his teeth together and taking a deep breath. When Sigyn removed the bowl, it took a few seconds for the venom to drip onto Loki. He did a tremendous effort not to scream, but it was useless. His skin was still swollen and his muscles were still sore, this new wave of torture was way more than he could endure. Howling, he pulled at the shackles with such force that the whole cavern shook.

Sigyn tried to walk with the bowl full of venom as fast as she could to the back of the cave, trying her best to block Loki out, but some of the pain slipped right through. She could feel the burns in his back and the metal in his wrists. When the cavern shook, she stumbled a bit, causing the poison to slosh on her fingers. She nearly dropped the basin, but at least she was far enough so she could empty it.

She ran back, using her magic to put it again above Loki and stop the venom.

His skin was smoking and he was breathing heavily. Ignoring the pain on her hands, Sigyn hurried to clean Loki’s reopened wounds. The soothing magic allowed Loki to breathe normally again.

“Thanks.” He rasped. Sigyn resumed her position in between his legs, allowing him to drink a bit. “Your hands–”

“They will be fine.” She said, soaking her hands in the cold water. The burns closed half way through, but at least they didn’t hurt anymore. Then, she went back to cleaning Loki’s chest.

He stared at her, noticing the way she was clenching her jaw. “You know you shouldn’t be here.”

“Don’t do that.” She said, still concentrated in her work. “Don’t even try, cause no matter what you say, I am not abandoning you.”

Loki saw the tears welling up in her eyes. “You deserve so much more than this.”

“Told you not to do that.” Her voice broke. “I’ve lost everything in the past few weeks, I’m not about to lose you too.” Tears were falling down her face when she looked at him. Loki opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “And stop apologizing.”

.-

A loud crashing sound stirred Loki from his unconsciousness. In came the pain, and he screamed. Sigyn rushed back to his side and started fumbling with the satchel of herbs. In the brief pause the venom gave him, Loki noticed Sigyn’s hands were severely burnt. He puffed, trying not to scream again.

“The bowl broke, the poison wore it down and it started slipping through the cracks.” She explained briefly, holding a cup to Loki’s mouth with shaking hands.

He clenched his jaw. “What-?” Sigyn took advantage of the yell he gave to force half the liquid into his mouth. Loki felt the effect like boulder to the head. “You’re trying to numb me out.”

“Please, Loki, just drink.” Sigyn urged him and he complied begrudgingly, until he had drunk it all.

“You’re up to something.” Loki said, trying to fight the spell and the infusion. “What are you going to do?” He said groggily.

“I’m going to get you out of here.” Sigyn whispered before kissing him.

.-

Sneaking through the palace was never hard.

Sneaking to Odin and Frigga’s room, well, that was something new to her.

Sigyn thought about barging through the windows and demand they released Loki, it would suit her anger, but it could end up with her in the dungeons if someone saw her.

Instead, she managed to avoid the guards right to their chambers door and waited until the King and Queen were alone.

“Your majesties.” Sigyn said, breaking the heavy silence in the room. She had been in those chambers before, while the twins were being tutored by Frigga. Everything seemed exactly the same, as if the events that destroyed her family meant absolutely nothing to them.

“Sigyn.” Frigga gasped, startled. Odin came from the adjacent room and stared at her. “Where are you? Are you well?” The queen added: she had noticed it was just an illusion.

“Define well.” Sigyn said with disgust. “I am back in Asgard, I’ve come to bargain for my husband’s life.”

“I might take you more seriously if you chose to come yourself.” Odin crossed his arms on his chest.

“So you can have me flogged and thrown in the dungeons?” Sigyn smirked. “Hel, no.”

“We won’t do any of it.” Frigga stated, giving Odin a hard look. He just nodded and sat down.

Sigyn’s projection dissolved at the same time the real Sigyn opened the door. Frigga ran to her and hugged her to her chest, apologizing over and over again.

“I have been so worried! I had nightmares thinking you could’ve been killed trying to find Loki–”

“I did find him.” Sigyn said, completely unmoved by Frigga’s words and actions. A few apologies wouldn’t do, not after everything they had gone through.

“How?” Odin enquired, but Sigyn didn’t answer.

Frigga took Sigyn’s hands, and recognized the wounds. “That’s snake poison.” She muttered. Holding Sigyn’s wrist, she mouthed a short spell, the bright golden thread that bound Loki and Sigyn flickered against the burnt skin.

“How? When? How did you convince him?” Frigga said, absolutely confused.

Sigyn rolled her eyes. “It was his idea, and we got bound right after we got married.” She said, snatching her hand back from the queen’s grasp. “But of course that’s how low you’d think of him. He’s not even your son, is he?”

Odin shifted uncomfortably on his chair, while Frigga just retreated. “What makes you say that?”

Sigyn displayed her glowing wrist. “We’re bound. I can feel the glamouring spell inside of him.”

“Does he know?” Frigga muttered, while tears filled her eyes.

“No… I just noticed cause he’s been nearly depleted of his magic.”

“And we’ll all keep it that way.” Odin said menacingly.

“So many things are clear right now. Why you have always favored Thor, why you didn’t do anything when Nanna killed our sons, why you chose to punish him like this… Is he even an asgardian?”

“No, he’s not.” To Sigyn’s surprise, this time Frigga was the one talking.

“Silence, woman!” Odin warned, but Frigga chose to ignore him.

“For the Norns’ sake, Odin! We chose to adopt him after you found him in Jötunheim! We chose to raise him, and for what?” Frigga said, her voice was quivering, but she would not falter in front of the king this time. “To give him a life? A family? To be one of us for as long as you deemed necessary and then take it all away?”

“Jötunheim? He’s a frost giant?” Sigyn asked.

“Yes.” Frigga said, while still staring at the king. “Bring my son back home.”

“He’s not your son!”

“I choose for him to be my son, then!”

Odin mulled over what Frigga said, but Sigyn knew he wouldn’t give in so easily. “His punishment isn’t over yet. He still broke the ancient laws, he took justice into his own hands and murdered an innocent life that cannot be replaced.”

“If it’s a life you want, then take mine and end our misery.” Sigyn said.

Both king and queen looked at her. “Are you offering your life to save his?”

“If that is punishment enough for you, then yes.” She stood very still, her whole body was shaking, but she wouldn’t let them see.

“You’d still give your life for him, after knowing his true heritage? Why?”

Sigyn stared at Odin in disbelief, how could she start to explain what Odin was too small and simpleminded to see?

“Because I love him.” It was a really simple answer. “Because both of us are stuck in this half life. Loki in that cave, me a prisoner on this rock. I gave up my only chance of helping him by coming back here. If my life is going to give him his life back, then I’ll do it.”

“Let us assume that I consent to your request. Your terms?” Odin said.

“As I said, give Loki his life back. At least one of us will have a second chance.”

.-

Finally the imagine is in the story! Feedback is always appreciated as we’re nearing the end of this fic.

[fmdmoonjin]

Interviews. What used to be the bane of his existence as a public figure has turned into mere routine over the years, and this one isn't even live – it shouldn't be a problem, Moonjin thinks, but still doesn't like it as he takes his place admidst multiple cameras that will capture his expressions from multiple angles, so the producers can later use whatever looks most dramatic, one way or another. The squeaky white surface of the chair looks almost new, like no one had sat on it before him – an impression he knows to be an illusion; fittingly, as that is sure to be a recurring theme throughout Idolized's runtime. Illusions.

If his key value is honesty, what does it say about him that he's chosen an occupation that leaves no room for that? Moonjin refuses to ponder that question as he straightens his shoulders and plasters on a little smile, just enough to lighten up his usually too dark expression, then nods at the manager seated across from him – although no obstacles are blocking his view, he feels the line of cameras dividing them. In front of the camera, where artificial light smooths over his imperfections, he slips into a world of illusions with alarming readiness. (Is he becoming immune to the prick of lies like needles piercing his skin? Who knows – it's not his choice to make anymore.)

What is life as an idol like?  “Life as an idol,” he begins, then pauses shortly to run his tongue along his bottom lip. It isn't dry – he just needs a little time to think, as truthful thoughts drown out those he prepared beforehand, anticipating similar questions, “Is hard to explain in its entirety to people who haven't experienced it, which is, I think, where this show comes in.” A nod to underline his words conveys mild satisfaction – isn't that something the higher-ups would love to hear? Words of support he only partially stands behind, but he hasn't lied so far. “There are a lot of misconceptions about idols. It starts with this: that there seems to be a need for a general definition of 'idol life'. I'd like to place emphasis on the fact that we're all different, and thus our lives are too.” Too negative, Moonjin quickly reprimands himself – too critical. If there is one thing the public dislikes, it's usually being wrong and someone calling attention to that. “Of course some things are similar for all of us. There's the thrill of standing on stage, singing and dancing for people who wholeheartedly cheer us on – there's nothing even remotely comparable to the sound of a hundred people singing along to music you put together in the walls of a studio, unsure of whether or not anyone would even want to listen once it's done. There are strict rules for most of us, as you can find them at many workplaces – it's true that there isn't such a clear line between work and home in our job, but on the other hand, we have other liberties that certain professions may not offer. In the end, I think it's important to keep in mind that it's just that: a job. It doesn't define who I am as a person, but how I do my job just might.”

What are the hardships? Not usually much of a talker unless the situation calls for it, like when conflict arises in the dorm or anything of the sort, Moonjin finds himself exhausted of being the only one to speak after barely having answered one question, and adjusts his legs until they are in a 90 degree angle to the floor – an attempt to ground himself, perhaps, though it's mostly an excuse to move his muscles that are quickly getting stiff. “It's not always easy.” Typical – he avoids admitting that it's hard under any circumstances, in front of everyone, at all times. “Sometimes, things don't go as planned. Personally, I struggle most when I get sick or injured, which, luckily, isn't all that often – I don't want to miss schedules I was graciously invited to, and I don't ever want to let the members down. As a leader, I strive to be a support system they can fall back on whenever they need it, so when I can't do that, it's hard. It's the same for the fans too – as they're all precious to me, I'm always hoping I won't disappoint them with what I do, but sometimes, things are out of my hands. I wish they wouldn't blame themselves when we don't win first place on a music show, for example. It's not their fault for not voting enough, streaming enough, or anything – wouldn't I have to work harder instead, to put out better music next time?” A lot of things are left unmentioned: nights spent at practice rooms, dancing until his legs give out beneath him; in studios, jotting down notes until there are dents in his fingers and the shadows under his eyes are as dark as the ink on the pages. He doesn't mention the distance between him and all things not compatible with his lifestyle: former friends, his family, the vague possibility of romance, like he's forgotten those were once a part of him at all. He leaves out how odd it is to look in the mirror and not know oneself: who is he changing into, and is he still okay with it? Will he still be able to look at himself in five years, in ten? They don't know who he once was – they don't have to know.

What is rewarding?  His smile turns more genuine with that question, the thought alone enough to return a gleam of excitement to his eyes – his passion for the job prevails through all hardships they face, unbreakable, unchanged. “As I briefly touched upon earlier, the most rewarding moments are always interactions with fans. Of course I love making music, even if no one else listens to it in the end. There are a lot of songs I've written that I doubt I'll ever release, but I'm just as passionate about them as any others. It's rewarding in itself to have that final result – when a rough idea turns into a song.” Purposely looking at the camera for a brief moment, almost as if his gaze flickered over the person watching, even though no one is, yet (except for the camera crew), Moonjin pauses before elaborating. “It's always touching to meet our fans, whether it's at concerts or anywhere else – I couldn't have imagined what it feels like when they prepare events for you, if you had asked me years ago. They're usually at the end of a concert, but I end up feeling more revitalized than I could after weeks of vacation.” Only the partial truth, granted, but he is content with not having told a blatant lie so far – these are the little things he clings to, bases his integrity on. “Fan letters, too. Having our fans allow us a glance into their world and realizing that we might have impacted it in some way with what we do is still overwhelming, no matter how many I receive. A personal goal of mine, in the end, is to be someone our fans can rely on – I may not always be able to answer posts in the fancafe or anything of the sort, but I hope they know I make songs with them in mind. That I really see them when they cheer for us, and feel connected to them as people when they talk to us, whether that's through comments or in person.”

How would you feel if your future child wanted to be an idol?  Although it's not a question that surprises him, Moonjin hasn't given it much thought before, for the very simple reason that having children of his own still seems so far off, he deems it impractical to hypothesize about it. Maybe he'll never have any – then all the time spent thinking about that possible future would have been for naught. However, it's not up to him to decide this time around, so he blinks once, twice, his features impassive in their rigid politeness – untelling. “If my child ever told me they wanted to be an idol too, I think that first of all, as a father, I'd be proud to have done good enough of a job to have them wish to pursue the same career.” A light chuckle tumbles from his lips, too perfectly timed to be completely sincere, but it isn't all fake either. It's only that he has a hard time not being all too businesslike as soon as he's on his own, yet with a thousand eyes on him. “I'd want to sit them down and tell them, in detail, what being an idol entails – it's an important choice for their future, after all, so I'd want them to be a hundred percent sure about it. As a child, we often dream of paths to take that look cool in the moment, but as you grow older and think about it in greater depth, it doesn't fit your interests as much anymore. Therefore, I'd definitely want to make sure my child knows what being an idol is all about – that it's hard work too, unlike going to a karaoke room with friends once a week, if they only enjoy singing, for example. First, maybe we could reach a compromise – they could take vocal or dance lessons and start there, and if at any point they get sick of it, they can stop and do something else instead. But if they truly wish to pursue that dream in the end, knowing all about it and having gained those experiences, I'd support them wholeheartedly and proudly.” The smile that spreads across his cheeks at that is distant, his eyes slightly glazed over, as he ends up imagining the impractical anyway, despite his prior reluctance.

Do you think the words “artist” and “idol” mean the same thing? A sigh threatens to spill from his lips at that question, for he's witnessed it being discussed over and over again, and every single time anew, someone got riled up over it eventually. To Moonjin, it is but gum that has lost its taste he is told to keep chewing anyway – and chew he does, obediently, with a drawn out hum to mask his disinterest as pensiveness. “I think 'artist' and 'idol' mean very different things, honestly, but it really depends on one's definition of 'artist'. Being an idol could be seen as an art in itself, which would then make every idol an artist, but not every artist an idol.” A shrug entirely too nonchalant for so engaging a topic is habitual, yet the moment Moonjin notices his mistake, he tries to make up for it with a good-natured grin. “An idol, I think, is someone who performs on stage like we do – singing and dancing; the whole package of visual and auditory concepts, the results of weeks or months of practice. An artist, in the typical sense, is someone who writes their own music and doesn't rely on anything but their music, I suppose?” His tone of voice is questioning now, uncertain. Freedom, he wants to say – freedom's the difference between the two, but his manager's gaze is watchful and more than one pair of eyes is trained on him, so he swallows it back.

