#HE DID NOT DESERVE TO BE TAKEN OUT BY AN IMMORTAL MONKEY

[scottishoctopus]

I've noticed a severe lack of Maccus posts, so I'm here to remedy that for our awesome shark boy!

[skellebonez]

i have been laughing for like an hour at that one post about Macaque with hiccups so. what if like. drabble about that with idk prompts number 9 and 72 i guess???

Anon, you have NO IDEA how much I loved this post by @animemoonprincess , I have been wanting to write something using this idea for so long. I just wanted to write silly goofy "Mac can't control his powers when he has hiccups" fic for a while and this was so much fun!

How long have you been standing there?/Don’t you dare.

"And... how long as this been going on?" Pigsy asked, torn between shaking his head in disbelief and worry and holding back laughter at the sight before him. He honestly felt kinda bad for wanting to laugh, but after all the stunts the immortal monkey had put himself and his friends through... he allowed himself a few chuckles.

"Three-hic-HOURS!" Macaque snapped, laying flat on his chest and gripping the sides of the table in front of him with a scowl. "I can't take i-hic-it anymore, you have to have some-hic-thing to make them STOP!"

Each hiccup made Macaque's tail bristle and fluff up, as if each one startled him, and made his glamor glitch awkwardly. If that was the best way to put it.

"Mac, you look miserable," Mei said, holding back her own laughter as she looked up something on her phone.

"I am," he said, uncharacteristic honest for the moment... but then again, it wasn't like he could hide this fact.

"Don't I know that feeling," MK offered in solidarity, patting the immortal monkey on the back and wincing when another stronger hiccup made Macaque jump.

They had all wondered why he was wearing a cloak and avoiding them for the last hour when he finally showed his face, only hearing the hiccups coming from him and seeing the way he jumped ever so slightly with them. He'd stayed as close to light as much as he could, very unusual for himself, and tried to just go about what his initial mission was (which was apparently getting some ice water in the hopes it would help alleviate his symptoms).

And then he has hiccuped just a little too hard at the wrong moment and managed to fall through Sandy's shadow and into the lower levels of the drone ship.

To say they were all grateful the ship wasn't flying at the moment and that he was on the upper level was an understatement... even if he would have survived the fall. Being immortal the way he was.

Right now he was in the ship's kitchen with the rest of their little group (minus Wukong who had seemingly vanished to... wherever it was he liked to hide), gripping the table as stated before to presumably not fall through a misplaced shadow again in the overly brought room, and looking... well...

He was blue. Literally, his hair had turned blue. Then he hiccuped and it became an odd shade that looked like his own mixed with stripes of Wukong's hair color. His eye that had a glamor over it changed color every other hiccup as well, and so did the color of his outfit (though he didn't normally have a glamor over that he couldn't control what glamors were put up or taken down it seemed).

The next hiccup was followed by a soft whimper of frustration as his two ears became six before their eyes. And that... made Pigsy pause.

"Does this hurt you?" Sandy took the initiative to ask, raising an eyebrow of concern.

Whatever laugher was about to bubble up from the group surrounding Macaque paused instantly once he brought up the possibility. MK in particular paused, a look of realization and slight guilt dawning on his face.

"No..." Macaque started slowly, seeming to think over his next words carefully before he sighed in defeat and face planted into the table. "But -hic-... it is very -hic- uncomfortable," the other admitted after, his ears changing color from completely normal to a rainbow on either side. "Imagine feeling the -hic- chest spasms but in what-hic-ever part of your body changes. And it's -hic- really tiring to have my -hic- powers activate like this."

Well... that was actually moderately concerning. Not dangerous sounding, exactly, but Pigsy could imagine how much this was affecting the other when the last hiccup made whatever glamor over the dark circles under his eyes fade away. They all knew that Macaque was hardly sleeping but this...

"Well," Mei said cheerily, jumping up from her seat and waving her phone. "I have a few idea on how we can get rid of these that are less dangerous than finding a rare flower that blooms under very specific circumstances. What have you tried already?"

~

To say they had been unsuccessful was an understement. They’d tried nearly everything they could think of.

Macaque had tried holding his breathe again, breathing exercises, drinking the ice water he had left his room to get. Sandy had suggested compressing his chest with his knees, but that hadn't worked either. Pigsy had brought him some ice to chew on with much the same result.

Mei's idea of eating a lemon slice or swallowing a spoonful of sugar, while creative, were even less well received when they did not work. There were other methods she found online that she immediately vetoed, no one wanted to anger the immortal by attempting to tickle them away (not after his snarled "Don’t you dare.")

MK's attempt at scaring them away was... laughable. Literally, instead of scaring Macaque the young man just sent him into a fit of laughter that only seemed to make him both even more exhausted and grateful for the short bit of amusement.

"Well now what?" Tang asked, checking off each attempt on a sheet of paper. "We've tried almost everything."

Macaque hiccuped again, groaning in exhaustion and covering one of his eyes with his cloak hood up to hide... whatever was on his face he didn't want anyone to see. No one said anything about it, the sight of the other making them just feel too bad for him to push the issue for the moment.

"Maybe if I pass out from -hic- exhaustion they'll stop," he almost slurred, leaning even harder against the table. He had been dealing with this for 4 hours with little to no relief sight. He looked awful. "Just let me pass -hic- out."

"No way!" Pigsy said firmly, helping Mei look up more cures on her phone. "What if they don't stop? You could fall through the floor again and we are not having-!"

Pigsy never got to finish that sentence because one second Macaque was alone at the table looking miserable.

The next Wukong was standing behind him and jabbed two of his fingers on either side of his neck.

"WHAT THE HELL!?" Macaque snapped after a yell of pain, breathing heavy as he clutched his chest and glowered at the Monkey King. "How long have you been standing there, Wukong!?"

"Only long enough to know that all of you didn't see me," Wukong said with a smirk, gesturing with his hand to the other immortal. "Hmn... sounds... awful quiet now... don't you think?"

Macaque paused, a look of confusion crossing his face before he realized... he wasn't hiccuping anymore. He stayed quiet for a moment, everyone did...

And no sound came aside from everyone's breathing.

"That actually worked!" MK shouted in relief, moving to hug Macaque in his excitement before realizing who he was hugging and letting go with an awkward chuckle.

"I know it's been centuries," Wukong said, face softening with a sad smile as his words continued. "But I remembered that worked for you... back then. You could have asked me for help, Mango."

"... yeah... thanks, Peaches," Macaque said slowly, looking at him with an almost suspicious gaze for a moment before he frowned oddly and stood to wander off. "I'm... going back to bed."

The group watched Macaque make his way to the hallway, movements slow and sluggish from his odd endeavor.

"Sleep well!" Mei suddenly shouted after him. "You deserve some rest after that!"

He paused just long enough to nod before heading on his way.

"You gonna explain any of that, Peaches?" Pigsy asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. "The heck did you do anyway?"

"Compressed his wind pipe and scared him half to death," Wukong answered with a shrug. "It was the only thing that worked when we were... friends. And no, I don't want to explain. Not until he wants to."

No one said anything to that, just nodded in silent agreement.

When Macaque woke up the glamors were back up and where they used to be... except, Pigsy noted, whatever had originally been concealing the dark circles under his eyes.

He also noted how when Mei asked how he sleept he sounded more honest than he had since joining them.

[lunar-wandering]

i don’t wanna fight alone anymore - Chapter 6

The ship goes through a thunderstorm.

Wukong is fine.

(warning: Wukong is kinda like. panicking for most of this chapter, mainly this is based on what I do when anxious but. figured i should warn ya i guess.)

Word Count: 2.4k

Read on Ao3

"Hot chocolate is ready!" MK said, walking into the common room, carrying a tray with 4 mugs of hot chocolate on it. He handed one mug to Mei, then turned to hand another one to Macaque, only for Macaque to turn away, not even reaching for the mug. "....Aren't you going to take it?"

"No." Macaque said, plain and simple, slouching down and back into the couch.

"....Why not?" MK asked.

"I can't drink hot chocolate." Macaque sighed, dramatically sliding down off the couch and onto the floor. "Chocolate is poisonous to monkeys."

"But...." Mei started, turning to look at where Wukong was standing behind the couch. "I'm pretty sure we've all seen Monkey King-"

"I'm immortal, so it doesn't matter." Wukong said, "Give me my drink, if you'd please."

"Here." MK handed the mug of hot chocolate to Wukong, who sipped at it as MK turned back around to bring Macaque's unused mug back to the kitchen. As such, he didn't see the look of brief confusion that flashed over Wukong's face as he sipped the drink again, quickly followed by shock, then a tired resignation. All evidence of that, however, was gone by the time MK returned to the room.

"How do you live without chocolate?" MK asked, as he sat down on the couch, looking down at where Macaque now lay on the ground.

"I manage." He said, his eyes closed. Wukong snorted into his cup.

"That's why he's so bitter." Wukong said, "Can't eat chocolate."

Macaque didn't dignify that comment with a response, his ears twitching before he sat back up, looking like he was concentrating on something. He sighed, standing up and walking towards the door.

"And where are you going?" Mei asked.

"To my room." Macaque said, "There's a thunderstorm coming, and I'd rather not get my hearing destroyed any time soon."

With that, Macaque left the room, the door closing behind him.

"A thunderstorm?" MK asked, "I don't think I've been in a thunderstorm, outside of that time Red Son took over the weather station."

"I've been in a few, while traveling." Mei said, shrugging. "Other than being a bit loud, they're not a big deal, really. The weather station keeps storms from happening in the city, so like you said, I haven't been in one for a while."

"Ha, ha, yeah, wouldn't want the power to get knocked out in such a large city, right?" Wukong said, "I'm sure that would cause chaos."

There was a....strange wobble to his voice as he said it, which prompted MK and Mei to look at him with confusion on their faces.

"Are....you okay?" MK asked, eyeing how tightly Wukong was now gripping his mug. Wukong gave a little laugh.

"I'm just fine, kid." Wukong said, before chugging the rest of his hot chocolate in one go. "I think I'm gonna go check in on Pigsy now, see ya!"

And with that, Wukong turned, walking towards the kitchen. MK and Mei watched him go with equal looks of concern on their faces.

-

The first roll of thunder hit when Wukong was helping Pigsy take a batch of cinnamon buns out of the oven. It was so sudden, that even though he had been tense, expecting it, he very nearly dropped the whole tray.

"Careful, don't want to waste them." Pigsy said, noticing the fumble, before pausing as he registered the expression on Wukong's face. "....You okay?"

"Yep, just fine!" Wukong said, setting the tray down on the counter. "Just wasn't expecting it, that's all!"

"If you say so....." Pigsy said, staring at how Wukong stood, hands behind his back, tense. He could tell that something was up, but-

Before Pigsy could say anything else, another bout of thunder rolled through, and suddenly Wukong was moving, turning and heading towards the doorway.

"I'm going to go check on how Tang is doing!" He called, over his shoulder, before disappearing down the hallway.

-

Tang was sitting in his room, reading one of the many books he'd found in Wukong's house. (He'd stolen them, technically, since Wukong didn't know he'd taken them.)

He faintly heard a bout of thunder-

And then Wukong was there, leaning over his shoulder.

"Watcha reading?" He asked, and Tang barely kept himself from startling out of his chair. He chuckled a little at the other's reaction, before returning his attention to the book. "Wait, isn't this one from my house?"

"They're all from your house." Tang said, recovering from the sudden scare. "I figured I'd get some reading material while we were there."

"I mean, at least someone will read them." Wukong said, "I'm not even sure why I held onto them really, I never actually bothered to read them."

"You didn't- why would you just get books and then not read them?" Tang said, "I mean, this one specifically has such a good plot-"

Wukong sat there, crouched on the edge of Tang's chair, and listened to him rant about how good the book was. In truth, Wukong actually had read all the books. At least 50 times. But he wasn't about to tell him that.

Listening to the ranting was actually a good distraction.

Or at least, it was a good distraction.

Eventually, his mind started wandering again, and all it could keep thinking of was-

A clash of thunder rang out, and Wukong stood up, jumping off of the chair and pacing, trying to look casual as he did so. He didn't think he fully succeeded, if the way Tang paused in his speech and looked at him was any indication.

That wouldn't do. He wouldn't- couldn't let any of the others know-

Tang went to open his mouth, and Wukong was already walking out the door.

"I'm going to go hang out with Sandy!" He said as he left.

Tang watched him leave with a frown on his face.

"I was just gonna ask if he was okay...." He mumbled.

-

So maybe going to Sandy wasn't the best idea right now.

Or, well, at least, it wasn't the best idea considering Wukong actively wanted to hide the fact that anything was wrong. Sandy was the best in the group at picking up on the others emotional states, so Wukong should've known that as soon as he entered the room he'd be asked;

"Are you okay?"

"Yep! Perfectly fine!" Wukong lied, wincing as another clang of thunder boomed outside the ship. As much as some part of him wanted to, he couldn't tell him. He couldn't tell him that the loud sound of thunder sounded all too similar to the sound of rocks falling, crashing, and tumbling their way down a mountain.

Besides, it wasn't entirely a lie, he was fine.

He could deal with this.

So long as he had a distraction.

Which was why, even though Sandy eyed him with a fair amount of suspicion, Wukong stayed around him a little while longer, trying to make small talk about any subject he could think of that Sandy might be knowledgeable about. Cats, tea- literally anything that came to mind.

And it worked- between talking about random subjects, and pacing while rubbing his hands up and down his clothing ( a self comforting gesture, he was unsure when he'd starting doing it, but he sure wasn't going to stop now-), the overbearing panic from the thunder was almost dulled enough for him to forget about it.

....But this strategy wouldn't work forever.

-

They'd all gone to bed.

Everyone was asleep.

They were still in the thunderstorm.

And now, Wukong had no one to talk to.

A loud boom rattled the ship, and Wukong barely stopped himself from whimpering as he leaned against the wall of the hallway. On the one hand, at this point, he just wanted to curl up and cry. But on the other hand, staying still for too long just reminded him of being trapped, unable to move-

Another roll of thunder came through, and Wukong couldn't stop the whimper this time.

Fuck. He couldn't do this, he needed- he needed another distraction, someone else to talk to-

But the others were asleep. There was no way he could wake them up for this, not only would it disturb their sleep, but he'd been doing such a good job of pretending everything was fine, that he was still the strong and powerful Monkey King that defeated Demon Bull King five hundred years ago. He couldn't shatter that image for them. They deserved to believe that they were safe with him there.

He couldn't wake them up. If only someone, maybe Sandy, was still awake, maybe then-

....But there was someone awake.

A mental image of Macaque, sitting on his bed, covering his ears so that they wouldn't be hurt by the loud thunder, unable to sleep from the noise, appeared in Wukong's mind.

Almost immediately he dismissed the idea. He'd already spent at least an hour locked up in a magic barrier with the shadow monkey, outside of general interaction around the others, he wasn't going to actively seek out the other's company for anything else. He still didn't trust him. There was no way he was going to let Macaque know about this.

Another loud crack of thunder quickly made him change his mind.

In only a matter of seconds he stood outside of Macaque's door, debating whether or not he should knock. The choice was made for him as the door swung open, Macaque standing there, looking tired and absolutely done with everything.

"Don't even start." He said, stopping Wukong before he could even open his mouth. "I could hear you panicking from miles away."

"I'm not panicking!" Wukong said, despite the fact that he clearly was, and Macaque sighed-

Before pausing, grabbing hold of his scarf and pulling it up to cover his ears, and that was the only warning Wukong got before-

Another clap of thunder hit, this one closer to the ship than the previous ones, based on how loud it was, and both monkey's cringed. A moment passed, then Macaque slowly let the scarf fall down from his ears, lightly rubbing them in an attempt to stop the ringing.

Wukong continued shaking.

Macaque took one look at him and sighed, before grabbing hold of Wukong's wrist, and dragging him down the hallway.

"Hey- what're you-" Wukong started to protest, trying to pull his wrist out of the other's grip, but Macaque held firm.

"I'm not dealing with this tonight." Macaque grumbled, and Wukong's protests continued, only the fear of possibly waking someone up keeping him from shouting at the other.

At least, until they started approaching MK's room.

Wukong dug his heels into the floor, actually managing to bring Macaque to a complete stop.

"We are not waking up MK." Wukong hissed, trying to level Macaque with a threatening glare, although it was very much ineffective, as another bang of thunder made him start shivering again. Macaque, who had used one hand to pull up his scarf and protect his ears from the noise, rolled his eyes.

"Unfortunately for you, I am not going to tolerate your bullshit." He said, ignoring Wukong's offended gasp. "It's late, my ears are ringing, and right now I honestly couldn't care less about your thunder phobia or whatever. You're going to talk about whatever the hell this is with MK and the others, and I'm going to go back to pressing two pillows over my ears so I don't get hearing damage, okay?"

"No-" Wukong said, but it was too late, as Macaque banged his fist on MK's door. There was a startled yelp, and a crash, and Wukong winced, knowing that his successor had probably just fallen out of his bed. A few seconds passed, and then MK slowly opened the door, tiredly rubbing his eyes.

"Macaque? What's going-" MK started, before noticing Wukong, who was very obviously trying to escape Macaque's grip. "...Monkey King?"

"Uh, hey bud!" Wukong said, smiling nervously even as Macaque sent him a warning glance. "Nothing's wrong, you can go back to bed-"

He was cut off by another boom of thunder, cringing and slightly curling in on himself. Macaque had let go of his hand, in order to better cover his own ears, but somehow the thought of running away was suddenly the furthest thing away in Wukong's mind. MK continued to glance between the both of them with confusion and concern.

"...Are you alright?" MK eventually settled on asking and Wukong-

Wukong finally gave in.

".....No." He said, quietly, looking down at the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Macaque fade into the shadows, probably heading back to his room, but he wasn't really focusing on that right now. "I'm....not okay."

"It's the thunder isn't it." MK said, it wasn't a question, it was a statement, and Wukong nodded silently, still refusing to look MK in the eye. "Do you want to talk about it or-"

"I just need a distraction." Wukong said, "Just, I don't want to think about-"

Another clash of thunder, and MK winced sympathetically as Wukong decided to take a page out of Macaque's book and cover his ears with his scarf. Surprisingly enough, the fabric over his ears did actually help a little, it was almost a bit comforting, really.

MK waited until Wukong had mostly pulled himself back together before speaking again.

"We could play Monkey Mech?" He suggested, "I've got a TV and console in my room-"

Wukong practically rushed past him, entering the room and immediately finding the console and turning it on.

-

MK sighed, setting his controller down on his lap as he glanced at the clock.

4 am in the morning.

(Usually, MK would be a bit concerned over how little sleep he was getting, but-

To be honest, he hadn't been sleeping well the past few nights anyways. What was one more sleepless night?)

"Y'know, arguably, you probably should've gone to Sandy for this." MK said.

"Probably, yeah." Wukong mumbled, before looking over at MK. ".....Can you promise me you won't tell the others about this?"

"...Sure." MK knew that the others had also figured it out already, but if Wukong wanted to pretend that no one knew, well, MK certainly wasn't going to be the one to start digging into that.

That was probably a job that would be best left to Sandy in the long-term.

[vegalocity]

Kisses 17 and 26 and Touches 15 with MKsdadshipping?

Affection meme

17. kisses as a promise

26. giggling while kissing

15. hugging each other

For some reason fluff wasn't coming to me for these, so I said to myself "how funny would it be if i managed to make this an angst fill?" and now here we are

this just in: three middle aged(-ish one of them's immortal) men in a polyam trio are completely blind to what they bring to the dynamic and all consider themselves as the 'awkward third one whose just kinda there lowkey ruining things'

--

It was more than he deserved.

All of this.

To the point where every so often he’d have to peer at the world around them and the two of them just to be sure he hadn’t somehow been fooled and was being left to rot in an illusion, or perhaps that calabash those silver and gold brothers still had about.

But no, the world was as it should be around him, unless whatever it was was so thoroughly good at crafting its illusions it could fool even the Monkey King himself. For all intents and purposes, he was in reality.

And in reality, he had his two greatest loves back. It wasn’t perfect of course. Neither of them remembered their pasts alongside him, sp as far as their own histories were concerned, he was in fact the interloper while they’d been around each other for years already. He was… an untested variable.

An interloper.

It wasn’t like this was as it was back then, when the three of them had slotted together practically as one despite the superficial dynamic of master and two eldest disciples.

But they didn’t have that anymore, and he was okay with it. It was probably just the echoes of Sanzang and Baije that made them decide to bring him into their little fold, and he was okay with it.

Besides, it made for a lovely view. The way Tang would tease and taunt Pigsy with that adoring glint in his eye just because he thought he looked cute when he was mad. How he was pretty sure Pigsy would purposely rise to the bait more than he actually was getting angry because that was simply how their relationship worked by that point. How before too long had passed the two would stop and begin to laugh. A sweet domestic peck shared between chuckles.

It was beautiful in its simplicity. He was glad he was allowed to peer in.

It was more than he deserved for how he'd failed them so long ago.

--

Look, here’s the thing.

Even before they’d found out about all of this reincarnation business, Tang had been possibly the biggest Monkey King fan in China (Though Xiaotian may have given him a run for his money if all of that successor nonsense hadn’t started up) and that was all well and good when he might as well have been just another historical figure.

And then he was a far more common figure in their lives and Pigsy had grown a bit… worried. Mostly that his husband would embarrass himself in front of his idol of course. Then… you know.. Sun Wukong proved himself to be a complete and utter dork and the mystique began to fall away, and Pigsy found he liked Sun Wukong a lot better than he’d ever liked The Monkey King.

And then… well.. Sometimes things really do just fall into place, don’t they?

Of course, nothing was without its bumps, and Pigsy was man enough to admit that sometimes he just couldn’t keep up with his husband and boyfriend when the two of them got rolling on something. Bouncing from topic to topic fired back and forth like a Ping Pong Volleyball match right when he realized he might have something to add to a topic of conversation they were already about three subject changes away from it. And he wasn’t about to be that guy that says ‘back on that earlier thing though-’ and derail the whole flow.

After a certain point he’d just feel lost, catching up let alone keeping up a far away dream. Sure once one of them noticed that they’d gotten carried away they’d both apologize and be all awkward about it, usually stay on a topic for quite a bit longer, but Pigsy could tell it was just to include him so he usually assured them he was happy just listening.

He’d watch as either of them got back into what they were talking about, and whatever historical document Tang had offhandedly mentioned he’d give a limb just to peer at Wukong would mention he had a copy off off-handedly. And he’d at least get a laugh out of the shocked/awed/excited look that only Sun Wukong seemed to be able to bring out of him, as the Monkey King promised to be right back, he just needed to pop over to his mountain to grab it. Gently peking Tang on the cheek and winking at him before shimmying open the window and taking off.

Tang was always practically vibrating when he’d get back and they’d go back to whatever they were talking about without skipping a beat and… you know…

Pigsy wasn’t stupid, he graduated with top marks from culinary school.

But he just wasn’t quite on the same level as his husband, and that had been fine when it was just the two of them, and he certainly didn’t regret bringing Wukong into their lives like this but…

He couldn’t help but feel like he just… couldn’t keep up.

--

Tang had always known he wasn’t particularly good at… people… he talked too much, didn’t understand the line between playful ribbing and outright bullying, allowed his passions to drive him to the point of making some pretty bad choices.

He’d figured Pigsy (and to a lesser extent Sandy) was probably the only person he’d ever really have in his life that didn’t mind all of that. That liked yelling about as much as Tang liked making him yell.

It had honestly been a dream come true to not only MEET Sun Wukong, but to realize he was cut from a similar cloth. His ‘fears no heaven nor demon’ attitude made anything and everything slide off his back, even some pretty nasty things said with the intent to hurt (though Xiaotian was a noticeable exception, he took almost everything their kid said to heart) But by that line Tang had been so excited that he actually COULD talk to him about almost anything. And so they did. They talked quite a lot.

But… the thing was… they debated and explained and dialogued, and flirt if the mood stuck (and wasn’t that trippy to experience for the first time) Tang just… couldn’t shut his damn mouth. He didn’t really realize it until he’d been coming home one of those rare days Pigsy had the shop closed but he had to give a lecture and had just been quiet enough to see what Sun Wukong and Pigsy got up to when he wasn’t around and…

It was quiet. Very quiet. Tang almost didn’t want to breathe. He’d been able to keep silent, but he was sure Sun Wukong had sensed his presence just as the doorknob had turned. He was just a bit… distracted.

Distracted by being curled up against Pigsy’s back as he threw together lunch for the lot of them. It occurred to Tang quickly that Pigsy never let him be affectionate while he was cooking. How he was ‘distracting’ and ‘always sneaking tastes’ and such, whereas Sun Wukong appeared to be content in just hugging his husband close as he cooked. And… it was a sweet scene really. Pigsy was always embarrassed over his more animalistic instincts around him, but every time he’d poke his head in on him and Sun Wukong he was getting more and more comfortable with them.

He was the only human in their little trio, and he was sure that came with its own baggage beyond being the one the other two had to protect when Mystic demon business came up, but he supposed what made him the real oddball was simply that he sucked at slowing down.

He couldn’t keep his mouth shut for long enough to enjoy someone’s presence quietly. Sun Wukong and Pigsy probably didn’t talk near as much when he wasn’t trying to drag them into conversations or playing ‘topic volleyball’. Just watching the two of them doing their own thing, probably long since knowing he was there but waiting for him to speak first, it was so obvious how quickly they’d gotten comfortable around eachother. How quick their relationship had been to run deep.

It had taken Tang five years to worm his way into Pigsy’s heart. Sun Wukong did it in five months, and he was starting to think it maybe was because he’d never learned how to take a quiet moment for what it was.

And then the silence was unbearable and Tang made a teasing remark, because he was probably incapable of anything else.

Pigsy huffed and puffed in that cute way he always does, Sun Wukong pulled away from him and went to lean against the opposite counter, the moment thoroughly ruined by his big mouth. Again.

Seemed like he was more annoying than he thought.

He wondered why the two of them even put up with him.

--

Send me stuff

[jadethest0ne]

In need of Refueling, Chapter 4 - A Warning

Summary:  “You?! Why would I trust you? You have brought me nothing but failure. Time and time again; nothing but disappointment!”

His father’s words might have been a result of his possession by the White Bone Spirit, but whether or not they were his true thoughts, Red Son vows to prove them wrong. To do so he seeks to attain a power strong enough to destroy his father’s immortal enemy. After all, he’d much rather throw fire at his problems.

Word Count: 1671

Ratings/Warnings:  Teen and up; injury, burns, angst and hurt/comfort, toxic thoughts caused by toxic parents

Notes: This time with more MK! Can the author pull off POV switching?! Tune in to find out! Big thanks to @painted-arachnid and @simplyfornardo  for helping me bounce ideas off of them. And also thanks to @lemonsqueazie for providing me with “Journey to the West” lore. I don’t know much about the original novel or other iterations, but I still tried to keep some things compliant with the lore. You should check all of them out, since they’re really great content creators with neat ideas!

Read on AO3

———-

Red Son looks at the small blue flame in his hands.

A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. Then he chuckles. The chuckles become louder until they’re an uproarious laughter that echoes around the mountaintops. He had done it! He had attained the True Fire of Samadhi!

But what exactly is this new power? It certainly feels strong. And strange. Almost... alive. As if the fire has a small heartbeat of its own, lightly pulsing in his palms.

He has to test it out.

He starts with a small blast pointed outward off the ledge he was on. But as he lets loose the flames from his palm, the small blast turns out to be not so small at all, and instead it becomes a giant fireball that reaches a neighboring mountain, glances off its side, and blasts a decently sized boulder off the edge of it.

Red Son blinks at the destruction he caused. He chuckles again, though a bit more nervously this time. I guess this will take some getting used to, he thinks.

He tries again, this time holding back a lot more than he normally would. Destruction is good, but control seems to be important here. There is something about the will of the fire that tells him so. His second attempt is much better, and more the size that he initially desired. He sets off a few more of those, then tries some medium sized flames, and a couple larger blasts, getting a hang of the pressure and power. He throws some punches and kicks, and lets the flames dance around his body and fingers.

He is having a lot of fun, but wonders what else The Fire can do.

 Extinguish the inextinguishable.

He recalls what was written on the archway in the mountain. He looks down at the sea lapping at the mountain shore in the distance. “Let’s see how ‘inextinguishable’ you really are,” he says with a smile.

Feeling confident he commands the flames to lift him up and over to the shore. His confidence is well-deserved, it seems, as the fire kicked up under his feet leads him safely over to the beach.

First, he puts a hand under the water and then commands the fire to appear in his palm. Bubbling beneath the water, it faithfully appears in his palm with the same energy as if it weren’t submerged.

