#Professional Web Hosting

[webeside101]

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[jeremy-empie-web-design-llc]

How Much to Spend on WooCommerce Website Development?

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[affordablesmallbusinesswebdesign]

Website Management for Small Business

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A UNIQUE APPROACH TO WEBSITE MANAGEMENT FOR SMALL BUSINESS

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[pulsaris]

O alojamento de Internet adequado para o seu projecto.

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Informação detalhada disponível em: https://www.pulsaris.pt/alojamento-de-internet/index.html

[dentalmaxsolutions]

Dental Web Design Company

In today’s digital world, many experienced dentists still don’t have a website, which means they’re missing out on valuable opportunities. A professional website not only enhances a dentist’s image but also boosts patient confidence. With a website, patients can easily find information and book appointments online, making things more efficient for everyone.

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[loveanddeephistory]

Trowels and Feathers: Sylus x Archaeologist! Reader

On Ao3

About: A heist at your latest excavation has you taking matters into your own hands. You're no Indiana Jones, you can't go in guns blazing. But a little birdy told you that the most notable artifact from the site might end up being auctioned off at The Nest. So you pull some strings, show up, and land yourself in a web much larger you had ever anticipated. Lucky you, a little birdy was watching your back.

Spoilers for: Sylus's anecdote

Content warnings/heads up: Reader is implied to be female or feminine due references to misogyny within the field of archaeology that the reader has faced, Sylus is a bit intimidating at first (as per usual), mentions of being drugged (not by Sylus), swearing

Word Count: 12k

A/N: Happy birthday to our favorite repatriating space pirate! I told my younger sibling about Sylus's anecdote and they just asked me "what the fuck kind of otome is this". We love him, though <3. I'll be updating Trowels and Scales with the tag "Trowels Series" since all the guys will have at the very least a one shot!

Divider credit: @thecutestgrotto

Never waste a Friday night on a first date. Never waste a night off on a place you don't want to be in. Don't do anything stupid. And if you do have to do something stupid, don't get caught. And if you do get caught, aim for the groin.

All sound advice your many mentors had given you. Through undergrad, grad school, field experiences, and even as a seasoned professional. From dating advice, to life advice, to street smarts. These people had taught you everything. And yet here you are, throwing all of their words out the damn window. Here you are, dolled up in clothes you'd never wear, shoes you'd never wear, in a place you shouldn't be in, glistening with sweat as low music bumps through the club. The main event would begin soon. You lean your back against the bar, eyes trained on the room before you. You had already been approached for protocore sales. For smuggling, for illegal weapons. You turn them all down with an impassive, slow once over and a slow eyebrow raise.

You were lucky. Most public information about you featured a picture of you all gunked up, covered in dirt, sweat, and bug bites. Your professional photos reserved for resumes and CVs that would never come across the desk of any of these kinds of people. You were unrecognizable. What a blessing to be in disguise.

You slowly drink on your mocktail, eyes scanning the room once again as the music slowly came to an end. Being inebriated would not be in your best interests, you figured you'd be safer with something that looked like alcohol but wasn't. You spotted an odd man with purple hair side eyeing you before silently slipping out a side door. A blond man was hunched over a table in the corner, speaking in hushed tones with someone else. Until finally, finally, the real show began.

A large man came to the stage. Six foot something or other, heavy set, with a wide grin missing a few teeth. The lights brightened on the stage so everyone around could see him. He was handed a microphone, and two armored guards came to the stage with a box. 

"Ladies and gentleman, so wonderful to see you all at The Nest once again. I hope everyone had a good hunt last time." He chuckled, raising a glass to the patrons in the room. You silently raise yours in turn along with those present. "Tonight we have the fortune of hosting an auction. I and some other generous benefactors found this pretty little trinket off in the jungle somewhere." The box was opened. An ancient, beautiful necklace was revealed. Glittering with gemstones ten times the age of everyone in this room combines. You run your tongue over your teeth, desperately suppressing a scowl.

Thieves. Disgusting thieves.

Others in the room chuckled at the unspoken joke in the man's words. Found. Hardly. You found it. You were the one excavating the ancient trash site. What was thought to be a place where broken things would come to rest. But hidden, squirreled away, was a cache of the most beautiful local work you had ever seen. You remember it like it was yesterday.