Are there sides to you your fans don’t see? “I think there are a lot of sides I didn't get the chance to show my fans yet, as I have to admit that I have a hard time focusing on anything but performing and giving them a good show when I'm on stage.” Another half-truth, at best – there are always a hundred thoughts whirling around his head at once; he simply chooses to push them aside and concentrate on what's truly important, one thing at a time, and usually, being professional is at the top of his list during public events. “Of course there are fansigns and we've been on shows before, but none quite like this, right?” Honestly, that's a mandatory comment for every show – praise it as novel, something no one had seen before, to lure in people who might not be die-hard fan enough to watch everything they're on. “Wouldn't this be the perfect chance to get to know the person 'Ahn Moonjin'? Without the spotlight and all.” Wouldn't it indeed? It's not a question he needs to answer – it won't, not really; of course it won't.

What do you hope viewers will see through the airing of this show? “Above all, I hope viewers won't see me as boring while watching this show.” Albeit he makes sure to chuckle after that sentence, it comes a second too late to hide the fact that there's genuine worry behind it – he is boring, so what is there to show? Ahn Moonjin, not moving as he sits in front of a computer in a studio for hours on end. Truly suspenseful entertainment right there. “I'd like it if they saw that I'm just human too – not just Impulse's leader, but also a fan of other artists, a friend, a family member. Those things. I believe I haven't done much of a good job of showing any of that so far.” And he never wanted to – still doesn't, quite frankly, but he doesn't know what else to name. Hope is beyond him at this point; it's going to be part of his work, this show, and one he has already accepted he won't enjoy very much, that's all there is to it. Even someone who values honesty as much as him knows he can't say that, though, so he simply nods it off and moves on.

What do you hope you’ll get out of the experience of the show? Are there any other groups or idols you hope to get the chance to meet more through the show? That one is different; mostly because he hasn't prepared himself for it and thus doesn't have an answer ready. Typical – Moonjin has always liked thinking things through before speaking, and though he's learned that that simply isn't possible at times, he takes the liberty to bide his time now, while he still can. Later, they can edit out this part and pretend it never happened. “Ideally, I'd like to think it will help me get closer to my fans by sharing my day to day life with them. Because I never remember to be as active as others on social media, I think this show is a great chance for that.” A lie, the first one he can't deny, and he feels it settling like a weight pushing down on his chest – regret is immediate and inevitable. Good. He hasn't gotten used to it yet. “There are quite a few other idols I'd be happy to meet through this show. Some of you may not know, but MARS' Rise and I are actually quite close, so wouldn't it be nice if our two groups got together at some point?” It wouldn't, not really, not with all the unknown variables a lot of the other members are, but the mention of Minseok causes Moonjin's expression to brighten yet again despite himself. “Of course I'd be honored to work with much respected seniors like Decipher, especially as I'm on good terms with both Duri and Haejun.” Whereas their friendships had initially been a farce, both of them, he supposes 'on good terms' is still fairly accurate (and vague enough). “As for groups I haven't had the chance to interact with much so far,” he begins, then trails off as his brow furrows – which group would be okay to name? No girls, no groups with a bad reputation, and none Impulse is already tied to one way or another – that doesn't leave very many options. “Dimensions Entertainment's newest addition, Jin's debut really caught my attention, so I'd be happy if I got a chance to meet him in person through the show.”

How do you feel about the upcoming Hallyu Triple Fantasy Concert in Jeju City? “I'm excited about the upcoming Hallyu Triple Fantasy Concert in Jeju City, of course.” That one, he doesn't have to think about very hard, and neither is there a need to lie. The realist in him knows that he'll be half dead after that, as he's already been working himself to the bone lately and giving him further reason to surely wasn't going to do him any good, but his survival instincts have always lost to his passion, and would continue to do so for years to come, he's sure. “It's such a big event, and I'm always humbled to get the chance to perform at such a venue alongside these amazing artists. We're diligently preparing, so please look forward to that as much as we do!” For the enthusiasm, he does have to make an effort, for that has never come naturally to him – he simply isn't very expressive; not unless one knows to pay attention to the subtleties, but most cameras fail to even catch those.

Do you have any worries about being followed by cameras for the show? “I'm not particularly worried about being followed by cameras throughout the filming period,” Moonjin says with characteristic quiet firmness, meant to leave no room for doubt where plenty of it is due. “I don't have anything to hide, so what's there to be worried about?” His eyes crease with another broader smile, though by now he himself is no longer sure if he means it. “As I mentioned earlier, I'm more worried about not having anything to show, rather than something I don't want to show.” The sad part is that that much is true – he has his secrets, but none that would be hard to keep, even with cameras following in his shadows.

The end of the interview leaves him with a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach – when an illusion is lifted, it's sobering, but not always in a good way. The lines between the person he is and the role he's playing are blurring gradually, and he doubts the show is going to help with that. With a deep breath, he reminds himself of how great of an opportunity it is for Impulse to gain a little more support, solely by being themselves – hard-working and authentic –, then finally gets up and bows to all members of the staff. “You've worked hard.”

[gaysparklepires]

1. First Sight

Read on AO3

This was the time of day when I wished I were able to sleep.

High school.

Or was purgatory the right word? If there was any way to atone for my sins, this ought to count toward the tally in some measure. The tedium was not something I grew used to; every day seemed more impossibly monotonous than the last.

I suppose this was my form of sleep—if sleep was defined as the inert state between active periods.

I stared at the cracks running through the plaster in the far corner of the cafeteria, imagining patterns into them that were not there. It was one way to tune out the voices that babbled like the gush of a river inside my head.

Several hundred of these voices I ignored out of boredom.

When it came to the human mind, I’d heard it all before and then some. Today, all thoughts were consumed with the trivial drama of a new addition to the small student body here. It took so little to work them all up. I’d seen the new face repeated in thought after thought from every angle. Just an ordinary human boy. The excitement over his arrival was tiresomely predictable—like flashing a shiny object at a child. Half the females were already imagining themselves in love with him, just because he was something new to look at. I tried harder to tune them out.

Only four voices did I block out of courtesy rather than distaste; my family, my three brothers and one sister, who were so used to the lack of privacy in my presence that they rarely gave it a thought. I gave them what privacy I could. I tried not to listen if I could help it.

Try as I may, still… I knew.

Royal was thinking, as usual, about himself. He’d caught sight of his profile in the reflection of someone’s glasses, and he was mulling over his own perfection. Royal’s mind was a shallow pool with few surprises.

Emmett was fuming over a wrestling match he’d lost to Jasper during the night. It would take all his limited patience to make it to the end of the school day to orchestrate a rematch. I never really felt intrusive hearing Emmett’s thoughts, because he never thought one thing that he would not say aloud or put into action. Perhaps I only felt guilty reading the others’ minds because I knew there were things there that they wouldn’t want me to know. If Royal’s mind was a shallow pool, then Emmett’s was a lake with no shadows, glass clear.

And Jasper was…suffering. I suppressed a sigh.

Edward. Alice called my name in her head, and had my attention at once.

It was just the same as having my name called aloud. I was glad my given name had fallen out of style lately—it had been annoying; anytime anyone thought of any Edward, my head would turn automatically…

My head didn’t turn now. Alice and I were good at these private conversations. It was rare than anyone caught us. I kept my eyes on the lines in the plaster.

How is he holding up? She asked me.

I frowned, just a small change in the set of my mouth. Nothing that would tip the others off. I could easily be frowning out of boredom.

Alice’s mental tone was alarmed now, and I saw in her mind that she was watching Jasper in her peripheral vision.

Is there any danger? She searched ahead, into the immediate future, skimming through visions of monotony for the source behind my frown.

I turned my head slowly to the left, as if looking at the bricks of the wall, sighed, and then to the right, back to the cracks in the ceiling. Only Alice knew I was shaking my head.

She relaxed. Let me know if it gets too bad.

I moved only my eyes, up to the ceiling above, and back down.

Thanks for doing this.

I was glad I couldn’t answer her aloud. What would I say? ‘My pleasure’? It was hardly that. I didn’t enjoy listening to Jasper’s struggles. Was it really necessary to experiment like this? Wouldn’t the safer path be to just admit that he might never be able to handle the thirst the way the rest of us could, and not push his limits? Why flirt with disaster?

It had been two weeks since our last hunting trip. That was not an immensely difficult time span for the rest of us. A little uncomfortable occasionally—if a human walked too close, if the wind blew the wrong way. But humans rarely walked too close. Their instincts told them what their conscious minds would never understand; we were dangerous.

Jasper was very dangerous right now.

At that moment, a small girl paused at the end of the closest table to ours, stopping to talk to a friend. She tossed her short, sandy hair, running her fingers through it. The heaters blew her scent in our direction. I was used to the way that scent made me feel—the dry ache in my throat, the hollow yearn in my stomach, the automatic tightening of my muscles, the excess flow of venom in my mouth…

This was quite normal, usually easy to ignore. It was harder just now, with the feelings stronger, doubled, as I monitored Jasper’s reaction. Twin thirsts, rather than just mine.

Jasper was letting his imagination get away from him. He was picturing it—picturing himself getting up from his seat next to Alice and going to stand beside the little girl. Thinking of leaning down and in, as if he were going to whisper in her ear, and letting his lips touch the arch of her throat. Imagining how the hot flow of her pulse beneath the fine skin would feel under his mouth…

I kicked his chair.

He met my gaze for a minute, and then looked down. I could hear shame and rebellion war in his head.

“Sorry,” Jasper muttered.

I shrugged.

“You weren’t going to do anything,” Alice murmured to him, soothing his chagrin. “I could see that.”

I fought back the grimace that would give her lie away. We had to stick together, Alice and me. It wasn’t easy, hearing voices or seeing visions of the future. Both freaks among those who were already freaks. We protected each other’s secrets.

“It helps a little if you think of them as people,” Alice suggested, her high, musical voice too fast for human hears to understand, if any had been close enough to hear. “Her name is Whitney. She had a baby sister she adores. Her mother invited Esme to that garden party, do you remember?”

“I know who she is,” Jasper said curtly. He turned away to stare out one of the small windows that were spaced just under the eaves around the long room. His tone ended the conversation.

He would have to hunt tonight. It was ridiculous to take risks like this, trying to test his strength, to build his endurance. Jasper should just accept his limitations and work within them. His former habits were not conducive to our chosen lifestyle; he shouldn’t push himself this way.

Alice sighed silently and stood, taking her tray of food—her prop, as it were—with her and leaving him alone. She knew when he’d had enough of her encouragement. Though Royal and Emmett were more flagrant about their relationship, it was Alice and Jasper who knew each other’s every mood as well as their own. As if they could read minds, too—only just each other’s.

Edward Cullen.

Reflex reaction. I turned to the sound of my name being called, though it wasn’t being called, just thought.

My eyes locked for a small portion of a second with a pair of wide, silver-gray human eyes set in a pale, heart-shaped face. I knew the face, though I’d never seen it myself before this moment. It had been foremost in every human head today. The new student, Beauregard Swan. Son of the town’s chief of police, brought to live here by some new custody situation. Beau. He’d corrected everyone who’d used his full name…

I looked away, bored. It took me a second to realize that he had not been the one to think my name.

Not surprising he’s asking about the Cullens, I heard the first thought continue.

Now I recognized the ‘voice.’ Jessica Stanley—it had been a while since she had bothered me with her internal chatter. What a relief it had been when she’d gotten over her misplaced infatuation. It used to be nearly impossible to escape her constant, ridiculous daydreams. I’d wished, at the time, that I could explain to her exactly what would have happened if my lips, and the teeth behind them, had gotten anywhere near her. That would have silenced those annoying fantasies. The thought of her reaction almost made me smile.

     I wonder if he’s… I guess I can’t just ask him, Jessica went on. He’s really cute. I’m not surprised Erica’s been staring at him so much. He’s definitely cuter than Mike.

She winced mentally on the last name. Her new infatuation, the generically popular Mike Newton, was completely oblivious to her. However, he was not as oblivious to the new boy. Poor girl, she has no idea. Despite Jessica’s preoccupation with the Newton boy, she was animatedly speaking to the newcomer, explaining to him the commonly held knowledge about my family. The new student must have asked about us.

He’s so quiet! He’s hardly talking to anyone other than me, Jessica was thinking, maybe Mike will want to ask me what he’s li—“

I tried to block the inane chatter out of my head before the trivial mundanity could drive me mad.

“Jessica Stanley is giving the new Swan boy all the dirty laundry on the Cullen clan,” I murmured to Emmett as a distraction.

He chuckled under his breath. I hope she’s making it good, he thought.

“Rather unimaginative, actually. Just the barest hint of scandal. Not an ounce of horror. I’m a little disappointed.”

And the new boy? Is he disappointed in the gossip as well?

I listened to hear what this new boy, Beau, thought of Jessica’s story. What did he see when he looked at the strange, chalky-skinned family that was universally avoided.

It was sort of my responsibility to know his reaction. I acted as a lookout, for lack of a better word, for my family. To protect us. If anyone ever grew suspicious, I could give us an early warning and an easy retreat. It happened occasionally—some human with an active imagination would see in us the characters of a book or a movie. Usually they got it wrong, but it was better to move on somewhere new than risk scrutiny.

Very, very rarely, someone would guess right. We didn’t give them a chance to test their hypothesis. We simply disappeared, to become no more than a frightening memory…

I heard nothing, though I listened close beside where Jessica’s frivolous internal monologue continued to gush. It was as if there was no one sitting beside her. How peculiar, had the boy moved? That didn’t seem likely, as Jessica was still babbling to him. I looked up to check, feeling off-balance. Checking on what my extra ‘hearing’ couldn’t tell me—it wasn’t something I ever had to do.

Again, my gaze locked on those same wide gray eyes. He was sitting right where he had been before, and looking at us, a natural thing to be doing, I supposed, as Jessica was still regaling him with the local gossip about the Cullens.

Thinking about us, too, would be natural.

But I couldn’t hear a whisper.

Inviting warm red stained his cheeks as he looked down, away from the embarrassing gaffe of getting caught staring at a stranger. It was good that Jasper was still gazing out the window. I didn’t like to imagine what that easy pooling of blood would do to his control.