He pulls his hand out of the water and with two palms outstretched thrusts fire over and onto the water itself. The entire beachside is lit ablaze. The light reflects in his eyes. They shine greedily at the pure might that is displayed in front of him. The color is cold and uncaring, but the heat is strong and hot, and presses against him in waves. His father will surely be amazed with this, and be proud of his accomplishments.

Red Son is so caught up in his revelry and thinking of his father’s reaction and how he’ll finally gain recognition, that he doesn’t realize that the flames have creeped up shore and that the edge of his left pant-leg has caught fire. He looks down and yelps in surprise. He does a bit of a jig before he reminds himself that it’s his fire, and sweeps his arms wide extinguishing the flames from the beach (and his pants) completely.

He coughs to gain composure and makes a show of casually dusting himself off, despite no one having witnessed his small error. He feels confident enough with this test run, that he thinks he can attempt to take on the Monkey King. But there's one more problem he needs to figure out.

How to find the Monkey King?

Red Son is interrupted in his musings when he hears some rocks being disturbed behind him. From the blasts he caused earlier maybe? Or perhaps someone had seen him after all…? An idea pops into Red Son’s head. He may have a way to find the Monkey King after all...

----

MK had noticed Red Son in the market while looking for ingredients for Pigsy. He ducked behind a stall, and peered out at his enemy. He heard him say something about how a “fire will be mine” and rush off. If there was one thing that MK had learned from cartoons, video games, and frequent run-ins with demons, it’s the look of a bad guy plotting something evil. So he does what a hero does - he follows him.

MK starts to get nervous when the direction that Red Son is taking begins to look familiar. And then extra nervous when he takes off beyond the sea headed towards where the Monkey King lives. He has to pull out his staff to try to fling himself in that direction over the sea. Landing in the Flaming Mountains, he misses Red Son by a good margin. But after some searching, he sees the fire demon wandering around a large volcano to the east. He is perplexed when for a moment it looks as if Red Son fazes through the wall of the mountain only to instantly appear on the ledge again.

Red Son seems really still for a moment, but then summons a flame to his hands.

A blue flame?

That’s unusual.

Then Red Son starts cackling maniacally.

That is less unusual.

MK tries to push closer to see what’s going on, only to be taken aback by a sudden burst of blue flame that blasts away a chunk of the mountain next to him. MK pulls back and holds a hand over his suddenly racing heart. That was very intense and loud. He looks back cautiously, holding his staff in front of him, expecting another blast to come his way. But it seems as though he hadn’t been discovered and that blast was not meant for him, since he sees Red Son start making some motions and stances throwing that strange blue fire around him.

MK wonders what could be going on. A training session maybe? But why come to the Flaming Mountains? Red Son wouldn’t risk being caught by the Monkey King, would he?

His thoughts are interrupted as Red Son starts propelling himself towards the beach. MK tries to follow as quickly and stealthily as he can. Despite tripping over several rocks, he makes it to the beach undetected. What greets him there sends a cold pit into his stomach - the entire beach on fire.

And not just the sand. But the water.

The water is on fire!

MK blinks. How is that even possible?! He is so taken aback that he doesn’t realize how much he is leaning forward, and in doing so a small pebble loosens where he stands and rolls down the cliff he is on. He pushes himself behind a rock and holds his breath, hoping he wasn’t seen.

After a few beats, he hears Red Song speak. Not to him, it seems, so MK tentatively peeks over the ledge to look again. What he hears isn’t good.

“Finally! The True Fire of Samadhi! With this I can destroy even the great Monkey King and deliver him to my father!!!” Red Son shouts with relish.

The pit in MK’s stomach sinks further with those words, and as Red Son envelops himself in blue flames and disappears, MK panics.

 He’s after the Monkey King!!

A bunch of thoughts run through his head at once. He only said he could destroy the Monkey King, not that he would, right? But why else would Red Son come here than to fight the Monkey King?  Maybe he was just being his normal boastful self? Surely some fire couldn’t actually hurt someone who is immortal a thousand times over, right? But if Red Son came here, he’s definitely trying something and probably wants to get to him. What was that about “delivering him to his father?” And he literally set the water on fire! That can’t be good. How much time had he spent thinking about this? How much had he been delaying if the Monkey King somehow could be in danger? Why was he stillherehehadtogoNOW!!!

MK plants his staff into the ground and launches himself towards Flower Fruit Mountain. No time to think; he had to warn his mentor! It took him only a minute or two. Hopefully, that was a minute or two that could be spared.

He rushes through the waterfall and the rocky arch that marks the entrance to the Monkey King’s home, kicking up sand and dirt in his wake. He reaches the hut and looks around. There are monkeys hanging out as normal. Everything is quiet and calm. Nothing is on fire.

MK takes a few steadying breaths. Maybe he didn’t have to panic-- “Heya, Kid!” a voice appears right next to his ear.

MK yelps and scrambles a few feet away, before turning around to see the Monkey King, very much fine and not in danger, standing next to him in a very relaxed stance. Monkey King laughs and smiles genuinely at his student. “A little jumpy today, huh, Kid?”

“Uh-- yeah, I came to uh--” MK stutters out.

“Today’s not a normal training day. Or did you want some extra pointers?” The Monkey King flashes an easy smile, and winks at MK, the embodiment of calm and cool.

MK swallows and finally gets some words out. “No! I came to warn you about---”

“--ME!” comes a maniacal voice. Fire billows out of the entrance, somehow easily passing through the waterfall. From the flames appears Red Son smiling widely and wickedly at the mentor and student.

Blue flames flow from one of his eyes, giving him an intimidating aura, and he looks evilly at MK. “Thank you, Noodle Boy, for showing me the way!”

The cold pit that had been digging into MK’s stomach dropped all the way to his toes. All words and thoughts leave him. Except for one thing that echoes endlessly in his head:

 He had led Red Son right to his teacher.

start || <– previous // next –>

[sonofsallyjackson]

Family Never Truly Leaves Us: Chapter 1 featuring Baby Lost Trio

AO3 

Summary:  Thalia Grace was very good at finding her family.  Keeping that family together was a completely different story.  Her first family collapsed when her brother’s disappearance became too much to bear.  She died for her second family, only to wake up years later and not recognize them anymore.   Her third family is literally twenty-odd teenagers and an immortal virgin goddess, but she’s never been one for traditional. 

AN: Basically this is a three part story that was inspired by @silima’s incredible art of the lost trio together as kids.  I mean just look at it.  Baby Piper, Leo and Jason are absolutely adorable and deserved to be celebrated.  However, this turned into a Thalia piece and the three different families she’s made for herself.  As I initially planned to have this chapter out by Jason’s birthday and it’s now the last hours of Leo’s, I cannot hope to have the next section up by Annabeth’s birthday even if that’s my unofficial deadline.  

Thalia Grace was very good at finding her family.  Keeping that family together was a completely different story.  

Her first family was one pulled together just as much biologically as it had been by circumstance.   Beryl Grace lacked the maternal instinct necessary to be a good mother, but she did have a strong ability for finding people who might be useful to her.  Of course, her definition of useful was particularly fickle.  Some days useful meant the literal king of the gods, who she would beg to make her queen of his dominion, to revere her above all others.  Other days it meant the personal assistant, all too willing to fill their mansion with a never-ending supply of alcohol.  On the best days, it brought Tristan Mclean, Esperanza Valdez and their children into their lives.  

Beryl had mocked her agent at first.  You really couldn’t get me anything better?  The Oscar committee hates fantasy.  But she had wanted to dive back into the world of Hollywood elite where she belonged.   She wanted to prove that her second child didn’t mean she had let herself go or was less worthy of the public’s adoration.  If anything Beryl claimed to six-year-old Thalia, I’m more worthy.  Who can say they’ve attracted a god twice?    

They met in the middle, as Beryl Grace’s fame was crashing, and Tristan Mclean's was preparing for a meteoric rise.  He'd worked with the director on a few minor projects, but it was his first starring role in such a big-budget film.  Regardless, it had taken a little convincing.  After all, he was a single father with a daughter under the age of two, and his closest family was halfway across the country.  But the director was insistent, sending scripts, pictures of the prototype animatronic dragons, and finally, a pretty young woman from the special effects department who also had a little kid.  Esperanza Valdez and her honest approach to how she was handling her "tornado with legs" did more to calm his fears than anything else did.  Tristan signed on enthusiastically after making sure childcare was handled.    

Beryl Grace didn’t bother to consider something as bland as childcare.  After all,  she accumulated a list of nannies over the years.  No one stuck around very long.  The latest, Mrs. Costa, thought their house was haunted.  She didn’t like the way wind danced through the house or the lightning that flashed even when the sky was completely clear.  One day Mrs. Costa ran out of the house, screaming that the baby was floating and needed to be exorcised.  

"I don't have time to be dealing with this, Thalia." Beryl snapped as if this was all Thalia’s fault.  “I’m calling the studio.”  

It turned out the studio had no problem with adding two more children to their makeshift daycare.  Beryl Grace dropped them off at Tristan Mclean’s trailer, apologizing all the way as she runs to makeup.  The trailer was a mess of children’s toys and storybooks.  Thalia was not impressed, but Jason squealed excitedly at the other children already on the floor.   The girl definitely dressed herself, decked out as she was in a rainbow tutu, a camo t-shirt and rainboots despite the fact they’re in the middle of a drought.  The boy didn’t say anything but offered Jason the red block he’d previously been playing with.   He’s smaller than Jason, with dark curly hair and an infectious smile.  Thalia’s never felt more out of place as she watches the three of them play.  She’s used to being Jason’s whole world, the one who always keeps him entertained and safe.   The blond intern boredly watching them, jumped to her feet as the door opened again.   A woman slightly younger than her mother with dark skin and twinkling brown eyes smiled at her easily.  

"Thanks so much for covering for me, Sarah.  We should be good to go.  I only had to explain the controls about six times to Pat.”

"Really,  Esperanza? They're letting Pat handle it."  There's clear annoyance in her voice, but she also seems resigned to the fact.  

"It turns out being the producer's son has its perks."   Esperanza patted Sarah's shoulder encouragingly.   "If it were up to me, you'd be the one running it.”  

“I’ll come get you if we run into problems, but I think you’re good to stay with the kids.”  Sarah glanced in Thaila’s direction as if to remind her boss of their unusual charges.  

“Well, you’ll know where to find me.”  

After Sarah had left, Esperanza set her walkie talkie on the table before kneeling down, so she was eye to eye with Thalia.  "Hello Mija,  you must be Thalia.  I don't know what your mother told you, but my name is Esperanza. I’m going to be looking after you and your brother today.”  

Thalia nodded uncertainly.  She was used to new people coming into their lives, but that didn't mean she liked it.  And she knew all too well, that even the people with the brightest smiles could bring trouble.

"The other little munchkins are Piper and Leo." Piper didn't even react to her name as she was too busy building a tower, so a giggling Jason could knock it over.  Leo, on the other hand, gave his Mama a curious glance before promptly shoving a block in his mouth.  

“Jason tries to eat everything too!” Thalia said with a slight laugh.  

“They tend to do that at this age.  It helps them explore their world better.”  Esperanza gently encouraged Leo to take it out only to have her son holding tightly to her like a spider monkey.  

Thalia sort of understood that.  She didn’t understand the world either, but she didn’t think knowing how blocks tasted really made Jason any more of an expert.  

“Most of the toys we have are meant for someone their age, but I’m sure we can find something for you to play with.”      

In the end, Thalia settled down with a stack of paper and crayons.   She sat as close to Jason as possible, just on the outside of the trio’s little circle.  Even though she already felt like Esperanza was better at keeping an eye on Jason than Mrs. Costa, Thalia continually checked in on her brother, although her glances slowly subside from one for every new line she added to her drawing to only when she grabbed a new crayon or when one of the kids let out an indignant squawk or a giggle.  

When Piper requested a song for naptime,  it’s easy to slip into a gentle sleep until the trailer door opened, and Thalia heard her mother's voice.

Beryl fluttered her eyelashes at Tristan as she leaves exaggerated kisses on her children’s heads.  “I really can’t thank you enough for helping today.”  

He let out the hearty genuine laugh that he’ll be known for one day.  “It was all Esperanza, really.” He said as he offered the other woman a smile.  “In this industry, single parents need to stick together.  Helping out for the week is the least we can do.”  

It ended up being much more than a week.

Many days on set are often the same as their first, although a collection of toy cars, a robot, and a pair of lightsabers are added to the more toddler-friendly options.  There are days when the kids are so full of energy there’s no possible way to stay in the trailer.  The trio ran laps around the trailer or race between wherever Thalia and Esperanza are standing.  

Sometimes if they promise to be good, they even go on adventures to see different parts of the studio lot.  The women in the hair and makeup department dote on Piper.  Leo is happiest in his mother’s workshop.  Jason proclaimed he wants to be exactly like the stunt actors, which made Thalia’s heart skip a beat.  Despite all of the cool things she’s seen on set, Thalia loved the days they watch their parents act the most.  When Thalia watched her mother, she felt like she understands why Beryl is so determined to make it here.  She thrived in front of the lights and camera.   There's an ease to her smiles that Thalia hasn’t seen since her father left.

After one late-night shoot where the children all slept over in the Mclean house, the families traded the trailer for their homes. Esperanza's schedule barely overlapped with the other two. She got to set early to set up her machines, or she went later for the nightly repairs.  In the hours where makeup calls overlapped with set-up, a tired production assistant lazily watched the kids in Tristan’s trailer.  There are days where Beryl filmed, and Tristan didn't, and vice versa. Days when Tristan took all four children because Esperanza needed to get some decent sleep.  They look out for each other. While Beryl was not thrilled about the idea of two additional kids in her house, it’s a lot easier to keep a babysitter than a nanny.

Undoubtedly, this strategy would have been completely impossible if the three toddlers hadn't been friends.  Luckily, the kids got along almost too well.  Even if they saw each other nearly every day, separating them was a nightmare.  They also were more than willing to help out in each other's schemes.  Jason’s determination to put absolutely everything in his mouth had only grown as he got older.  Sure things kept falling off of high shelves as if pushed by some invisible force, but Thalia thought she’d probably be able to handle that if it hadn’t been for Leo.  He was a week younger, but when he got the occasional look of mischief on his chubby face, Thalia knew it was over. She’d walked in from school twice now to find Jason chewing on something she knew was in one of the locked cabinets and Leo proudly smiling on the counter.  

Of course all good things come to an end.  Thalia worried that with no movie bonding the three families together, everything would fall apart, that she and Jason would be left to their own devices.  She realized she shouldn’t have worried when Beryl mentioned they’re spending the Premiere night at the Valdez’s.  Three assistants needed to sew Beryl into a form-fitting dress with embroidery that looks like the night stars.   Her mother may have looked radiant on the red carpet, but Thalia preferred Esperanza’s mismatched pajamas and the genuine smiles she gave as she tucks the four of them in.  

In the end, the film flopped.  The only things critics deemed worthy of any praise are Esperanza’s mechanical dragons.  The fans seem to prefer the shirtless Tristan Mclean scenes.  It had the potential to be a cult classic one day, but Beryl Grace didn’t care about being famous someday.   She wanted the world now when she’s young and beautiful.  She already deserved the world.  

It was probably for the best that Beryl misses most of the party.  It's the easy sort of affair that she would hate.  She's always been one for spectacle, and three kids sitting in highchairs flinging red frosting at each other was not a spectacle.   She chose her career over her son’s third birthday.  It didn’t even surprise Thalia anymore.  

“You know I can’t Thalia.  My agent says this is a big opportunity we’ve been waiting for. I just know it’s the one.”   Beryl said as she pulled up to the Valdez’s apartment building.  

Thalia didn’t mention that every audition, every lunch, every cocktail hour seemed to be the one lately.  Her mother is frazzled in a way she’s never seen her before.  She hasn’t accepted that there is no new movie coming.  A new blonde-haired, blue-eyed ingenue showed up in Hollywood every day, and they’re almost all younger and easier to work with than Beryl Grace.  

“I’ll be there later, Sweetie.”  She handed Thalia a disposable camera. “You’ll just have to show me what I miss.”  

It’s almost funny how their birthdays align so perfectly.  Piper’s is in June and  Leo and Jason’s a week apart.  They held the party together since the kids wouldn't know differently anyway.  Unlike Beryl, Tristan took the day off from auditions.   Esperanza had already spent the entire night before making enough food for an army.  

Thalia blew up a hundred silver balloons, never realizing that an eight-year-old should have been out of breath much sooner and that without helium, her balloons should stay firmly on the ground.   Some of them do, but most float easily around the apartment.  Piper and Leo bounced one back and forth to each other, giggling the entire time.  Jason practically pounced on one and tries to eat it.  It pops beneath him, which seemed to be enough to convince him not to put this strange thing in his mouth.  He joined the other two, although he took great pleasure in hitting the balloon as hard as he can at Thalia to convince her to join them.  

There’s easy laughter, homemade tamales, and little shouts of “Tree! Tree! Tree!”  as the birthday kids marched around the room, announcing their age proudly for everyone to hear despite not mastering the sound an h makes.   The pictures Thalia took are more for herself then Beryl, to remind herself of how happy she was.  This is probably for the best as Beryl never asks to look at the pictures.  

Maybe in another world, Thalia would feel like it was impossible to go to school, to leave Jason alone with their mother or the nanny of the month for the day.  But in this world, Thalia has other adults in her corner.  The three children stayed together in a play-pin in Esperanza’s workshop or Tristan’s office as he looked for his next big role.  It wasn’t an ideal scenario since by the time they were three and a half,  they were more than capable of making a break for it.  But they’d learned early not to touch anything besides their toys, that masterful escapes were meant for playing in the yard or for grabbing extra crayons and that if necessary the parents could find other arrangements, potentially separate arrangements.  Personal assistants and nannies filled in where the parents couldn’t, but these had been hired by parents who actually cared about their children.  

School was hard enough in this world where the letters floated off the page, and Thalia couldn't sit still, so Thalia truly couldn’t imagine a worse one.  But after school, when there were no glowering teachers or odd children with one eye, Thalia relaxed.   She sat at the short wooden table in whoever’s living room they were staying at for the day and stubbornly work on her homework as Leo put together puzzles, and Piper roped Jason into creating larger than life storylines for her Barbies.

Piper seemed to know when her homework made her want to scream because she would ask in her sweetest voice, “Tally, play now?”  

“Who am I today, Pipes?”  

Jason might try to hand her the doll he'd previously been sucking on, but usually, Piper had something very specific in mind.   There’s Sofia, the redheaded murder suspect complete with purple crayon scars.  Or Ama, the princess in disguise that Jason attacked with a pair of safety scissors, so she's almost bald.   Or a million other characters with intricate backstories.  

Piper occasionally needed to pause their play because “Jason was doing it all wrong” or because she needed to ask Leo to build their characters a castle out of Legos.  But overall, Thalia could play with the kiddos for hours after school.  

Occasionally things were bad.  Beryl would be sent home from a shoot early, alcohol heavy on her breath.  Daytime soap actresses were a dime a dozen, and no one had the patience for a woman past her prime who could barely remember her lines and couldn't even stand without swaying.  (Beryl’s character was given a brain tumor to explain her behavior and allow the writers time to get rid of the fan favorite.)  Those days featured doors slamming and screaming.  If they’re at the Grace Mansion, Thalia made sure the kiddos were safely out of sight and occupied, before ducking behind the kitchen counter so she can call for reinforcements.  Mostly though, she found about these sorts of days after the fact, when Tristan’s assistant drove the two of them home, and there would be broken glasses and picture frames with their mother passed out in her bedroom.  

Despite this, Thalia grew up loved, even if that love didn’t come from her biological parents.  Tristan tried to entice her to read even though it's hard.  He pretended he needed someone to run lines with and encouraged Thalia to be as dramatic as possible.  Somehow it didn’t matter that the words are swimming in front of her,  she’s only nine, and the idea of collapsing dramatically into fake tears is so much more powerful than her fear of getting something wrong.  It certainly helped that her captive audience of toddlers seems to love everything she did.   Piper and Jason always seemed to giggle when she reads the lines in a sing-song voice, so Thalia goes out of her way to do it, even when the part didn’t call for it.  Esperanza played rock music that allowed Thalia to scream out her frustration and dance around the kitchen in the Valdez apartment.  It's a wild mass of limbs, and she doesn’t even know which language Leo is yelling in half the time.  But it feels right.  She has a family that loves her.  

When they moved out of the mansion into a cramped apartment,  Thalia told herself it didn't matter.  This cold house with its glass walls and minimalist furnishings never really felt like home.  The new apartment sort of did after Thalia covered her side of the room in scotch tape and pictures. She's collected evidence of everything her mother missed during her auditions, her soap operas, and eventually her hours as a waitress.  There's Tristan playing ring-around-the-Rosie, and Piper refusing to wear anything not dinosaur themed.  Jason smiling despite his stitches because he tried to eat a stapler.  Leo stands proudly in front of his first project, little wrench still in hand.  There's a slightly blurry picture of Esperanza teaching her how to make enchiladas.  Thalia captured everything.  Maybe someday her mother would see them and be sorry she missed this.

On Thalia’s 10th birthday, her mother didn’t give her a gift.  It’s almost like she can’t see her anymore.   Beryl spent the entire day reminiscing about Zeus.  Thalia is not her own person.  She’s her father’s black hair and startling blue eyes.  She has Zeus’ determined face and his chin.  Thalia is proof that in the long scheme of things, Beryl has won, won the affection of a god, and that no matter how much further they fall, no one can take that prize away from her.  

Thalia didn’t particularly like the idea of being the child of a god, especially since she hasn’t seen her father since Jason was born.  She wasn’t sure she truly believed it either.  It seemed like just another fantasy Beryl latched onto the idea in a drunken haze.  Thalia barely saw her mother sober anymore.  If she was a child of a god, Thalia should feel powerful and important.  Instead, she's just alone with her baby brother on her birthday.  

She got birthday phone calls from both the Mcleans and the Valdezs, but they’re not here.  It’s three days before Christmas after all.  Esperanza’s extended family in Texas took the holiday very seriously, and Tristan finally had a long enough break from shooting to go home to Oklahoma.  She smiled brightly when they gave her presents later, a leather jacket and extra cameras, and doesn’t tell them the truth that even thinking about her birthday made her heart ache.  

In the weeks leading up to Jason’s fifth birthday,   Beryl got worse. She didn’t acknowledge her children, wandering the house in a daze, muttering under her breath.  

Thalia put on a brave face and told Jason, “Mom’s just practicing for a new role,” but she was terrified.  

Thalia saw her arguing with people who aren’t there, her mother’s eyes wide and tortured.  None of her pleas made any sense.  "No, you can't have him.  I need more time."   “He’s my son, not hers! You didn’t even let me name him.”  “Why can’t you protect us?”  

Jason nearly threw a tantrum when Beryl suggested they have a birthday picnic.  “No!  We always celebrate with Piper and Leo!”  

Thalia glared at her mother before kneeling to face her brother. "We'll see them tomorrow, Jay. But for now, we'll go see the woods and the stars.  You'll be able to run around as much as you want."  

“Really? As much as I want?”  

Thalia almost groaned, knowing she'll regret those words later.  She’ll have to chase him down, and Jason runs like he's practically flying.  

Beryl gave her a grateful look, but Thalia didn’t return it.  Sure her mother was making an effort, but they both deserve so much more after everything she has put them through.  

Jason was the only one to speak the entire drive to the state park.  He sang the alphabet about six times and twinkle-twinkle little star twice.  But he never stopped talking, not even as Thalia unbuckled him from his car seat, and the three of them walked through the state park.

Beryl’s hands shook as she set their picnic basket by the pond. “Sweetheart, I think we forgot the blanket.  Why don’t you run back to the car and grab it?”  

“Sure,”  Thalia shrugged.  “Jason, why don’t you come with me?”  

He looked ready to shout that he’ll “race her back” when Beryl put an arm around his shoulder, a sickly-sweet smile on her face.  “Really, Thalia.  I can watch my own son for two minutes.”    

Thalia swallowed.  She seemed more put together today, but her mother is an actress, and appearances can be misleading. Thalia practically ran from their spot near the ruins to the car.  

It took a few minutes to realize there was no picnic blanket.  Thalia wanted to think it's a coincidence that Beryl actually thought they brought the blanket, but the sinking feeling in her stomach let her know it was likely always a distraction, a wild goose chase to get her away from Jason.  

Thalia slammed the trunk of the car closed. Ten minutes.  How much trouble could her mother cause in ten minutes?  She ran until her lungs hurt, her heart throbbing in her chest.  The path was uneven under her worn-out sneakers.  Thalia tripped over a tree root and barely noticed her scraped knee as she set off again.  It felt hard to breathe, but Thalia isn't sure if that's coming from her worry or her running.  

Upon first glance, the meadow with the ruins of the old house was empty.  As Thalia got closer, she saw her mother hunched over on the ground.   Beryl was sobbing like she would never run out of tears.   She’s alone.  

Thalia couldn’t help but shake her mother desperately, “What’d you do? Where is he? How could you?”  The questions rolled out of her uncontrollably.  

She was barely gone ten minutes, but it felt like something has drastically changed.  

“Hera claimed him.  He’s as good as dead.”   Beryl was able to manage between sobs.

Her mother had no right to cry.  She didn’t know Jason, not really, not the way Thalia did.  She didn’t know that Jason liked to pretend he can fly and preferred the Buzz Lightyear band-aids when he inevitably scrapes himself up jumping from furniture or the playground equipment to demonstrate.  She didn’t know that Jason liked to build block towers just as much as Piper did, but he liked knocking them over more because he got to roar like a dinosaur or howl like a wolf.   She didn’t know about the bird’s nest Jason decided to camp outside protecting because he was worried the mama bird wouldn’t come back.  Thalia knows those things.  She thinks he’s the most important person in the universe and now he’s gone.  

They stayed for two hours.  Thalia combed every inch of the area, looked behind every tree, in every bush.  She screamed Jason’s name until she can’t anymore. When Beryl dragged her away from the site, Thalia didn’t even have the energy to fight her.  

The drive home was oddly silent without Jason’s chatter.  

Beryl disappeared into the confines of her bedroom as soon as they got home.  She would wallow in her own grief away from her remaining child.  Beryl knew Thalia deserved to be comforted, but she also knew that people seldom got what they deserved.  

Thalia ran to her spot behind the kitchen counter.  She wished it was a normal day as she picked up the phone.  She wanted to just be able to call Esmeralda and tell her that her mother was having a rough day, to ask that someone come pick up Jason and her.  But this time was different.  This time Thalia calls 911.  

The police cars pulled up to their apartment in a flurry of sound and lights.  Thalia can’t move from her spot behind the counter even when they demanded someone open the door.  She hugged herself tightly as her mother opened the door.  

"Really, Officer, I don't understand what the problem is,"  Beryl said earnestly but firmly kept them outside.

“We have a report of a missing child from a Miss Thalia Grace.”  

Thalia can’t see her mother’s face, but her mask must not firmly be in place.  They knew something was wrong, even as Beryl attempted to push them away.  "Oh, that's just my daughter.  What a frightful imagination she has.  I'm sure it's nothing, Officers.  I'm sorry for bothering-.”      

A female officer cut off Beryl's apology.  "Even If it's just a simple mistake, it's still best that we talk to her.  We'll even let her know that this isn't the sort of thing to joke about."

Thalia felt her tears grow heavier at that.  There is no way she could ever joke about this, not with a memory of her baby brother singing twinkle twinkle little star running through her head.  

The officer walked past a reluctant Beryl into the apartment.  Her partner, a Hispanic man with greying hair, stayed with her mother as she sought out Thalia.  The blonde woman didn't need to look far before she found her curled in a ball in the corner against the lower cabinets.   Thalia was a mess, covered in scrapes and dirt from her time spent searching for her brother.  The officer gingerly sat down across from her.  

“You must be Thalia.  I’m Officer Joan. You did a really good job calling us tonight.  I know you told the person on the phone a little bit of what happened, but can you tell me everything please?”  

Thalia’s words spilled out of her, a desperate flood of information on the off chance that literally anything is even the slightest bit helpful in finding Jason.   She didn’t know if these people even can help.  This felt strange, like her one-eyed classmates or her mother begging people who aren’t there, but Thalia needed them to be able to do the impossible anyway.  She won’t ever forgive herself if the police could have done something and they didn’t

When she finished, Officer Joan nodded to her partner before helping Thalia to her feet.  "Now, I know this isn't going to be fun, but we need to take your mom to the station so we can ask her more questions.

Thalia nodded, slightly unsure.  She understood, but every second that someone wasn’t looking for her brother was time he could spend hurt.   Why weren’t they moving faster?  