You gently scrape with the edge of your trowel over a layer of mud after the most recent rain. While you had secured the site as best you could the downpour was stronger than anticipated. The locals warned you, all of you. But your higher ups insisted that the normal way to cover the site would be just fine. Of course, he was wrong. Like he usually was. You roll your eyes to yourself, working quietly with your partner on this unit of the trench while others worked on other one by one meter units to your right and left. 

Usually, you all would be chattering away. Taking notes, discussing soil, or sharing personal stories of friends, family, and other excavations. But this dig was different. You couldn't remember the last time you worked for someone so chauvinistic. The entire team was quiet. Too quiet. The women on the team would speak up for themselves and each other, but were too often silenced. The men on the team would step in and speak up, only to be threatened anyway. No one was safe with this guy. So you made a silent vow with the whole crew. As soon as you were all safely away from him, every single one of you would report him to his superiors. And if that didn't work, taking things public would be necessary.

You dump a trowel full of mud into your bucket, sighing. "My turn to screen." But before you could get up your partner does, flashing you a smile.

"You pitched in with clean up after dinner last night, I think I can spare the time to screen for you." She stands up, grabbing both your bucket and her own. You watch as she carries them to the three metal poles holding up a mesh screen situated in a square wooden frame. The wires inside of the wooden frame created a fine mesh grid. She pours the sediment on top and grabs the handles, beginning to vigorously shake the sediment through while any notable artifacts remained on top. You flash her an appreciative but weary smile, bending back down. You continue to gently scrape along with your trowel. Until something shiny catches your eye. 

A few specks of metal dated to be a few centuries old had been found here. That was why this excavation was opened. Shattered pottery, household goods, and animals bones indicated this was a trash site for the local village n some centuries ago. You and a few colleagues immediately reached out. Luckily, quite a few of them had some information from elders dating centuries back. It wasn't much, but it did give you some context to the area. You squint, focusing on the shiny thing you found, switching to a brush as you gently swiped away mud and debris. But in the back of your mind, an older woman's words rang in your mind.

An old legend, passed down by elders for years. A young woman from a noble family had been married in this town. But robbers came in the night, and tried to take her wedding jewels. She managed to escape, and buried her wedding jewelry in a trash heap. She settled in the village with her husband and forgot the jewels, her husband and growing family more important. The old woman asked you to find the wedding jewels, that they would be inscribed with the family name. The woman had pleaded, clinging to your sleeve.

You had been taught to be wary of stories. But oral traditions had its place. You didn't want to make assumptions. But you gently wiped away millimeter after millimeter. Keeping the unit level. Clipping roots, shooing away bugs. And slowly, that tiny glimmer got bigger. And bigger. And bigger. You sat in slack jawed shock. Silent. With steady but weary hands, you gently lifted the artifact from the ground. You pull out a handkerchief and gingerly wipe away the packed on mud. There, clear as day, was the family name of the elderly woman. You feel the gaze of your fellow archaeologists, to your left and right. There were no gasps. No fanfare. But the excitement was tangible. You gently tilt the necklace, and it caught in the light in the most hypnotizing way. 

You don't say a word. No one else does. No one needs to. A young man to your right stands up, fetching an artifact bag. He labels it with your unit and the date, and what level the necklace was in. He opens it and you gingerly slide it in. Even covered in mud and muck, you all knew it was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. An ancient necklace buried deep in the ground, revealed due to the multiple monsoons of the past few years.

You take the moment to smile wearily. You wipe your forehead with the clean(ish) side of your handkerchief, the low glow of pride washing over you once more. It had been dampened by your horrific supervisor, but he could never take the joy of a discovery away from you. Especially one tied to local lore. You could only imagine the glee that woman and her family will feel. The village, with all of its history, had a local museum. This piece would be perfect there, right where it belongs. Away from the robbers of old, it was finally safe to be seen by the world once more.

The following night proved you horrifically wrong.

There had been a safe location allocated by the company that had been contracted for this excavation. Somewhere to store equipment and any notable finds. But you woke up the following morning to a horrifying scene. Equipment broken. Some missing. The safe housing the more significant finds, like the necklace, with a hole in it and all of the contents gone. Soil samples? Thrown on the ground and mixed together. Documentation? Ripped to shreds. This wasn't meant to be some high profile theft.