The emotions had been as clear on the new boy’s face as if they were spelled out in words across his forehead; surprise, as he unknowingly absorbed the signs of the subtle differences between his kind and mine, curiosity, as he listened to Jessica’s tale, and something more… fascination? It wouldn’t be the first time. We were beautiful to them, our intended prey. Then, finally, embarrassment as I caught him staring at me.

And yet, though his thoughts had been so clear in his odd eyes—odd, because of the warmth and softness to them; gray eyes often seemed cold and hard to me—I could hear nothing but silence from the place he was sitting. Nothing at all.

I felt a moment of unease.

This was nothing I’d ever encountered before. Was there something wrong with me? I felt exactly the same as I always did. Worried, I listened harder.

All the voices I’d been blocking were suddenly shouting in my head.

…wonder what music he likes…maybe I could mention that new CD… Mike Newton was thinking, two tables away—fixated on Beau Swan.

Look at Edward staring at him. Isn’t it enough that half the students in school are waiting for him to… Erica Yorkie was thinking sulfurous thoughts, also revolving around the boy.

…So disgusting. You’d think he was famous or something… Even Edward Cullen, staring… Logan Mallory was so jealous that his face, by all rights, should be dark jade in color. And Jessica, flaunting her new best friend. What a joke… Vitriol continued to spew from the boy’s thoughts.

…I bet everyone has asked him that. But I’d like to talk to him. I’ll think of a more original question… Lauren Mallory, Logan’s twin sister, mused.

…Maybe he’ll be in my Spanish… Ashley Dowling hoped.

…tons left to do tonight! Trig, and the English test. I hope my mom… Angela Weber, a quiet girl, whose thoughts were unusually kind, was the only one at the table who wasn’t obsessed with this Beau.

I could hear them all, hear every insignificant thing they were thinking as it passed through their minds. But nothing at all from the new student with the deceptively communicative eyes.

And, of course, I could hear what the boy said when he spoke to Jessica. I didn’t have to read minds to be able to hear his low, clear voice on the far side of the room.

“Which one is the boy with the reddish brown hair?” I heard him ask, sneaking a look at me from the corner of his eyes, only to look quickly away when he saw that I was still staring.

If I’d had time to hope that hearing the sound of his voice would help me pinpoint the tone of his thoughts, lost somewhere I couldn’t access them, I was instantly disappointed. Usually, people’s thoughts came to them in a similar pitch as their physical voices. But this quiet, shy voice was unfamiliar, not one of the hundreds of thoughts bouncing around the room, I was sure of that. Entirely new.

I knew he liked boys! Jessica thought before answering the new student’s question. “That’s Edward. He’s gorgeous, of course, but don’t waste your time. He doesn’t date. Apparently no one here is good-looking enough for him.” She sniffed.

I turned my head away to hide my smile. Jessica and her classmates had no idea how lucky they were that none of them particularly appealed to me.

Beneath the transient humor, I felt a strange impulse, one I did not clearly understand. It had something to do with the predatory nature of the thoughts swirling around this Beau Swan—so many of the students wanted to impose their way into his life. I felt the strangest urge to step in, to shield this Beau from the selfish workings of his classmates’ minds. What an odd thing to feel. Trying to ferret out the motivations behind impulse, I examined the new boy one more time.

Perhaps it was just some long buried protective instinct—the strong for the weak. This boy looked more fragile than his new classmates. His skin was so translucent it was hard to believe it offered him much defense from the outside world. I could see the rhythmic pulse of blood through his veins under the clear, pale membrane… But I should not concentrate on that. I was good at this life I’d chosen, but I was just as thirsty as Jasper and there was no point in inviting temptation.

There was a faint crease between Beau’s dark eyebrows that he seemed unaware of.

It was unbelievably frustrating! I could clearly see that it was a strain for him to sit there, to make conversation with strangers, to be the center of attention. I could sense his shyness from the way he held his shoulders, slightly hunched, as if he was expecting a rebuff at any moment. And yet I could only sense, could only see, could only imagine. There was nothing but silence from the very quiet human boy. I could hear nothing. Why?

“Shall we?” Royal murmured, interrupting my focus.

I looked away from Beau Swan with a sense of relief. I didn’t want to continue to fail at this—it irritated me. And I didn’t want to develop any interest in his hidden thoughts simply because they were hidden from me. No doubt, when I did decipher his thoughts—and I would find a way to do so—they would be just as petty and trivial as any human’s thoughts. Not worth the effort I would expend to reach them.

“So is the new one afraid of us yet?” Emmett asked, still waiting for my response to his question before.

I shrugged. He wasn’t interested enough to press for more information. Nor should I be interested.

We got up from the table and walked out of the cafeteria.

Emmett, Royal, and Jasper were pretending to be seniors; they left for their classes. I was playing a younger role than they. I headed off for my junior level biology class, preparing my mind for the tedium. It was doubtful Ms. Banner, a woman of average intelligence, would manage to pull out anything in her lecture that would surprise someone holding two graduate degrees in medicine.

In the classroom, I settled into my chair and let my books—props, again; they held nothing I didn’t already know—spill across the table. I was the only student who had a table to himself. The humans weren’t smart enough to know they feared me, but their survival instincts were enough to keep them away.

The room slowly filled as they trickled in from lunch. I leaned back in my chair and waited for the time to pass. Again, I wished I was able to sleep.

Because I’d been thinking about him, when Angela Weber escorted the new boy through the door, his name intruded on my attention.

Beau seems just as shy as me. I’ll bet today is really hard for him. I wish I could say something… but it would probably just sound stupid…

Yes! Mike Newton thought, turning in his seat to watch Angela and Beau enter.

Still, from the place where Beau Swan stood, nothing. The empty space where his thoughts should be irritated and unnerved me.

He came closer, walking down the aisle beside me to get to the teacher’s desk. Poor soul; the seat next to me was the only one available. Automatically, I cleared what would be his side of the desk, shoving my books into a pile. I doubted he would feel very comfortable there. He was in for a long semester—in this class, at least. Perhaps, though, sitting beside him, I’d be able to flush out his secrets…not that I’d ever needed close proximity before…not that I would find anything worth listening to…

Beau Swan walked into the flow of the heated hair that blew toward me from the vent.

His scent hit me like a wrecking ball, like a battering ram. There was no image violent enough to encapsulate the force of what happened to me in that moment.

In that instant, I was nothing close to the human I’d once been; no trace of the shreds of humanity I’d manage to cloak myself in remained.

I was a predator. He was my prey. There was nothing else in the whole world but that truth.

There was no room full of witnesses—they were already collateral damage in my head. The mystery of his thoughts was forgotten. His thoughts meant nothing, for he would not go on thinking them much longer.

I was a vampire, and he had the sweetest blood I’d smelled in nearly a century.

I hadn’t imagined such a scent could exist. If I’d known it did, I would have gone searching for it long ago. I would have combed the planet for him. I could imagine the taste…

Thirst burned my throat like fire. My mouth was dry and papery. The fresh flow of venom did nothing to dispel the sensation. My stomach twisted with the hunger that was an echo of the thirst. My muscles coiled to spring.

Not a full second had passed. He was still taking the same step that had put him downwind from me.

As his foot touched the ground, his eyes slid toward me, a movement he clearly meant to be stealthy. His glance met mine, and I saw myself reflected in the wide mirror of his silver eyes.

The shock of the face I saw there saved his life for a few thorny moments.

He didn’t make it easier. When he processed the expression on my face, blood flooded his cheeks again, turning his skin the most delicious color I’d ever seen. The scent was a thick haze in my brain. I could barely think through it. My thoughts raged, resisting control, incoherent.

He walked more quickly now, as if he understood the need to escape. His haste made him clumsy—he tripped and stumbled forward, almost falling into the girl seated in the front of me. Vulnerable, weak. Even more than usual for a human.

I tried to focus on the face I’d seen in his eyes, a face I recognized with revulsion. The face of the monster in me—the face I’d beaten back with decades of effort and uncompromising discipline. How easily it sprang to the surface now!

The scent swirled around me again, scattering my thoughts and nearly propelling me out of my seat.

No.

My hand gripped under the edge of the table as I tried to hold myself in my chair. The wood was not up to the task. My hand crushed through the strut and came away with a palmful of splintered pulp, leaving the shape of my fingers carved into the remaining wood.

Destroy evidence. That was a fundamental rule. I quickly pulverized the edges of the shape with my fingertips, leaving nothing but a ragged hole and a pile of shavings on the floor, which I scattered with my foot.

Destroy evidence. Collateral damage....

I knew what had to happen now. The boy would have to come sit beside me, and I would have to kill him.

The innocent bystanders in this classroom, eighteen other children and one woman, could not be allowed to leave this room, having seen what they would soon see.

I flinched at the thought of what I must do. Even at my very worst, I had never committed this kind of atrocity. I had never killed innocents, not in over nine decades. And now I planned to slaughter twenty of them at once.

The face of the monster in the mirror mocked me.

Even as part of me shuddered away from the monster, another part was planning it.

If I killed the boy first, I would have only fifteen or twenty seconds with him before the humans in the room would react. Maybe a little bit longer, if at first they did not realize what I was doing. He would not have time to scream or feel pain; I would not kill him cruelly. That much I could give this stranger with his horribly desirable blood.

But then I would have to stop them from escaping. I wouldn’t have to worry about the windows, too high up and small to provide an escape for anyone. Just the door—block that and they were trapped.

It would be slower and more difficult, trying to take them all down when they were panicked and scrambling, moving in chaos. Not impossible, but there would be much more noise. Time for lots of screaming. Someone would hear...and I’d be forced to kill even more innocents in this black hour.

And his blood would cool, while I murdered the others

The scent punished me, closing my throat with dry aching...

So the witnesses first then.

I mapped it out in my head. I was in the middle of the room, the furthest row in the back. I would take my right side first. I could snap four or five of their necks per second, I estimated. It would not be noisy. The right side would be the lucky side; they would not see me coming. Moving around the front and back up the left side, it would take me, at most, five seconds to end every life in this room.

Long enough for Beau Swan to see, briefly, what was coming for him. Long enough for him to feel fear. Long enough, maybe, if shock didn��t freeze him in place, for him to work up a scream. One soft scream that would not bring anyone running.

I took a deep breath, and the scent was a fire that raced through my veins, burning out from my chest to consume every better impulse that I was capable of.

He was just turning now. In a few seconds, he would sit down inches away from me.

The monster in my head smiled in anticipation.

Someone slammed shut a folder on my left. I didn’t look up to see which of the doomed humans it was. But the motion sent a wave of ordinary, unscented air wafting across my face.

For one short second, I was able to think clearly. In that precious second, I saw two faces in my head, side by side.

One was mine, or rather had been: the red-eyed monster that had killed so many people that I’d stop counting their numbers. Rationalized, justified murders. A killer of killers, a killer of other, less powerful monsters. It was a god complex, I acknowledged that—deciding who deserved a death sentence. It was a compromise with myself. I had fed on human blood, but only by the loosest definition. My victims were, in their various dark pastimes, barely more human than I was.

The other face was Carlisle’s.

There was no resemblance between the two faces. They were bright day and blackest night.

There was no reason for there to be a resemblance. Carlisle was not my father in the basic biological sense. We shared no common features. The similarity in our coloring was a product of what we were; every vampire had the same ice pale skin. The similarity in the color of our eyes was another matter—a reflection of a mutual choice.

And yet, though there was no basis for a resemblance, I’d imagined that my face had begun to reflect his, to an extent, in the last ninety-odd years that I had embraced his choice and followed in his steps. My features had not changed, but it seemed to me like some of his wisdom had marked my expression, that a little of his compassion could be traced in the shape of my mouth, and hints of his patience were evident on my brow.

All those tiny improvements were lost in the face of the monster. In a few moments, there would be nothing left in me that would reflect the years I’d spent with my creator, my mentor, my father in all the ways that counted. My eyes would glow red as a devil’s; all likeness would be lost forever.

In my head, Carlisle’s kind eyes did not judge me. I knew that he would forgive me for this horrible act that I would do. Because he loved me. Because he thought I was better than I was. And he would still love me, even as I now proved him wrong.

Beau Swan sat down in the chair next to me, his movements stiff and awkward— with fear?—and the scent of his blood bloomed in an inexorable cloud around me.

I would prove my father wrong about me. The misery of this fact hurt almost as much as the fire in my throat.

I leaned away from him in revulsion—revolted by the monster aching to take him.

Why did he have to come here? Why did he have to exist? Why did he have to ruin the little peace I had in this non-life of mine? Why had this aggravating human ever been born? He would ruin me.

I turned my face away from him, as a sudden fierce, unreasoning hatred washed through me.

Who was this creature? Why me, why now? Why did I have to lose everything just because he happened to choose this unlikely town to appear in?

Why had he come here!

I didn’t want to be the monster! I didn’t want to kill this room full of harmless humans! I didn’t want to lose everything I’d gained in a lifetime of sacrifice and denial!

I wouldn’t. He couldn’t make me.

The scent was the problem, the hideously appealing scent of his blood. If there was only some way to resist...if only another gust of fresh air could clear my head.

Beau Swan ran his fingers through his thick, mahogany hair.

Was he insane? It was as if he were encouraging the monster! Taunting him. There was no friendly breeze to blow the smell away from me now. All would soon be lost.

No, there was no helpful breeze. But I didn’t have to breathe.

I stopped the flow of air through my lungs; the relief was instantaneous, but incomplete. I still had the memory of the scent in my head, the taste of it on the back of my tongue. I wouldn’t be able to resist even that for long. But perhaps I could resist for an hour. One hour. Just enough time to get out of this room full of victims, victims that maybe didn’t have to be victims. If I could resist for one short hour.

It was an uncomfortable feeling, not breathing. My body did not need oxygen, but it went against my instincts. I relied on scent more than my other senses in times of stress. It led the way in the hunt, it was the first warning in case of danger. I did not often came across something as dangerous as I was, but self-preservation was just as strong in my kind as it was in the average human.

Uncomfortable, but manageable. More bearable than smelling him and not sinking my teeth through that fine, thin, pale skin to the hot, wet, pulsing—

An hour! Just one hour. I must not think of the scent, the taste.

The silent boy leaned forward, resting his head in his hand, turning his face away from me slightly. I couldn’t see his face properly, to read the emotions in his clear diamond-gray eyes. Was this why he had turned away from me? To hide those eyes from me? Out of fear? Shyness? To keep his secrets from me?