“Do you have someone you can stay with while we do that?  A relative?”

When the police car pulled up to the Valdez apartment,  it is seven hours since she last saw her brother.  Thalia thinks it isn’t possible to cry anymore.  She’s done almost nothing but cry since Jason disappeared.  She used up all her tears.  

Esperanza answered the door with a look of confusion on her face.  Her curls were already wrapped in a purple headscarf.  Her fingers kept her thin robe closed over her nightdress.   The look of confusion turned to one of worry when she saw Thalia.  Officer Joan briefly explained the situation, but Esperanza never truly took her eyes off Thalia’s face.  

“Tally!” Leo exclaimed as he saw the people at the front door.  He peered around their legs eagerly before the smile fell from his face.  “Where’s Jay?”  

Thalia broke down into a fresh set of tears.

“Leo, why don’t you go pick out another book to read while I get Thalia settled?”   The little boy looked confused.  Thalia and Jason were a package set.  If Thalia was here, his best friend should be too.  

Esperanza pulled Thalia into a tight hug.  "Oh, sweetheart, everything's going to be alright.  You just let it out.  I know it's been a hard day."

Esperanza maneuvered the two of them, so they're sitting on the sagging couch, all the while clutching her tightly.   Esperanza wrapped her in a blanket and fixed some hot chocolate before she finally left to put Leo to bed.  

After Leo’s safely asleep, Esperanza came back with a washcloth and a glass of water.  She doesn’t force Thalia to say anything.  She merely wiped away the grime of the day from her face before gently helping the girl lay down with her head in Esperanza’s lap.  She ran her fingers through Thalia’s short hair until the girl settled into an uneasy sleep.  

The police come back the next day. She remembered getting frustrated that they were here again, asking her the same questions instead of being out there finding her brother, but the rest of the interview is a blur.  She sat on the couch,  watching the rain pound harshly against the glass.  A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, and Thalia prayed to whoever may be listening that Jason is somewhere safe and dry.  The thunder didn’t stop all day.    

Her mother must have been sober enough to give the performance of her life because she wasn't charged for Jason's disappearance.  There is no body.  It's Thalia's word against hers, and Thalia was just a kid.  Still, the papers had a field day. “Who is Beryl Grace’s super-secret custody agreement with?” “Did Disgraced Soap Opera Star Kill Her Own Son?” “Where is Jason Grace?”  Her brother’s face smiled at her on the cover of tabloids for weeks, and it just felt like too much.  

Thalia tried to stay. She really did.  She barely entered the apartment that she shared with her mother, instead crashing on Esperanza’s couch or the guest room in the Mclean house.  These people seem to understand, at least. They’ve seen Beryl Grace at her worst.   They believe Thalia without question.  Although after Tristan gets reprimanded for drawing negative attention to himself, they don’t press the issue publicly anymore.  No one says it, but the odds are Jason is dead already.  

Thalia pretends she doesn’t hear Esperanza and Tristan’s frantic whispers late at night, knowing they’re talking about what to do with her.   She ripped down every photo she ever put on her bedroom wall the one time she can bring herself to go back inside the room she shared with her brother.  She can’t look at them, can’t see Jason grinning back at her with a red party hat holding up three fingers proudly or Jason making funny faces with Piper and Leo, without wanting to scream.  Thalia tried to avoid looking at Piper and Leo’s disappointed faces.  They don’t understand what’s happening, but their best friend is gone.  Their little questions of “But is Jay coming back tomorrow?”  break her heart.  She can’t bear to stay here, but she also has nowhere else to go.  

In the end, Thalia didn’t make the decision to leave so much as the monsters did.

She noticed the looming shadows before she saw them.  Thalia ducked behind a mailbox to get a better look at them.   They're over double her size, with wild eyes, pointy teeth, and hairy arms covered in tattoos.    Their clothes wouldn’t look too out of place at a rock concert if it weren’t for their necklaces.  The giants proudly wore chains with everything from beaded necklaces to gleaming weapons attached to it.   Souvenirs, Thalia thought to herself.  The spoils of war from the people who they killed before.   She would not let herself be next.  

“The hero is close.  Their scent is strong.”  

Thalia did not feel like a hero, especially as she studied the swords and spears that rattle against their chests.  She’s only ten years old, but no one else on the street seemed to notice them.  

"You better be right, brother.  Halfblood is a treat, but I'm hungry now."  Scraps of blood-soaked denim clung to the ogre's face.

Would they just eat whoever they come across if she didn’t come forward?  This is a busy road, only a few blocks from the school.   They could grab anyone; her classmates are at risk the longer she stays hidden. She knows in her bones that she’s the person they’re looking for. She may not know the word “Halfblood," but it felt right to her.  Thalia wished she was in a position where she could fight, where she could leap up and just fight them.  But all she has is a backpack, and as scary as math is, she didn’t think her textbook can do much damage.    

Thalia was so absorbed in trying to think of an escape plan, something that both didn't draw attention to herself and minimized the casualties, that she didn't notice the hand inching toward the mailbox until it was too late.  She jumped back.

The giants leered at her.  “Little hero.  I see we won’t have to wait long for dinner.”  

She’s not an especially fast runner, but she is small enough to maneuver quickly, to change paths even as they lumbered toward her.   They recognized that they could not win on speed alone.  They use the very features of the street as projectiles. The giants lift cars as if they weigh nothing. Shop awnings fall in their grasp.  Thalia did everything she could to avoid them.  

Still, it was not enough.  The stoplight may not have hit her, but she needed extra time to jump around it to avoid the sparks flying off it.   It was time she did not have to lose.  

Thalia can’t explain why she did it.  Her back was against the rough concrete wall.  She was out of options.  So Thalia raised her right hand and directed it toward the closer giant.  She just wanted a way out of here, any way.  The lightning flashed until there was nothing left of the giant but the smell of burning flesh and his spoils of war.

“Child of Zeus, you shall pay for that.” He lunged for her, but missed, his hand impeding deep into the wall behind her.  

Thalia swallowed, surprised despite the absurdity of her current situation that her mother was telling the truth.  A god. Her father really had been a god.  After Jason had disappeared, Thalia had completely dismissed the notion. What sort of god didn’t even protect his own son?  

"I will have revenge, godling."  The remaining giant ripped one of the streetlamps up from the base.  It flew to her left, even if the miss was a little too close for comfort.  

Thalia tried to recreate the feeling, the tug in her stomach, but no matter what she did, she could not summon more lightning. She had another option, though.  The giant may have disappeared, but his necklace of souvenirs had not.

Thalia tugged a spear loose from the chain. It feels right in her hand.  

“There is no escape, little hero. I will feast on your bones.”  

Thalia didn’t have any time to think as the monster stalked forward.  There was no time to worry about all the ways this can go wrong, that she's never held a spear, let alone thrown one.  She flung the spear with all her might,  hoping it would go straight.

Amazingly it did, and the Laistrygonian howled as he disappeared.  

Even as the ogre crumbled into dust, Thalia kept panicking. He said her scent was strong, which meant more monsters would be coming.  What would happen if she was with Piper and Leo next time?   They were just little kids. Plus, Tristan and Esperanza had gone out of their way since they’d met to make sure that she was safe and loved.  It wasn’t fair to involve them or put them at risk.  

Thalia couldn't be here the next time a monster attacked. She wasn't going to let them get hurt.  Thalia couldn't watch someone else she loved die and know she could have prevented it.  She had to gather some supplies first, but then she was leaving.  If the price to pay for her family’s safety was never seeing them again, she’d gladly pay it.

[thblti23]

~TELL ME A STORY~

It's night and it's all silent, you don't hear any noise other than the rain that has been falling for hours. But it doesn't bother us if it weren't for some small thunder that sometimes feels in the distance. But that's enough to wake her up and get her off her bed with her cover tightly in her hand. He knows that in the room adjacent to his there is always someone to keep her company. He finds the light of a burning candle and knows he hasn't gone to sleep yet.

"Uncle Raditz ..."

Ra: "Princess, who are you still awake? Did you have a nightmare?"

"No, I'm afraid of thunder."

Ra: "Do you want to tell you a story?"

"Yes please."

He takes her gently in his arms and puts her back in his cot, rolling up the covers.

Ra: "What story do you want to tell you?"

"One you never told me."

Ra: "Mh, one that I never told you. Do you want to tell you the story of two children, who despite their differences, were united by something stronger than a simple friendship?"

"Yessssss."

Ra: "Our story tells of many years ago. We Saiyans have always been the strongest of all existing universes, we have been called in millions of ways as 'conquerors of universes' or 'immortals', in short we had different names to second of the planet we occupied.We did not let ourselves be subdued by anyone but one day a large alien spacecraft appeared on our planet with men inside us who had our own armor, at the command was a slimy being called a freezer. he rebelled against his orders even our own King allowed himself to be commanded by this horrendous creature He remained in command of our planet for many years but despite holding us under his command he feared us, feared that we could become much stronger than this is that we could turn against him. For some of us his command was really close especially to a saiyan, Bardock.He had tried several times to talk to the King and to find a way to get rid of this ignoble monster but without success. One morning he listened to a conversation of some of Freeza's men and was shocked to hear that he wanted to destroy their planet, certainly he would not allow such a thing to happen and with the help of his king or without he would do something. "

He looked for his friends to warn him of the imminent danger.

Ba: "Guys please believe me. I know what I'm saying."

To: "You realize that what you're saying doesn't make the slightest sense and then why it should do it."

Ba: "Because hates us, come on, you can't have never noticed."

To: "No, I never suspected anything."

Ba: "Okay you don't want to help me? It doesn't matter. I'll do it by myself."

To: "Bardock please stop. Do it for me."

Ba: "I won't let a crappy lizard like him destroy our planet."

He flew home to warn Gine of the danger, hoping she would at least believe him.

Ba: "Gineeee."

Gi: "Bardock, what's up?"

Ba: "I heard Freeza wants to destroy our planet, he will have no mercy for anyone."

Gi: "Are you sure about what you heard?"

Ba: "Believe me, I've never been so scared in my whole life."

Gi: "What do we do now?"

Ba: "We certainly can't think of facing it ourselves. We'll need help."

Gi: "Listen to me go and call the king, tell him what you know and if he does not believe it convince him, show him what you saw and heard."

Ba: "What will you do instead?"

Gi: "I will take Raditz, Turles and Broly away and I will seek help."

Ba: "Please be careful."

Gi: "I always am."

Ba: "I'm going to look for the King."

Gi: "Bardock wait a minute, I have to tell you something even if this is not the best time to do it."

Ba: "What's up?"

Gi: "I'm pregnant."

He looked at her with eyes full of joy and darted her.

Ba: "I'll do anything to protect my family and my planet."

Gi: "Go."

They parted and Bardock went to the castle in search of the King to warn him of the imminent danger.

He landed near the gates of the royal palace, ignoring the protests from the guards that he immediately arrested pronouncing a single sentence.

Ba: "Go away if life is dear to you."

He turned his back on him and headed for the throne room. He stopped shortly after seeing a scene that made his heart clench. At the end of the room was the king who was clutching his queen in his arms with the little prince in his arms. When he became aware of the presence of his subordinate, he immediately recovered himself.

RV: "You must leave this planet. You are no longer safe here. Bardock was right. Go!"

The queen turned away from her king and caught Bardock's eyes for a moment. It lasted a few moments but it was immediately clear that soon something earthy would happen.

RV: "You were right. I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

B: "We must do something to prevent the destruction of this planet."

RV: "What can we do?"

B: "It seems obvious to me. We will fight even at the cost of dying."

Suddenly, in the royal hall, a malign laughter echoed that was not human.

F: "Ahahah your mothers have not taught you that it is rude to listen to other people's conversations."

RV: "F-Freezer."

B: "Wicked worm."

F: "I would pay attention to the words you use when you address me. Monkey."

B: "Do you know what else our mothers have taught us? To make those like you pay."

In a moment Bardock was on top of him ready to punch him that would have spread anyone but it seemed to have no effect whatsoever. At that move Freezer took the man's wrist, turning it causing him pain and kicked him out of the building by smashing through the window of one of the windows.

The king was paralyzed by fear and the force of the threat. Freezer noticed it and smiled.

F: "You are paralyzed with fear. Hahaha you are pathetic. Like the first time I arrived on this horrendous planet."

RV: "Do you want to destroy this planet?"

F: "You are such a small race and you are in pain. Elimination is the only solution for you."

RV: "No! I can't afford it!"

He also tried to punch him well but he had the same effect as before. It took only a single snap of the slimy tail to make him lose his balance, and before touching the ground a kick in the sternum sent him against three columns and at the stroke of the fourth he fainted and fell unconscious to the ground.

F: "It's so easy."

A sudden burst of energy waves hit the lizard.

F: "How dare you hit me."

B: "You came to this planet and put us all in slavery. Killing you will be an honor for me is my kind."

F: "You are deluded!"

They both hurled themselves against each other and the sky above them was invaded by waves of energy that shook the earth below. Bradock was pretty badly reduced with more or less deep cuts and scratches while Freezer was completely unhurt as if he hadn't fought for anything and hadn't made the slightest effort. Bardock descended to the ground kneeling on the ground with labored breathing.

B: "How ... how is it possible that he has not suffered at least some damage. Damn."

F: "I'm getting bored of you."

In a second he found himself in front of him and he didn't even have time to react which was taken by the hair and a terrible pain pervaded the rest of his body. Frieza had just knocked him on the nose, breaking it and hitting him against a pile of rocks. He tried to pull himself up by staining the ground with large patches of blood. His vision began to dim and lose his balance.

F: "This happens to those who make the hero with me."

He took it from the back of the armor and filled it with knees and kicks, threw it on the ground and hit it with bursts of Ki so strong that it sank into the ground beneath him. A chasm formed in the ground, creating a hole from one side to the other, falling directly onto one of the many cliffs overlooking the sea. Bardock fell down near the edge immediately followed by Freeza who landed near him taking him by the throat making him dangle between the cliff and the sea.

F: "I got tired of these stupid games. You and your planet do not deserve to live. You are lowly and useless beings. Once I am done with you I will end it. You have served me only for my interests but now I don't need it anymore. Have a good trip. "

He let go of his neck and let it fall into the sea. He felt so weak and useless, he had failed to save his planet and his family.

I couldn't save you.

I couldn't protect my planet.

My family.

My friends.

Tears formed on the sides of the warrior's eyes but suddenly a new aura pervaded Bardock's body, it was warm and yellow.

Meanwhile Freezer was about to break up for the destruction of the hated planet.

F: "Let's see ... I could slowly destroy it causing so much suffering or I could destroy it immediately. What do you say Zarbon?"

Z: "Powerful Freezer eliminates it directly without thinking too much."

F: "So be it."

He loaded his sphere of destruction into his index finger, which from being tiny became immediately gigantic and red as blood, hurling it at the planet, but after a while it stopped and was thrown back hitting much of Freeza's army which was baffled to see his sphere thrown back, no one had ever managed to repel a power of that caliber.

F: "How is it possible !?"

He looked back at the red planet and felt a strange aura approaching from afar. From a distance he saw bursts of energy spheres arrive and he placed himself in a defensive position but nevertheless caused him some superficial scratches.

F: "How dare you, whoever you are."

The person in question appeared two meters away from him with a look of determination in the eyes that caused a tremor of fear in Freezer's bones and body that he had never felt before. He had heard that the Saiyans could also change into other forms but he believed that it was only a legend created to scare the enemies.

F: "What are you?"

B: "I have changed my form thanks to you and now through this new body I will send you back to the hell you come from."

He immediately started the attack, grabbing him by the slimy tail and crashing him to the ground making him even more nervous.

F: "Damn insect."

With this new transformation Bardock's body despite its fairly severe wounds seemed to be much stronger and much more resistant than before.

B: "I will make you pay for everything you did and that you let us through. I hope that in Hell there is room for those like you."

He placed himself in a position of attack by loading a giant electric blue wave with energy discharges that cut the ground and cut through the air, and even Freezer was no less able to load a ball of energy even bigger than the previous one. In unison they hurl one against the other and at their contact they caused an immense shock wave. Initially it seemed that the energy of the slimy creature prevailed but then a greater charge was added to the Bardock wave. It felt like a flow of more energy and auras mixed together. The Saiyans were also very skilled in energy transfusions that served them as a healing accelerator. Under the king's order the few remaining Saiyans who had witnessed the affair gave a part of their energy to finish that ruthless being. The Bardock wave dissolved that of Freezer investing it in full with all its power, creating a powerful and blinding light. At the end of the fight Freezer fell to the ground lacking strength and dripping with blood and numerous wounds all over his body. He felt humiliated and offended, no one had ever allowed himself to challenge him in this way.

F: "T-this is not p-possible. I, the great and powerful Freezer defeated by a pathetic ape."

B: "Admit it Freezer you've been beaten."

F: "NEVER!"

He tried to sink his claws into the flesh but the only thing he got was the opponent's firm grip and the pain of two broken ribs, a broken arm and a sense of suffocation due to Bardock's hand on his throat.

B: "I want to be magnanimous towards you. I give you the opportunity to leave this planet and leave the inhabitants in peace. Get out now."

F: "I could die."

He increased the gully grip even more.

B: "I don't see how you are reduced? Leave. This. Planet. NOW."

Convinced by the words of the Saiyan Freezer he called his men back and ordered them to retreat and leave the planet. Meanwhile Zarbon landed in the combat zone to find his lord.

Z: "This is what you will pay for low-level warriors. You are nothing but ...."

F: "Zarbon! That's enough."

Z: "But ... yes sir to orders."

They left land to go to Freeza's spaceship with the few remaining men and get out of the orbit of the planet Vegeta.

Bardock had made it had managed to save his family, his friends and the planet was safe thanks to him.

@alphalightbearersfw

[thenarator]

ok so it’s not the temeraire madoka au i asked you guys about but i wrote some temeraire modern-au, reincarnation-au, soulmates-au stuff and i thought i’d see what you thought of it.

“Any monkey can walk upright; just because they can assume a human form does not mean they deserve human-”

Iskierka closed the laptop with a click, cutting off the recording of the opposition’s political rally they had been watching, and for this Temeraire was grateful. He had not realized, until he saw the care with which she handled the screen, how close he had come to slamming it down. Watching Arthur Lords’ speeches always riled him up, but he had even less patience for it tonight. He sat back in his desk chair and took a deep, steadying breath, trying to get himself under control.

“Vile man,” Iskierka spat.

“He is rather, isn’t he,” Temeraire said. It wasn’t a question.

Iskierka hummed in agreement, flipping her long red hair over one slim shoulder. She was perched on the edge of the large mahogany desk in Temeraire’s study, a place she had long established as her own no matter how many comfortable chairs Temeraire packed into the room. She preferred to position herself as inconveniently as possible for everyone involved, the better to make everyone pay attention to her. He had long since stopped putting things in her way.

“Two hundred years I’ve been fighting for our rights,” Temeraire continued heatedly, “and two hundred years we’ve been proving that we can be valuable to society. He acts as though dragons being anything besides organic war machines is some desperately untried scheme that will assuredly end in chaos.”

“He will make no progress on that front,” Iskierka assured him offhandedly. “You and I alone have too much of a stranglehold on the business world; if the government tried to take us down, they’d bring down England’s economy with us.”

“He can still make life difficult for us,” Temeraire argued. “According to the latest polls he’s got 27% of the British populace believing that reincarnation is a myth, and the dragon-captain bond is manufactured in order for dragons to steal human children.”

Iskierka huffed dismissively, not even liking to dignify such a position with a response. She, like Temeraire, had funded several studies that proved, unequivocally, what all dragons already knew: a dragon could always tell when their captain had been reincarnated, and with only a small amount of exposure to people, places and things they had known in their previous incarnations captains could remember the details of their pasts lives with amazing accuracy. Of course, these studies had been accused of being doctored to suit the needs of those funding them, so even though the majority of the public believed them, they did the dragons very little legal good.

There were no studies proving that the opposing position, that these memories were falsely implanted by dragons who had made themselves parts of their young captains’ lives, had any merit whatsoever, but that did the dragons very little legal good either.

Temeraire knew that dragon rights had made great strides in the last two hundred years. They were citizens, with the right to vote, attend universities, own property and hold positions in government. Some had opted to remain in the military, even after the advent of the aeroplane, but many had chosen to adopt other professions and the vast majority had accumulated significant wealth over the last two centuries. Humans had, at first, balked at the idea that reincarnation was a reality, but now it was generally considered a high honor to have a family member who was a reincarnated captain, and especially lucky for the parents of such a child who now did not have to worry about their future. Many dragons were able to simply gain custody of their infant captains straight away, or insert themselves into the captain’s family while they were young.

There were still, however, people like Arthur Lords. People who believed dragons were devils, sent to subjugate humanity with the advantage of immortality and the ability to shapeshift between human and dragon form. People who believed dragons had to be subjugated themselves, for the preservation of the humans who rightfully deserved the position of power. People who could gain little traction in denying dragons their rights, and so instead made nuisances of themselves by advocating for “parents’ rights,” the right of those to whom reincarnated captains were born to deny them their birthright. People who advocated for the chance to keep the captain away from their dragon, even going so far as to lie to them through childhood and even, if certain laws were passed, well into adulthood.

It did not help matters that the most recent reincarnation of Laurence, Temeraire’s beloved captain and historically another great proponent of dragon rights, was Arthur Lords’ only son.

“He is a wretched man,” was all Temeraire said. He felt that if he went any further than that he might actually do something, and that would not end well.

“You’ll find no arguments here,” Iskierka said dryly. “After he hired that lawyer to help my Granby’s new parents get a restraining order against me, and a gag order so I could not even tell the press, so he could not even hear about me through word of mouth-”

Temeraire sighed loudly, cutting her off. He did not feel up to listening to her complain about her situation with Granby’s latest reincarnation. He knew he ought to have more sympathy for her, but he did not have the energy tonight.

“What’s the matter with you?” Iskierka sniffed. “Usually you’re all too happy to talk about the sins of those anti-dragon zealots.”

Temeraire looked away. “It is Laurence,” he said quietly. “He is . . . close, tonight. His father must have taken him into the city for some reason, but he has been so far away for so long that he feels as though he is on the property.”

Iskierka opened her mouth, a haughty expression on her face for some unfathomable reason, when suddenly the intercom on Temeraire’s desk crackled to life.

“Mr. Tien,” came the voice of Temeraire’s personal assistant Natalie, “there’s been a disturbance near the south gate. Security has asked us to stay inside until they apprehend the intruder.”

Temeraire’s heart skipped a beat. He looked up at Iskierka, to a see a look of surprised speculation on her face. Clearly the thought that had occurred to Temeraire, the one making his skin prickle and his blood race, had occurred to her as well.

“Tell security I will see to it myself,” Temeraire replied, then leaped from his chair. He could feel Iskierka’s presence behind him as he moved through the mansion at breakneck speed. Dimly he heard Natalie calling after him but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

It probably wasn’t. In all likelihood it was not. But what if it might be? What if it was?

It seemed an eternity and no time at all passed between the revelation and reaching the south gate, but Temeraire immediately saw the disturbance Natalie had been speaking of. Two of his security team, burly men in kevlar, were clutching at a small boy of maybe twelve years of age. His blond hair flopped wildly side to side as he struggled, and his blue eyes shone in the dark.

“Let him go!” Temeraire croaked. He was surprised by how his voice sounded, rough as though from disuse.

The two men immediately jumped apart, leaving the young boy staggering to keep his feet. He stumbled a few steps forward, toward Temeraire, then paused. He looked pale and angry, but when he caught sight of Temeraire his expression shifted into one of confusion and uncertainty. Despite this, Temeraire thought he spied a glimmer of hope in the boy’s eyes.

“Laurence?” Temeraire asked. He did not need to ask. He knew perfectly well it was Laurence.

Laurence continued to stare at him, unmoving.

“No,” Temeraire shook his head, “it’s Alex, isn’t it? In this lifetime? Your name is Alex.”

Laurence hesitated a moment, then said, “Are you Xiang Tien?”

Temeraire smiled. “Properly my Chinese name is Lung Tien Xiang, but Xiang Tien is the name I use in England. You, however, may call me Temeraire.”

“So it’s true,” Laurence said, wonderingly. “I am . . . we are . . .”

“Yes,” Temeraire nodded slowly. He did not know how Laurence had found out, having been kept famously isolated from the highly public custody battle, but it was plain that he had somehow learned of their bond against his father’s wishes. “We are.”

Laurence took a halting step forward. Immediately Temeraire dropped to his knees, arms outspread to receive him. He had never wanted to hold Laurence more in his life, even when the only form his could assume was that of a 20 ton dragon. Twelve years of separation was long enough. But he would not force it.

“Come to me,” he begged. “Dear Laurence, please, come to me.”

Laurence came. Stumbling at first, his quick strides ate up the distance between them and then he was throwing himself into Temeraire’s arms. Temeraire grasped him tightly, holding him as close as he dared. He did not want to frighten Laurence, deprived as he had been of all reminders of his past lives, but he needed the contact so very much. He could feel his strength returning, feel the weakness that had come with Laurence’s long absence ebbing away. Suddenly he felt like he could take off and fly without even shifting into a form with wings.

Eventually Laurence began to squirm, and Temeraire let him go. He knew he had missed the Rapid Eye Movement that had come with the first of Laurence’s memories; Iskierka had probably seen it, standing behind him, but that was unimportant. What was important was what came next. Would Laurence remember the words? The ones they had said to each other in each and every one of Laurence’s lifetimes so far?

“I will not make you stay,” Temeraire said carefully, looking deep into Laurence’s clear blue eyes.

Laurence smiled, eyes bright and oh so achingly familiar. “No, my dear,” he said, reaching out to touch Temeraire’s face, “I would rather have you than any ship in the Navy.”

“Oh Laurence!” Temeraire cried, tugging the little boy back into his embrace. He laughed against Laurence’s hair, feeling more than hearing Laurence’s answering laugh against his skin. He felt Laurence’s skinny arms clutching at him, and he stood, lifting his captain up and spinning him around.

“Temeraire,” Laurence said, still laughing slightly, “Temeraire put me down!”

“No,” Temeraire argued, “I do not want to! I have only just gotten you back, I will carry you around for a few days yet, I think.”

With his renewed strength he tossed Laurence into the air a little, then quickly scooped him out of his fall so that one of his arms was beneath Laurence’s knees and the other supporting his back. He felt lighter than air, like he could carry the boy in his arms around for a week without getting tired, even in this shape. He had Laurence back. Finally.

“Temeraire!” Laurence laughed, louder now. “Temeraire, you can’t-”

“I’m very sure I can,” Temeraire insisted, and Laurence put his arms around Temeraire neck, still laughing.

“Ahem,” said a testy voice behind Temeraire, making him turn with Laurence still in his arms. Iskierka was still standing a little ways back, tapping her foot on the garden path. “Aren’t you forgetting something? Unless Mr. Lords is hiding just outside that gate, ready to sign over custody, then Alexander Lords has run away from home and Xiang Tien is in violation of his restraining order.”

“He didn’t violate it!” protested Laurence, “I came to him!”

“I do not think the law will see it that way, if your father has anything to say about it,” Iskierka pointed out.

Immediately Temeraire’s brain went into overdrive. He could not give Laurence back. Not now, not ever. He could not let Laurence stay in the mansion either; that would surely be the first place the police would look for him, and if he did stay he would have to be kept a secret until he was 18 at the very least. He would not be able to go outside. That would not do. They could not stay here then, and nowhere in England would be any better. Temeraire was too high profile, his movements too closely watched. Anywhere he took Laurence they would be found.

Anywhere in England.

“Natalie,” Temeraire said sharply, as she came panting down the garden path to come up short behind Iskierka, “have the jet prepped and get a car outside to take us to the airstrip.”

“When sir?” Natalie said, straightening and pulling out her phone.

“Now,” Temeraire said. He began walking quickly back toward the house, Laurence still clutched in his arms and Iskierka and Natalie trailing after him.

“What will the destination for the jet be?” Natalie asked, already dialing. “And how many passengers?”

“Two,” said Temeraire, holding Laurence a little tighter. “And we are going to China.”

“China?” Laurence demanded, squirming in Temeraire’s grip. “No seriously, put me down. We can’t go to China.”

“I’m very sure we can,” Temeraire informed him, very reluctantly setting Laurence back on his feet. He immediately seized his hand and began dragging him back towards the house.

“But why?” Laurence asked, letting himself be dragged. “What good will that do?”

“In China the law is different,” Temeraire said. “It is considered best for everyone if dragons and their companions are not kept separated, once they are known to each other, so no one will try and take you away. I have citizenship there and once I establish that you are my captain you will too.”

“But,” Laurence protested, “we can’t just leave England. What about my family?”