My former irritation at being stymied by his soundless thoughts was weak and pale in comparison to the need—and the hate—that possessed me now. For I hated this mysterious boy beside me, hated him with all the fervor with which I clung to my former self, my love of my family, my dreams of being something better than what I was... Hating him, hating how he made me feel—it helped a little. Yes, the irritation I’d felt before was weak, but it, too, helped a little. I clung to any emotion that distracted me from imagining what he would taste like...

Hate and irritation. Impatience. Would the hour never pass?

And when the hour ended... Then he would walk out of this room. And I would do what?

I could introduce myself. Hello, my name is Edward Cullen. May I walk you to your next class?

He would say yes. It would be the polite thing to do. Even already fearing me, as I suspected he did, he would follow convention and walk beside me. It should be easy enough to lead him in the wrong direction. A spur of the forest reached out like a finger to touch the back corner of the parking lot. I could tell him I’d forgotten a book in my car...

Would anyone notice that I was the last person he’d been seen with? It was raining, as usual; two dark raincoats heading the wrong direction wouldn’t pique too much interest, or give me away.

Except that I was not the only student who was aware of him today—though no one was as blisteringly aware as I was. Mike Newton, in particular, was conscious of every shift in his weight as he fidgeted in his chair—he was uncomfortable so close to me, just as anyone would be, just as I’d expected before his scent had destroyed all charitable concern. Mike Newton would notice if he left the classroom with me.

If I could last an hour, could I last two?

I flinched at the pain of the burning.

He would go home to an empty house. Police Chief Swan worked a full day. I knew his house, as I knew every house in the tiny town. His home was nestled right up against thick woods, with no close neighbors. Even if he had time to scream, which he would not, there would be no one to hear.

That would be the responsible way to deal with this. I’d gone eight decades without human blood. If I held my breath, I could last two hours. And when I had him alone, there would be no chance of anyone else getting hurt. And no reason to rush through the experience, the monster in my head agreed.

It was sophistry to think that by saving the nineteen humans in this room with effort and patience, I would be less a monster when I killed this innocent boy.

Though I hated him, I knew my hatred was unjust. I knew that what I really hated was myself. And I would hate us both so much more when he was dead.

I made it through the hour in this way—imagining the best ways to kill him. I tried to avoid imagining the actual act. That might be too much for me; I might lose this battle and end up killing everyone in sight. So I planned strategy, and nothing more. It carried me through the hour.

Once, toward the very end, he peeked up at me through his fingers. I could feel the unjustified hatred burning out of me as I met his gaze—see the reflection of it in his frightened eyes. Blood painted his cheeks before he could hide in his hands again, and I was nearly undone.

But the bell rang. Saved by the bell—how cliché. We were both saved. He, saved from death. I, saved for just a short time from being the nightmarish creature I feared and loathed.

I couldn’t walk as slowly as I should as I darted from the room. If anyone had been looking at me, they might have suspected that there was something not right about the way I moved. No one was paying attention to me. All human thoughts still swirled around the boy who was condemned to die in little more than an hour’s time.

I hid in my car.

I didn’t like to think of myself having to hide. How cowardly that sounded. But it was unquestionably the case now.

I didn’t have enough discipline left to be around humans now. Focusing so much of my efforts on not killing one of them left me no resources to resist the others. What a waste that would be. If I were to give in to the monster, I might as well make it worth the defeat.

I played a CD of music that usually calmed me, but it did little for me now. No, what helped most now was the cool, wet, clean air that drifted with the light rain through my open windows. Though I could remember the scent of Beau Swan’s blood with perfect clarity, inhaling the clean air was like washing out the inside of my body from its infection.

I was sane again. I could think again. And I could fight again. I could fight against what I didn’t want to be.

I didn’t have to go to his home. I didn’t have to kill him. Obviously, I was a rational, thinking creature, and I had a choice. There was always a choice.

It hadn’t felt that way in the classroom...but I was away from him now. Perhaps, if I avoided him very, very carefully, there was no need for my life to change. I had things ordered the way I liked them now. Why should I let some aggravating and delicious nobody ruin that?

I didn’t have to disappoint my father. I didn’t have to cause my mother stress, worry...pain. Yes, it would hurt my adopted mother, too. And Esme was so gentle, so tender and soft. Causing someone like Esme pain was truly inexcusable.

How ironic that I’d wanted to protect this human boy from the paltry, toothless threat of his classmates’ thoughts. I was the last person who would ever stand as a protector for Beauregard Swan. He would never need protection from anything more than he needed it from me.

Where was Alice, I suddenly wondered? Hadn’t she seen me killing the Swan boy in a multitude of ways? Why hadn’t she come to help—to stop me or help me clean up the evidence, whichever? Was she so absorbed with watching for trouble with Jasper that she’d missed this much more horrific possibility? Was I stronger than I thought? Would I really not have done anything to the boy?

No. I knew that wasn’t true. Alice must be concentrating on Jasper very hard.

I searched in the direction I knew she would be, in the small building used for English classes. It did not take me long to locate her familiar ‘voice.’ And I was right. Her every thought was turned to Jasper, watching his small choices with minute scrutiny.

I wished I could ask her advice, but at the same time, I was glad she didn’t know what I was capable of. That she was unaware of the massacre I had considered in the last hour.

I felt a new burn through my body—the burn of shame. I didn’t want any of them to know.

If I could avoid Beau Swan, if I could manage not to kill him—even as I thought that, the monster writhed and gnashed his teeth in frustration—then no one would have to know. If I could keep away from his scent...

There was no reason why I shouldn’t try, at least. Make a good choice. Try to be what Carlisle thought I was.

The last hour of school was almost over. I decided to put my new plan into action at once. Better than sitting here in the parking lot where he might pass me and ruin my attempt. Again, I felt the unjust hatred for the boy. I hated that he had this unconscious power over me. That he could make me be something I reviled.

I walked swiftly—a little too swiftly, but there were no witnesses—across the tiny campus to the office. There was no reason for Beau Swan to cross paths with me. He would be avoided like the plague he was.

The office was empty except for the secretary, the one I wanted to see.

She didn’t notice my silent entrance.

“Mrs. Cope?”

The woman with the unnaturally red hair looked up and her eyes widened. It always caught them off guard, the little markers they didn’t understand, no matter how many times they’d seen one of us before.

“Oh,” she gasped, a little flustered. She smoothed her shirt. Silly, she thought to herself. He’s almost young enough to be my son. Too young to think of that way...

“Hello, Edward. What can I do for you?” Her eyelashes fluttered behind her thick glasses.

Uncomfortable. But I knew how to be charming when I wanted to be. It was easy, since I was able to know instantly how any tone or gesture was taken.

I leaned forward, meeting her gaze as if I were staring deeply into her depthless, small brown eyes. Her thoughts were already in a flutter. This should be simple.

“I was wondering if you could help me with my schedule,” I said in the soft voice I reserved for not scaring humans.

I heard the tempo of her heart increase.

“Of course, Edward. How can I help?” Too young, too young, she chanted to herself. Wrong, of course. I was older than her grandfather. But according to my driver’s license, she was right.

“I was wondering if I could move from my biology class to a senior level science? Physics, perhaps?”

“It there a problem with Mrs. Banner, Edward?”

“Not at all, it’s just that I’ve already studied this material...”

“In that accelerated school you all went to in Alaska, right.” Her thin lips pursed as she considered this. They should all be in college. I’ve heard the teachers complain. Perfect four point ohs, never a hesitation with a response, never a wrong answer on a test—like they’ve found some way to cheat in every subject. Mr. Varner would rather believe that anyone was cheating than think a student was smarter than him... I’ll bet their mother tutors them... “Actually, Edward, physics is pretty much full right now. Mrs. Banner hates to have more than twenty-five students in a class—”

“I wouldn’t be any trouble.”

Of course not. Not a perfect Cullen. “I know that, Edward. But there just aren’t enough seats as it is...”

“Could I drop the class, then? I could use the period for independent study.”

“Drop biology?” He mouth fell open. That’s crazy. How hard is it to sit through a subject you already know? There must be a problem with Mrs. Banner. I wonder if I should talk to Betty about it? “You won’t have enough credits to graduate.”

“I’ll catch up next year.”

“Maybe you should talk to your parents about that.”

The door opened behind me, but who ever it was did not think of me, so I ignored the arrival and concentrated on Mrs. Cope. I leaned slightly closer, and held my eyes a little wider. This would work better if they were gold instead of black. The blackness frightened people, as it should.

“Please, Mrs. Cope?” I made my voice as smooth and compelling as it could be— and it could be considerably compelling. “Isn’t there some other section I could switch to? I’m sure there has to be an open slot somewhere? Sixth hour biology can’t be the only option...”

I smiled at her, careful not to flash my teeth so widely that it would scare her, letting the expression soften my face.

Her heart drummed faster. Too young, she reminded herself frantically. “Well, maybe I could talk to Betty—I mean Mrs. Banner. I could see if—”

A second was all it took to change everything: the atmosphere in the room, my mission here, the reason I leaned toward the red-haired woman... What had been for one purpose before was now for another.

A second was all it took for Samantha Wells to open the door and place a signed tardy slip in the basket by the door, and hurry out again, in a rush to be away from school. A second was all it took for the sudden gust of wind through the open door to crash into me. A second was all it took for me to realize why that first person through the door had not interrupted me with his thoughts.

I turned, though I did not need to make sure. I turned slowly, fighting to control the muscles that rebelled against me.

Beau Swan stood with his back pressed to the wall beside the door, a piece of paper clutched in his hands. His eyes were even wider than usual as he took in my ferocious, inhuman glare.

The smell of his blood saturated every particle of air in the tiny, hot room. My throat burst into flames.

The monster glared back at me from the mirror of his eyes again, a mask of evil.

My hand hesitated in the air above the counter. I would not have to look back in order to reach across it and slam Mrs. Cope’s head into her desk with enough force to kill her. Two lives, rather than twenty. A trade.

The monster waited anxiously, hungrily, for me to do it.

But there was always a choice—there had to be.

I cut off the motion of my lungs, and fixed Carlisle’s face in front of my eyes. I turned back to face Mrs. Cope, and heard her internal surprise at the change in my expression. She shrank away from me, but her fear did not form into coherent words.

Using all the control I’d mastered in my decades of self-denial, I made my voice even and smooth. There was just enough air left in my lungs to speak once more, rushing through the words.

“Never mind, then. I can see that it’s impossible. Thank you so much for your help.”

I spun and launched myself from the room, trying not to feel the warm-blooded heat of the boy’s body as I passed within inches of it.

I didn’t stop until I was in my car, moving too fast the entire way there. Most of the humans had cleared out already, so there weren’t a lot of witnesses. I heard a sophomore, D.J. Garrett, notice, and then disregard...

Where did Cullen come from—it was like he just came out of thin air... There I go, with the imagination again. Mom always says...

When I slid into my Volvo, the others were already there. I tried to control my breathing, but I was gasping at the fresh air like I’d been suffocated.

“Edward?” Alice asked, alarm in her voice.

I just shook my head at her.

“What the hell happened to you?” Emmett demanded, distracted, for the moment, from the fact that Jasper was not in the mood for his rematch. Instead of answering, I threw the car into reverse. I had to get out of this lot before Beau Swan could follow me here, too. My own person demon, haunting me... I swung the car around and accelerated. I hit forty before I was on the road. On the road, I hit seventy before I made the corner.

Without looking, I knew that Emmett, Royal and Jasper had all turned to stare at Alice. She shrugged. She couldn’t see what had passed, only what was coming.

She looked ahead for me now. We both processed what she saw in her head, and we were both surprised.

“You’re leaving?” she whispered.

The others stared at me now.

“Am I?” I hissed through my teeth.

She saw it then, as my resolve wavered and another choice spun my future in a darker direction. “Oh.”

Beau Swan, dead. My eyes, glowing crimson with fresh blood. The search that would follow. The careful time we would wait before it was safe for us to pull out and start again...

“Oh,” she said again. The picture grew more specific. I saw the inside of Chief Swan’s house for the first time, saw Beau in a small kitchen with yellow cupboards, his back to me as I stalked him from the shadows...let the scent pull me toward him...

“Stop!” I groaned, not able to bear more.

“Sorry,” she whispered, her eyes wide.

The monster rejoiced.

And the vision in her head shifted again. An empty highway at night, the trees beside it coated in snow, flashing by at almost two hundred miles per hour.

“I’ll miss you,” she said. “No matter how short a time you’re gone.”

Emmett and Royal exchanged an apprehensive glance.

We were almost to the turn off onto the long drive that led to our home.

“Drop us here,” Alice instructed. “You should tell Carlisle yourself.”

I nodded, and the car squealed to a sudden stop.

Emmett, Royal and Jasper got out in silence; they would make Alice explain when I was gone. Alice touched my shoulder.

“You will do the right thing,” she murmured. Not a vision this time—an order. “He’s Charlie Swan’s only family. It would kill him, too.”

“Yes,” I said, agreeing only with the last part.

She slid out to join the others, her eyebrows pulling together in anxiety. They melted into woods, out of sight before I could turn the car around.

I accelerated back toward town, and I knew the visions in Alice’s head would be flashing from dark to bright like a strobe light. As I sped back to Forks doing ninety, I wasn’t sure where I was going. To say goodbye to my father? Or to embrace the monster inside me?

The road flew away beneath my tires.

[delicatedaegu-blog]

Hiraeth pt 1 ( KIM TAEHYUNG) a home sickness someone cant return to

I couldn’t breath as the cloth covering almost my whole face. I have been struggling to unravel but the rope around my hand and legs are tighter than before. I couldn’t think of head or tail with situation going on. A sudden hand pull away the cloth covering my face revealing a face of a man looking ethereal. His face is well structured and as if sculpted by the hand of god himself. His eyes look deeply into mine, leaving me breathless.

“ V , take care of this cunt” said the other guy in black suit too . he has much wider shoulder and slender body , with his hair neatly pushed back. He looks older than the other guy. His eyes has the powerful gaze too. When I look around my surrounding, I feel a sudden relief. I’m still in my house. “ J , I just want this to be done quick” said V “ then do it quick, here’s the gun . shot him in the face” said J handing over a gun . v looks surprised by it so do I , I screamed at the thought of it. Both of them look at me. “ don’t you dare touch him” I yelled. The guy they’re talking about is my personal guard. He has been the one taking care of my safety and transportation when my parents are gone. Like now. “ shoot him “ said J , nonchalantly . v take the gun and pointed at me instead. His action got me off the grid . I was flabbergasted. “should I take your life or him?” asked V , still with his intense stare. No smile seen through his face. I stayed silenced as I have no idea how to console him or persuade him not to shoot either both of us. J sit on the sofa, crossed leg. “Take mine !” I spat “ he has a family to take care of. His daughters need a father to raise them and his wife need him for company and partner through thick and thin. Meanwhile, I have nobody.i have no other purpose rather than fulfilling my dad’s wish” my voice started to crack. I couldn’t bear the sudden urge of emotions. v rather looks taken aback. He lowered down the gun , away from pointing at Carl, my guard. J looks frustrated an confused. How could v does that . he is known for having no emotion at all. He has no sympathy . how could he even . J stood up and take v by the collar “ I asked you to shoot the man” said J still holding on V’s collar V remained mute, the he suddenly pointed the gun at my face his eyes remains empty, feels like he has no soul, no feelings, I feel sadness and misery. I closed my eyes. If this is my end, then let it be. a flash of memory hit at the back of mind. The day before all the havoc falls into place. My parents were leaving for Hong Kong. They pretty much work to serve the country. They’re also billionaire that is very well known. I live in dormitory as I am still studying to finish my law degree. I came home as they insisted to accompany my two little brothers. I waved at my parents as their car lost from view. I smiled widely as I am finally getting the house whole by myself. My brothers already left for sleepover at their friends. All I left with is my main , Barbara and my security guard, carl. I pretty much grew up with them taking care of my need. Barbara had to leave early that night because her grandchild got warded for high fever. I let her for few days off. I was shocked by the sound of loud thunder. Lightning flashed and thunder roared . I pull my duvet closer. It is my nightmare , the thunder. I couldn’t shut my eyes as the rain started to rain even heavier. I put on my slippers and wander around my huge bedroom . my double bed isn’t enough for me to feel full. I feel lonely , most of the time. I need to be wrapped with love but at the same time, being heartbroken is also a fear. A sound of door creaking got me alerted. The lights also already being cut off as the night lamp in my bedroom went off. I walk down to trail the sound of creaking. it was just a door left ajar. I let out a sigh. When I turned around to head back to my room, I hit a strong chest . I was completely frightened. The shadow figure covered my nose and mouth with cloth smelled like alcohol , I went total pitch black ________________________________________________________________________________ “ do it then” I muttered, almost provoking . I did not cut the eye contact we have going on . “ I know deep down, you wouldn’t kill innocence live” I said, catching a breathe. Not sure if my words is very provoking or a sort of console I look at V , in such stare, in hope he wouldn’t let go the bullet. As if he could hear my inner voice screaming and begging for him to stop. He tighten his hold onto the gun. I closed my eyes.

I count from 1 to then 10 then it moves to 20 then at 30 , i lift my eyes to see V nowhere to be found. He left the room . I let out a loud relief sigh. An ocean of questions came flooded in . Why ?

V POV

I couldnt help but turn down the bullet. My heart feels sense of ..... sympathy ?  I left the room without saying anything. I see J who also called Seokjin. He lift up his head with curiosity   "You've done it ?" Asked Seokjin while his hand shuffling the card. I take a seat beside him. Eyeing him shuffling the card like a pro. He always shuffle the card but never actually plays it. It must’ve been a habit. I shake my head the laid back on the chair. My head couldnt stop spinning.  " she is something else , " i mumbled. Shutting my eyes closed shut.  " then , let her be. I dont know why M wanted her so much" said Seokjin M or known as Mino is also part of the gang. We work under BigB as mafias , well paid to assassinate  people .

People.

We've trained for years to be pros at shooting , killing , robbing. This time , our task is definately different. Its to kidnap . The girl in the room looks innocent but anyone can hide their true selves. That what i told myself but something abt her makes me deny it.  __________

My stomach couldnt stop growling. I look around my room that has been trashed . My stuff is everywhere on the floor. I saw a pack of biscuits on the floor beside Carl , who is still remains unconscious . I scooted over him.  "Carl, carl wake up" Still no respond from him. I turn around my body so i can check his pulse with my hand being tied behind my back. His hand are iced cold and the pulse are slow. He's a 56 years old man. He works with us on my demand so he can gets paid. I love him as much as a daughter loves her father .  The front door suddenly open , my eyes caught the sight of V , J and 2 other guys. The guy in blue black suit grabbed Carl,lifting him up. J punched him in the stomach. Carl wake as soon as the punch hit him making him screaming for help in pain. I couldnt screamed as V covered my mouth at breakneck speed.

"If you want to live , stay mute" V whispered. I started to shake in fears. Tears streaming down my cheeks.

" Where is it?" Asked the guy who just punched Carl, now wiping his hand with the hankercheif handed by J. He must has been the boss. I assumed from the formality of the suit he wears.  " i do not have it " cried Carl. He started to cough blood.  " Let him go then Mino" said V. Mino turns his head , looking directly at me. Mino walks slowly then kneels down to me .  " who is this stunning lady?" Said mino caressing my cheek. I shake my head avoiding the touch.  " dont touch her. She has nothing to do with this" said Carl. Holding on his pain. J kicked him at the back making him screaming even harder in pain.  " I hid it under my bag at the garage" said Carl , sobbing. Mino makes a hand signal for the other guy who is now leaving the room. V let go of his hand. I sweep over Carl. Carl hugged me making me crying even harder. He stroke my back to soothe it out. I eyed V who is staring at me . His face blank without emotion. His full on black suit really suits his slender body. The way his earrings sways when his body moves makes me weak. His hair vibrants under the dim light.

"Thank you Hoseok" said Mino when the guy came back into the room giving him the black pouch. Mino take out a stained gun. His smile widen, he put it back.  "Now boss wouldn't complain anymore and be happy " said Mino.  " shoot him" demand Mino , i started to shout  "NO PLEASE DONT NO" words keep coming out . I would do anything to not let them have Carl.  Mino hands over a gun to V, he take it without saying anything . He aims it straight to Carl. J snatched my hand making me absolutely weak .  " he deserve it after what he did to Jimin " said Mino , slow.  Who is Jimin? What has Carl done to him ? all these questions seems to be louder when V frowns at the name. BANG the bullet went through Carl’s head. I screamed at the top of my lung , i can feel the burn on my throat when the scream reaches its highest pitch. Tears flooding in, I took a deep breathe then burst more tears. V seems dead , he has no reaction to his shot. J patted his back and take the gun away . V falls on his knees. He can feel it weaken. that’s how I am forever stuck with the gang , I somehow pleaded to join the group. I want to pay revenge to the head of this gang . my parents wouldn’t even noticed since I left a note with me faking to be rebellious and done with their shits. They wouldn’t even care because the hatred I spill in the letter is somehow half the truth . now , I am apart of the mafia gang , it is now almost 3 years I worked with them but I haven’t got the chance to meet the leader. My gang consist of 4 members, J , Mino , Hoseok , V . It has been years so I get to know them closer. J isn’t that sinister . Hoseok is a whole soft person when it comes to his dog , Mickey . Mino is a caring person who shows it in any other way that isn’t obvious. As for V , he remains mysterious. I didn’t  care much about him even when he tries to show affection. “ Ivy” said V , waving his hand in my face, I gazed at him , continuing my work to get the report done. We live together in an apartment given by the company . I get my own room while the others share 2 person per room . “ we have work to do together later on , both of us” said V , sipping his on his coke. He doesn’t drink beer or wine which kinda surprised me because he just seems like a drunkard . I nodded. “ why wont you talk to me like you do with others ?” V asked in a slow tone . I ignored him then shut my laptop before leaving him 4:00 am V and I already in the black Porsche redesigned for us to use together. He drives it at 90km/hour . as usual, the ride filled with silenced. “ all these years, you still haven’t asked me why I did that” said V , I flustered by it “ what do you mean ?” I asked him , looking at his flawless side profile. His eyes bickering as if he regretted his words. “ you didn’t asked me why I shot him “ repeat V . I gulped. “ why ?” I asked in a stern tone . “ he killed my bestfriend…………………my brother” said V . I hissed, how could Carl killed someone. He’s old and incapable “ he works under your father, jimin wasn’t even part of the gang . he is my friend. Your dad did the dirty by not paying his workers which was jimin’s father. He went to see Carl to get explaination but instead , he shot him “ said V , eyes still latch on the road. My heart beats fast . i was so shocked by the news. I didn’t know Carl would do that . “ you can look in the dashboard if you doubt the truth “ said V , hands tighten on the wheels. I quickly open up the dashboard and saw a couple of pictures that haven’t been there before. I take a look at it and the gasped . it was Carl , literally holding a gun , each pictures are the sequences to the scene him shooting a boy , in blue raincoat . my eyes teared up . I didn’t know. “ I was furious but now I feel bad that I have taken his life because someone is longing for him as much as I longed for Jimin” said V with his voice hoarsed. “ I’m sorry . I didn’t know about this “ I said, almost crying . “ I-“

“ we’re here , lets settle this and eat jjangmyeon after this?” said V , smiling at me. It’s a force smile but it is the first time he even smiled at me. we finished the illegal group by instant , I used all my anger on them. We saved a few girls who almost being sold as prostitute and little kids too. Yes , we do this type of woke but we do it under our own company . I gave the police station a call by giving fake name so we would remain a secret. I admit , I’m now adept to kill . We had jjamyeon together but that night I couldn’t enjoy it as much since the scene at my house 3 years ago keep playing at the back of my mind . I fell asleep on the ride home but when I wake up , I see a big institute for ashes who has died. I see V nowhere to be found just his coat covering my body . I got out of the car. Walk down a few coridors before spotting V in a room , with his head down , shoulders lifting up and down , he was sobbing…. I go next to him , seeing a picture of a boy around 18 smiling brightly . Park jimin . I hold V’s hand. I expected him to refuse it but he tighten the grip instead making me flushed. _____________________________________________________________________________________

There he is , Carl, standing in front of me, smiling . I go to him and them punches him hard on the chest . then, the boy in blue raincoat came to me , crying . I tried to consult him but when I turn to see Carl, his face turns severely bloody . I got terrified and screamed for help “ Ivy , Ivy “ my body is shaken , when I opened up my eyes , I see V looking confused , his eyebrow frowned in worry . I hugged him tight. My shirt drenched in sweat , I can feel my heart thumping like crazy . “ it is just a nightmare , it is not real” said V , stroking my back gently. “I’m sorry for what has happened to Jimin , he was innocent yet my foolish self was up for a revenge” I cried in his hug , I couldn’t bare the guilt. “ it’s okay . now , lets go back to sleep.” Said V , laying down with me on his chest . I grip his waist , he stroke my hair softly . I feel reassured, his scent of vanilla rose really makes me feel relaxed . my heart started to find it pace . i closed my eyes shut . “ my real name is Kim Taehyung , I have no interest in gaming but since I see you playing overwatch all the time , I have to say that I’m hooked” said V or also known as Taehyung, I laughed . “ Taehyung “ I said softly “ I was just playing the game ahaha” giggled Taehyung . his giggle melts my heart , without knowing we both fell asleep with hands on each other, despite the coldness, our warmth keeps us asleep until its almost noon “ this is new” said Hoseok , with his arms crossed him body . I got up as quick as I can meanwhile Taehyung fell off the bed. I smiled at him before heading straight to the bathroom , I squealed at the thought we slept together . “ what was that ?” shouted Hoseok . I look at myself in the mirror, and smiled. Once for all , I’m looking forward to my future.

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

Chaol: Motivated by Loyalty? Or Fear?

WARNING: TOD spoilers.  Do NOT read if you don’t want to see anything re: Tower of Dawn!!

This was inspired by this post by @my-name-is-fireheart that gave me insight into why so many people dislike Chaol.  I’m going to start with a little review, and then I’m going to go into a long rambling dissertation.  You have been warned.

Chaol is motivated by two things in his life: his love for Dorian, and fear.  Certainly at the end of Heir of Fire, the latter emotion won.  I think that much of what we tend to interpret as rigid morality is in fact fear.  Apparent loyalty to the King when he didn’t warn Celaena about Nehemia being questioned was in fact a result of him being afraid of the King.  When the King first told hime he was going to have Nehemia questioned, he added, “‘I want six men outside the room.  Make sure there are no complications or interruptions.’  The look the king gave him suggested exactly the sort of complication he had in mind - Celaena.  Chaol knew it was risky to ask questions…”  Risky to just ask questions, let alone go against direct orders to keep quiet about it.  He then didn’t tell Dorian what it was about though Dorian asked him directly, nor did he tell Celaena, “though part of him twisted until it hurt.”  He is already beginning to struggle with the strain between what his morals told him to do (tell Celaena) and his fear of what would result (he or Celaena or both likely killed by the King).

At the end of Crown of Midnight, Chaol now knows that Celaena is part-fae and that Dorian has magic.  This could be a death sentence for both of them, and he fears both that and the magic itself.  This in turn is why he sends Celaena to Wendlyn and withdraws quite a bit from Dorian (a process begun by their respective relationships to Celaena but made much more significant by the magic revelation).  He honestly wants to protect them from the King, but he also fears what they are capable of, especially Celaena.  He’s had, after all, a life-long relationship with Dorian but has known Celaena for barely months and doesn’t really understand her and her motivations, and he has seen her mow men down with his own eyes.  Much more powerful than reading about it in a dossier.

Throughout Heir of Fire, he begins to try to find his own morality and he struggles greatly.  Up to that point, his morality had been defined by how he was raised.  He was taught from childhood to trust the King (maybe - ToD hints that perhaps Chaol’s father was not so much the loyal subject), that magic is evil, etc., etc.  It’s a beautiful parallel of people who are raised in a strict religious context, who start to get exposed to people from other religions, or atheists, or whatever, and begin to question their upbringing and try to form their own opinion about whether these “others” are good, bad, or gray.  This is a very difficult thing to do, especially when you’ve come to realize both you and the two people in the world you care the most about (both of whom fit into the “other” category) are in mortal danger.

Chaol demonstrates quite a bit of self-loathing in HoF, QoS, and ToD.  His confidence in his upbringing and moral beliefs has been shaken, and he has found himself making decisions he doesn’t understand out of fear of what will happen to him and the people he loves.  It’s a painful journey to watch, but one that so many of us have to go through.  He is basically the straight person in a supernatural comedy of errors - his experience and reactions parallel what most humans would do, if we’re being honest with ourselves.  We would be afraid of these powers, and that fear would inform our decisions, both for good and for bad.

Here’s where I’m going to go off on a bit of a tangent that I promise relates.  I’ve been a life-long horse person, and several years ago I had a catastrophic accident with a horse that were I a hair less balanced in the saddle, did I have a shade less experience, had the horse involved been an iota less athletic, would have resulted in the death of the horse, myself, or probably both.  Luckily we both survived, but I will live with the repercussions of that accident for the rest of my life as my non-dominant arm was severely injured and I have residual nerve damage and structural damage to it.  However, I still ride, even still ride the horse I had the accident on, who belongs to my very close friend.  