“Your family tried to keep you from me,” Temeraire said disdainfully. “I do not at all see why they should enter into my calculations.”

They reached the house, and Temeraire towed Laurence into the study. With difficulty he forced himself to let go of Laurence’s hand and begin rummaging around for the things he would need. His laptop went into his briefcase, along with two flash drives containing the details no one but himself knew about the running of his company and his long term plans for dragon rights in England. The safe behind a painting of himself and Laurence in their first lifetime together held the copy of Laurence’s passport and birth certificate he had clandestinely acquired years ago, as well as his own passport and the shining golden and ruby collar that marked him as a Celestial in human form. No one in China would look twice at their passports once they saw him wearing that.

“But we’ll never make it out of the country,” Laurence continued as Temeraire fastened the collar around his own neck. “They’ll stop us, won’t they?”

“No one knows you are here yet,” Temeraire pointed out, “and you may rely upon the discretion of my staff. We will leave by private jet, and we will be in French airspace within the hour. Once we are out of England no one will be inclined to stop us. Even after 200 years, we are still quite well liked in most of Eurasia.”

Laurence colored a little, no doubt embarrassed by being given credit for something he’d done in a past life. Some things never changed. With a sudden burst of fondness Temeraire knelt before him and kissed his forehead, cradling the back of Laurence’s head in his hand.

“You do wish to stay with me, do you not?” Temeraire asked urgently, once he had drawn back. “They were not just our words, earlier. I will not make you stay if you wish to return to your father.”

“No,” Laurence shook his head forcefully. “I don’t want to go back. I want to stay with you. I’m starting to remember, and to remember that I remembered before. I had this imaginary friend when I was a child; it was a dragon, a big black dragon, like you. My father punished me for it.”

Temeraire fought the urge to snarl. It was common, among reincarnated captains who were not immediately reunited with their dragons, to have their residual memories manifest as pretend-play. That Laurence had been punished for this perfectly natural phenomenon made Temeraire’s blood boil.

“He will not punish you anymore,” Temeraire said, straightening. “I will not allow it. Do you have any other objections?”

“No,” Laurence shook his head. He looked perfectly sure of himself.

“Then we are going,” Temeraire said, and took Laurence’s hand once again.

The nondescript black car picked Laurence and Temeraire up just outside the door to the mansion, well within the property line and away from prying eyes. The heavily tinted windows protected them from view, but Temeraire still held Laurence close to his side, afraid that the glare of a streetlamp might allow someone to see him if he sat upright. Laurence bore it without complaint, resting his head against Temeraire.

“What’s China like?” Laurence asked, cuddling closer to Temeraire’s side.

Temeraire smiled, stroking Laurence’s hair. “What do you remember of it?”

Laurence frowned. “I think my memories are mostly of my first lifetime,” he admitted. “I can feel that there are more recent ones, but the impression I’m getting is from earlier.”

“And what is that impression?” Temeraire wondered.

Laurence wrinkled his nose. “I remember feeling embarrassed,” he admitted.

Temeraire laughed softly. “It is always a little embarrassing, when you do not know a language well.”

“I don’t know any Chinese!” Laurence realized, nearly sitting bolt upright.

“You do,” Temeraire pulled him back down, “you just don’t remember that you do. It will come back to you, I promise.”

They spent the rest of the ride practicing Chinese. While in contact with Temeraire Laurence’s memory returned more easily, and he had used Chinese in all of his previous lives. He remembered most clearly the archaic forms of address to the Emperor and the crown prince, useless now but encouragingly accurate. Temeraire reminded him of some more modern greetings and Laurence picked them up with ease. It soothed Temeraire’s nerves, having Laurence so close and watching him remember so well, and it made the perilous car ride pass more swiftly.

Laurence was just mastering the pronunciation of a few newer Chinese words when abruptly a police siren erupted behind them. Temeraire’s heart nearly stopped, and Laurence jerked in his seat, then craned his head around to look out the back window. Immediately Temeraire pulled him back and pushed his head down.

“Keep driving,” he instructed his chauffer, a steady man named Oliver who had been with him nearly four years.

“They want us to pull over sir,” came the reply.

“I’m aware,” Temeraire said tesitly. “Lose them.”

Not for nothing had Temeraire hand picked every member of his personal staff. Without further instruction Oliver made a hairpin turn down a side street. The police car whizzed past the road they had taken, not being fast enough to make the turn, but Temeraire knew there would be more.

“How did they know I was with you?” Laurence demanded. “How did they find us?”

“Finding you gone your father will have assumed I took you,” Temeraire told him, “or that you came to me. I imagine we left the house just before the police arrived. Someone must have seen the car leaving.”

Laurence opened his mouth to reply, but another sharp turn brought them out onto a main road again, the police car nowhere in sight.

“Do not worry,” Temeraire told him quietly, “we are nearly there.”

Once they had reached the private airstrip Temeraire shared with several other notable dragons, including Iskierka and her seven vintage planes, the police sirens were audible in the distance once more. Cursing under his breath Temeraire realized they must have guessed his plan. Somewhere above them a helicopter whirred in the dark.

“C’mon!” Laurence slid out of the car first, Temeraire close behind him. “We’ve got to hurry!”

The sleek black jet sat ready on the runway, like a dragon preparing to leap aloft. The door was open, the build-in set of stairs leading down to the tarmac. As Temeraire ushered Laurence up them, one hand on his back, a police car screeched into view.

“Halt!” cried a deep voice behind them, amplified by a megaphone, but Temeraire merely turned and hissed.

Once he and Laurence were inside he crossed to his usual seat and pressed the button to connect him to the cockpit.

“We are ready,” he said urgently, “put up the stairs and go!”

The policeman was still yelling over the megaphone as the hatch closed, but once the door was sealed there was silence. Laurence buckled himself into the seat across from Temeraire, looking pale but determined. Temeraire watched him, hating the police, hating Arthur Lords for putting them in this position.

“Do not be afraid,” Temeraire consoled gently, “we will-”

“Sir,” came the pilot’s voice from the speaker over Temeraire’s head. “We can’t take off.”

“Ignore the helicopter,” Temeraire instructed. “It will get out of the way.”

“It’s not that sir,” said the pilot evenly. “There’s someone on the runway. He’s not in uniform, he looks to be in a suit.”

Temeraire growled, realizing immediately who it was. Arthur Lords had not obstructed him enough; now he was going to physically put himself in their way.

“I don’t care!” Temeraire snarled. “Run him down if you have to, just get us in the air!”

“Wait!” Laurence cried, his eyes wide and distressed.

“Belay that,” Temeraire amended immediately, then let go of the button that activated the speaker. “Laurence, he will take you from me if we do not-”

“I know,” said Laurence, and his expression was pained. “You still can’t do it. You can’t become a murderer over me.”

“I have killed before,” Temeraire told him, “many men in battle, and men who tried to take you away before.”

“That’s one thing,” Laurence shook his head, “this is another. If you do this, here, now, you’ll be a murderer in the eyes of the law. Your political career will be over.”

“Humans have short memories,” Temeraire insisted. “By the time I must return her for your next incarnation they will have forgotten-”

“And what will dragon rights look like in the meantime?” Laurence demanded. “People will use this incident against your cause. All the dragons in Britain will suffer!”

Laurence shook his head, staring at Temeraire with pain and longing in his eyes.

“I won’t be the cause of your ruin, or the ruin of what you’ve achieved. I can’t, Temeraire.”

Involuntarily Temeraire let out a long, low keen. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to take Laurence and fly away, to gather him in and keep him close. To keep him safe. But Laurence did not want to be kept safe. He wanted to protect Temeraire, as he always had. He wanted to protect all of dragon kind, and he was willing to suffer for it. That kind of devotion was humbling, and Temeraire felt suddenly smaller than his human shape in the face of Laurence’s consideration.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, knowing perfectly well the answer would not change.

Laurence looked aside sadly, then back at Temeraire. “I’m sure.”

Temeraire hung his head and pressed the button to activate the speaker. “Turn off the engine and open the door. We are staying.”

[a-royal-obsession]

The Prince of Wales to the Queen

Brighton, 29 Aug. 1792

I cannot help troubling you with a few lines to return my sincere thanks for your very, very kind letter which I assure you has convey’d more pleasure to my feelings than I have experienced a great while on any occasion; beleive me, dear Madam, as far as gratitude & affection can make anyone worthy of such kindness, I trust I ever shall prove myself deserving of it. You will perhaps think it strange yt. I am again going to mention French politicks in this letter, & you will think that I can neither think nor talk of anything else, & indeed I must say with some reason, but the truth is yt. I am so much interested in the general scene wh. at present occupies all Europe, & in wh. that unfortunate country plays so very principal a part, yt besides writing or talking upon the subject I can hardly even think upon anything else, unless interrupted by thoughts of my own wh. will obtrude themselves, wh. besides being the most unpleasant, I am sure are the worst companions I can have, as if I was once to give way to them & attend to them, God knows what wd. become of me & what I might be tempted to do. I therefore drive them away by bending my attention to this or any other topic wh. for a moment can engross my ideas. However, I will not distress you by talking any more about myself, but relate something that may, besides pleasing you, perhaps entertain you for a few minutes, but as I have already said, it must have some connexion with French politicks to be interesting at all at this moment.

Well now for my story.You must have heard, dear Madam, of the prohibition yt. has taken place by order of the National Assembly to any French person being suffer’d to quit their country, particularly the wives, children & relations of any of those who have already emigrated, as they say they mean to retain them as hostages to the answerable for the consequences that may ensue to that deluded country from the attempts of their fellow citizens to restore good order & regularity instead of the perfect state of anarchy under which they at present exist. On Sunday last we understood that a packet from Dieppe was arriv’d in the port & we went down to the bottom of the cliff to see the passengers land. However, when we arriv’d we found we were too late & that they had all disembark’d. We saw several, though, who gave us the most horrid & melancholy accounts of the scene of the 10th who were present at it, & wh. we all have heard of, therefor I will not tire you, my dear Madam, with any recital of what I am convinced you may in general have heard as well as the rest of us, but proceed with telling you, yt. after having convers’d with many of the passengers, they told us that among the rest, there was a poor little innocent child of nine months old, wh. was arriv’d under the care of an English maid, wh. had been pass’d over as an English child, but yt. it was the child of somebody of consequence in France, & yt. the mother had been induc’d to part with it, not being able to escape herself, trusting yt. her child might arrive safe in this country & be shelter’d from those miseries wh. awaited her & her wretched country, I was told also yt. this nurse had brought with the child a letter to a banker in London. I immediately call’d, & had the child properly taken care of at the inn to wh. they had gone, & examin’d the woman who had brought the child over, who cd. not speak a single word of French. She told me yt. upon her honor she knew not whose child it was, that she herself was the maid of a Mrs. Lowe, an English lady who had lately gone over to see her husband, who for some reason or other was resident at this moment at Dieppe, & yt. the child she brought over was the child of a French lady, she believed of some consequence, who had lately been acquainted with her mistress, yt. she had not the smallest guess who the lady was, but so far she knew yt. the mother seem’d extremely anxious to get her child safe out of the country, & that if she could effect that, that she appear’d as if she shd. patiently resign herself to her fate, yt. Mrs. Lowe having a great many children of her own, offer’d to take care of this poor little infant till she cd. find a safe opportunity of conveying it into England, wh, she contrived to do the next day, by sending her over with it & passing it as one of her own children wh. she wish’d to send back for the benefit of its native air. This plan luckily succeeded without any impediment; in short, the woman gave me so very clear an account that it was impossible to doubt the truth of her story, wh. has since prov’d to be perfectly true. I then examin’d the seal on the letter she was to carry to the banker in the City whose name I do not at present recollect, & they struck me also as the arms of a person of consequence, wh. likewise confirm’d me in thinking yt. the woman was no imposter. Therefore I let the woman & child proceed to London the next morning after the child had been properly taken care of. We learnt yesterday by a letter from the Duchesse de Biron, who managed to scramble over somehow or other & who is now at Goodwood, yt. it is the child of the Comte Charles de Noailles (who, by the way, your Majesty saw this winter as he was presented at Court to you) son to the Prince de Poix, & yt. the mother was so distracted till she cd. get it safe out of France, Madame de Biron wrote to the two great inns at Brighton yt. in case a child answering such a discription shd. chance to be arriv’d from France, yt. it might be properly attended to & taken care of, but the child was gone to London before we got this information. Well, Madam, since that, this very morning when I got out of bed my servant told me yt. a packet had arriv’d at five this morning & yt. Lady Clermont desir’d him to tell me that Madame de Noailles, the mother of the poor little child was arriv’d & in her house, having effected her escape in the most wonderful manner; yt. she desir’d I wd. come to her as soon as I went out in the morning, as Mme. de Noailles wish’d much to return me thanks for the care I had taken of her child. I then went to Lady Clermont’s & receiv’d  the following very extraordinary account from Mme. de Noailles’ own mouth. She told me the whole preceding account affecting her child, with this addition, yt. she had determin’d to risk her life & to go any lengths sooner than not rejoin her child & remain in her shocking country; that she then determin’d, coute qui coute, to make her escape, & wh. she fortunately did in this most extraordinary manner, & wh. however she never cd. have done but for the bravery, the honor & the spirit of Captn. Barton & of his crew, & wh. I think will always be to their immortal honor. Perhaps your Majesty may not have heard yt. at Dieppe, I do not know whether it is so at any other port, there is not only the greatest punishment threaten’d to be inflicted upon the Captn. of any vessel who carries out of France any emigrant whatever, but likewise a very ample reward to any sailor or person who will lodge an information of any person who has tried to make their escape by proposing to them to take them over. This greatly increases the difficulty to any French person of making their escape. Mme, de Noailles was perfectly aware of this & knew not wh. way to assist herself till she had consulted with Mrs. Lowe, who told yt. if anyone cd. risk such a thing she was certain yt. Barton, who was just arriv’d with his vessel, wd. be the most likely of any of them, as she knew him tolerably well, having cross’d the water several times in his vessel; yt. she thought he was an honest man, & one also of some spirit. She accordingly sent for him & under the seal of confidence told him what she had sent him for. He at first declined it, but afterwards upon seeing Mme. de Noailles, agreed to risk anything to bring her off. He said he cd. depend upon his crew, & the plan they settled for her, she agreed to act perfectly up to with all the resolution of a man, wh. she accordingly did, & the plan was this. After having made herself mistress of a sailor’s habit, wh. she was to take away amongst her cloaths, she was to pretend to give up all idea of getting by way of Dieppe, & to set off as if she was going back into the interior part of the country to join her father, Monrs. de la Boude, the great banker, yt. when she had got a few miles out of the town into a tolerably retir’d & safe spot she was to leave her carriage after having put on the entire powder monkey’s dress even down to the shirt, trousers & a coarse red handkerchief tied round her head, letting her carriage, maid, cloaths &c pursue the journey wh. she herself was to have taken, & walk back some miles alone without a shilling of money about her, to join five or six of Barton’s crew who were to be waiting at dusk just out of the town for her. She was then to pass with them thro’ the town down to the wharf & to stop with them on the wharf whilst they were talking a davit & a [illegible] before they cd. get into their boat. All this she did. When she came to step down the ladder into the vessel the first person she met was the French Commissaire de la Douane, who stopped her with the rest to see if she had any contrebande goods about her, after having examin’d her, he let her pass as she had the presence of mind not to open her mouth or utter a single syllable. She then lay conceal’d for four & twenty hours within the rope of the anchor wh. was coil’d up, waiting for a fair wind, & last night at a little past seven, just before they set sail the Custom House officer of the port came again on board to examine of they did not carry out anything that was contrary to the orders he had received. She even was so neer being discover’d yt. she heard them strike the tinder box in order to procure a light to examine where she lay, wh. they did whilst she pretended to be asleep & lay partly on her face, with her arm over the rest of it, & on seeing the coarse shoes & stockings she had on they let her pass without any further examination, taking her for what she appear’d to be, one of the ship’s boys. Here then the arriv’d this morning perfectly safe, without a shilling of money, a fiend whom she knew or cd. speak to, & without a rag of cloaths but the sailor’s jacket she had on her back. She is a tall, genteel, & even handsome looking woman with extraordinary fine eyes & hair, not above twenty years of age at most, exceedingly modest in her manner, & appears to be much out of spirits, tho’ happy to a degree at having escap’d out of the clutches of her country people. As to her spirits being so low, I attribute that more to the fatigue & anxiety she has undergone of late than to any either very recent or urgent cause to herself, for she is now arriv’d where her child & herself are in perfect safety, & where she has friends & persons of consequence who will immediately furnish her with everything wh. she can want. Captn. Barton, the man who brought her safely over, is the same Captn. from whom I sent yr. Majesty the last account & who has been over to France & back again since that time.

I ought to apologize to you, my dear Madam, for sending you such a terrible long scrawl, but as it is really the most extraordinary adventure I ever heard of in all my life, for a person so young & so delicate to escape so many dangers thro’ their own firmness & spirits, yt. I really thought it wd. be unpardonable in me, being on the spot & having learnt the whole history from her own mouth, not to communicate it to your Majesty, especially as in a very few days I suppose it will be in every newspaper, & it appears so much like what might be inserted in a modern novel yt. one wd. be led to discredit it if one was not able to ascertain all the facts wh. accompany the present history. Adieu, my dearest mother, I am sure you must long before this have been tired of the sight of my handwriting. I will therefore conclude with desiring you to beleive me, [etc.].

P.S. Pray Madam make one of my sisters read this volume to you as I am sure it will tire yr. eyes. I saw Mme. de Noailles drest in Ly Clermont’s maid’s cloaths & with the shoes & stockings she made her escape in. Pray let me request of you, ma chère maman, to lay me at the King’s feet, & embrace my sisters for me who I am sure will rejoice with us all in the escape of this poor lady.

[shirlleycoyle]

The Tamagotchi Cemetery

This article was originally published on Burials and Beyond. You can subscribe to the Burials and Beyond Patreon here.

“I thought it would be better for him here because I didn’t really want to reset him because it would be like a different thing and I was really close to him. I know that sounds stupid, but I was. But you can bury your pets and if you love something else, you can bury them as well.”

So said young mourner Danielle Perren in 1997.

Interring her pet into the beautiful farmland of Pontsmill, Cornwall, Danielle’s beloved friend was placed into a tiny wooden coffin and buried in a small square grave, there to rest in peace. Danielle’s grief was very real, but her pet? Not so much. That was a Tamagotchi.

In 1996, Japanese toy designers Aki Maita and Yokoi Akihiro debuted the first ever Tamagotchi. The tiny plastic case held the world’s first virtual pet, which, despite being a simple arrangement of pixels, required constant care and attention, lest the creature perish. Released by Bandai, the egg-shaped toy was one of the biggest fads of the 90s, maintaining a surprising popularity over the decades, with over 82 million units sold as of 2017.

The name itself is a portmanteau of two Japanese words; ‘tamago’, meaning ‘egg’ and ‘uotchi’, meaning watch. Considering the product is an egg shaped toy, the size of a watch…it seems to be pretty solid marketing.

​Image: ​​​Mathieu Polak/Sygma/ Sygma via Getty Images​

Those of us who were at school in the 90s will vividly recall a classroom of incessant bleeps and cries of ‘I’ve gotta feed ‘im’, before the eggs were promptly and unsurprisingly banned from schoolyards. From this grew a strange, rarely remembered, sideline in individuals who would take your Tamagotchi into daycare, feeding and washing them (via tiny button clicks) until you could return from school or work. As bizarre as it sounds, after recently discovering a pair of 25-year old Tamagotchi survivors, I believe nothing to be impossible.

The Tamagotchi interface is incredibly simple, with most utilising three buttons, which correspond to care functions of the creature. The pet, should it live that long, is designed to go through a basic life cycle of Baby, Child, Teenager and Adult (with later versions adding a hopeful Senior option). However, the majority of Tamagotchis had brief, fleeting lives before succumbing to death through a child’s negligence.

While many parents bought their offspring Tamagotchis as toys, others thought that a child taking responsibility for a digital creature would be an ideal pre-pet investment, to see if they were mature enough to understand the needs of another living thing. While this is an ideal moralistic exercise, what occurred in reality was a pocket of brief generational trauma where young children woke up to find that, after sleeping though muted midi cries of hunger at 3am, their new toy had perished overnight. You killed your first pet.

​Image: ​​​Mathieu Polak/Sygma/ Sygma via Getty Images​

This culpability for death is one of the strangest qualities in toy history; even the death of shoals of Sea Monkeys failed to elicit such a primal reaction of grief and blame from the very young. In the new world of portable digital pets, they were expected to entertain, but not truly die. This element of blame, guilt and finality was truly amped up in the early Japanese models where a ghost and headstone would meet the neglectful owner. In more recent English-language variants, this cemetery scene was substituted for an angel of death, or a cheery little UFO, popping in to take the Tamagotchi back to its home planet. Once you’ve inadvertently murdered your new pal, the game can be reset and you’re trusted with a strange egg baby once more.

The Tamagotchi in its many forms has never shied away from death, addressing the finality of existence in its cheery little game, but also in its genuinely bizarre cartoon.

In the ninth episode of the original tie-in anime, titled ‘The First Death’, several little creatures gather and weep inconsolably at the bedside of a dying Tamagotchi (Ginjirotchi),after a small yellow doctor with mouse ears (Mametchi) confirms death. Quickly, the soul of the deceased is surrounded by tiny little angels, who guide it to the pearly gates and Tamagotchi heaven, which is mainly pink clouds and sweets. Suddenly, the sweets disappear in a cruel trap and the Tamagotchi is tormented by little bat creatures with forks (Deviltchi), before being rescued once more and taken back into hyper-cute heaven where everyone sits down and has pudding together. The whole affair lasts a matter of minutes and is as brilliant as it is disconcerting.

I never owned a Tamagotchi in my 90s heyday, as my mother couldn’t afford the indulgence. Instead, I had a knock-off variant, a Giga Pet called ‘Compu Kitty’ from Woolworths, with which I was utterly chuffed. (I still have it to this day, unable to part with the luminous yellow crap plastic atrocity.)

I vividly remember crying when I woke up for school one morning and the pixelated cat had breathed its last. But one reset later, those tears dried, and after another six hours came another death. After that, the circle of life seemed rather less majestic and a more predictable cycle of button pushing and bleeps.

In 1996, a pet cemetery in Pontsmill, Cornwall was the first to diversify their interments and fence off a dedicated section for the burial of electronic pets. When CNN reported in 1997, they equated this very modern mourning with the established love that British people have of their traditional, breathing pets.

On January 17th 1997, two teenage girls were in Cornwall to bury their Tamagotchis, named Sid and Arty, two consoles never to be reset.

My first thought was very outdated parental shock, as Tamagotchi’s weren’t terribly cheap when they came out and to bury a brand new toy seems awfully wasteful. Taking another expensive trip to Argos wouldn’t have gone down too well in my household.

However, 14-year-old Danielle was strong in her resolve and placed the little plastic contraption into the earth. She was not alone in her beliefs either, as cemetery owner Terry Squires revealed that many international burials had been carried out in his Cornish field. Tamagotchis from as far afield as Switzerland, Germany, France, Canada and America had all been laid to rest in his pet cemetery, with many more on the way.

However, looking at Pontsmill today, there are no mentions to be found of deceased cyberpets, with the business promoting itself solely as a pet cemetery and green burial site for traditional human interments. I would be curious to know if the rudimentary headstones remain, or if the Tamagotchis and their mournful batteries were turned over or forgotten as many other crazes came and went.

For those who wanted to memorialise their Tamagotchis, but didn’t fancy burying the case in the garden, there were several online cemeteries and memorial sites for dead digital pets, where eulogies, ages and causes of death could be recorded in one enormous late 90s census.

Today, there are a handful of online Tamagotchi cemeteries still functioning, if long-abandoned. However, records of their digital death and memorials remain in sites such as Tama Talk’s Memorial page. These old GeoCities or Angelfire websites are framed in pixelated gifs and solemn MIDI music where you must adjust your eyes to decipher the spidery text against questionable repeated wallpaper. In these simple databases, names and brief epitaphs are recorded; some sincere, some dismissive and some simply odd:

Banjo – Cause of Death: Died taking the biggest crap you’ve ever seen.

Joe the Dinosaur – Cause of Death: Accidental Resetting.

‘My poor Joe. The first born. He had a good life and was taken care of very well It was unfortunate that his life had to come to such an abrupt end, whilst living in a jeans pocket. We shall all miss him very dearly.’

These eulogies and epitaphs are time capsules of young people’s first interactions with death and loss, where an essay can prove as impactful as an unplanned tumble into a bathtub. There’s a certain importance of a digital emotional connection in childhood that deserves to remain memorialised, and not lost to the ether.

The levels of emotional investment that we have with digital media, and computers in particular, has been tracked by researchers since the 1980s. Alan Turing said in his 1950 paper ‘Can Machines Think?’ that we can judge the intelligence of a computer by its performance in conversation with man. Namely, if the computer is able to convince the human subject that they are talking to a fellow human and not a machine, then human-equivalent intelligence can be determined. This test became known as the ‘Turing Test’ and is still studied and implemented today in experiments of navigating artificial technology, or the ability of ‘bots’ to mimic human interaction.

In the intervening decades, it has been noted that people attribute an increased level of personhood to a computer, not least in terms of pre-programmed gameplay. Therefore, if a Tamagotchi was able to incite very real joy and grief from its user or owner, it could be seen as the first great wave of artificial intelligence in the western world.

In more extreme contemporary circumstances, man’s relationship with digital games has snowballed. While in terms of toys, other digital pets like the Furby, Poo-Chi (which I did own briefly, but was swiftly broken by my portly, recently-divorced father screaming into its microphone on Christmas day. I’m over it. It’s fine.) or even NeoPets virtual pet community have not brought about the same primal love and devotion as the humble Tamagotchi. Perhaps it was the inevitability of death that separated our love for the Tama from its immortal digital counterparts.

However, interactions with digital gameplay appear to have moved in two separate directions; ambivalence and devotion.

Today, electronic games and pets are commonplace, providing no new emotional experiences for children who have grown up within the digital age, where entertainment can be accessed at the click of a button and nothing is finite.

On the other hand, there are instances of individuals such as a 27-year old Japanese man named Sal 9000 (the only name he would provide to the press), who was so emotionally invested in the DS Game ‘Love Plus’, decided to marry the main avatar in a lavish, if highly controversial ceremony in 2009. When questioned as to whether he could truly love a digital, pre-programmed woman, he explained that “I love this character, not a machine.” Going on to say that “I understand 100 percent that this is a game. I understand very well that I cannot marry her physically or legally.”

However, his preference for the digital, predictable and placid provoked far more discussion. Explaining that Nene Anegasakiwas better than a ‘real’ girlfriend, he listed her perks, stating that, “She doesn’t get angry if I’m late in replying to her. Well, she gets angry, but she forgives me quickly.”[1]

Sal is not alone in his preference and several others have followed in his stead, marrying digital characters in ceremonies across the world. In 2018, Japan hit the headlines again as 35-year-old school administrator Akihiko Kondo married the hologram of video game character, Hatsune Miku. Whether these marriages will last when the bride’s updates are discontinued is another matter, but our changing relationship with life, love, and death in the digital age is undeniable.

On which note, I’ll thank you for taking this strange journey with me and take my leave. My Compu Kitty needs feeding.

The Tamagotchi Cemetery syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[shitstrawhatssay]

Andi

Commissioned fic for @inktostories

Kofi

  Wealth, fame, power: for all these reasons and more, people were leaving home and in search of the One Piece. Was it a myth? Was it a reality? With Gold Roger skewered, it was hard to estimate what was more likely so there was only one way to truly find out. That is what triggered the Great Pirate Era: an era of hopes and dreams, of blood and violence, of stories that would become great bellowing songs in taverns or distance memories nearly forgotten.

  In all sorts of logical ongoings, the output of pirates into the world is utterly unprecedented. It is astounding any work can be done on the mainland with the influx of pirates going out to sea. Such a curious phenomenon has Andi’s interest piqued. Ever since they were a child, they have had a fascination with all the ongoings around them and this has been an interest that was lovingly fostered by their parents. Perhaps, that was why the illogical evolution was for Andi to join the influx of those going out to sea in this era of hopes and dreams.

  Or something like that anyway.

  Having set out at age eighteen, it has been a long haul to where Andi had gotten to now. They’ve seen the bounties escalate in real time and read the newspapers on the deaths of Whitebeard and Fire Fist Ace. It’s been unreal to see so much history unfold just beyond their reach but still in front of their eyes. It was fortunate that many people were recording it: journalists are busy in this age.