Working with animals ten times my size who could kill me easily either on purpose or by accident (the horse in question absolutely did not want to hurt me, he just had a panicked moment), I live in a constant dance with what I regard as a healthy fear.  A while back I read a brilliant article by a rider who stated that we should replace the word “fear” with “common sense” when talking about horses.  When I throw my leg over a 1300 lb animal who can jump a five-foot fence and run at 30 mph, it is common sense to be respectful of what that animal can do; I have to make the decision every single time to get on, to do something I love, knowing that if something goes wrong I could die.  Likewise, when Chaol is interacting with Celaena/Aelin, especially, there is a part of his mind that struggles to not remember that she was beyond deadly even without her magic, her assassin and fighting skill exceed his own, she has killed many while he has killed only one human (Cain).  He can’t forget her gutting Archer Finn because it terrified him - for good reason.  He didn’t know Archer had set up Nehemia’s death, and Celaena never tells him.  All he saw was Archer beg for his life, tell Celaena she was a “good woman,” and Celaena gut him.  It is common sense to fear someone who can do that if they won’t tell you their motivations.  

Aelin/Celaena’s biggest flaw is her unwillingness to be honest and up front about things.  Chaol is the character who calls her out on that the most, perhaps because he recognizes that same tendency in himself.  His fearful common sense reaction to her is strengthened when he realizes she can set the world on fire.  He both fears her abilitiees and wants to rely on them to save Dorian, save the world, and that’s a tough conflict to live with.  Was he unfair to her when she returned, that he had placed expectations on her that she would come back to save Dorian?  Sure - but he was also heartbroken and killing himself for having left Dorian, and had pinned his hopes onto her considerable abilities.  

Speaking of which…the biggest thing Chaol had to heal from in ToD was for walking away from Dorian when the shit went down with Sorscha and Aedion, and Dorian’s magic showed itself to spare him.  It was fear common sense that made him do so; he knew if he remained he’d be completely unable to help Dorian, while from the outside, with the rebels, he may have a chance.  Likewise it was fear common sense coupled with love that had him fight Aelin so hard when she wanted to (justifiably from her perspective) kill Dorian.  

Fear Common sense is incredibly valuable - until it is paralyzing (pun not intended).  When your fear common sense helps you in your decision-making, it’s brilliant, but when it halts it, it’s catastrophic.  Most people who suffer accidents similar to mine continue to ride at first, but find that their relationship with their horse suffers, and over time, they give up on it, or  their riding becomes much more limited than it was.  They lose the glorious sense of communion with another creature that cannot be matched by anything else; but if you ask them, they wouldn’t say they were afraid.  They often don’t even think about the accident consciously.  But the subconscious doesn’t let go, and the more you try to beat it down, the more it latches on.

Chaol actually doesn’t become overwhelmed in the moment, but over the ensuing months, his self-loathing for his decision making leads to his paralysis, both physically (because he essentially sacrifices himself so Aelin can rescue Dorian) and emotionally (leading him to cling to Nesryn despite his lack of feelings for her due to the safety she represents, leading him to be harsh to Yrene initially, etc.).  The problem he was having, though, It wasn’t until he really was being healed by Yrene that he was able to recognize the fear in himself.  

“He had been so afraid - so afraid of magic, of loss, of everything.  And that fear…it had driven him to it anyway.  It had hurried him down this path.  He had clung so hard, had fought against it, and it had cost him everything…Unmoored and raging, he had not wanted to heal.  Not really…Some part of him had whispered it was deserved.  And the soul-wound…He had been content to let it fester.  Failure and liar and oath-breaker.”

Chaol actually was far from a failure.  He succeeded in escaping sure death at the hands of the King; helped free Aedion; helped Aelin gain funds for the war (by helping with the Arobynn situation); protected Dorian from Aelin, and ultimately gave himself up to save both the magic-wielders.  Was he a liar?  Perhaps, to his father; same with the oath-breaker.  Perhaps one could argue he was to Nesryn as well, but Nesryn had in fact released him from any oath when she left with Sartaq, and he never really lied to her about his feelings.  They were consensual sex partners without commitment in QoS, but never did he really promise her anything other than that he would walk out of the castle (and that was hardly his fault).  But he couldn’t see himself as anything else until he recognized his fear, faced it, and saw it through to the other side.  Until he was able to acknowledge it, and make the conscious decision to love Dorian, love Aelin, despite the fear common sense they inspire in him.  Much as I make the conscious decision to ride my horses every day.

Essentially, Chaol’s role in this series is that of straight man to the supernatural weirdness going on around him.  He feels the same fear common sense that we would.  His responses are natural, and realistic, and human.  He represents the process of getting a moral education, a forced expansion of one’s world, that many of us go through as we mature from children to adults.  And he shows beautifully how healing occurs, both physically and emotionally.

[1d20ocs]

Backstory: Shyntaghar “Shy” Ranyine

Wordcount: 1,251

CW for implied sexual abuse

Shyntaghar was a disappointment to his family. His household, a commoner’s abode barely more than a cave, held five generations of tailors from great-great-grandmother to a middle sister. The eldest and youngest sisters were in the priestesshood, one already under Lolth and one with much training to go, and Shyntaghar also had an older brother who had been sent off to the military. His father, who his mother had discarded her last husband for, was a wizard with useful but unremarkable talents chosen to round out her children’s prospects. But as Shyntaghar grew to an age where he should have shown potential, he was found weak in both the arcane and martial arts. It was bad enough that he was a boy, albeit healthy for his small size and as receptive to the teachings of Lolth as any decent drow should be, but his lack of talent was almost enough to make him more valuable to his family as a sacrifice offered to Her.

What kept him alive was dumb luck and his matron’s cleverness. By some quirk of genetics, not seen elsewhere in his family lines, he was beautiful in face and body; a look that some noble families bred for, though he certainly wouldn’t make good breeding stock. But with the right turn of phrase, his uselessness in combat became a reassurance of good behavior, and his common blood just meant that he was much more accessible than those from noble houses. Spinning such words around like spider-silk, his mother had found a use for him after all. While he had a childhood interest in tinkering, vague aspirations of being an artisan when he grew up, his family instead tailored him to entertain. He could sing, dance, and play music by the time he was old enough to apprentice; but more than that he had learned well to submit, almost completely lacking the natural superiority drow believed in, with no skill for manipulation like his mother’s.

He fetched a decent price the moment he hit puberty, and his family profited while he was sold to more fitting operations than a clothing shop. The art of seduction was added to his talents, learning how to say yes or say nothing. He learned his place from nobles who paid his mistresses for a turn torturing him in the many ways drow women knew, though only his owners made permanent alterations to his body - any damage from clients was eventually healed to keep him cute. As one of the lowest rungs of society, he was sometimes left with non-drow slaves, the only thing marginally less respected than he was; he learned from them, too, about life outside. His world expanded from one drow city into the vastness of the Middledark, the Upperdark, and even the Surface above. The word for what he felt was not quite hope, but it urged him on.

Shyntaghar grew quite good at his so-called occupation, numb enough to it for his mind to be on other things. A constant as slaves were moved in and out, he was able to work secretly to further bigger plans than he or they could have alone. The god Vhaeraun was certainly with him and his prayers to do better than a male in bondage, and the cult of the goddess Eillistraee sought to save them all. Many of the slaves had partial plans for escape, and Shyntaghar helped enough pieces come together to become a viable whole.

No one would expect a servant to pretend to be a slave, and that was how he had made it out with a few others. To farmland outside of the city’s walls and then the untamed Underdark, the ex-slaves found allies who understood their plight and led them towards the surface, using any help they could get as well as their own skills to survive.

-

Driders had been a worry as they first escaped the drow. Aberrations soon became a bigger concern, with Shyntaghar in particular learning to fear mind-flayers from what he was told of their powers to remove people’s free will; mimics were a nuisance with supplies so scarce. Those that started the journey with strong morals found them weaker.

A dwarf among them spoke of Shar, who was turned to in the dark and despair usually only known to dwarven-kind during long nights spent mining, and from these slaves this Lady of Loss won several converts; though many found hope in Eillistraee instead, and still others held stubbornly to their gods who had given no divine rescue from their enslavement. Shyntaghar did not voice his interest in Shar, but he quietly accepted She whose interests aligned much with his own, better than his similar options of Lolth’s too-same son or too-different daughter.

A human made friends with Shyntaghar, who he nicknamed Shy due to a difficulty with elvish. This ranger wanted to make use of Shy’s sole magical ability, dancing lights, to combat his lack of darkvision. It became a sort of rushed apprenticeship, as Shy was taught to make bows and arrows from scrap and they exchanged tips on staying hidden and doing whatever it took to survive. Shy learned that their tolerance of each other, outside of necessity, was because the ranger had a young orc woman waiting for him. She’d taught him race did not define people. Shy watched him die, a death that was arguably Shy’s fault; a death he tried to think of as more arrows for himself, struggling not to let himself be distracted as he took over as their only far-ranged attacker.

Eventually, the surviving half of them made it to the Upperdark. Though the rest sought to continue to the surface, either to their homes or to meet their goddess in the moonlight and find a new home there, Shy looked towards the drow merchant houses. He parted from the party on good terms, though he had not been very close with any of them, and turned to his childhood dream of living as an artisan of the Underdark. He had not gotten much better at tinkering on the long, long trek, having more important things to have worried about, but those dangers were finally over.

-

The dangers of the Upperdark markets were surprisingly similar to what Shy had experienced before them. He had no delusions that they would be free of cruelty or slavery, but had underestimated the similarities between a drow merchant and drow noble. He was stronger now, honed enough not to be at risk of simply being tossed back into servitude like an unresisting ragdoll. He actually took well to the organized crime family of affiliated merchants. But the cutthroat infighting, and his inability to find any guide to fix his inexperience, made him soon regret losing contact with the assortment of people he’d bonded with in the Middledark. When word circulated that his slaver would pay for the return of her property, it was merely the final straw rather than a devastating change.

As he left for the surface, he stole a magical item, knowing it would make little difference if more people wanted to hunt him down. As a drow, he hated the very idea of the surface and its sun, but as someone running from the drow it stung like a life-saving medicine. He hoped that Shar might protect him, as he sought to empower himself and so live freely, whether it was to be below or above. Moving forward, Shy cast Disguise Self.

[cecil-mudokon-defunct]

💔 - A heartbreak (anyone you want lol)

The way the day started was so ordinary. Bruno and I woke up to the sounds of nature. Light shining through the trees, and the chirping of nearby birds, all promising signs it was going to be a good one. It had become warmer. The freezing tundras being little more than a distant memory.

The two of us had been traveling together for what Bruno explained to be an entire season. The intricacies of the passing of time still perplexed me. But I trusted he knew more about it than I did. We spent most of our time walking from one destination to the next, what that destination was, neither of us were sure of. We didn’t stay in the same place for long. Not wanting to deplete an area of its resources we’d move regularly.

During one of such travels, we were walking through the lush forest looking for something to eat. As Bruno explained the differences between what he defined as mushrooms his words suddenly went silent. I can’t even begin to try wrapping my head around his sensing capabilities. But it’s clear something was getting closer, and by his expression alone I could tell it wasn’t someone friendly.

Before I could even ask what was wrong, he had grabbed my hand tightly and launched us onto a branch right above us. I tried asking again but got cut-off mid-sentence by a harsh hush.

Then I heard something. The humming sound of engines. It’s a sound I was more than familiar with, but these didn’t sound like any machine I had ever seen. Pushing me further back towards the trunk, Bruno made an attempt to shield me from whatever was approaching. The sounds becoming louder and closer, it soon mixed with the sound of voices yelling back and forth. I was told to stay quiet and to not move.

Not understanding what was going on and the lack of information scared and frustrated me at the same time. As the racket came closer, I looked in the direction it came from. Suddenly, the source showed itself, or rather themselves. A small group of outlaws on what I now know are motorcycles drove past by us. The one in the front shouting at the others to keep their eyes open. Whoever these guys were, they’re bad news.

After they passed, Bruno took the both of us down and started running in the opposite direction; his hand tightly clutching mine. I tried to ask what we were running from, if he knew those people, and why they were dangerous enough to get this kind of reaction of out of him. But none of the questions ever got answered.

I did my best to keep up, but I soon was exhausted and couldn’t handle being dragged along any longer.

I begged for Bruno to slow down, but he didn’t listen. One bad step on a stone that slid away under my foot sent me falling downward. Feeling a sharp stinging pain in my leg I looked down; seeing a rather long cut running from my thigh to past my knee. Panting heavily, Bruno told me they probably were far enough now, and that he was sorry for what he had caused. He was already talking about how he would treat the wound in detail, but I simply shook my head, saying he shouldn’t worry about a scratch. Letting his guard down, he helped me get up and let me pull him into an embrace. Catching my breath, I suddenly felt a shot of pain in my back. As a numbing sensation spread through my body, I gradually lost my strength and straddled to the ground.

Dizzy and weak I tried to ask what was happening as Bruno pulled something that looked like a syringe with a feather on the end of it out of my skin. Before he could tell me what this weird object was, he too, soon collapsed. I panicked, but I was too dazed to do anything about it.

I’m not sure of what happened then, but next thing I knew, I woke up laying on the grass with my wrists and ankles tied together by some sort of metal wire cable. Fighting to stay conscious, I strugglingly opened my eyes. Seeing little more than a collection of blurs, I could hear people talking.

“Best catch we’ve had in weeks.” “Don’t get too excited just yet. The big one’s missin’ some parts.” I then realized they were talking about me. Groaning, I tried lifting my head to look at who these captors were. “Well, good mornin’ sunshine.” I heard someone say to me before violently getting pulled up by my hair. My vision became clearer, and I was able to make out that the man holding me was the outlaw leader we saw earlier. “Where… Where is-” “Boss! Lookie here!” Before I could even finish my thought, I was cut off by the other one. A deep chuckle followed. “Son’ bitch has an id number… Betcha whoever owned this mutt would pay good moolah for gettin’ their lost pupper back.”

My tattoo… The barcode that was etched into my neck. They knew what it was and wanted to send me back! In fear, I started to struggle;  hoping to get out of their grip. The thought alone made me fear for my life. If I was returned to Lights-out, I’d be executed for sure. A strong sense of hopelessness came over me. Where was Bruno? Without making a sound I started praying that I would get out of there.