   And then there’s Andi whose dreams push just beyond the ordinary. They had big dreams and big plans. Yes, it would be nice to get hose first page articles in the newspaper but that wasn’t satisfying enough. Andi had something far grander in mind: a book to call their own.

  Books are immortal and beautiful. They are wreathed in soft leather and scented of vintage parchment, it is hard not to love a book. In contrast, newspapers are flimsy and delicate. They yellow and tear easily. They are not remembered the way in which a book is remembered. Andi may not necessarily want to be remembered but this was a grand era in time which had to be immortalised in every way possible especially since this era had fostered an unusual cast of characters.

  Pirates. There were so many weird and wonderful pirates. Yes, some were terrible and some would be remembered but there were just so many and each had a tale to spin. They deserved some recognition so Andi has set their sights on each and everyone of them. They wanted to compile a book with information on every single pirate to have taken arms upon the sea and set sail in this Great Pirate Era.

  Their parents have been supportive of this goal, after all, Andi is talented enough to get out of any trouble they bumble into. Having set out at eighteen, much has changed in the four years Andi had been sailing. Part of their book had been put together but there was so much more to see and question especially with changing ideals and the Supernovas and the War. It all seemed to miraculous to watch this unfold in real time and to be able to pen the details as Andi saw them with their own eyes.

  It was within that four years that Andi had realised something invaluable. Chaos can be trusted. Entropy is weird and wild and can usually be taken advantage of in some form or another. It was peacefulness and serenity and tranquility: all pretty ideas which had to be stayed the hell away from. Those long stretches of ocean without any sort of hazard are deceptive. At least chaos is upfront about its dangers which Andi can appreciate.

  And, now, as they drop anchor for the night as a preventative of any useless wanderings, Andi realises something quite daunting. It’s been quiet for some time now. That, Andi decides, is very much not good and having led the life they have led, Andi knows from experience that such peace can only lead to disaster. The life, Andi has led, being one rife with chronic bad luck.

  A disgustingly naive thought crosses Andi’s mind as they yawn. Surely, in the middle of nowhere with nothing but miles of blue, they would be safe from the arbitrary here. Even though it was in direct contradiction to everything Andi had learned over the years about bad luck, Andi trusted the falling night and the beautiful, starlit illumination of an empty sea that it brought. Goodness, it really was gorgeous out here.

  Andi went below deck and rugged up in blankets on their bed. It was likely going to be a nice and normal, ordinary night. Andi quickly fell asleep despite a strange, nagging worry that something was going to go wrong because Andi was Andi and things always go wrong for Andi.

  However, that strange, nagging feeling was validating not too much longer. Andi had probably gone to sleep about ten, maybe a bit before or maybe a bit after. Andi was woken up quite rudely two hours later, maybe a bit less or a bit more but for all intents and purposes, Andi had gotten to sleep and had gone a little bit of restorative shut eye before being woken up.

  Andi had been tossed out of bed with a great start and hit their head on the floor. Which was very, very wet and with concern - rather than frustration - flooding their veins, Andi skipped the part where they were confused. They glanced around panickedly and saw that their hull had taken a lot of damage and they were quickly sinking.

  They were sinking.

  Andi’s mind went blank as they decided they needed to get into gear. Andi quickly shimmied up the ladder to the top deck and was awed by the large ship that had battered into their own, smaller one. Andi recognised the figurehead but wasn’t certain. Was it a flower or was it something else?

  It was difficult to discern in the night’s minimal light. Andi squinted around the side and hoped to try and catch a name. Again, it was difficult.

  “Oi!” a voice cried out.

  Andi’s ship continued to sink.

  “You alright?!” the voice continued.

  Andi looked around and scrambled to a higher point on their ship. Their heart was slowly breaking.

  “No?!” Andi yelled back.

  “Okay.”

  There was a dull thunk and a screech. A new voice in a hushed tone spoke.

  “Hey, do something, that person probably needs help.”

  “Oh? Oh! Okay.”

  What happened next, Andi could barely believe but as frigid seawater lapped at their ankles, panic flooded them and their hair stod up on an end. In the darkness, something swung out at them and some snaked around their waist and hoisted them back. It sounded like the reel of a rubber hose but felt fleshy. If it wasn’t the lesser of two fears, Andi would likely be far more scared.

  Andi screamed as they were whipped back and brought onto the deck of the large ship. Andi squirmed and was released. They ran to the edge of the ship and clutched onto the railing. As their ship sank, so did their heart and all the past years of research. Tears slipped down their face.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, that ain’t cool? What’s the matter, you need help to get somethin’ else off that ship? Don’t tell me, there’re others on there.”

  Andi sobbed. “N-No, thankfully not. B-But my...my life’s work.”

  “Uh-oh, Franky, can you see if you can do anything. I can’t imagine how soul crushing it would be to have my life’s work ruined. See if you can fish it out.” a woman - the second voice, actually - spoke.

  “Gotcha.”

  Andi turned away just as the last of their ship went underneath the black waters. They pawed at their face and tried to look presentable. Their eyes widened as they were able to see with the lights scattered about on the top deck.

  “No way….” they gasped. They stared.

  Their rescuers glanced about each other, as though sensing some sort of brewing confusion but it was quite the opposite. Andi already knew as much as there was known about these so-called “rescuers”. It was with these familiar faces, Andi was able to decide that this ship’s figurehead was not a flower but rather a lion.

  “You… You’re Cyborg Franky. Cat Burglar Nami. Devil Child Robin. Pirate Hunter Zoro. Cotton Candy Lover Chopper. God Usopp. Black Leg Sanji. And, of course, Strawhat Monkey D. Luffy.”

  “Fan...person?” Usopp said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Sort of.”

  “Ah, sane person.” Zoro corrected with a shark-like grin.

  “Sort of.”

  “Fun person!” Luffy decided with a grandiose beam.

     He became visibly excited which made Andi all the more nervous.

  “If academic history is your thing, most certainly but that’s not to say I don’t mind a good joke… just like my freaking life.”

  “Franky, hurry up!” Nami roused.

  “Yikes, I know!”

  Franky bustled off and the group closed the gap of where he had been.

  “So, what’s all this about, eh?” Usopp asked.

  “I’m a freelance scribe.” Andi began. “My life’s work is an encyclopedia on every pirate I’ve met so far… Dammit, and… and now it’s gone forever!”

  Andi’s fists balled by their side. They choked back a sob but they had snot hanging out their nose and tears on their cheeks regardless.

  “Well, it’s lucky you ran into us then, right?” Luffy said with a shrug. “I mean, we’re pretty famous right?”

  “Yeah, only captained by the man with the biggest debut bounty ever.” Andi huffed.

  “And we know a thing or two about a few different pirates. Maybe we could help whilst Franky fishes out the wreckage of your boat.” Nami said.

  “Sounds wonderful, and I shall make us all some midnight snacks, what do you say… my lady?” Sanji said.

  “I mean, I am hungry but I am not your lady. Or a lady at all… at least not right now. I’m havin’ bit of a masculine kinda day but…” Andi trailed off.

  “What do you say, my gentlemen?” Sanji corrected himself.

  “A li’l bit better.” Andi murmured.

  “How about we set you up in the office then, and we can work out sleeping arrangements, oh my, it seems we haven’t caught your name even though you know ours.” Robin said.

  “Ah! How rude of me! I was so caught up in my drama that I forgot. I’m Andi. Just Andi.”

  “Short, snappy, I like it.” Zoro nodded to himself before yawning. He chucked a glance at Sanji. “Oi, curly cook, count me out in the portions. I’m headin’ back to bed.”

  Sanji rolled his eyes. “Duly noted.”

  Andi was terrified at first. They had met pirates of all sorts of calibre - usually low but still, they were bloodthirsty and scary regardless - and was ready to fight or flee at a moment’s notice, and yet… Andi was made to feel welcome upon this ship: the Thousand Sunny Go.

  The office Andi was given permission to use until further notice was homey. The food Sanji prepared for them was beyond belief. Andi had never tasted more divine cuisine and Sanji was talking about this was just something simple to whip up and yet, Andi couldn’t devise a simple way in which such intricate treats could be made so quickly. Nami, Robin, and Chopper were helpful. They hovered, yes, but they made interesting comments about what Andi should add to their new notes. Luffy, however, was annoying and far too happy to chalk many things up to a mystery but he was funny. It was endearing.

  Overall, it was all dreamy and beyond belief. Andi had never been treated this way except by their own family. They felt more than an acquaintance to these easygoing, happy-go-lucky pirates despite the way they had met and the fact that it had only been mere hours since meeting and they felt more kindred to them than merely a friend. It was bizarre.

  And given the stories they were spurning about Alabasta and the Fishman Island and more, Andi was beginning to think that this was not a lone incident. Andi was beginning to think that the Strawhat Pirates simply had this affect on anyone who crossed their path without instigating too much of a fight. How peculiar. But Andi liked it.

   Loved it even.

  By morning come, Andi truly felt like one of the gang. More importntly, by morning come, Franky had returned with remnants of their ship and their belongings. What could be savalged was minimal but Andi cherished the effort.

  That being said, there was one among the Strawhats who didn’t seem all that taken with them. Andi supposed that not everyone would find them a novelty but they didn’t expect that among such a lackadaisical bunch, there would be one who seemed outwardly hostile to them. That person was Usopp.

  The rumours of Usopp were… odd to say the least, or so Andi had come across in their journeys. Some reports recorded him as a brae warriror of the sea. Others, wrote him in speech as a bard or minstrel or similar with a voice that could ensnare all minds, no matter how rational, and make them believe in nonsensical lies. Andi wasn’t sure what to believe. Usopp was complex.

  Sometimes he was of bravdo and humour, other times he cowered in fear and was arguably slothful. But none of it explained his hostility towards Andi. A hostility that continued well after two days of having settled in.

  Slowly becoming uset by the outward aggression, Andi decided that it was time to do something about it. The other Strawhat Pirates had welcomed them with open arms and Andi wanted the whole set so speak. So, they set to a task by themselves: to convince Usopp they weren’t untrustworthy or unfriendly.

  Andi really wanted to befriend Usopp. They felt as though they and Usopp could be kindred souls as they were both story-tellers. Surely, someone of Usopp’s calibre of scribe would be willing to cooperate so it was imperative that Andi befriend him.

  Andi’s plan was simple. All they wanted was to get to the root cause of Usopp’s animosity and see if it could be resolved from there. This meant that all Andi had to do was somehow corner Usopp and force them to talk. Despite it being a forced meeting, surely discourse of a civil manner could be born.

  However, Andi being Andi, things could not naturally be so simple.

  Andi had been observing Usopp for the past hour. He had been flicking between reading and fishing to idle his time on the calm seas. He was set in a loose pattern but one Andi could take advantage of nonetheless as lunch came nearer still on the clock and Usopp had to be getting hungry as he was out of snacks and hadn’t visited the kitchen in a while. More importantly, Sanji had visited earlier to let him know there’d be a place at the table for him soon too and this gave Andi an excellent opportunity.

  Andi hid themselves behind a wall and watched as Usopp began to walk past. With a one and a two, Andi sprung out from their hiding spot. They crash tackled into Usopp and Usopp’s back his the deck. Together, they skidded off. Andi screamed. Usopp yelped.

  Soon enough, Usopp was pinned beneath Andi.

  “Get off me!” Usopp yelled.

  Andi would have liked to pause to think but this was not a time for thinking.

  “No! We need to talk!” Andi shouted back; going red in the cheeks.

  “Why do we need to talk?” Usopp asked.

  “I know you don’t like me and I want to know why.” Andi replied.

  Usopp propped himself up and Andi slid down his legs; he was still effectively anchored and trapped though. He frowned as he played with his hair.

  “I don’t trust like that.” Usopp replied, hesitantly.

  “What do you mean?” Andi asked.

  “I just don’t like that you know so much. It’s… disconcerting.” Usopp replied.

  “…Huh?” Andi replied. They didn’t see the logic in that at al.

  Upon seeing the confusion on Andi’s face, Usopp erred. His brows twitched and Andi laughed.

  “I still don’t get it.”

  “It’s just, nothing good has ever come from someone knowing too much. Especially since we’re not exactly the type to be of thorough thought ‘round here.” Usopp explained.

  “I’ve noticed.” Andi joked.

  Usopp ruffled at the back of his hair, pinned up in a ponytail. He smiled awkwardly.

  “Do you wanna get off me yet?” he asked, cheeks tinging pink.

  Andi’s nerves jolted. They got off him and now their cheeks were pink to match. Laughing nervously, Andi offered a hand to Usopp. With a yank, he anchored himself and Andi helped him.

  Now Andi was nervous for a different reason. They realised they had been straddling Usopp – more or less. How embarrassing! For them both, too. Not to mention, now that Andi had been up close and personal with Usopp, they could tell that Usopp was a rather remarkable looking fellow with his long hair and toned body. It could attract anyone. Even someone like Andi. Friendship had been the desired outcome of this incident but now infatuation was beginning to bud in Andi’s heart.

  At least, for now, Andi could cherish Usopp’s companionship. With him won over, things were far different. They had a lot in common. Perhaps it was that which had led to a barrier in the first place as opposites attracts and likes tended to repel each other, like magnets. Though, that can’t be the case now. Now, they were thick as thieves. Everyone in the ranks of the Strawhat Pirates were joking and teasing about it; seemingly unable to bring up one without the other. It was strangely flattering.

  Both were scribes of the sea with tongues for telling tall tales. Usopp had a beautiful mind. He had a blunt way of putting things: simplistic and stylised though but a linear narrative nonetheless and yet the stories he conveyed were comedic and entertaining. He had quite a talent. Though, to begin with, Andi did struggle to discern truth and lies but they were beginning to get a grasp on his ticks now.

  It was because of this budding friendship and gift of the gab of his, that Andi was able to restock their damaged notes and add more. The Strawhats had been on so many amazing and nearly unbelievable adventures but the truths of them were worth their weight in gold. Andi was now part of part of an exclusive and privileged party to get their account first hand. From Buggy the Pirate Clown to the Warlords of the Sea to the Four Emperors: the connections the Strawhats held were astounding.

  Eventually, Andi was told to pick absolutely anyone who was on their good side. Anyone who they wanted to interview, anyone at all and the Strawhats assured them that Andi would be able to strike an interview with that person because of their friendship with the Strawhats.

  It was an enticing offer. It was one Andi was even quick to accept until other ideas began to float through their head. They had some time to consider who they wanted to track down so Nami can navigate the appropriate course, but Andi knew they weren’t going to use the two days they had docked to think about that. No, Andi was going to use this time to consider their feelings. The interview can be an impulse but this other ting playing on Andi’s mind was something that deserved thorough thought.

  The feelings regarding Usopp were complicated, Andi found. It was far too soon to decide upon the true extent of romantic implications, but Andi was enamoured with Usopp’s company; far beyond that of friendship. They wanted to at the very least verbalise this confusing, fluttery feelings that cause their heart to skip a beat, their cheeks to redden, and their palms to sweat.

  Time was limited between them. It was foolish and ephemeral, but Andi wanted to give these feelings a chance regardless. So, whilst their ship was being built – not rebuilt, built from scratch by Franky’s designs – Andi made plans based on these strange feelings and faint thoughts.

  Andi watched idly as their new ship went from being sketches on paper to a wooden skeleton to an almost complete ship. It was soothing to watch the construction and helping Franky helped filled the time. Andi had heard once that menial labour can facilitate the higher thinking part of the brain and with all these murky thoughts, helping screw small together or adding a slap of paint was a comfort that made things strangely clearer.

  Upon the completion of Andi’s new ship, Luffy decided it was good cause for a farewell party and being pirates, none of his crewmates could resist the idea. Sanji made enough food to feed a few dozen armies and Brook played gorgeous melodies upon his violin. Jokes and stories were told; some danced. It was great fun.

  Andi really enjoyed themselves. A party on the docks, listening to music and the ocean lap at the shores. Lights in houses behind them sparkled and there was a coolness in the air that was soft and romantic even. And yet, despite all the gorgeous ambience, Andi found themselves in utter denial of all the thinking and resolving they had done. They also fond themselves in utter denial of Usopp. Consciously avoided hi despite his confusion but he kept distance to be courteous, just in case.

  Andi kept reasoning with themselves that this was the most reasonable thing to do.

  But the end of the night was drawing nearer. The fun around Andi was inescapable and contagious and though they were enjoying themselves on the surface, their memories were slowly becoming tinged by regret from inaction. From that regret, a new resolve was born though faint, Andi wanted to trust their heart, so they were the one to scoot in next to Usopp.

  He looked a little bit weary. Who wasn’t? It was past midnight, after all.

  Andi sat next to him and he sat in closer to Andi. Their shoulders brushed together and hands fumbled. Usopp chuckled awkwardly. He spoke first.

  “Hey Andi. So, uh, is it me or, um, are you – were you – avoiding me?”

  Andi laughed back and averted their gaze. “Uh, yeah… I was, kinda.”

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No! Not at all! I just needed… space.”

  “Yeah, I know that feel. It’s a big ship but it’s easy to get overcrowded.”

  “That’s not… it.” Andi hesitantly replied.

  Usopp’s eyes widened as he turned his head slightly, “It’s not?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Then what is it then?”

  Andi turned their body towards Usopp and took a breath. Usopp’s body language became surprised before steadying. He could tell that Andi had a lot to say and he intended to listen carefully. He knew what was about to happen wasn’t going to be some happy-go-lucky story or the like. This was serious. And, he would respectfully meet the matter with his own sternness.

  “Usopp, um, I…” Andi faltered with their words. They took another breath and their eyes gleamed with a newfound confidence and resolve. “We haven’t known each other for very long but I feel like we have a connection. Am I wrong in thinking that?”

  “What? Not at all. I feel the same. We get along great. I mean, we’re a bit different to each other but we make each other laugh and stuff. It’s very easy to get caught up in, well, friendship, I think, and I think we’ve got a connection too.” Usopp explained honestly.

  Andi blushed and their heart hammered. There was an underlying bait in what Usopp had said. He hadn’t intended as such, but it encouraged Andi to keep pushing at these feelings; at this conversation.

  “It’s just…” Andi hesitated again.

  They could barely hear their thoughts of their heart but maybe that was a good thing because it allowed them to feel intuitively what they needed to say rather than overcomplicate it. “It’s just I think I like you.”

  “Like me? Well, I’m glad. I like you too, Andi.” Usopp replied.

  Andi frowned, huffed. “No, I like you like you. Like-like you.”

  Usopp’s eyes widened and his jaw slackened. He murmured, repeatedly: “Oh… O-Oh… Oh…��

  It would have been endearing had it not been excruciating to listen to. It was like he was attempting to record the information in his brain, but it was just getting continually rejected and thus, needed to process again and again. It was horrible.

  At least it was, until, Usopp shut himself up with a big breath and he turned slightly ajar from Andi. Andi felt as though their hopes had been dashed. Had they been wrong?

  “I’m… I feel the same way.” Usopp murmured, almost beneath his breath.

  Andi lifted their head. Now it was them whose eyes were widening. Their heart fluttered in their chest. It was a sweet, twinkling feeling devoid of fear or anguish. It was pure and chaste.

  “Y-You do?” they manage stutter out over their rapid heartbeats.

  Usopp scratched at the back of his head, shy, then affirmed Andi simply: “Yeah.”

  A moment of sweetness blossomed between them where they fumbled with the ramifications of their confessions. A sweetness soon tainted by bitterness. It was such terrible timing. Both led temporary lives on the sea, battered by the winds and going with the waves. It was hard to coordinate meetings and Andi, though a brave rapscallion of a person, was a civilian and Usopp a pirate. It was such unfortunate circumstance.

  But that didn’t mean it had to be hopeless.

  Andi looked towards Usopp. “We might only have tonight but perhaps, it could be worth it.” they said.

  “Yeah, maybe.” Usopp replied.

  Andi yawned but leaned in. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be just tonight. Perhaps it was just going to be now: a bittersweet and ephemeral moment on an everchanging clock.

  Reading their cues, Usopp leaned in also and he put his hand over Andi’s. Andi’s hands were writer’s hands. They were soft and unworked by strenuous labour, like that of carpentry or paving, but they were ink-stained and callouses rose from odd places upon their fingers. Small and squishy-feeling, Usopp liked Andi’s hands.

  Andi puckered their lips and met Usopp’s. Usopp’s lips were chapped by hours spent at sea, in the razor wind. His nose, awkwardly long, bumped against Andi’s face. It was strange but not necessarily unpleasant. It was a good, chaste kiss that seemed to slow the world. It seemed to extent the ephemeral moment their feelings were taking place within but it wasn’t enough to completely stop the flow of time.

  They needed breath eventually, so they pulled away. Disjointed and awkward, worried about how they had performed. Strangely sheepish, even, because of their kiss.

  “How… was it?” Usopp asked.

  “Good, good, great – excellent even!” Andi yipped before going red. “Not that I have a frame of reference or anything… That was my, my um, first kiss.”

  “Oh. Oh…” Usopp muttered.

  “You’ve had past experiences?” Andi asked, not intending to pry but the journalistic sense within them was trying to demand otherwise.

  “Uh, yeah, my childhood friend. Kaya. She was my first kiss and crush. But you’re really different to her. Apples and oranges, I guess you’d say.” Usopp rambled.

  “It’s fine.” Andi almost panickily stated.

  There was a lull in conversation and awkwardness permeated them both as they were left to dwell upon the fact all they had was a moment and now the moment was gone. There was little else to say and do besides ponder the missed connection. If they had met sooner, if they had later: a lot could have been different. But it hadn’t. It had been this.

  Soon, tiredness set it and the party came to a faded and dwindled conclusion. If, it truly ended at all. Perhaps it merely moved to another moment in time, much like what would happen to the feelings Andi had harboured.

  They didn’t regret it. That had been the best course of action. It was better to have lost and loved than to never have loved at all; fumbling with loose-ends and potential possibilities. As bittersweet as it was, it was better than the regret of what if?

  The following mid-morning, it was time for Andi to set sail onto their next adventure. With Dracule Mihawk in their sights, that was the adventure and knowledge Andi wanted to chase; with a recommendation from Mihawk’s ex-pupil Zoro, of course. Still, it was bittersweet to go.

  “I’ll miss all of you.” Andi called out from atop their newly varnished deck.

  “We’ll miss you to!” Luffy called out.

  “Some of us more than others.” Sanji teased; he nudged Usopp who sheepishly blushed.

  “Don’t worry ‘bout Mihawk, he’s all bark an’ no bite; he’ll love you!” Zoro added, thankfully salvaging the conversation from an embarrassing turn.

  “Thanks.” Andi added.

  They were intimidated. Mihawk was a warlord after all. He was a fearsome, fearsome man and, yet Zoro spoke of him softly, gently, despite their scuffled meeting in the East Blue. Andi supposed cohabitation would train things, even when under the guise of an enemies-like relationship.

  Andi firmly believed now, having met the Pirate Hunter, that he would one day achieve his dream and take Mihawk’s claim from him. Andi looked forward to meeting him then subsequently interviewing. Based on Zoro’s tales, he sounded like a cool and honourable man who has seen much and would, therefore, benefit Andi’s notes.

  “Thank you for having me and thank you for building my ship after you destroyed it. Thank you for sharing your stories with me.” Andi gushed as they fidgeted with ropes.

  Their boat was designed to be able to keep guests whilst only being staffed by a lone person. There were all sorts of kooky contraptions and mechanics to allow for Andi to do the work of multiple workers. They appreciated Franky for all the countermeasures they were slowly familiarising themselves with.

  “My heart would break if any of these dweebs destroyed my work – and they have in the past. You have my sympathies. I hope nothing like this happens again in the future, Andi!” Nami called out.

  Andi reeled back the anchor and their ship began to move out. Luffy threw his hands in the air upon noticing. He waved them ferociously through the air with a silly grin on his face. All the faces of all the Strawhats seemed both happy and sorrowful: parting continues to ring true as such a sweet sorrow.

  “Bye, bye, Andi: I hope we meet again!” Luffy called.

  “Yes, I do too!” Andi called back. “And you, young man, had better be King of the Pirates by then!”

  “Hell’s yeah I will be!” Luffy laughed.

  Andi slipped away from the railing. Their smile shortened upon their face and their heart grew heavy but that’s just goodbyes were like. They didn’t want to, but they turned their back on the Strawhat Pirates. They were probably doing the same. They didn’t have all day, after all. This was a busy port. They needed to go just as much as Andi, lest Marines decide they’re easy prey or rival pirates. Anything could happen.

  Andi visited the figurehead of the ship. Franky had asked what their favourite animal was so Andi had replied and now they had an adorable elephant to lead them through their voyages. It wasn’t particularly fearsome-looking, no, not all, but Andi cherished it as they ran their hand over the wood of it. It was so sleek. It was nice to the touch. Andi could understand better now why the figurehead doubled as Luffy’s favourite seat on a ship. It had a lovely view too.

  The voyage to Kuraigana Island was long and hard but it was journey Andi was able to make just fine. They missed the bustling company of the Strawhat Pirates and it made them yearn for friends once more. But they were a somewhat introverted person, so they appreciated the peace. It was hard to strike balance between being overcrowded and not being crowded enough.

  As they drew nearer to Kuraigana Island, they wondered if Mihawk had that problem too. Mentally, it was hard to realise Mihawk was just as human as anyone else, but his eyes were so avian and his reputation so fearsome, it was hard to categorise him anything human at all.

  Kuraigana Island was every bit as creepy as Andi had been warned it would be. It was swathed with a thick mist that seemed almost teal as it clung to the frigid air. It was mossy moors and swamps. It was eerie and quiet except for the cacophonic singing of a young woman: Perona, if Andi was correct by what Zoro had told them.

  They docked by a rickety pier and dropped anchor. They looked around. Their heart pounded as they swallowed muddy breaths. Andi was well aware of the dangers hidden in the mists, but it was a clear path from this beach to the castle. Andi could see it through shadows and mystique. It excited them. They clutched excitedly onto their stationery as they clambered down.

  This would be their next adventure. The next knowledge found and recorded. Surely nothing could go wrong.

[sinjaangels]

Blood Blockade Battlefront AU

Harem!AU - Klaus x femAll

Klaus von Reinherz is a passionate man. His goal in life is to keep the world safe from the dangers within Hellsalem’s Lot. From drugs from the Beyond that could keep a man alive without his head; to immortal and bloodthirsty Blood Breeds, Klaus faces these challenges with a cool-head, unbreakable determination and resolve. Of course, he doesn’t face these challenges alone.  Klaus is the founder and leader of the secret society, Libra. An organization that has taken up responsibility in dealing with the supernatural. The organization is broad with its members and its members’ talents. Klaus works with his own team on the regular basis. Other members of Libra call his closest members his Valkyries.

Klaus von Reinherz was raised as a noble gentleman. He came from a very wealthy family who could afford combat-trained butlers, such as Gilbert F. Alstein, who serves Klaus. He was a seven-foot-tall tower of a man of 28-years. He had broad shoulders and arms and legs as thick as an oak tree. His underbite is his outstanding feature, large fangs protruding out of his lower lip. When he smiled, he had made people faint in terror and children cry. This has caused him to keep a straight, firm face at times. Even that strategy has made his face much more frightening. Fortunately, he had his team who had grown slightly accustomed to their leader’s outer appearance and saw the truly good man within. Almost most of his Valkyries are in love with him at some level.

 Stephanie Aliana Starphase is Klaus’ right-hand, second-in-command of Libra. Stephanie is an older woman in her early 30’s. Like Klaus, she is a Blood user with the ability through her blood to form ice-base attacks through her feet. A “Cool Beauty” is her best description that others have given her, may they be friend or enemy. She was a stunning woman, slightly taller than the average woman. Her hair was long and semi-curly, usually tightly wound in a bun during office hours at her desk. While during and after an intense battle, her hair would come a loose giving her a sultry look. Not even the jagged scar that ran down her high Latina cheekbones detracted from her beauty. Mostly seen in fine-tailored jackets, shirt, tie and alternates between pants suit or a variety of skirts. Mostly skirts. Skirts that could be unbuttoned or zipped up to her hip to allow room for her to use her legs. An impressive feat to fight in specially-made custom weaponized heels!

 Stephanie has always been at Klaus’ side even before Libra was established. Several rumors had gone out of how the two met. Some say they were childhood friends. A few had suspected that they were lovers in secret. Only Stephanie and Klaus knew the truth of their history. Some were too scared or felt that it wasn’t their place to ask Klaus directly. Some ladies of Libra had asked Stephanie in how she met Klaus, but the woman would smile her secretive smile in reply and said nothing. Stephanie was in love with Klaus. The young man was the pure light of her dark shadow. He had absolute faith and trust in her to do what needed to be done. She appreciated that trust. No one has ever allowed themselves to trust her so deeply. When Klaus acknowledged her work and devotion, Stephanie’s heart fluttered, and her knees would nearly buckle.

 Yasmin “Zazz” Renfro is a very bold woman. The way the woman swore would make a hardcore marine blush when she loses her temper, and it’s a very short fuse. Zazz is very self-indulgent in the pleasures of the flesh. She had a different lover every other day, whether they be human or Beyondian. It was easy for her to attract a man, with her lovely dark skin that contrasted greatly with her short white hair. Her hair curtained over her blue-gray eyes making them pop. Other un-lady-like habits were her taste for cigars, drinking, and gambling. From her outer appearance and her habits, many would question her place in Libra. But she was trained by a well-renown fang hunter, Raju Jugei Shizuyoshi, who had taught her the Big Dipper blood-fighting style. She is very proficient with her techniques, one of them being able to form a solid sword with her blood and her ability to summon fire. Zazz found Klaus to be a desirable specimen of a man. She had made crude jokes and flirted with him not hiding her true intentions. Most jokes went over Klaus’ head but her flirting in her speech and mannerism flustered Klaus to a stuttering mess, more-so when she got handsy. Klaus was a challenge to Zazz. Zazz desired so badly to…well, to put it plainly…get in the man’s pants and rock his world. Ever the gentleman, Klaus politely turns down her offers for casual intimacy and skillfully dodges, grabs or blocks her grabby-hands.

 Only known within Libra’s inner circle, Zazz was shockingly a mother! It was Klaus himself who had made this discovery first. Zazz was incredibly injured during Libra’s early days. She was quite young at the time. When she had gotten hurt she had managed to get Klaus’ attention and given instructions to her apartment. She had never told anyone where she lived. Klaus did as he was told and when he knocked on the apartment door he was greeted by a smaller version of Zazz. Her name was Valerie, Zazz’s daughter! Zazz loves her daughter very much. Zazz keeps her family life and her life of pleasure separately. She has made it a rule to never, ever bring strange men to her home. She splits her paycheck, most going into the care of her daughter. It didn’t take long for Klaus to earn Valerie’s trust. Valerie was an adventurous and curious young girl. When Zazz recovered Klaus had a firm talk with her with an increase in pay, a better apartment, a proper sitter and enrolling Valerie into school! It was perhaps then, that Zazz herself fell for Klaus. Her daughter liked him, and he showed that he genuinely cared for Zazz and her daughter’s well-being. Zazz slightly matured. Slightly. She continues to pursue other men…but her body and her heart long for Klaus.

 K.K. is a fierce yet beautiful woman. Known to wear a red long trench coat over a revealing cropped shirt and shorts, thigh-high heeled boots and an eye patch over her right eye. Another Blood user like Klaus and Stephanie; her blood activates her ability to use electricity, surrounding or delivered by bullets. K.K. is a sniper and gunwoman. She’s also a loving wife and mother to two young sons. K.K. is very fond of Klaus. Klaus or Klausie (her affectionate nickname for him) has been adopted by K.K. as her little brother. She is very protective of him. K.K. doesn’t trust Stephanie. Doesn’t like how close she and Klaus are and might be possibly jealous how this woman came seemingly from the shadows to “keep her Klausie to herself”. K.K. has refused to friendly with Stephanie when she tries to make nice with her. K.K. doesn’t hide her dislike. It is often said that K.K. gets a bad vibe from Stephanie, that the woman was sneaky, hiding something. K.K. didn’t approve of Zazz either. It was amusing at first when Zazz and Klaus met for the first time. But after the first couple of times, it got old and K.K. would rather Klaus have a meaningful relationship. But, K.K. supports Zazz wholeheartedly as one mother to another.

 Chain Sumeragi has a tiny, teeny, weeny crush on Klaus. Just a small one. She believed it would pass. Chain is a member of the Werewolf Bureau. Through them, she met Klaus and did a few assignments for the Vatican together. Klaus was a great nice guy. But a total dork. Which made him adorable. Klaus was very different from most men. He was nice and classy. Chain was comfortable with their close but far relationship. Until she met Stephanie. Stephanie was an impressive woman to Chain. There was something cool (no pun intended) and mysterious about her that Chain admired. It didn’t surprise her that Stephanie was closer to Klaus. She was perfect for him. Stephanie was powerful and seeing her work in perfect unison either in the office or on the battlefield, Chain though they were the perfect couple. Zazz had no business near Klaus! Klaus was too good for that slutty, dirty, silver-haired monkey hag! She had no right to put those nasty paws on his shoulders, his chest and at one time she had managed to pinch his rear! As adorably red he had turn and that incredible squeak that came out of him that had Chain giggling hours later…Zazz had no right! And that tramp had the gall to call out Chain’s love for Klaus! She certainly wasn’t jealous of Zazz! No, absolutely not! She was not jealous that Zazz was braver than her to touch Klaus! Not jealous that Zazz would speak wicked fantasies to Klaus (some of those fantasies almost…nearly…were like Chain’s). Chain was certainly not envious of Zazz’s crazy schemes to play the damsel-in-distress and beg Klaus to save her and tuck her into his large arms and fuss over her. Nope! No way! Not at all! Zazz didn’t deserve Klaus. Klaus needed a woman to match him. Someone like Stephanie. As soon as her favorite big sister (in her heart and mind) got together with Klaus, Chain would be happy and her teeny, weeny, tiny crush on Klaus would finally go away.

 Mr. Klaus was Leona Watch’s light. The gentleman of Libra didn’t see her as the coward that she had described herself to be. In his eyes, he saw a young lady who continued to strive for the light through the darkness. That despite her fears she continued to walk forward and that made one have an unshakeable spirit! Those words touched her and when he had welcomed her to Libra as herself and not under the assumed name she had taken, she had fallen in love. Of course, one didn’t need the Eyes of the All-Seeing Gods to see that she had competition.

 Zazz, her senior, flirted shamefully with the poor man. Every time Leona walked through the doors of Libra for the first time of the day, she catches Zazz trying to crawl into Mr. Klaus’ arms or lap. The poor man would gently hold her away and protest with a blush. Or, if it was a sexy sneak attack (which she would pounce on him to grope him), in a panic Mr. Klaus would catch Zazz at the last second and throw her! Of course, keeping in mind that she was a lady (no matter how raunchy) would make sure she landed on something soft…which would be the couch or seated upside down in a chair. Or sometimes, he would put her in a hold against his body. Zazz instantly picked up in less than a day later that Leona was crushing on Mr. Klaus. Zazz would tease her ruthlessly but it would lead to them gushing over his figure together. Leona did pick up from Zazz that through her naughty flirtations and dirty purrs that she really, really cared for Mr. Klaus…though it was dangerous to his health. Like the time Zazz lured Mr. Klaus to an underground fight club to save her…again.

 Then there was Ms. Stephanie. Like Chain, Leona could see that they would make a powerful couple. Ms. Stephanie was beautiful, intelligent and poised (when she had her daily coffee and wasn’t pulling all-nighters). Leona had assumed with a breaking heart that Mr. Klaus and Ms. Stephanie were together. But Zazz told her that they weren’t. Mr. Klaus was oblivious to Ms. Stephanie’s feelings and K.K. wouldn’t allow it! Leona was shocked! She did see it for herself when Mr. Klaus had made a lengthy comment of gratitude to Ms. Stephanie. Ms. Stephanie waved his comment off and excused herself to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. Leona followed minutes later into the kitchen for a drink and caught Ms. Stephanie blushing like crazy and speaking in Spanish. From what Leona could make out, it was something about Mr. Klaus…“ love”…“stupid”…“heart”…“stupid”…“ my god”…“torture”…she continued to ramble and giggle to herself like she was a teenager again!

 Chain was the biggest shock! Chain seemed so unattached to everyone. But she did show that she cared in her own way. She hated Zazz. It was one of Zazz and Chain’s fights that got a little out of hand that grew from verbal to physical. As Zazz and Chain screamed into each other’s faces (they were in the office alone) Zazz revealed Chain’s crush on Mr. Klaus. Chain denied it aggressively…with a slap to Zazz’s face. Leona didn’t have time to respond to the revelation when Zazz double slapped Chain and a cat fight of epic proportions broke out. The fight didn’t end until Leona had to use her Plain Eyeball technique (after a couch was thrown out the window and two of Mr. Klaus’ precious potted plants were destroyed). Both women felt guilty and bought Mr. Klaus another plant in apology.

 K.K. liked Leona. She was a sweetheart and Klaus seemed rather fond of her as well. Klaus needs a good woman in his life and Leona was the best thing to walk through the doors of Libra. She wasn’t sneaky like Stephanie! Leona wore her heart on her sleeve and cried easily when she was upset or moved. She was much more affectionate than Chain. Yes, K.K. was aware of Chain’s affections. Chain didn’t act on them because she was letting Stephanie have her way. Another reason to dislike that cold-hearted woman, Stephanie! Leona wasn’t nasty like Zazz. As amusing to see the fellow-mother flirt with Klaus, she came on a bit too strong. Leona was sassy in her own way. It was rare but even Leona had sassed Klaus or scolded him for doing something silly. Leona wasn’t completely blinded by her admiration of the man. K.K. helped Leona out; telling her about Klaus’s favorite food and his interests. K.K. even helped to give Leona and Klaus alone time. Which was very hard with several women vying for his attention and between the hectic life of living in Hellsalem’s Lot.

 The final Valkyrie was someone unusual. Zeta O’Brien was a beautifully strange non-huma. She was a bipedal merwoman. Another pupil under Zazz’s master, Master Raju, trained in the Big Dipper blood style fighting technique to control the wind. Zeta and Zazz started off on the wrong foot. True to Zazz, she made fun of Zeta’s appearance. Laughed at her skin and her body. Never had Zeta felt so insulted! It hurt a little. She had never been made fun of. Master Raju never gave any comment about her appearance, other than she wasn’t an huma.  The count that had raised her taught her many things, even art and what made art beautiful. The count had stared at her at times and told her she was lovely. She didn’t quite understand him but took it positively. Learning that she would be left with Libra was a shock. Master Raju gave no warning, just abandoned her amongst strangers! But they had been kind and accommodating. Their leader, Mr. Klaus, was quick to have a large tank for her comfort and was very kind to share his space with his great greenroom. Mr. Klaus was a good male huma.

 Zeta quietly observed her new acquaintances while pretending to read sometimes. She noticed quickly the female humas’ behavior when around Klaus. It was so painfully obvious that all but K.K. (who had a mate and offspring) were attracted to Mr. Klaus. From her own observations, Mr. Klaus was much taller than most male huma. He was obviously strong, and she had witnessed his display of strength often. Zeta admitted to herself that he was impressive in that aspect. Breath-taking indeed. Mr. Klaus was very intelligent. While he made his rounds in his greenroom and if Zeta was in her tank, they would talk about anything that came to mind. It was like talking to the former count. They talked about art, music, philosophy, and he was kind enough to answer questions about the huma-lifestyle. He was pleasant to be around.

 Zeta had never in her life contemplated falling in love. It was a foreign concept. She only asked about love from Leona, someone who was single and K.K. who was mated or married. Leona explained shyly that love is wanting to be close to someone who makes you feel good about yourself. K.K. gushed about her loving husband. K.K.’s explanation was the joy of someone just being there for you. Someone who you could throw yourself into their arms and feel safe and loved every day. To enjoy your lives together through good and the bad and be able to survive together. Someone willing to create new life to love and raise.

 New life. That struck a chord with Zeta sharply. She was fascinated with offspring. So small and innocent, full of life! Like Leona, she was shocked when she learned that her senior had her own offspring. Valerie was an adorable treasure and the transformation of Zazz from a vulgar and sex-crazed woman to a gentle and loving mother made Zeta realized how powerful loving a child and being loved by that child was. Curious, she asked Mr. Klaus if he wanted children. He smiled (and it didn’t startle her!) and admitted he loved children, though when children see his face they were terrified of him. He hoped that his own children wouldn’t be afraid of him. From what Zeta observed from life and from television, most male huma seemed apprehensive with the subject at children or sharing a life indefinitely with someone. Only a small handful seem to look forward to having children. Zeta’s biological clock had punched in and Zeta, being a non-huma and partly animal, her instincts were inspired, and she felt the desire to mate most strongly…and who would make the perfect mate?

 There was an encounter with a blood breed at an aquarium. Mr. Klaus, Leona, and Zeta were the closest to the area to respond. Before the blood breed was sealed away, it had managed to strike Zeta’s breathing apparatus! Zeta struggled to breathe and was brought to her knees as she began to black-out. Zeta felt herself being lifted off the ground and then she was surrounded by water. After her gills were filled with water, her eyes regained focus. Looking up she found herself in Mr. Klaus’ arms. He was soaked for he had jumped into a tidal pool habitat. Mr. Klaus’ body heat contrasted so greatly against the cool water. Zeta wanted to absorb that warmth, have it curl up inside her. She understood a little why Zazz played the damsel-in-distress right then. Mr. Klaus! Since then, her instincts collided with her emotions! Now, when she was alone with Mr. Klaus, mostly during missions, she felt nervous and did her best to keep her hands to herself. Mr. Klaus didn’t seem like to be touched so intimately so sudden! Zazz proved that.

 Gilbert thought his young master was the luckiest yet the most oblivious young man in the world. The butler of Libra had seen it all and knew all. He knew every young ladies’ love for his charge. They loved Young Master Klaus in their own special ways.

 Young Miss Leona was experiencing her first love.

 Miss Stephanie had longed for his master for so long it was almost as painful as frostbite.

 Miss Chain was in denial. Her love may be small, but it was love nonetheless.

 Miss Zazz though crude with her methods, longed for a good man in her and her daughter’s life.

 Miss Zeta was also going through first love that was boosted by her animalistic instincts.

 Gilbert was doing a bit of dusting and with a discreet glance over his shouldered, he watched as the ladies in love watched Klaus pick up his delicate cup of tea and drink soundlessly.

 Leona had been fiddling with her camera. Now she was looking up slightly, her blue eyes gleaming through the tiny crack between her lashes as she takes every minute detail of his form.

 Stephanie looked up from her computer and reached for her coffee mug. Only, she was drinking to eye Klaus as well.

 Zeta liked to read and walk at the same time. She had paused in her step and peeked over the book.

 Finally, Zazz, who were spread out over the second couch, lifted herself on her shoulders and hummed. Practically near a purr.

 Chain had arrived earlier and was possibly in her favorite vantage point to observe everything (Klaus) while invisible.

 Gilbert hopes that this matter would be resolve someday soon. He just couldn’t predict how it would end. It’s not like Klaus could marry them all. Although, the butler smiled to himself at a thought. K.K. had mentioned that the (wealthy) Chinese practice polygamy and it seems to work out well.

 The Young Master could afford them all and anything goes in Hellsalem’s Lot!

[skellebonez]

I just finished reading the messages from Discord and I couldn't resist. Macaque and Pigsy with 8 and 26 (you know what this is about)

I had to write this ASAP so I wouldn't forget or be unable to find exactly what this was about again for reference because this is about something from 3 days ago (and if I hadn’t bumped this it wouldn’t have been written for like 4-5 more days because of my queue)! What's the context here? It's a surprise if you don't know, just read the fill and you will understand why it needed written. Shout out to @animemoonprincess because you know why (and also because a chunk of the dialogue came from you).

I know of your reputation all too well./You don’t hate me.

"You cannot be serious," Macaque muttered under his breath. "You truly cannot be serious. This cannot be a thing that is happening to me at this very moment... I am an immortal being, I almost defeated the Monkey King, I almost defeated your kid, I-!”

“I know of your reputation all too well,” Pigsy brushed off with a scowl as he looked at the two items in his hands to, once again, decide which one was of higher quality and therefore more worthy of a purchase. “Believe me, I didn’t jump into this without knowing what I was getting into, bub.”

Macaque, Six Eared Macaque, was standing in a department store of some kind with his arms bogged down with baskets of all the stuff he had mistakenly allowed himself to look at and react to.

He would ask how, exactly, he had allowed himself to get to this point... But quite frankly he had absolutely no idea. One day he had come back after his, admittedly, crushing defeat at the hands of the Monkie Kid himself and before he knew it he had somehow assimilated into their little group to the point that MK had used his True Sight on him by accident and discovered his little secret.

His Six Eared title was not just a title. It was literal. And his six ears changed colors depending on how he felt and Macaque had never learned how to control that.

It hadn't taken him long to figure out exactly what each of the colors meant. And eventually MK, much more conniving than Macaque had ever given him credit for before, had made a chart. It was basic, of course, red meant he was angry (or really passionate) and blue meant he was happy and grey meant he was sad and so on and so forth. Even figured out what the number of ears sharing the same color meant.

And despite Macaque's best efforts to hide how he was actually starting to feel about the group (more positive emotions than he would ever admit before the day he died again) MK would just look at him sometimes and announce it. Macaque would have been angry if he hadn't, you know... tried to kill the kid. He supposed that the occasional "oh yeah, he looks pissed but he's actually at 2 purple (relaxed) and 2 blue (happy) and 2 pink (love) so I think loved that soup Pigsy" was well deserved.

Eventually he just dropped the glamor hiding his ears (one of many, including the one hiding his damaged eye) and then things spiraled out of control because MK had, at least, never announced when he was feeling genuinely bad unless he had to.

Now everyone could see when his ears went black and grey (upset and sad in varying degrees) at the sight of Monkey King's visage on TV or the taste of something that he had memories of that he could no longer reach. They saw when some would turn yellow (fear) hearing MK yelp in pain (and the fact that happened now, fear for the kid's safety, boggled his mind). They saw the green of jealousy more than once when he watched MK and Monkey King interact. He made sure to leave before that happened again.

That very morning before he and Wukong had attempted to talk. It hadn't... gone well. He had attempted to hide his mood, put the glamor back up, but MK had done what he had only done a handful of times before. He'd gone to Pigsy and told him his (what they had deemed) color rating. 2 red, 3 black, 1 grey. And that sounded about right to him. He wasn't really angry, just... upset. He wanted to be left alone.

Pigsy had followed him to his dojo with hot soup and an air mattress and somehow... somehow that helped. He didn't know why it did, but it helped.

And then he was awoken this morning to Pigsy shaking him awake and dragging him to this store and he was buying literally everything Mac made the mistake of looking at and liking and it was actually kind of endearing but also worrying.

Speaking of which, Pigsy was holding up a little plush doll. Not all that dissimilar to the one MK had. "Do you want this?"

"What? No," Macaque snapped, raising his eyebrows at the suggestion. Yes it was cute, but-

"Hm, I see," Pigsy said vaguely, tossing it on the pile of random stuff in Macaque's arms.

"Wh- stop wasting your money!" Macaque tried to argue, pulling the plush doll out of the pile of useless trinkets he didn't need to toss it back to the pig demon.

Pigsy growled, shoving the plushie into Macaque's arms. "I'm not wasting it if its making you happy am I?"

"H-HAPPY?" Macaque asked, and if anyone said anything he would deny the squeak that came with his word. "I-You-I am starting to hate you!"

��You don’t hate me,” Pigsy retorted casually, as easily as if he had added a dash more spice to his soup broth after a quick taste.

And Macaque had to pause and admit to himself after a moment of self reflection, and looking at his literal reflection in a nearby window (2 purple, 2 blue, 2 pink)... no. He didn’t hate Pigsy.

Huh.

----------

"Kid help, your boss is crazy," Macaque attempted to announce when he "broke into" MK's apartment through the front door, arms still bogged down with all the stuff the chef had purchased for him. He needed somewhere to store his stuff while he fixed up his old dojo. "He-"

"I see Pigsy has adopted you too."

"He's wHAT?"

----------

Macaque had tossed all the clothes and plush toys and trinkets at MK, who made no secret that he was very offended by this, before rushing down to the closed noodle shop where he had left him.

"Pigsy you can't adopt me, I'm older than you and I don't legally exist!" He yelled, grabbing the pig demon by the shoulders and looking at him very seriously.

Pigsy just smirked back at him. "Wanna bet I can't? I have Wukong's lawyer on speed dial."

Well shit.

[distant-rose-archive-blog]

A Once And Future Thing (2/7)

Notes: Sorry this took so long! I struggled a bit. It’s been a trying week, ladies and gents. Anyway, it’s up and the next chapter might not be until Monday unfortunately. Anyway, thanks to @welllpthisishappening, @peglegsjones and @cynmoon for being awesome and looking this over! Cheers! Summary: Beth’s quest for vengeance against her boyfriend’s killer goes a bit haywire when she and her former best friend Jim Hawkins are sent into thirty years into the past. Now, they must figure out how to find a way back to the future without wrecking the first meeting between Beth’s parents, Emma Swan and Killian Jones.  Rating: T+ Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Epilogue  Word Count: 5,700+

“So those are your parents?” Jim whispered to her quietly as they trekked behind Mulan.

“Yes,” Beth answered tersely, not wanting to discuss the matter more than she had to.

“That’s your mother in the red? The blonde?”

Jim didn’t seem to understand that she wasn’t in the mood to have this conversation nor how dangerous it was. She didn’t want to think of what would happen if they were overheard. If Beth had felt like losing her balance, she would have attempted to kick him.

“Yes,” Beth bit out.

“And that’s Captain Hook? Your father?”

“I think this has already been established, Jim,” Beth replied through gritted teeth.

“And those two actually get married?” Jim continued as if he hadn’t heard her.

“In three and a half years’ time, yes.”

“And they’re true love?”

If her hands hadn’t been bound, she would have thrown them up in defeat. She honestly didn’t understand why he felt the need to reiterate all of this.

“Yes,” Beth sighed in defeat. “Confirmed multiple times over the course of the thirty years, some in grizzly and disgusting ways. Or else I wouldn’t be magical or some shit.”

“And they actually produced four children? Really? Them?”

“Seriously what is the point of this line of questioning? You already know all of this!” Beth hissed.

“Huh.” After all of his questioning, his grunt was a bit anticlimactic.

Beth gave him a sour look.

“Huh? That’s all you can say? Huh?”

“Well, yeah, it’s kinda hard to believe, but I can see it. I mean you look startlingly like your mother but with your father’s coloring and a bit thinner and a bit taller. I mean, the hair difference kinda throws it off and perhaps the cosmetics too, but I’m surprised they aren’t at least somewhat suspicious. The name that you threw up there doesn’t help matters. Emma Swan? Elizabeth Swann? Not your finest hour, love.”

“Fuck you, Jim,” Beth replied, but it sounded more tired than pissed off.

Jim chuckled ruefully and this time they were overheard by Mulan who looked back at them to give them a dirty look.

“What’s so funny?” She asked, narrowing her eyes at them.

“Nothing,” Jim replied smoothly. “Just passing the time with a few light jokes, which my partner here doesn’t seem to appreciate.”

“That’s because you can’t tell a joke to save your life,” Beth replied dryly.

“Let’s keep the jokes to a minimum then,” Mulan replied unimpressed.

A silence fell between them as they kept hiking through the woods. It was a hassle to walk with her hands tied in front of her and Beth was almost embarrassed by the amount of times she nearly fell. She was used to walking across decks during the rockiest of seas and during harsh squalls, yet being pulled by her hands had her veering every which way like a drunk monkey.

She glanced over at Jim to see how he was faring and she was surprised to see that his shoulders were shaking in silent laughter. He looked horribly amused more than anything. Beth stared at him in disbelief.

“What the fuck is so funny?” she hissed quietly, not wanting to catch Mulan’s attention again.

“I’ve imagined meeting your parents a thousand ways, love, but this…I never could have foreseen this.”

Beth blinked.

“You imagined meeting my parents?” she asked in disbelief.

Jim’s amusement immediately faded away and was replaced by an expression that Beth could only describe as extremely hurt.

“We’ve been friends for nearly three years, Kid, I would assume that would warrant at least meeting your parents at some point. I mean, you’ve met mine,” he replied with a small shrug.

“I’ve met Long John Silver,” Beth corrected, eyes cutting to his.

“And he’s the closest thing I have to a parent,” Jim responded automatically. “I certainly don’t remember Leland Hawkins, he died before I left the cradle. My mother died when I was at sea the first time with Silver when I was thirteen, so yeah, you’ve met my only living parent. I figured you would do the same courtesy since Will met them and all. I’ve known you longer than Will did.”

“Will was different though,” Beth said quietly.

“As in you were planning on settling down and having 2.5 kids with Will,” Jim concluded. “I didn’t realize that you had your sights set on being a queen. I never pegged you as one for domesticity.”

Beth stopped in her tracks, completely shocked by his words. They cut through her as sharp as any knife and they hurt more than she ever imagined, especially coming from Jim who had always been her pillar even when she never asked him to be. Her halt in movement was ill conceived however because she was almost immediately dragged forward by Mulan and sent crashing face first into the dirt. Beth coughed as she unwillingly ate grass, glaring up at Jim.

“What is your problem?” Mulan hissed, turning around.

“I tripped on a root,” Beth lied smoothly. “It’s hard to balance when your hands are in front of you.”

Mulan picked her up roughly, but made no move to help her aside from that. She merely gave Beth a cold look before she turned back to keep up pace with Aurora, Emma and Snow White.

“Next time, watch where you’re stepping,” she called over her shoulder.

“Beth…” Jim looked at her in concern.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” Beth replied, not looking at him. “You had no right to say that.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true,” Jim muttered under his breath and Beth was almost certain he hadn’t intended for her to hear that.

Silence fell between them and Beth took this time to study the man and woman ahead them who would someday be her parents. It was strange seeing them so young and so distant from one another. Beth knew logically that the Emma Swan and the Killian Jones of this timeframe were nothing more than strangers, but her heart ached. They were always a united front all of her life; there wasn’t a damn thing that they didn’t tackle together even if they disagreed. And if they weren’t united in action, more often than not, they were always in each other’s space. Beth couldn’t picture her parents without them touching each other in some shape or form; her mother had a habit of running her fingers against the shorthairs on his neck or rubbing her thumbs against his collarbone. Her father, on the other hand, had always favored tangling his wife’s hair between his fingers or playing with her hands. Even when they sat together, they touched; Beth’s mother enjoyed placing her feet in her father’s lap on the couch or hooking her leg around his at the dinner table. This Emma of this era was not nearly so tactile, trying to keep a large distance between her and Hook.

These people weren’t her parents. They would be someday, but right now, they were little more than strangers wearing their faces. The more Beth realized this, the more she wanted to leave.

“I don’t understand this…” she murmured aloud without thinking.

“What don’t you understand?” Jim asked quietly.

“Why would she send us here? To this time period? I don’t get it. It’s not like she’s a fucking Weeping Angel or something,” Beth muttered as a piece of rebellious hair fell in her face. She glared at it and wished nothing more than to be able to tuck it behind her ear but with her hands tied up, she had to resort to blowing at it like a toddler.

Jim was silent for a moment and Beth was almost surprised by it. Normally he liked to have an answer for everything, which was sometimes good and sometimes bad. It was almost fun to pick his brain because it seemed to work on a different wavelength than hers, but at the same time, he could be a horrible know-it-all.

“I have no bleeding idea what a Weeping Angel is, but I think her plan is self-annihilation…or at least that’s my best guess,” Jim said after a few minutes passed.

“What?”

“Self-annihilation. I’m assuming she sent you here because she knows you’re a goddamn bull in a tea shop and she expects you to wipe out your own existence, which is still a high possibility. One wrong move and that epic ass love story between your parents goes up in smoke. You die by your own hand, wipe yourself from existence and Ardeas lives.”

Beth closed her eyes, sighing heavily. Ardeas was the entire reason she was in the mess she was in. He had tried to assault her in order to get her cache of magic beans and she had responded by chaining him to a rock and dropping him at the bottom of the ocean while he screamed that he was immortal and she would regret this decision. Ardeas was not immortal, but she did come to regret the decision when his mother Circe had taken issue with her son’s death and had made it her mission to make Beth miserable. Considering that Will was dead and she was stuck thirty years in the past, it was fair to say that Circe was succeeding.

“It’s always what it comes down to isn’t it? That I killed him,” Beth responded, licking her chapped lips.

“Pretty much,” Jim said bluntly.

“I suppose that you think I was wrong to do that…” It wouldn’t surprise her if Jim had disagreed with the decision, though he had never made his opinion on it plain before.

“Out of all the idiotic decisions you’ve made in your life, it’s the one I judge the least. He got what he deserved. What you did was justice,” Jim murmured softly.

“And what I’m doing now isn’t?” Beth asked in clarification, raising an eyebrow.

“Nope,” Jim responded simply.

“Nope? That’s all you’re going to say? Just nope? No grand lecture on how you’re right and I’m wrong?” Beth questioned.