As if by magic, I then heard his voice. “Take your hands off of him…” All this time Bruno had been playing dead while freeing himself from his bondages. His eyes glowing with intense anger, he stared the two down although they were not impressed at first. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves an escape artist.” Waiting for them to let go of me, he stood there unmoved. “I will give you one last warning… Let. Him. Go.” The leader shrugged. “As you wish.” Opening his hand, I fell down, hard. Not wasting any time, Bruno lunged at them; grabbing their throats and releasing a powerful electric jolt into their bodies. I, to this day, have no idea if he killed them or not as neither of us were gonna wait around long enough to find out. Bruno picked me up and quickly made an escape by floating far away from this place.

Later we found ourselves in a denser part of the woods. By then I was fully awake but still shaken up by what happened. Bruno said nothing… He looked into the distance with that stern look he got when thinking up a plan. I sat there in silence. The rustling of leaves being the only sound there. I was getting nervous from this. I stood up and reached for Bruno’s shoulder. The reaction I got was a quick jerking motion to get away from my touch. “Bruno… What’s-” “This was too close.” He said as he interrupted me. “If they did a better job of tying me up, you’d be on the first train back to Lights-out right now!” I didn’t know what he was so mad over… “But we got away, didn’t we?” I said with a naive smile. Hoping to charm him into improving his mood. But it wasn’t working. “Barely… I-” Bruno took a deep breath as I tried to suppress the sinking feeling I had in my stomach. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Cecil…”

My heart sank. “Wh- what are you saying? You’re not leaving me are you?” Tears wetted my eyes, this could not be happening. I attempted to make eye contact, but he kept looking away. “Bruno?!” He sighed and nodded once. “I am…” I could feel my heart shatter. Didn’t he love me anymore? Was I really too much? Whatever made him come to this conclusion, I knew it was my fault.

“You can’t be serious… You’re lying!” I shouted in desperation. “I promise I’ll do better! I’m sorry I keep getting us into trouble. I’ll do anything! Please! you can’t leave me here!” I begged and pleaded. But Bruno gave little response. As I started crying I wrapped my arms around him. My world was falling apart. The only person who ever genuinely cared… Suddenly didn’t care anymore. Didn’t love me anymore…

He took my hands and moved them away from his neck using his powers to push me away without having to touch me. “Bruno…”

“Keep following this path… You’ll find a village of other native mudokons. It’s small, but I’m sure they’ll take you in…” I couldn’t believe my ears. He was actually instructing me to leave. I knew he wouldn’t or couldn’t come with me. But I didn’t want to go. “I promise I won’t let us get captured again! Please… Don’t do this to me… Let me stay with you.”

Bruno took some steps back. Looking at the ground he hid every emotion he might have had in that moment. “I’m sorry… I can’t!” This was the last thing I heard him say before he sped off.

I sank to my knees and bawled. Not even caring if anyone heard me or not. I might as well have been dead at that point. I rather would have stayed a victim to the slave catchers and dragged back, never knowing what happened to Bruno at all, than getting rejected like this. By the time the sun had started to set, I still hadn’t left. A tree behind me supporting my back. My puffy bloodshot eyes hurt by the tears, my throat felt sore and raw, even my nostrils stung.

For hours I kept wishing for him to come back. But he never did. I had sat there waiting like an idiot for hours. Cried for hours. Until I ran out of tears. Slowly I began winding down. I closed my eyes and went back into my memories. Back to the cave of snow I took shelter in after I was banished. I tried to reconnect with how I felt then. Lonely, scared, cold. But not only that, there was also a great sense of hope and determination. I had to figure out to do now what I did then. This wasn’t the end, it shouldn’t be the end. A setback, maybe. Tragic and heartbreaking for sure. But not the end. I got back to my feet and glanced at the path Bruno had taken before staring in the direction I would go. With wonky feet and fighting my own body to make it move, I began walking away. “Goodbye, Bruno…”

[yi-dashi-a]

//Woa! Only a day between my rambling drabbles? This is the fastest turnaround in the Yi parent’s drabble series yet pfft (if only because it has already been written for weeks now)

  If you ever wanted to know how an art of ageless, respected, skilled enough for one non master and his non master students to wipe out a fair chunk of Noxians got nuked off the face of Runeterra in one fell swoop, then this is the initial incident for the decline of Wuju. I mean, you could technically go back as far as Wuju Master Alpha Strikes to Birds, but yeah.

  You might as well call this series, ‘Yi’s Dad has a Bad Time’ at this point

As much as she had once romanticised the idea of racing through Shon-Xan’s untameable wilds on a horse, she felt as if she’d never get upon horseback again after their journey. Chao drove the beast hard, so hard that she had complained at first for the sake of its hooves and her rear. He said nothing to such accusations however, so intently focused on getting home he was. Getting to his home. Never did she think she’d ever see the mystical origin of an iconic martial art.

You need to be prepared for anything… The man offered within during their travels, I don’t expect this to go well, but… It’s going to save me either way. Hopefully it will be done quickly, and you may venture home before you’re missed too much.

To that she didn’t respond, though he didn’t seem to take silence as well as she.

I’m sorry… You mean so much to me, Huan. This means so much to me. I don’t think I can ever repay this debt. Especially not after how I handled this...

Just be calm… She thought more to herself, but he took it in his own heart with deep, focused breaths.

The days of rough travel went by, though the nights were better spent in each other’s company. Not as they had in the evening when this whole situation erupted. Instead, she took in all in with a smile and with carefully chosen topics. They talked, almost for long enough for the sun to set and rise. They talked about things not just dire or saddening. For the first time since he’d first materialised in her room claiming to be a ghost, she felt as if they were having proper conversations.

Not that it was the best circumstances, but she’d take the little comforts where she’d find them. This was all stupidly ridiculous on her part anyway, but who was to say love was ever smart?

Eventually mountain paths gave way to rolling hills, and atop a certain one the pair could stare out to the back face of a grand training hall. Her scholarly eyes immediately dated the place to long before her own school, which was a fantastical notion in of itself. Every tale he’d told of the place had been true. At the very least it lent credence to all his wild stories. With her arms wrapped around him however, she felt the Wuju Master’s form tense, and he slowed the horse down to barely a trot.

“Be ready for anything…” He repeated as he had one hundred times, “We’re finally here.”

“I’m ready, Chao.”

“I… wish I was.”

As they travelled down the barely trodden path to his home, she watched as wary souls stopped in their strides when they passed. The travellers and village folk said nothing, merely staring upon the pair in such a way that she almost wanted to bury her face into Chao’s back. But if she’d decided anything, it was that she’d need to assert herself in this world no matter how eerie the atmosphere became.

The road followed the side of the storied temple and its courtyard walls, adding to the already mounting tension on the air. It appeared as a stark, unchanging monolith the closer they drew to the place. It watched them both, fully aware of its complicity in the terrors that had brought her here. Yet before they could completely round the bend for the village to open up before them...

A sharp whine, and a flash, and then instantly a man materialised up the road. She didn’t even have time to comprehend the nature of his magic, so her eyes pulled apart his physicality. He was short, yet he was by no means unimposing. Even at distance she felt as if she could feel his overbearing nature. His beard was long, as was to be expected, and his hair framed his face despite being loosely tied.

“Wuchao.” He bellowed.

“Master…” The man on horseback whispered, losing another few inches of himself within her hold.

“You dare to trounce back here on your horse?” The older, yet seemingly still so young Wuju practitioner started in paced steps towards them. If there was anything she could do, she didn’t know it as he continued to shout, “What reason do I have to let you enter this place?”

“This place is my right.” Chao yelled back, finding his voice from somewhere, “You cannot bar me from leaving just as much as you cannot bar me from entering. I shall come and go as I please.”

“You have no rights!” The head of school spat back, “Your defiance just makes me despise that I let you leave at all.”

“Chao…” She managed to mumble, her concern bubbling forth, “Is it going to be alright? Will you need help?”

“Just trust me. I want to handle something myself, for once.” He responded as he led the horse to stand perpendicular to the approaching man. The silvery flash of a ringed dao caught her eye as she finally faced the man in some measure, and she’d like to think that her judgemental stare upon him was what stopped him in his strides.

“Who… is this?” Chao’s father seemed to crumple in his posture a time, having to squint so he could consider Huan in her entirety, “Answer me.”

“She…” He swallowed, a weakness that focused the other’s attention again as he tossed his massive expanse of ponytail over his shoulder, “… is my wife-to-be. I am to marry this woman. I have stolen her away to be my wife. All who hear me will know this to be true. I have chosen my wife! By rite, she is mine.” And even if he asserted himself boldly, he still pulled his voice back to mumble at her within, Sorry.

I understand, Chao…

Then there was nothing. No spluttering or bluster from the father, and nothing but defiance from the son. As she observed the man below them consider Chao’s words with the growing presence of fury about his from, she almost felt as if tinnitus began to ring in her ears. The sound grew however, cementing itself in her consciousness and affirming her of one thing.

Mana was growing on the air. She knew not it’s form, but she wouldn’t have to guess long.

Once again she observed the feat of magic so completely beyond anything she’d seen in her academic career. Even if you blinked you wouldn’t miss it, for it was defined by blinding yellow light and a sound that reeked of some sort of spell. Once again, she couldn’t digest the ability before the horse they had rode for so long made a pained whinny. Chao could do nothing to reign it in as it kicked up once, and then so quickly began to fall out from under them.

“Hold me!” Chao called out, but she was more than ahead of him. Clutching to him without even room for him to breathe, she didn’t even feel it when Chao repeated the same feats as his father to escape the falling animal. It was as if she was without thought, form, or feelings for just a moment, and then next she became aware of herself she was leaning on the man as he braced himself by his falling mount. Panicked, she drew her tense gaze upon their animal. The poor thing lay struggling, its throat sliced perfectly longways to let it bleed upon the dirt.

“Wuchao!” The animal murderer roared again, and Huan yelped when Chao elbowed her away to whip a pristinely shined gemstone jian from his boots. The clash of the two-handed greatsword and the more reasonably sized blade seemed to spark between the weapons and ignite a fire in both of them. And they’d do it over and over, clashing and clashing, faster than she could even see from the dusty ground.

Chao had so often downplayed his swordsmanship, but at first he held his own as squarely as she could comprehend. Every movement was fluid and graceful, even if he danced deathly with his own father. His weapon, however, seemed inadequate against the heft of ringed sword, and his balance was challenged with every parry and strike. He was losing posture and determination so quickly. Even she could see this. It was but seconds of a conflict, yet he already looked to be tiring.

“Chao!” She called out as a first instinct, yet her guttural scream might have been his undoing. Only so slightly, so slight that she almost didn’t notice, did he turn his head her way. The more experienced Bladesman took the inch and made it a mile. Her perception, her world of the last couple of days, crumbled into dust before her. Chao’s father ripped his blade diagonally upwards, and then the same motion mirrored itself as if his blade bent time in order to strike twice. In a flash of blue he near bisected his son up his front crossways. It would have sliced him into pieces if a second too late reaction hadn’t taken him backwards just enough.

And he looked at her. He was still in the process of looking to her when the blade tore through him. He was still looking to her when another one of those spells hit her ears, and a disgusting gagging left his throat. A throat near split in twain within a blink, the spray of red marred only by jade fire Chao somehow managed to conjure to the wound. He was bleeding more blood than she even thought he had in him, and it was all before they could lock eyes proper.

Yet still he locked eyes with her, his gaze pleading for something beyond anyone’s comprehension.

Without any trepidation, or consideration, she scrambled to her darling as he fell into a pile of pelts, squirming only to lay hands about his throat. She bundled him up into her knees, even if his bloody spurting and wild eyes seemed to communicate the pain that came with that. Though she wasn’t even of a mind to understand it, some strange green mana tried to knit his throat back up again before he lost himself to the injury. She still held his head to his shoulders as if he might lose it if she were to let go, regardless of his feats.

But before she could even think to do anything comforting, to talk to him or caress his bloodied face, something cold and sharp demanded her chin rise.

“Who are you?” The attacker snarled, “How dare you dishonour my name as you have, just in your very existence?”

She was numb. Fear, anger, confusion. Her arms felt like rubber around Chao’s shivering body, almost as if they too elastic to keep a hold of him. Her neck, however, wasn’t quite as flexible, and she definitely felt the bloodied blade nick her skin.

“I’m…” She began, but the pressure of the sword’s tip stopped her dead.

“It doesn’t matter.” For the first time, the father spoke in a voice not a scream. Standing there in his gold trimmed robes, with his bushy brow almost obscuring his eyes in shadows, he spoke in the most bassy, smooth condescension she had ever heard. He sounded like Chao. Sickeningly like him, “I am going to kill you, and I’ll feel no sympathy for your loss, woman. Whatever you’ve done to lead my student astray cannot be tolerated. I’ve lost a generation of time to this failure you coddle. May you marry each other in a bloody heap.”

It stirred up something within her, to hear such a threat with that voice. Though she’d like to say it robbed fear from her, she wouldn’t admit to being as strong of will as that. She wasn’t useless however. She hadn’t come here to die. She’d come to save a man from such a bastard. She couldn’t be killed so easily.

She was a mage. She’d trained years for this.

Before he could even attempt to plunge the blade into her throat, the rumble of mana began to course through her body. It flashed in her eyes like amber fireworks, ridding the deep brown from her irises. Though his reactions had been so keen against another swordsman, her attacker flinched as her long hair raced about her face in her fiery anguish. He wouldn’t get another chance to say anything. From nowhere seemingly his skin and clothes crumpled under invisible ropes, her telekinesis blinking in her vision like glistening twine in the sunlight. His arms, hands, legs, and chest. All of it felt the pressure of her mentalist’s might. She may not have been gifted with spoken telepathy, but her mind was stronger than any she’d ever challenged.

“My name is Shouhou Huan.” Her voice reverberated as if they were in some sort of hall, and her magic wrapped around him with enough force for something, somewhere, to crack in the man. Once again she heard the background noise of magic try to manifest in the Wuju Practitioner, but crippling pressure to his throat seemed to stop any incantation before it could fire, “And you are just as much of a monster as I was lead to believe. Striking down your own son, just because he won’t marry your chosen bride? How dare you?!”