“It’s not my job to teach you ethics, Elizabeth,” Jim said impatiently. There was a lot of frustration in his tone and it made Beth bristle. He made her feel like a naughty school child sometimes.

“No, it’s not,” she agreed with some of her own frustration. “You’re not my fucking father.”

Jim made a strangled noise.

“The day that sentence ever comes true in any proverbial or literal form, I would kill myself.”

Beth tried to not to be offended by that.

“Better to kill yourself than to have a daughter like me?”

Jim blinked rapidly and shook his head in disbelief.

“Something like that.”

Another silence fell between them, this one more uncomfortable than the last. Every part of Beth wanted to scream, yell and cry a bit, but she could not. Such an outburst would do nothing for her. She needed to stay calm. She needed to be like Jim; calm, cool, collected and planning each move like she was playing mental chess. Beth hated chess. She had no patience for it. Maybe that was the problem.

“You said that we are at the beanstalk, what did you mean by that?” Jim said quietly, breaking the silence once more.

“Like I said this is my parents’ first meeting,” Beth replied tersely. “Their first adventure was them climbing the beanstalk to get a golden compass.”

“Beth, I need to know more than that. We need to know more than that. We need to keep the original events as intact as possible if we’re going to survive this. You know that, right?”

Beth made a low noise in the back of her throat.

“Of course, I know that. I’m not a fucking moron, so stop treating me like one,” she snapped.

“I know you’re not a moron. Stop getting so offended all the time,” Jim replied tiredly. “In fact, you’re clever as hell when you want to be, but you’re impulsive and this is emotional for you. You’re thinking with your heart and not with your head. We need your head right now. So, what do you know about the beanstalk?”

“All I know is that Mom and Grandma Snow were trying to go back to Storybrooke because they landed here by accident, much like I did three years ago. Anyway, Dad met Mom, Mom didn’t trust Dad but he knew how to get to them back home with a golden compass at the top of a bean stalk. So, despite their differences, they climbed the beanstalk together and got the compass then Mom and Grandma Snow were able to go home. Dad ended up in Storybrooke somehow, but not with them. I don’t really remember. It was their go-to story whenever I had to do a school project with someone I didn’t like.”

“That’s…not entirely helpful,” Jim sighed.

“Well, that’s all I got for you. Sorry,” Beth muttered under her breath.

“I know, I know, it’s just…” Jim let out a small huff.

Beth knew just by the look on his face that if his hands hadn’t been tied in front of him that they would be running through his sandy brown hair. He had a tendency to do that when he was anxious and right now, Jim Hawkins was more than a little anxious.

“It’s just we’re screwed,” Beth finished for him with a sigh of her own.

“You said it, not me,” Jim replied quickly.

“You didn’t have to say it, you were practically telegraphing it. I know your faces, J. I know that you’re privately thinking we’re fucked whenever you scrunch your eyebrows together like that,” Beth sighed.

“Scrunch my eyebrows together?” Jim asked, looking bewildered. “I didn’t realize I did that.”

“Well, you do,” Beth replied. “Like this.”

She furrowed her brows together purposely and set her lips into a deep frown, copying his expression. Jim’s eyebrows rose as he studied her and his mouth opened, making him look like a gaping fish.

“I do not look like that,” he said with a shake of his head.

“You totally do,” Beth responded, trying to keep from snickering.

“If you two don’t shut up soon, we’re going to separate you,” Mulan called from in front of them, rearing back to glare at them.

“I feel like I’m in grade school again,” Beth muttered under her breath.

“They bound you and dragged you in grade school?” Jim asked in disbelief.

“No, but me and my friend Sylvie were constantly being yelled at to shut up,” Beth replied with a small chuckle.

“Ah. That I can believe,” Jim grinned. “You are a bit on the loquacious side, love.”

“Are you calling me a Chatty Kathy, Hawkins?” Beth asked in amusement.

“A chatty what?” He looked confused.

“That’s it!” Mulan fumed, stopping and turning around. She jerked the rope, causing both Beth and Jim to stumble a bit. “Emma! Snow! Stop, we’re doing a prisoner switch because these two can’t stop plotting together.”

“We weren’t plotting,” Beth responded with a roll of her eyes. “Believe me, neither of us can plot to save our lives. Our battle plans last like two seconds. We’re more the make-it-up-as-we-go-along type.”

“I honestly don’t care, you’re just annoying me,” Mulan responded with her own eye roll. “You’re definitely going up front. You’ve got a mouth on you and I don’t appreciate it.”

“Really?” Beth smirked. “Most people do.”

Jim groaned beside her.

“You really couldn’t keep that one to yourself, could you?” he asked with a shake of his head.

“You know me too well,” Beth replied cheekily.

“I’m so not dealing with this anymore,” Mulan growls before shoving her rope at Emma. “You deal with her.”

“You’re seriously making me deal with Captain Flirt and Little Miss Flirt as a collective?” Emma groaned. “They’re just going to be flirting the entire time and it’s going to be gross.”

“Trust me, you don’t have to worry about that with him,” Beth muttered under her breath.

“You wound me, Black Swan,” Hook grinned, leering at her.

“Black Swan? Where the fuck did you get Black Swan?” Beth asked with a raise of her eyebrows.

“Well, you’re a Swan and she’s a Swan,” Hook said, tilting his head towards Emma. “She’s the Gold Swan because of her gorgeous blonde locks and you’re the Black Swan because of your own beautiful black hair. Being between the two of you lovelies…well, that’s just every man’s fantasy.”

Beth pulled a face and looked to Jim for support, but found her companion was biting his lip to keep from busting a gut. She glared at him. Nothing about this situation was funny. It was gross; so gross that not even Game of Thrones would touch it. Or maybe they would. The jury was still out on that one.

“If you let me out of this bind, I will beat him for you,” Beth remarked to Emma with pursed lips.

“Tempting, but no,” Emma remarked. “We need him. You, on the other hand, are expendable so I would be on my best behavior.”

Beth sighed. She had the strong urge to scream again.

“Don’t worry, love, I’ll wear you down, both you and the other gorgeous Swan,” Hook smirked.

“Keep dreaming,” Beth bit with a roll of her eyes.

“Now that’s something you don’t have worry about,” Hook winked.

Beth blanched, but said nothing. She didn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire. She couldn’t help but wonder how her father would react to see his younger self acting so aggressively flirtatious with his own daughter; knowing him, he would probably be mortified and run himself through with his sword.

They moved forward again, this time with Beth walking next to Hook instead of Jim. She tried not to look at him, but she couldn’t help herself. It was so strange to see him look so young. Her father had always been a handsome man, but as long as Beth could remember her father had silver hair, noticeable laugh lines and crow’s feet. Her father was a man that smiled with both his lips and his eyes and was full of warmth.

This man smirked but his eyes had a hardness to them that Beth had never experienced before. It made her feel cold. On top of that, she felt more like she was staring at shorter and skinnier version of her brother than her father. She always knew that Harrison had an eerie resemblance to him, but she never really saw it until now. Though Harrison was not one for leather nor did he swagger, not like Hook. It was just a strange experience.

“You said you were a pirate,” Hook said after a moment.

“I am,” Beth confirmed, trying to keep her answers short.

He snorted in disbelief. Beth nearly gaped at the sound.

“You don’t believe me?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

Hook smirked at him, his eyes slowly taking in her form. It made her skin crawl. No father should look at their daughter like that. Ever.

“Well, you look the part, but there’s more to it than that,” Hook replied, licking his lips. “I think you believe you’re a pirate, but you strike me as more as some rich noble’s spoiled daughter who is rebelling against Daddy in hopes he’ll pay attention to you.”

Beth’s nostrils flared.

“Is that what you think?” she asked tightly.

“You’re too well-bred and too demanding to be anything else, love,” he smirked.

“You think I’m well-bred? My mother would heartily disagree with you,” Beth replied tersely. “And too demanding? You wouldn’t say that if I was a man.”

“If you were a man, I would say you’re an ass,” Hook replied. “Take it as a compliment, love. I like demanding women. They know what they want and they don’t keep you guessing.”

“If my hands weren’t bound, I would run you through,” Beth responded. “You know nothing.”

“No,” he agreed. “Not yet, but I’ll learn. You wear your emotions on your sleeve. Makes you a bit of an open book.”

Beth nearly stopped at his words.

“Fuck you,” she spat.

“I’m delighted with the offer, love, but a man likes to be wooed,” Hook responded easily.

She made a noise of frustration. Beth honestly couldn’t believe how much of an asshole he was. She couldn’t believe this infuriating man would someday be her father; the man who was patient and taught her how to fight, tucked her in at night with a gentle kiss and sometimes even braided her hair. She saw nothing of that man in this one. It made her heart sink more into her chest.

“Given up already, love?” Hook taunted. “That doesn’t seem like you.”

“You don’t know me,” Beth replied snappishly.

“I’m starting to. Like I said, open book,” Hook replied easily. “Shall I prove it?”

“Something tells me that you’re going to anyway,” she replied dryly.

“Quite right,” he grinned. “Like I said, you’re wealthy. Lived well. Well-bred and used to people following your orders. You like being in charge, but you also crave danger. Hence the interest in piracy and your current…risky business. Though you’ve got some steel to you. You’re not a fragile flower or you would be complaining about the rope burns by now.”

Beth couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.

“What’s so funny?” Hook asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Steel,” she mused aloud without much thinking. “Dad says that too. He says that I was born with stars in my eyes, steel in my bones and the sea in my veins.”

“I’m guessing dear sweet Daddy is a merchant sailor?”

Beth couldn’t help it; she laughed heartily at that, amusement dancing in her eyes. Merchant sailor? Beth couldn’t imagine the man in front of her nor her father being happy with that descriptor.

“No. Not at all,” Beth snickered. “My old man was a pirate. My mother could be considered noble though, I guess. But my old man would be insulted to be called that.”

Her own mother would have been insulted by the descriptor as well, but regardless of how she felt about, Emma Swan was technically a noble considering she was born a princess.

“Hence the desire for piracy, then. I was right, a Daddy’s Girl. A pirate absconding himself a noble lady. He must be the quite the legend,” Hook mused.

“He is in his own mind,” Beth snorted.

“Your father suffers from delusions of grandeur?”

“Some would say so…” she snickered, licking her own chapped lips as she smirked.

“As entertaining as this conversation has been,” Emma said dryly, turning back to look at him. “I need Hook.”

“I knew you would warm up to me, love,” Hook smirked, arching a rakish eyebrow. “How do you want me?”

Beth was used to her father flirting with her mother. Normally she gave as good as she got and her younger brother Neddy would pretend to gag, causing them all to laugh. However, this Emma Swan was unmoved and unimpressed. She didn’t smile, just huffed in impatience.

“Cut the crap,” Emma said shortly. “Are we going in the right direction or not? How far are we from the compass?”

“We’re going in the right direction, so don’t you worry, love,” Hook replied easily. “We are just a few hours walk.”

“A few hours walk,” Emma repeats. “How much are we talking?”

“Judging by our pace, another five or six hours, give or take,” he said with a small frown.

“Five or six hours? How the hell do you know where we’re going then!” Emma demanded, looking more and more irritated.

“Don’t insult me, Swan,” Hook replied with a scoff. “I’m a seafaring man. I know my sense of direction. The compass is north. And north is that way!”

Hook pointed in the direction in front of them with his bound hands.

“And how do you know that?” Emma hissed. “It’s not like you have a GPS.”

“GPS?” Hook looked bewildered.

“He knows because every moron knows that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west,” Beth replied with a roll of her eyes. She gestured towards the sky with her head. “It’s late and the sun is in that direction. That’s west. He’s right, we’re going north.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Emma snapped.

“No, but that’s the answer nonetheless,” Beth replied with a snort.

“We should make camp here for the night…” Snow White said, breaking the tension between the three of them. “Sun is setting in maybe an hour or so. Walking in the dark is a bad idea. Best to continue this tomorrow.”

“Here? Really?” Emma asked, raising her eyebrow at her mother.

“Why not?” Snow White replied with a shrug. “I mean, it’s not the best place to camp but it’s also not the worst.”

Emma let out a heavy sigh before handing the ropes off to Snow White and pulling out her sword. She paused only to give Hook and Beth a dirty look.

“Watch them, I’ll make sure the area is secure and we haven’t been followed,” Emma commanded, scanning their surroundings and pressing her sword through the bushes.

“You think Cora’s following us?” Snow White questioned.

“Possibly. Probably not, but you never know, maybe Will Turner is,” Emma replied almost jokingly.

Beth stiffened at her words; her heart aching in her chest. She was a fucking idiot. She should have chosen a different name. She hadn’t been thinking about the Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner romance when she had made the Keira Knightly character her chosen alias. It had been in oversight of epic proportions.  

Emma immediately noticed her reaction and her joking demeanor grew more serious.

“So there’s a Will Turner then.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

At one point in Beth’s life, she had an excellent poker face. However, it appeared that was no longer the case. Another unwelcome change in her life since Will’s passing.

“Will Turner?” Snow White questioned, brows furrowed.

“Will Turner,” Emma repeated, and it felt like another knife to Beth’s gut. “The epic trio slash love triangle of Jack Sparrow, Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner in the movies. I wasn’t certain there was one, but her face says it all.”

Beth closed her eyes. She didn’t them open to know that Emma was gesturing to her. She swallowed sharply. If her skin felt like it had been crawling when Hook had looked at her, it now felt like it was running off her bones.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” Emma asked, nudging Beth’s shoulder with her blade.

“He’s not here,” Beth said roughly.

“I find that hard to believe,” Emma snorted. “If your relationship is anything like the movies, he wouldn’t let you out of his sight.”

“That was true once upon a time,” Beth replied, biting her lip and opening her eyes. She stared her would-be mother in the eye. “But that’s no longer possible.”

“Why?” Emma asked, her voice demanding.

“Because he’s dead,” Beth snapped. Despite trying to keep her composure, all the anger and all the pain came out.

The eye contact between them was long and uncomfortable especially when Beth wanted nothing more than to scream. Whatever Emma saw in her, Beth didn’t know, but she gave her a quiet stiff nod. She put her sword back in its sheath.

Out of the corner of her eye, Beth could see Hook looking at her strangely. She straightened her back, making a point not to look at him or anyone. She couldn’t handle it right now. She felt like a livewire, vulnerable and raw.

“If we’re going to stay here tonight, we’re going to need to secure them,” Emma said, gesturing to Hook, Beth and Jim. “Tie them to the tree or something.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Mulan said, jerking Jim forward with his rope. “I’ll secure him. Then the girl and then Hook, if Snow will assist.”

“I have no problem with that,” Snow White replied, looking at Beth and Hook out of the corner of her eye distastefully.

Beth was used to her grandmother looking at her in disappointment or exasperation. They never really clicked. Snow’s idea of bonding was shopping for frilly dresses, having heartfelt conversations and talking about how to style Beth’s hair. Beth preferred talking about sword techniques, trying to climb up trees one-handed and out drinking her “cousins.” They loved each other, they just weren’t close. In all of Beth’s years, her grandmother had never looked at her like she was something distasteful like she was right now. It made her feel even more hollow.

“What can I do?” Aurora asked.

“Sit and be quiet,” Emma replied with little patience.

“But I want to help!” Aurora insisted and the whiny tone in her voice gritted on Beth’s nerves.

“Then collect firewood,” Snow White said in a cool and patient tone.

“Just collect firewood?” Aurora asked, slightly offended with being given such a menial task.

“Aurora, just do it,” Emma snapped.

“Don’t talk to her like that!” Mulan hissed at Emma, eyes flashing.

“We don’t have time to coddle her. We need to get settled so we get moving quicker. I want that compass and to get back to my son. Nothing else. I’m not here to play nice,” Emma replied, narrowing her eyes at Mulan.

“How much do you want to bet that we could take the lot of them, love?” Hook’s voice murmured in Beth’s ear.

Beth nearly jumped out of her skin. She didn’t realize he was that close to her. It was unnerving that he had managed to get this far into her personal space without her notice. For the time during this entire insane experience, she felt genuinely wary of him.

“It’s three trained swords against one trained sword, a bowman and two unskilled women is good odds,” she muttered back. “But I’m not staging a break away. That’s not my game here.”

“We don’t need the navy man, love,” Hook whispered. “Just you and me. The princess is more of a burden than help to them. The brunette seems feisty but soft. The other Swan, while gorgeous, isn’t familiar with a sword as you cleverly pointed out earlier. The warrior is the tricky one, but we could manage.”

“In a hypothetical situation, sure,” she responded. “I’m not leaving him. I can’t leave him. He wouldn’t leave me. Not now. Not ever. Even though he should. And I’m not doing this. So, forget it.”

“What if I told you I could bring you to a treasure unlike your wildest dreams? A true giant’s horde, we’re talking. I think we could make quite the team, love. I think you’d find me a better and more exciting companion that big, tall and boring back there. What do you say?” he replied, stepping closer into her space.

Beth took a step back, glaring at him.

“I would say that you have no idea just how big my wildest dreams are,” she said firmly. “And no. It’s not happening, Hook. Besides, I thought you didn’t think I was a real pirate. What did you call me? A rich noble’s daughter rebelling against her father in hopes he would look at her?”

“I misjudged you,” Hook admitted.

“You could be misjudging me now,” she responded, turning away to watch Mulan tie up Jim. He wasn’t focused on his captor at all, but watching Beth and Hook warily.

“No…I don’t think so. Just answer me this…How did he die? Your Will?”

Beth sucked on her teeth at the question. If her hands hadn’t been tied, she would have punched him.

“Swann? How did he die?” Hook asked again, more insisted.

Beth let in a heavy breath, debating in her head whether or not she should answer him. His bound hands nudged at her side. He wouldn’t let himself be ignored. She hated him for it, but it was typical of her father. He refused to let her be if he knew she was upset. This man wasn’t her father though, not yet.

“He was killed. A spell meant for me killed him,” she monotonously.

“His killer?”

“She breathes…for now,” she whispered.

“You don’t want treasure. You want revenge,” Hook said softly, looking at her with sudden understanding. She wanted to hit him even more for it.

“I want justice,” she said firmly.

“Sometimes they’re the same thing, love.”

Beth didn’t get a chance to respond as Mulan somehow materialized at her side and jerked her towards a tree adjacent from where Jim was situated. She winced slightly as she was pushed roughly against the tree.

“You think you would be a bit more thoughtful considering that we willingly surrendered,” Beth muttered under her breath.

“Maybe, but I don’t like you,” Mulan responded easily.

Beth rolled her eyes, but said nothing. She watched as Aurora carelessly tossed sticks into the middle of the camp. She nearly snorted. It reminded her of the time they went camping and Neddy pouted constantly at being handed small tasks because he wasn’t as “big” as the rest of them. The thought of Neddy made her heart yearn for home, her real home. She wanted her mother to run her fingers through her hair and unknot the tangles. She wanted her father to cuddle her and whisper a story that she had heard a million times before. She wanted Harrison playing his guitar and singing to her something off a Jimi Hendrix album and Wes to crack a snarky joke while Neddy placed a whoopee cushion under someone’s chair.

Most of all she wanted Will and his radiant smile; the one that took up his entire face and made the corners of his eyes crinkle. She wanted to hear the laugh of pure joy he made that one time after they swam in the ocean naked during a warm afternoon on his family’s private beach. She wanted his kisses that were like a rip tide; taking you by surprise and pulling you in before you even had the chance to comprehend how it happened. But Will was gone and he wasn’t coming back.

And if she didn’t think fast, she wouldn’t get back to her family. Her real family. Not these people who were, but weren’t because those events hadn’t happened to them yet.

“Beth…” Jim called softly. “Are you okay?”

And for the first time in six months, Beth answered that question honestly. Whether it was because it was Jim, who had always been her rock and seen her at her lowest, asked or if she answered without truly thinking about it for once, she didn’t know. However, there something both liberating and almost physically painful about it.

“No. I’m not.”

[vegalocity]

Reunited (Red Groom AU)

This is the part where you guys realize i'm not going in chronological order and am probably just gonna do the scenes i like

but like who cares right that just means we're skipping to the good stuff

Also i combined the battle of wits and the Reuniting scene bc this is my AU and i do what i want

--

In a cruel turn of fate, when the Spider Queen stood alone between him and his most hated foe, the Red Prince wished he still had either the large blue fellow or the dragon with them still. At least the two of them were slightly more amenable to him. And maybe while they couldn't be persuaded to take these wretched restraining cuffs from his wrists they at least were better conversational partners than the half mad Spider Queen.

Tethered to the spider woman as he was at the time, when she began to mutter aloud to herself about trying to lose the Monkey King over a secret way, he had no choice but to follow as she dragged him off of the forest path and into a clearing. He'd assumed she'd gone mad, but before he could voice such opinions she'd spun a quick web and used it to blind and gag him. She'd activated the damned cuffs and finding himself unable to move on his own, he could only comply.

He could rely on naught but his hearing as the Spider Queen dragged him across the open plain and forced him to sit upon what felt to be a long felled tree trunk. He heard her arrange things with the shift and clang of cloth and metal, and soon enough he heard approaching footsteps.

One of her pointed legs pressed up underneath him, the tip just grazing where his chin met his neck.

“So, Monkey King, it's down to you and I once again.” She purred and he let out a shout of rage at finally finally being so close to the monkey who'd taken away his everything but unable to move or even look upon the face of that wretched foe.

“-By all means if you want the prince dead, come closer.” The point of the Spider Queen's leg pressed a little harder against him.

“Give me a moment, let me explain-” The Monkey King started, tense and rough and possessing none of the cocky lit his father had described it as in the stories he'd heard-

“There's nothing to explain!” The Spider Queen crowed. “You're trying to kidnap what I've rightfully stolen!”

“Per...haps an arrangement can be reached?” Why did the Monkey King even want him enough to not have grown bored and moved on? Some sort of assumed loyalty to his father? As if he'd go anywhere with the monster that had taken his-

No. Stop. Stop thinking about it, now's not the time.

The Spider Queen thought so too, he felt a small prick on his neck as she broke the skin there just a bit he let out a muffled yelp in surprise as she grabbed his arm for better leverage. “There will be none. And if you do not wish to bring a corpse back to his family you will remain where you are.”

The Monkey King's voice wavered, and for a moment it sounded afraid... and almost familiar-... No. don't you dare compare him to the monkey who killed him.

“Well... if no arrangement can be made, this is quite the impasse we've reached.”

“I would say so. If you went about swinging that staff I'd likely be squashed flat, yet if you dared do so your prize's blood will stain the soil before you finished the swing. Your brawn is unparalleled 'Great Sage' But so is my intelligence.”

“You're that smart, hm?”

“Whose the one holding the prize, Monkey King?” She gripped his arm tighter.

“Well, In that case how about a battle of wits?” There was that cocky lit. No doubt the Monkey had a trick up his sleeve to take care of the Spider Queen-

“For the prince?”

-and then if he could just play nice for long enough to get him to remove these damned restraining cuffs he could-

“To the Death?”

-he could charge at the simian with every ounce of pain and rage he'd built up in the past two years and turn him to ash and whatever smoldering stone he was made from that remained stone yet.

“I accept.”

He just had to be patient a little longer.

“Wonderful! Pour the wine, please?”

This would possibly be his greatest test of resolve yet. He heard the Monkey's footsteps approaching and as the creature drew near he smelled of peaches and the wind, and-...

Had- Had he stolen some of his beloved's clothes?!

His senses were stronger than an average humans and without his sight his other senses were sharpening and he could swear he smelled the distinct scent of-...of-....don't say his name don't even think it you don't have the time to be hysterical right now

-He didn't think he was CAPABLE of hating the Monkey King even more than he already did and yet here he was. His rage mounting and seething beneath his skin.

He heard the clack and pour as the wine sloshed into what were apparently two cups between his captor and his enemy.

“Smell this, but don't touch it.”

“This smells of nothing.”

“It's called Iocane powder. It has no smell, taste or distinctive texture but it can kill a demon in no time flat.”

“Hm.”

“Now it can't kill ME per se, but even I'm not fully immune to it. It'll put me into a sleep like death for a solid week, which is about as close to dead as I can get anyway.”

“Ahhh I see where you're going with this.”

There was another pause, and the sound of the two cups clinking as they were moved about.

“There. Which cup as the poison within? You select which you'll take, we both drink. And from there we see who has the custody of the prince, and who is dead.”

The Spider Queen laughed and released her hold on his arm to clap in her amusement.

“Truly? We both drink the wine and see who keels over? How delightful! You were never this collected with your gambits before, Great Sage! Truly I can only divine which cup is poisoned from what I know of you, Monkey King.” the Monkey King sucked in a breath and She laughed.

“I suppose the real question is how does the Monkey King go about when he plans on tricking people? Does he poison his own goblet or his enemies?”

Then the Spider Queen began on some long, painfully winded, tirade about what she'd divined about the Monkey King based on his reputation and what she'd gleaned from his behavior, and he honestly could not care about her backwards thought process one whit. He simply wished for this to be over and either make plans to return to this palace when the Great Sage was in his sleep like death and char him to a crisp or wait for the Spider Queen to fall dead and convince the Monkey King to free him so he may do the job himself.

“You're trying to confuse me into giving something away aren't you?”

“You'd LOVE that wouldn't you Monkey King? I know which goblet has the poison in it you great fool.”

“Then choose! Geez, this is boring me!”

“You'll see whose embarrassed soon enou- What in the world could that be?”

“What? Where?” Did.... Did the Monkey King really just fall for the 'look behind you' gambit? “I see nothing.”

...Really?

“I could have sworn I saw something- oh nevermind I suppose. Now, a toast. I select my own cup.”

“Very well.” the two cups clacked together dully.

“You chose wrong.” The Monkey King chortled, only to be cut off by the Spider Queen's cackle.

“You only BELIEVE I chose wrong! How humorous! The great and mighty Monkey King so easily duped!” the Spider Queen cackled “I switched our glasses as you were turned around Monkey King! You've fallen for one of the greatest blunders of them all! The Greatest of course being to never invade the far north nearing winter, but slightly less well known, is to never bet against a Spider when death is on the line!”

The Spider Queen laughed for a time longer before her laughter started to slowly dissolve into a coughing fit. Her hand scrabbled along his arm as she searched for purchase- and then fell away.

The Monkey King approached him and he most certainly HAD stolen the clothes of his beloved with the scent that clung there still—and oh how he'd wished he'd still have a remnant of him to remember with in his timeless eon of grief—and the sheer unbridled unfairness that his killer was allowed something that he so desperately had craved made him furious.

The Monkey King removed the webbing around his eyes first and he blinked in the sudden sunlight. The dark mask and head wrapping the Monkey King wore obscured the majority of his face and he found himself so full of rage at the idea of the wretched stone monkey being so close to him that once the webbing was torn from his mouth his first instinct had been to spit in his face.

He hadn't, but it had been a close call.

“....All that caterwauling and you knew you'd poisoned your own cup the whole time.”

“They were both poisoned, highness.” The Monkey King stated stiffly. “Iocane powder only works on demons and I'm immune to everything but what can kill an immortal... so you may not want to touch either of those cups yourself.”

The Monkey King reached for his bindings and he held his breath as he gave the shackles an experimental tug. The golden bands shuddered and tightened against his wrists. “What nature of binding are these?”

...just play nice, just until they're broken...“I'm not familiar with them myself, but they blast my own fire back onto me should I try to summon it, and tighten upon attempted removal.” Come on... if anyone could break them before they lopped his hands off it would be the Monkey King... and he'd thank him by giving him just what he deserves....

“Sounds like a stolen artifact from the heavenly court or something, you're probably stuck in those things until we return to Flower Fruit Mountain.”

“...Excuse me?”

“Well I know very little about the surrounding area, how short a time it's been since I've returned to the world, and if I remember correctly this mercenary group said themselves they were hired by your fiance, So we should probably assume his palace is hostile territory, and to send you home would surely double our journey time before we can be assured of safety. It's far safer to head back to my own mountain and send word to your home from there.”

No...No no no no That was not allowed. He got to his feet—in such a rush the Monkey King stumbled back in surprise—and couldn't hold on to his temper any longer.

“I will no nowhere with you! You- You absolute-! I- I can't even find the words to DESCRIBE how deeply my hatred runs for you!” The Monkey King flinched back in surprise, before huffing.

“Well you don't have much of a choice, do you? I can't remove those restraints short of chopping your hands off and the sun is due to set soon; How long do you think you'll last in the wild without your fire power? Far as I see it, You either return with me to my mountain, or leave as powerless as a human without even a weapon by your side and hope to make it back home on your own before you're either eaten or slaughtered.”

Red Son growled under his breath, but when the Monkey King gestured for him to follow, he did.

They made it to the outer side of a mountain, a steep decline into the valley off on their side and in the center of the valley lie a dark and tangled forest.

“We can rest here for a time-”

“I refuse to put my guard down around you, ape.” The Monkey King bristled.

“Would you mind terribly to indulge me as to why you've decided to detest your own savior, highness?”

The horrid monkey should know what he's done- “You killed the love of my life”

And then the bastard had the gall to remain unshaken “Maybe I did. I've killed a lot of people since getting free.” The Monkey strode forward and began to circle him, like a predator toying with its prey.

Red Son decided he wouldn't need his fire to attack this creature. Sure he may die within moments, but his rage would at least let him one punch before his skull was split open-

“Tell me, who was this 'love' of yours? Another prince like yourself?” The Monkey King leaned in. “Rich? Cutthroat? Bossy?”

Of all the disrespectful- “He worked in an Inn when I knew him! He was poor!” He rounded on the disgraceful simian yet the killer before him wasn't his focus. “I didn't care about his wealth!”

He couldn't think on him or he'd fall to pieces and-

He couldn't-

“I never cared about that.”

The memory of gentle laughter echoing in his ear, the bright excitement and bounce in his step, those elegant yet calloused hands and he had to stop this right here because the Monkey King wasn't ALLOWED to see him so vulnerable-

“He was perfect in every way...”

Yet now that the memory was in his head again it wasn't going away. And he found his heart aching as deeply as it was during his period of mourning.

The shimmer of adoration when he'd simply glanced at him briefly and known his heart; the embarrassed way his gaze had darted away when he'd later confronted him on his discovered feelings, the warm, bright joy when he'd told him his feelings were returned-

“...With eyes like the space between the stars...” His voice had grown weaker, barely a murmur as the memories reclaimed their long repressed spot in his mind.

Xiaotian... his face, his voice, His passion and energy and-

And the tired look on the Inkeep's husband's face when he'd informed him of their son's death-

-The eager excited look on his face as he'd eagerly listen to Red Son talk about his projects, always listening even if he didn't understand.

The feeling of the floor falling out from under him and and a million horrible noises and feelings mounting up in his throat and chest but restraining it just long enough to find somewhere to be alone

-The energy in his voice as he talked about his art, looking for all the world like his greatest pleasure in the world was taking a brush into his hand and immortalizing the world around him into inks and papers.

Kneeling in the grove of trees for hours screaming his rage and sobbing his despair until a stranger had finally found him.

-The stories he loved to hear and tell in turn, entire body going into his storytelling as he gestured and enacted and faked fights

Night after sleepless night tirelessly working trying to—needing to—just stop thinking else he'd be able to do nothing but wish the world itself had died when Xiaotian had so at least the sun would stop rising and the birds would stop singing and the servants would stop bringing him meals he didn't have the appetite for and he could just work and work until his body finally collapsed in on itself and the light of his forge would go out blanketing the world in eternal darkness like it deserved to be after the greatest light of them all was extinguished.

-one picture, just one, given to him the one time he'd returned to the town by the Inkeep, stating in a gruff, tired voice that he may as well keep it. A figure done up in coals, his own visage of that one beautiful night they'd had together, the paper folded and held in a secret pocket right over his heart where it remained forevermore.

That final goodbye, Xiaotian pressing a feather light kiss to his knuckles as though still trying to be respectful to a prince. And he couldn't suppress the laughter at such a overly fancy action so once his chuckles had subsided he'd pulled him into a proper kiss. And they'd both known it would be some time before they'd see eachother, so they made it a proper goodbye-

But he hadn't thought it would be the last time he'd ever see him alive.

If he'd known... all the things he would have said, all the pleas to keep him there with him in the little town just beyond the palace. To- To move him into the palace, and yes his parent's wouldn't approve of a peasant for a husband, but he'd have no other and eventually they'd come around to it. Especially after they actually MET him and knew the kind of man he was-

But he didn't. And Xiaotian was dead-

He was dead at the hands of someone he'd admired and loved the stories of.

And his rage returned. The fire burned beneath his skin and begged to be let loose but he had to keep a lid on it to keep the cuffs from bouncing his power back onto himself and burning away like an effigy of love and loss.

“He was staying in the village you burned to the ground when you left your traveling group.” his voice was low, as calm as he could possibly make it, if he went any louder he would begin screaming, he knew it. “The one you ensured none would live to tell about beyond your former friends-”

“'Friends' is such a heavy word. My 'traveling compatriots' perhaps would work better.” The Monkey King interrupted him -He interrupted him! “And I mean I couldn't afford to show any mercy while I was leaving them behind! If people thought the Monkey King had gone soft after his five hundred year imprisonment nobody would respect him! Then it's nothing but work work work to rebuild that reputation!”

“Are you mocking me?! You destroy my everything and you have the gall to mock my pain?!”

“Oh, Life is pain highness.” He couldn't see the Monkey King's eyes but he was sure they were mockingly rolling in his self-assured life knowledge. “Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is just selling you something.”

Then he looked off to the side, and he was so tempted to just charge the Monkey, see how far he could go before he was struck back. See how far his rage could carry him alone. He twisted the restraining cuffs on his wrists, they tightened, he grit his teeth at the squeeze.

“You know, I think I remember this inkeep boy of yours. I separated from my former group about... what, two years ago was it?”

...You know he'd thought that if the Monkey King did remember Xiaotian it would give him some sense of catharsis. That his love had at least made an impression on the great fool, and was not just some faceless passerby, but...

It didn't.

“Does it bother you to know?”

“I'll not give you the satisfaction of hearing any more of my thoughts on the matter.”

“Well, he died well if that's any consolation.” The Monkey King was peering at him through the mask. “No bribe attempts with those meager savings, no blubbering. He pleaded his case to me only the once.” he looked away, seemingly lost in the memory, head tilted upward as though to help him remember. “He said 'Please... I need to live'...Not a lot of people say 'please' and mean it highness, so it gave me pause.”

“I asked him what was worth sparing him over, and I remember this, he said 'True Love'” His chest felt tight...

He reached up a hand and pressed it against his collarbone to try and alleviate the pressure, he could practically see it, the village up in flames, the Monkey King in this same hideous black outfit, his staff already stained with blood, and his precious, darling, beloved Noodle Boy kneeling in the dirt, blood seeping down his face from a cut somewhere on his head, and pleading just for a moment. And-

True love...

“He then went on to describe a gentlemen of great intelligence and deep passion; I can only assume he meant you...Have to say, I'm surprised you're not grateful to me destroying him when I did.”

His mind stuttered to a stop, his entire train of thought completely derailed as the Monkey King spoke.

“...What?”

“You know, before he could see the kind of person you really are.”

His control snapped in half, his fire sprung forth, the golden bands shuddered and the flames erupted out only for a moment before being bounced back onto him. The heat of his own fury scalding him until the pain made him stop. The Monkey King took a half step forward but Red Son made SURE he kept his distance with his glare alone.

“And what, pray tell, kind of person am I?!”

It seemed like he'd finally pissed off the Monkey King. Good. His shoulders tensed and those long canines bared, as though ready to tear into him. “He was really stuck on the idea that you were the faithful sort, highness. That no matter what, yours wasn't the kind of heart that could be swayed! He was so sure that you would wait for him-”

Wait- why was that what had angered him?

“-So tell me, when you learned of your 'love's death did you start accepting suitors the next day or did you wait a full week out of respect for the dead?!”

His hand went flying before he even thought about it, he should have punched him; if that was his only shot in he should have punched him, but his reflexes had decided the action for him and instead his palm was out and he'd slapped him instead.

“How dare you?! You mocked me once see if you live to do it again!”

But he wasn't thinking about that, he wasn't thinking about anything beyond the pain that had gone from a dull ache to white hot in his chest, the absolute blinding rage and the sting of tears welling in his eyes from the sheer tidal wave of anger and despair.

“I DIED THAT DAY”

The tears turned to steam the second they left his eyes, smoldering trails out of either, just barely able to vent that little bit of flame into the world without hurting him but he didn't care if the proof of his despair was made obvious by it or not.

He didn't care about any of it. He didn't care he couldn't summon a single plume of fire or how completely eclipsed his ability was by the Monkey King's without it, and possibly even with his it. He only cared about making him pay. He pounced on the monkey when he seemed stunned by his vehemence.

The scuffle was brief but he DID get another hit in before he was pinned. This time it was a real punch, and it was just as satisfying as he'd hoped it would be.

But too soon was he pinned, The monkey pressing his front to the ground, a knee between his shoulder blades and his hands held together against the small of his back.

He let out a shout of rage, not even bothering to try and give any more words, no more words were necessary.

“Calm down! You need to listen-!”

The steam was clouding his eyes so greatly he was nearly blind with it, his fire was trying to come out unbidden to throw off his opponent, the scalding agony rippling through his body proof of such. But he was numb to it beyond it fueling his anger even further; maybe if he just burnt hot enough he could melt the cuffs right off of him. Everything was hurting, his clothes were going to be a holey mess, but he could smell cooking meat and he could only hope it was the monkey above him. He HAD to burn the Monkey King first. Even if he was immolated himself in the process!

“The only thing I'd like to listen to is your demise! You-! You wretched ape! You heartless horsekeeper! You took my everything you don't deserve the breath you stole from his lungs!” His own lungs ached, was it through holding back sobs? Was he experiencing smoke inhalation for the first time? He couldn't tell.

The pressure was off of his back and his hands were released, he made a blind swipe to try and right himself but his arms wouldn't obey him, and at that realization the pain finally kicked in.

The world went fuzzy at the edges, then dark at the edges. Until he could only see a small spot in front of him and the rest of his sight was naught but a haze of black.

Then everything was black-

It was probably his own flesh he could smell burning-

There was rapid muttering above him-

How embarrassing if this was what did him in, revenge in his grasp and he was too eager to kill the Monkey King right there he let cursed jewelry trick him into offing himself-

Someone was sobbing, was it him? He didn't think he had enough breath in his lungs for that-

The pain was going away, did that mean he was dying-

He tried to open his eyes, but he was still face down in the dirt and could only manage one, the former grassland around him was still smoldering from his fire as it eased back into focus, his breathing was ragged, and at some point his skin had stopped burning so hot, he felt cold.

The pain had eased but hadn't vanished, but the shock was still heavy in his system as he couldn't respond when he felt a pair of arms lift him up and pull him against a hard yet warm surface.

Dark fabric met his eye, and...he knew who this person was, didn't he? At some point in the writhing pain he'd forgotten just what he was doing here, mind going blank for everything but the burning sensation. But whoever they were they felt familiar. Their arms wrapped around his torso like they belonged there, as though the two of them were made to be like this.

The next thing that processed was the sound. His ear was pressed to the person's torso and he could hear the rabbit flutter of a panicked heartbeat. But nonetheless there was something... familiar about it. And alongside the heartbeat there was the vibration of words in the stranger's chest, but these he couldn't quite make out as their face was pressed against the top of his head, buried in his hair and making the words indecipherable.

It was then that his mind finally re-engaged and he realized that it was the Monkey King holding him so tenderly. His anger felt muted by the cold cold blanket of shock, but he still struggled in his grasp to pull away, if only to try and make sense of what was going on. If the Monkey King had such judgmental and inaccurate views of a man he'd never met before now, why was he doing this?

The Monkey King held him tight and he felt the shake of his shoulders as he was pressed even closer. Why was he shaking? He shifted again and this time found his face pressed against the dark fur of the Monkey's neck.

But it... felt off... it didn't feel real. It felt more like fabric with an illusion placed over it than it did actual fur...

The smell of burning flesh finally faded from his nose and was replaced with-

…What?

No that- that wasn't possible, he'd stolen Xiaotian's clothes sure but his face was pressed to the Monkey King's neck, that can't be his scent that can't be-

His arms were still aching as he reached up and found the knot tying the dark mask and headscarf around him. Both fabrics fluttered away and with them came a puff of a cloud of smoke, a shapeshifting form dissolving around him.

And he was pressed against a very human body.

This- this could still be a trap, this could be some sort of illusion to pacify him, so he wouldn't ask any more questions, so he'd just lose himself entirely-

The human—the alive human—clutching to him tightened his grip and he could finally make out the words he was muttering

“I'm so sorry never do that again you scared me to death I'm sorry I'm sorry-”

The cocky lit in his voice was gone and it sounded so achingly familiar without it, and the feeling and the scent and it- it couldn't be....

It had to be

It was a struggle, his arms still felt heavy from the echoes of pain and the numbness of realization, but he pulled away just enough to properly look at him and-

Oh...

Like the space between the stars...

“Xiaotian...”

He was crying, just beginning to pull himself together now. Pulling an arm off of him to scrub at that beautiful face. Those enchanting eyes he'd thought he'd never see again darted away from him and he wanted to protest at not being allowed to simply look at him after... after EVERYTHING... but he couldn't find breath in his lungs.

“I think your fiance's been tracking us- I hear horses. Can you walk?”

He tried to respond, he really did, but he found himself spellbound by the sound of his voice, just as he remembered it without the false persona twisting it until the point it had become unrecognizable.

“Red Son?” he shuddered at the sound of his own name being spoken by that voice again. So many emotions and memories, the hole in his chest finally being filled, and knowing without a shadow of a doubt this time he wouldn't let anything part them again still leaving him stunned. The fire was gone from his skin and finally, finally he felt one emotion beat the others and bubble up to the surface.

Red Son started to laugh. Tears bubbling up and sliding down his cheeks as true, overwhelming joy engulfed him. His arms ached and felt stiff from the burns he'd laid onto them but he pulled them around Xiaotian's shoulders all the same and squeezed with every ounce of strength that remained in his body.

“You're alive...” he wasn't sure if his laughter had turned to sobbing or if the two had simply mixed together but his breath was hitching and the tears wouldn't stop. “If you wanted I could fly”

Those arms pulled around him again and now he could truly appreciate just how easily the both of them fit together.

“I- I still don't understand, why did you accept the proposal if you still loved me?” Xiaotian's voice was a whisper against his shoulder, and he didn't want to think any more of his family's decisions and his hopeless acceptance, yet-

“My parents decided it, and what else could I have done?” he paused for breath “You were dead.”

Xiaotian responded with such conviction he had no choice but to instantly believe him:

“Death can't stop true love; it can only delay it for awhile.”

His lips were rougher than he remembered, but Red Son had no complaints upon kissing them again.

[victoriagloverstuff]

The Sound of Black Voices, The Sound of My Father

I. Who Will Build this Ark of Bones ?

Once upon a time I had a house full of cousins, convivial aunties, resounding uncles with gold belt-buckles and big happy teeth, a black grandmother who washed my hair in the sink and taught my mom how to cook greens so tender and comb through my coils. On Sundays we’d all be at the local Baptist church, the whole choir was blood, I would clap and spin and scoot up to the stage in a rile of girlhood and pride, dad would be leading everybody, being the commanding, larger-than-life, chief-of-a-loving tyrant that he could be, for the good times. Nothing mattered but the tone when he got to singing—no one should question the authority of a voice like that, the fear that it would go silent was enough to convince us to endure every scream.

One by one those bodies visiting our house turned into ghosts, figments of my imagination. Day by day our routine was slipping into disaster’s taunting shadow and it seemed everybody was waiting for dad to fulfill a prophecy and enter the afterlife, sing to us from the other side. When he did, his haunting compliance so well-timed it’s my eternal fable for unconventional acts of deep generosity, my mom and I were out in California having left the paradise of phantoms I called home for a safer environment, a less complicated dream. By the time we got word, our Iowa fairytale had turned into a Reparations graveyard.

Maybe they weren’t legal heirs to the rights to his songs but my grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins, deserved something—a gold record, a Stetson or fringed suede and denim jacket, one of his many guns packed in a suitcase like grams—that announced Jimmy was here, was ours. By the time it was my mom’s turn to look through the remaining belongings all that was left was her stuffed childhood monkey, Zip, some pictures and letters he’d written me and her in his broken penmanship, and a shoebox full of tapes he’d been keeping under their circular bed, recordings of his latest music.

Enough for a new beginning.

After all, his voice remained immortal, black with grief and guile, sweet and childlike, chills down the spine, gritty and remote, knowing when it’s time to tremble and when to be still in the low of limbo.

  II. Can’t You Hear It?

Listening, knowing one another by sound and voice, is the first law of black liberation—without this skill there is no self-preservation. From differentiating between urgent aggression and routine to separating moments of life-threatening anguish on a slaveship from the casual agony of another day in the hold, from deciphering the outcome of a session on the auction block through the cadence of those in attendance bidding in, to listening for the music of keys and shoes and rippling bills of sale and commands, all while still in disbelief at having become human contraband.

Next came the soul-threatening business of navigating life and forced labor on plantations, using the well-tuned ear of black survival to decode a symphony of footsteps, whips, Bible verses, moans, hisses, work chants, screams, hooflandings, rainfall, collapse, talking drum rising from the tap-rooted foot to the shamed skull, all of it echoing in the trapped and huddled sound of the English syllabics mangling in the planters’ mouths, acting as one of many indications that violently broken logic was the fulcrum of the West and would be used to keep black bodies in captivity in one form or another, for as long as circumstance or the bodies themselves would abide. And if we listened closely enough to that cacophony, we could detect within it the performance of hatred and domination used to mask the violent, obsessive, almost fanatical love American whites harbor for black bodies, black people, and everything we produce—how they tend to often covet and resent all otherness for the trance of envy or awe it strikes in them. We who hear this grand hypocrisy with our whole bodies are the first fugitives from it, running and not in fear.

“That box of tapes my dad left opened up a life of listening to the recorded voices of black people, developing almost pathological kinship with resonant timbres.”

We had to learn to listen through the wall of their deflected self-loathing on the road to turning their heroes and healers—us—into capital, before we could even hear ourselves think. We had to improvise small acts of subversion and freedom using our sensory attention and then project that provisional understanding of where we had been taken and why onto our own musical and spoken and mimed forms as we invented songs and styles of movement to relay the stories our hushed listening helped us gather and remember and invent. Our music became a form of collective listening and we used it to deliver dire messages as well as just to cope and retreat into beauty in otherwise-wretched places.

Learning to read could get us killed on plantations, but a literacy in rhythm and tone so acute we could communicate several very different intentions in one five-word arpeggiated blues phrase, was lost on those too literal, too evil to hear truths they didn’t comprehend: watchmen and slavers. And anything they could not ruin upfront became our grail, our pastime paradise, salvation. The improvisational musics we invented under those hyper-traumatic circumstances—deep listening projected outward, become mirrors to our jailers, deleting their obscene vanities, exposing them to themselves by inventing pure sonic opposition.

III. Alone Together

My own listening practice began early and as a matter of survival and generational reckoning, because I was born into a household brimming with music and conflict, to parents who were either up all night singing and testing chords on the piano, or up all night fighting, with little in between. Everyone was acting funny, all the adults around me were a little lost and crazy—so not only was I both spy and informant for both sides, I was ruthlessly neutral; no one seemed like a victim and at the same time everyone did, and l listened closely.

Before I was three, I’d learned to listen for quarreling between my parents and decipher its severity. I knew how to listen to figure out if dad was sleeping and if so, with or without the phone off the hook. I could tell by the energy in his voice what kind of mood he was in, manic or brooding, and I could tell if mom was hysterical by the pitch of her moments of catatonia. I had to listen to my own breathing or lack thereof to block them out, the acoustics of survival that traveled in my DNA were needed in my household, where the race and gender problems played themselves out in microcosm and became inverted: the black man was in charge here and also petrified of the creative power that guided his rule; the white woman was his willful slave and not meant to get away. I was the evidence of what they could not otherwise say, that life begets life and it’s okay.

I listened in my sleep, my subconscious a vigilante. I’m not exaggerating. I developed a kind of clairaudience that helped me remain one step ahead of the misguided adults around me, I could feel them unraveling acoustically before they knew a new shambles was closing in on them, and I could dazzle them with my innocence just enough to remind everyone who the child was, who was responsible for whom (though I also learned that it’s a blurry equation, responsibility, everyone is everyone’s burden). I had to be responsible for my own psychic protection and it made me feel close to my ancestors—before I even knew their story, I felt it, was guided by events I had not lived in this lifetime, and the guidance came in the form of sound awareness, a kind of keeness no one taught me, born of necessity. Listening offered the distance and dimension I needed to endure, it’s how I drew a boundary around my body in that chaotic space, how I came to be a form, why I am a destiny.

  IV. The Man’s Gone Now

There’s an undeniable connection between close listening and absence, a sense that something is missing or has been stolen from us and might be tiptoeing toward us in the night from an unnameable erotic distance, pursuing triumphant reunion. This quiet almost anti-social optimism needs a place to play hide and seek with fate and the song and the sound offer an idyllic landscape. For this reason we rarely broadcast (to the limited radio imagination) our deepest acoustic preoccupations, and the diasporic music that collective listening generates is not always guarded by anything besides generational memory.

In the West the only thing more jarring than being free-spirited enough to make something up as you go along and enjoy it, is the confidence to not spy on yourself while doing it, to not maintain a record of exactly what happened, to not write it down or find some other form in which to engrave every nuance of every event into a lifeless monument.

In Black culture the record is the memory and the memory is the body, so the record is the body, and when it changes form, the spirit, the soul, the feeling and stories and teachings are passed down body to body like trusts without much fear that they will be lost. Even now, as we are lost, we’re not always inclined to create static archives that might lead us back someplace that makes sense. Our archives have always been alive, entities, capricious and at risk and traveling with us and guarding our sense of meaning, the sonic territory we can draw from no matter where we happen to find ourselves, this way nothing ever really goes missing, there is no myth that cannot be repopulated and reborn in any moment. Though spiritually this makes us versatile giants, economically in America it means we don’t always possess the mixture of opportunism and self-esteem that inspires us to keep track of our sh*t in a culture that uses formal recordkeeping as another excuse for the distribution of capital and real estate.

“Listening, knowing one another by sound and voice, is the first law of black liberation—without this skill there is no self-preservation.”

At the same time I realized that the distribution of land and resources in the US was often manipulated by large institutions that invest a lot of money into buying archives, creating exclusive portals through which documented history can be accessed and studied and changed, I saw that my family’s ransacked home and all of the missing parts of my father’s legacy revealed more than just circumstance. With all of that information scattered among estranged family members, a man’s story becomes compartmentalized, eventually forgotten, unless someone does the work of telling it, recording it, gathering it all back in one place, as sound, as verbal action, as music’s own memory, as more music, as better listening.

For black people of the diaspora, that place is often on a vinyl record, because the truth for us remains in the sound. That box of tapes my dad left opened up a life of listening to the recorded voices of black people, developing almost pathological kinship with resonant timbres, and a feeling of brotherhood, sisterhood, toward people I had only heard on a record or tape.

Eventually, after years and years of that practice, I started making my own archives, assembling recordings of black voices in ways that defy typical archival logic simply because the data collecting is improvised and at the mercy of in-the-moment human interaction, what I can grab from one basement or closing record depot—our archives, like our listening, will be collectively improvised. When we finally accept the value of keeping autonomous records of our histories, and demand places to keep those records, places we ourselves own and run, when that demand is universal for diasporic artists, it will be collective improvisation, our shared black technology, that stirs it and ensures our success, lets us tonally recover what has been materially erased or made into ruins. We can make music with those ruins, reanimate them, listen and speak them into new forms.

V. A Brief History of My Improvised Listening

Stevie Wonder’s Ribbon in the Sky One of the first songs I remember hearing and listening to for hours on end was Stevie Wonder’s Ribbon in Sky. I was learning a dance to it and I think sometimes I left out a step on purpose so that my instructor would have to rewind the tape, because I loved that song that much. At home with my Walkman™ I would pace my room and mark the dance and trace the imaginary ribbon with my eyes like some kind of cat entranced by her own leash. I was a prisoner of the song’s somber fantasy and I loved waiting for the divots in Stevie’s tone—I loved the pacing, the whole composition. I guess it’s the first time I remember a song soothing a void I had otherwise ignored, filling in a missing space, running toward me in the dark carrying visions of my father and his mother, and that happy broken home in Iowa transported to Hollywood on the edge of Stevie’s we won’t lose, with love on our side.

Jimmy Holiday I’m Gonna Use What I Got, To Get What I Need Dad wasn’t just singing, he was crying and bargaining with eternity. To me, he had always been a king, always been glorious and formidable and in charge of everything, so hearing my dad talk about being born in a shack and struggling, and needing something from the world, was devastating and a relief. I heard this song on one of those tapes we managed to get away with, and I wore it out, studied it. I wanted to protect the boy he had been on that white man’s farm picking cotton, making weight, with no school to attend. I wanted to console him when he hopped a train to Louisiana and started recording and had to find women enamored enough to sit up nights and listen to him sing and write down the songs because he could not write them himself, had not been allowed the time to learn to read or write.

Eleven words that hit me like daggers. Dad had suffered, had been afraid, wounded, neglected, and was afraid to be loved even after all of his success. He remained, psychologically, the young black boy from the country who just wants to sing into the comfort of night and feel free. Listening to my dad describe prevailing over deprivation, I understood the interplay of vulnerability and violence he had used as a survival tactic; I observed men like him at every level of society, male archetypes who had to pretend to be tough and unruly in order to hide their dangerous sincerity. 

Minnie Ripperton’s Loving You I learned this ballad for another ballet solo, this one en pointe. I wore a cherry red unitard and stiff red pointe shoes to match, and was meant to glide across the dance floor like an erotic young nymph, an apparition, someone impossible, at least that’s what I told myself. I decided I was redefining beauty and the weightless bourrees and unwound turnings were my physical manifesto, my way of using my body to tell the world that I loved myself after all, that that love came easy, that I could relax and listen to birds chirping and not worry about some great tragedy lurking behind that mindless bliss.

Loving you, is easy ‘cause you’re beautiful, and everything that I do, is out of loving you. Dedicating this song and solo to myself made it clear to me that I needed my own love and attention, and also made me feel like a desired object of that universal gaze—I felt redeemed and more self-possessed than ever before in all that dance’s bloodred confidence. I didn’t know a black singer could sound so carefree, the way Minnie did, no grinding on her throat, no foreboding blues, just soft almost dainty relishing in common emotion. A new way of being was made available to me with her song, a happy disguise or a part of myself I felt the world unworthy of, my rapacious joy, the part of me I expose when I’m dancing had an analog in Minnie’s soft voicings, of pure unfettered romance.   

Billie Holiday In college, she was all I could hear over the self-important rhetoric of my philosophy seminars. I’d leave some critical theory course where we’d spent three hours discussing Freud’s concept of the Death Drive as it relates to warring nations in the throes of late capitalism, and I’d be nauseated. Did this compulsive violence deserve the dignity of high concepts? Not in my estimation. If we’re gonna talk about self-made martyrs and epic self-destruction fueled by displaced love and tenderness without talking about Billie Holiday we’re gonna be liars forever. Her crackling and medicinal tone was how I made it through that indoctrination in western thinking that we call a college education. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Foucault and Derrida and Joyce and them, but without Billie Holiday I might have told everyone about themselves more often than I already did (that white boyfriend I had to dump because he said, verbatim, “who actually listens to Billie Holiday,” like black culture was some kind of Disneyland and she was a mascot for his idea of it, acted shocked that anyone could be that misguided). I urge everyone to listen to “Strange Fruit” or “I Cover the Waterfront ” while reading Plato’s Apology and not believe in miracles.

Miles Dewey Do what he says Davis His voice is broken, gutted, a grammar of aching gashes, but when Miles Davis says My father’s rich and my mother’s good looking, I have never suffered and I don’t intend to suffer and I can play the blues, I forgive everyone for about five minutes and tell all my friends to get rich and scream this through the open roofs of convertibles and it’s lit.

James Baldwin When YouTube democratized listening and looking beyond the capacity of radio and television, I spent months listening to James Baldwin speak. I had found my other father, another prophetic Jimmy, in the most unlikely corner of the digital omniverse—how had I gone so long without hearing a voice like that? After Baldwin, I found Sun Ra and Rahsaan Roland Kirk and Amiri Baraka and Nina Simone and Lorraine Hansberry and Abbey Lincoln, speaking out loud, healing my sense of story and of cadence and oratory as a practice. The meta language that can be heard, the breath or slight cough or rustle of fabric, all of that poetry felt like gold, felt like the first time I heard my dad cry I’m gonna use what I got, to get what I need.

Midnight Girl When I was in grad school and a friend was helping me digitize some of my tapes, I found a recording of my dad singing at home in Iowa. It’s my favorite love song of all time because it feels like it’s for me, for my mother, for my sisters, for all women who feel in some way abandoned by convention. It’s a song about permission to not belong to a man, to recognize when you have more to forge than romance and its specific kind of alienation—in a way it’s him saying goodbye and also saying I’m here always, deliberate, intentional.

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