She lifted his feet from the ground without even having to stand herself, just enough to hang him from a mana constructed noose. Within her magical binds he spluttered and fought for any freedom, but she didn’t relent. She wasn’t to be discarded. She could deal with this. Even if her reactions were woefully late, she thought for a moment when she heard Chao gurgle, she’d make up for it somehow, “What’s to say I don’t kill you instead, you bastard?” Tighter still, as tight as her skills would let her, and not even his cricking and cracking would have her relent, “Don’t try and take someone so important from me. In his flaws and all I love him! I’ll not stand for it. Not after I’ve come this far. Don’t even test me so! I’ll kill you.”

Tears erupted as she felt the weight of the man grow limp in her mind’s might, yet she was content to keep crushing him again and again. Her amber eyes burned through him as his gaze became distant, and her hair squirmed about her like deep brown tentacles all the more.

H… Huan. But a quiet voice broke her concentration, allowing the unconscious tyrant perhaps a moment to take a breath. She turned her head, and she couldn’t contain her wincing upon seeing how deeply Chao’s robes had been stained by his injuries. The sack of broken meat she’d been playing with crumpled to the floor then, without so much as a peep from it.

“Chao! I’m—“

--Don’t… kill him…

Her eyes were snuffed out like a candle, returning to their regular brown hue, and she crumpled upon the struggling Wuju Master. She clawed at his face with her free hand, yet his weight and his injuries ensured she would meet her forehead with his, and not his to hers.

“I’m sorry.” She cried, “Please be okay, Chao.”

He’s..?

“I don’t… I-I don’t…”

Blindfold him… Was Chao’s last instruction before his eyes began to roll, Just… Bind his eyes...

“Chao! Chao, don’t you dare.” But he was gone, despite her protests, “Chao please!” His breaths still bubbled red out his nose, but she could do nothing to rouse another peep from him, “Please… Someone help!”

It was amazing how quickly empowerment could fall into uselessness. In a frantic haze she managed to rip her eyes away from the dying man, and to her surprise she found a small gathering people. They were village folk with fear in their eyes, but that didn’t stop her from shrieking at them, “Please! For every Star in the Stars’ Damned Sky, please help me!”

Most did nothing to help. Most just backed off at her hysterics. At their defiance, all she mustered was a wail of sheer panic, clutching for every last inch of the man at her lap and caring not if she shared in his blood. Yet so blinded by the tears in her eyes, she did not see the steps of one man. She did not notice at first when he considered the barely moving body of the master of a mighty school, and she only caught his actions when he fastened a dirtied cloth to the limp head of the man. He curtly spoke before she could even cry gibberish at him, and she felt she’d never forget his bold booming,

“Pick Wuchao up if you can. Now. Just try and follow me. You may just be the best thing to happen to Wuju in over two centuries…”

While she was in no state to understand the gravity of his pronouncement, she headed his advice. Strength beyond her form heaved the man into her arms, and she stumbled her way towards the Wuju School.

[seriouslyhooked]

Steal My Girl (The CS Mixtape) Part 149/?

Series of CS oneshots inspired by music. Collection on FF Here.

A/N: Reader requested drabble featuring a jealous Killian. I never turn down the chance to write a little of that, and this time I’m making it an AU scene where Emma and Killian are celebrating their anniversary. They’ve been together ten years and they’re meeting at a bar (recreating the first night they met if you will), but when Killian gets there, there’s another guy hitting on his wife. You can all probably guess what happens from there. Coupled with the song ‘Steal My Girl’ by One Direction.

Walking into the sleek yet inviting Boston Grand Hotel that lay at the heart of the city after a long day at work, Killian Jones had to admit that he was restless. All day he’d been waiting for this moment, and finally, mercifully it was here. He was at last where he most wanted to be, about to be reunited with the best part of his whole world.

Ten years married today, that was what he and Emma had achieved. It was, to many people, a real accomplishment, and when he mentioned it to his peers at work or friends who hadn’t known him before he met Emma, they were always awed by the continued ties that remained between Killian and his wife. But Killian wasn’t at all surprised. Since the moment they’d met, Killian knew there was only one woman in the world for him and he was just the lucky bastard that managed to get his ring on her finger and live his life at her side.

In ten years they’d taken a young, fresh love and grown it into so much more. Not every day was easy, and of course hard times came for them just as they did in the lives of everyone else, but the magic of Emma and Killian’s relationship was their constant faith in each other. In times of struggle they didn’t run or evade, they leaned on the other and battled the storms until bright days came once more. And because of that, the good moments so vastly outnumbered the bad. They chose happiness each and every day, and they fought for the good for both themselves and for the family they cherished so dearly.

“Good evening, sir. Can I help you with something?” The hostess at the front of the hotel bar asked politely and Killian shook his head, only offering her the briefest look. He hadn’t any need or desire to interact with anyone aside from Emma, but then he thought the better of his flat out refusal. Maybe this woman could get him to Emma sooner, and that would be a great help indeed.

“I’m meeting someone, actually. My wife, Emma Jones, is she here yet?”

Damn it felt good to say his last name as hers. Even if it had been a decade since she was legally Emma Swan, Killian loved that they were bound together in every way. It meant more than he could say that he was the person Emma had chosen, and that after years of a life where she hadn’t any one or any place to call her own, that she’d found home and connection with him.

“Oh she’s here alright, and I think you’ll be very glad to see her.”

I always am, Killian thought to himself as he grinned, unable to contain his joy that the wait was nearly over. Then he took his leave and returned to his vigilant search for Emma once more.

It took a minute for Killian to get oriented to the crowd here tonight, but soon enough he spotted the object of his affection. There, across the bar and bathed in warm yellow light was a vision in red – the single most beautiful woman Killian had ever seen – and the one he had the right to call his own. His Emma was effortless in how stunning she was, commanding attention from every corner of the room without any sort of care or mind. Instead of flaunting her desirability, she sat there without expectation or pretense, perched on a bar stool with her fingertip drawing easy lines atop her glass. God she was gorgeous, and tonight (and every night) she was all his.

Killian made no attempt as he moved through the crowd of people to shield his gaze from the picture Emma made for. He took in the cascading curls of her shining blonde hair and the slight upturn of her lips in a good-natured smile. His eyes lingered over the sensual curve of her body, and Killian’s hands itched to hold her and then strip away that damned enticing garment she called a dress. It was a scrap of material, nothing more, but bloody hell if it didn’t fit her stunning figure to perfection. Not that the outfit made much difference – whatever Emma wore, Killian was always attuned to her and her alone, and ten years had done nothing to dilute his desire for her in any way.

As if the woman who owned him body and soul could sense his silent appraisal, Emma chose that moment to look his way, and in the instant that their gazes met, Killian saw the promise of everything he wanted from this life and everything Emma had already granted him. She was the key to everything he’d ever dreamed possible and so much more. She was his partner, his lover, his wife, the mother of his children, and to top it all off she was the most beautiful, stubborn, undeniably brilliant person he’d ever met.

It was because of Emma that they were here tonight. When he’d asked her what she wanted to do for their anniversary this year she’d been specific in her desire for three things: She wanted to go back to the place where it all began (thus their meeting tonight after work in the hotel bar where they’d first met), to have dinner at her favorite restaurant, and then to spend all night just the two of them. That last part was the trickier of the three (seeing as they had three little ones at home to be cared for), but thanks to some full on bribery, Killian had managed to convince his brother Liam to take them on, granting Killian and Emma one night away. Any more and the two of them would both miss the life they’d created for themselves too much, but as it was tonight would be damn near perfect, a series of stolen moments that Killian had been waiting for a very long time.

The need that clung to Killian as he moved across the room was growing exponentially, and when that sweet smile of Emma’s turned playful and flirtatious, he felt he had to get to her and close this distance of space between them. His wife was simply too great a temptation, and Killian would not rest easy until he had her in his arms and away from the watchful eyes that surrounded them in this public space. But then interruption came from an unexpected place: another man approached Emma and tore her attention from him.

“That’s not bloody happening,” Killian muttered to himself angrily as he moved faster to get to his Swan. She was attempting to let the man down with a cool sense of indifference, but whether the interloper was drunk, delusional or both he wasn’t taking Emma’s signals. Instead he decided to push his luck and make a physical move on a woman who clearly did not want any part of it.

Before the slime ball could lay a hand on Emma, Killian grabbed the man’s wrist and didn’t bother to hide the hostility that wracked his body. He was furious, seeing red in a way that spoke only of danger for this piece of shit who wanted to make a move on his wife, and the tone of Killian’s voice when he finally found the words was a mix of ice and venom.

“If you want to keep that hand, mate, you’re going to stay the hell away from my wife.”

“Wife?” The guy asked, looking at Emma accusingly, as if she were the one at fault here. “I didn’t see no ring.”

He wants a ring? He’ll damned well feel mine when I punch his face in! Yet before Killian could do something drastic like drag the sorry excuse for a man outside, Emma’s hand came to Killian’s chest, pulling him back from his anger and calming him instantly.

“That’s because you didn’t look,” Emma said in a feigned sense of sweetness as she showed her left hand. There, sitting in their usual place were her engagement ring and wedding band. The sight of them alone helped Killian feel better, and he hummed out a sense of approval.

Take that jack ass – she’s taken, and she’ll never want another as long as I live, Killian thought to himself as he pulled Emma closer, the need to stake his claim still strong despite Emma’s deescalating the situation. Without any hesitations, Emma melted into his embrace, smirking up at him as she not so subtly dismissed the intruder.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Emma said, her eyes never straying from Killian’s and the man behind them mumbled something incoherent before scurrying off with his tail between his legs. Killian, meanwhile, was focused solely on Emma, surrounding himself in her presence in the best way he could. Seconds ago he’d been infuriated, but the longer he spent in her direct company, the saner her became. It was startling just how much control over him this woman had, but Killian wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m sorry, love,” Killian said and Emma tilted her head, seemingly confused. “Not for setting that miscreant straight, but for getting our evening off to a less than smooth sail.”

Now Emma smiled in full, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his lips and taunting him with just the smallest taste of rum and the sweetness only Emma could bring. He was desperate to follow her lips and claim them in something more defined and unbridled, but he wanted to be sure she was okay after everything first.

“Can I tell you something?” Emma asked and Killian nodded, informing her that anything she had to share he wanted to hear. “I kind of liked it.”

“You did?” Killian asked, surprised for the briefest moment before heat ran through his veins and understanding dawned on him. Emma appreciated that display of protectiveness and possession. Good to know.

“Mhmm. It’s pretty hot to watch your husband go all caveman over you. Ten years and you’ve still got a thing for me,” Emma teased as her fingers came to toy with his tie and trace down to the suit vest he was wearing.

“It’s more than a mere thing, love, as you well know,” Killian ground out, making Emma laugh with his gruffness. He wasn’t at all angry with her, but damn if she wasn’t tempting him into a frenzy. They were supposed to be sharing a drink and then heading to dinner, but much more of this kind of attention and Killian would call the whole night off and drag Emma up to the suite they had this evening and remind her just how much more remained between them.

“I know, I know. You love me and I love you and we’re that totally cheesy couple they put on the ads for true love and happily ever afters,” Emma quipped, making Killian smile too as his hand came to cup her cheek and his thumb ran across the corner of her smile. “It’s just kind of funny that you seem to think I’m going anywhere when you’re the only one I want.”

Hearing that easy profession of Emma’s enduring love shouldn’t have packed the punch that it did since he was fortunate enough to hear such assurances all the time, but Killian couldn’t help it. After all this time is still felt like the greatest gift to know that Emma was just as deeply in this as he was, and that as happy as he was, she felt just as whole and completely and excited for all that they had together.

“I’ve never once doubted your intentions, my love. You are everything that is good and kind and honorable,” Killian whispered, making Emma’s eyes soften and her body move ever so much closer to his. “But I think a good many people would like the chance to steal my girl, and when such opponents present themselves, I will always remind them that you’re already spoken for.”

“You’re a regular knight in shining armor,” Emma mused, the mirth in her tone returning as Killian shook his head.

“I’ll be whatever you want, Emma. Just say the word and it’s yours.”

“So if I said that we should skip dinner and go upstairs right now…?” Emma trailed off, purposefully licking her lips and causing Killian to groan aloud again.

“I’d be completely beholden to your every desire. And I’d note that room service never sounded so bloody good.”

And with his wife’s laughter playing at his ears and her assurance that this was in fact the course that she wanted, Killian swept his Emma away to an evening filled with love and lust and the distinct source of happy that was unique to them and to the magic they’d found together.

………………

She been my queen Since we were sixteen We want the same things We dream the same dreams Alright (alright)

I got it all 'Cause she is the one Her mum calls me 'love' Her dad calls me 'son' Alright (alright)

I know, I know, I know for sure

Everybody wanna steal my girl Everybody wanna take her heart away Couple billion in the whole wide world Find another one 'cause she belongs to me

Everybody wanna steal my girl Everybody wanna take her heart away Couple billion in the whole wide world Find another one 'cause she belongs to me

Na na na na na na (oh, yeah) Na na na na na na (alright) Na na na na na na Na na

She belongs to me

Kisses like cream, Her walk is so mean And every jaw drop When she's in those jeans Alright (alright)

I don't exist If I don't have her The sun doesn't shine The world doesn't turn Alright (alright)

But I know, I know, I know for sure

Everybody wanna steal my girl Everybody wanna take her heart away Couple billion in the whole wide world Find another one 'cause she belongs to me

Everybody wanna steal my girl Everybody wanna take her heart away Couple billion in the whole wide world Find another one 'cause she belongs to me

Na na na na na na (oh, yeah) Na na na na na na (alright) Na na na na na na Na na na na na na

She knows, she knows That I've never let her down before She knows, she knows That I'm never gonna let another take her love from me now

Everybody wanna steal my girl Everybody wanna take her heart away Couple billion in the whole wide world Find another one 'cause she belongs to me

Everybody wanna steal my girl Everybody wanna take her heart away Couple billion in the whole wide world Find another one 'cause she belongs to me

Na na na na na na (oh, yeah, alright, yeah) Na na na na na na (alright) Na na na na na na Na na

She belongs to me

Na na na na na na (oh, yeah) (She belongs to me, yeah) Na na na na na na (alright) Na na na na na na

She belongs to me

Post-Note: So I know this was a short chapter, but I think it still packed that same sense of CS fluff I usually go for. Thank you so much to the reader who requested this song. I know it was a long time ago, but I never forgot, and today finally felt like the day to sit down and write it. Also thank you to all of you for reading, and I hope you have a great rest of your day!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31, Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38, Part 39, Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45, Part 46, Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53, Part 54, Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60, Part 61, Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68, Part 69, Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75, Part 76, Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83, Part 84, Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90, Part 91, Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98, Part 99, Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103, Part 104, Part 105, Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112, Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118, Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125, Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132, Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138, Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145, Part 146, Part 147, Part 148