This was an outright massacre.

You and your team called an emergency meeting with the officials and elders of the village. The chaos that ensued broke your heart. The very elderly woman who had held your sleeve, begging you to believe her, was openly weeping when told the necklace had been stolen. The village was traditional- the only place with cameras was the museum itself, and even they were long overdue for upgraded equipment. No one was awake. No one saw or heard anything.

The artifacts were gone. Just... gone. 

The excavation ended the very next day. The site had been too far compromised. The excavation site itself had not been discovered by the thieves, yet, so local law enforcement set up a watch. You and the others immediately replaced the sediment, and come next rainfall all evidence of your presence will be erased from this place.

It gnawed at you. The image of the village elders weeping, or yelling. Begging, asking who did this, who could have done this. And none of you knew.

You returned to Linkon. But sleepless nights stared at you. You had other jobs. You were paid in full for the last one given that this kind of thing was entirely out of your control. There was a museum that was wanting to hire you for some consulting. And a science journal was looking at one of your proposals, and you felt pretty confident about it. Not to mention you and a few buddies had applied for a grant in your preferred field of study. But that necklace. It ate away at you, and with each passing day you felt like less of a person not knowing what had happened. 

Feeling like you had failed them.

One of those sleepless nights you lay there, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. Trying to will yourself to sleep. But your phone vibrated before you could. You grumpily snatch your phone, about to put it on do not disturb. But it was an old friend in the field, a fellow archaeologists' mentor. Hannah Capek, or Dr. C as she was affectionately referred to.

It was an article about the prolific illegal antiquities trade in the N109 zone. You skim the article, feeling your blood boil even more with every word you read. The article claimed that a solid 87% of stolen or missing artifacts ended up in the N109 zone for this very trade. Auctions would be held at various auction houses or underground bars, sometimes in broad daylight. It was a lawless wasteland. Trying to follow up to retrieve the stolen good was a suicide mission. As soon as the artifact crossed that border, you're likely never going to see it again. Before you can stew in your own anger for too long Hannah sends a follow up text.

Dr. Hannah Capek: Don't beat yourself up, kiddo. You did the best you could. These statistics aren't great, but it shows it had nothing to do with you. You did everything right. Please don't lose any more sleep than you already have. This isn't your fault.

You stare at her message, tears stinging in your eyes. The weight of your own perceived failure crushing you in your bed. You open the article again, eyes skimming over some of the finer details. One hyperlink caught your eye. A wiki link. About Abyssal Chaos.

Abyssal Chaos. One of the most infamous portions of the dark web. People would pay others for any number of things, tasks, information... And it was one of the best sources of information for all things illegal. Of course, getting your foot in the door was nearly impossible. It was encrypted to high hell, and those who do manage to get in are subject to all kinds of cyber attacks, people finding their home address, stalking, doxxing... It was the wild west out there. The wiki had multiple stories of the horrific fates of a few users. But the more you skimmed through it, the more you felt intrigued.

You take a screenshot and send it to an old friend from high school. He was bullied pretty bad, but you stuck up for him. He always promised you that if you needed anything, call him. He's a techy guy now, makes some good money. 

But he got you exactly what you needed.

You sit up a little straighter. They had cleaned up the necklace beautifully. The detail work on the cleaning had the marks of a professional. The metal shone in the light as bright as it did on the day of its owner's wedding. As the man held up the necklace, you could see the back. The engraving of the family's name was still there.

"This one of a kind beauty was found out in the jungle in a trash heap. Local legend says a pretty little bride almost got mugged and hid them away." The man snickered, and a few other patrons laughed. "So some scientists dug them up again, and all these years later they got taken anyway. Oh well, beats them going to some foreign museum where they get written off as some exotic beauty, impossibly forged by the natives." Your grip around your glass tightens. You want to shout. No, that wasn't what was going to happen, you'd never allow it. They aren't exotic. It wasn't impossible for the local village all those years ago to know how to do such beautiful work. You're clenching your jaw so hard you can feel a muscle twitch.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice motion in your drink. You wait a few seconds before putting it down. You won't be taking another sip of it for the rest of the night. Instead you give the stage your full attention again. You tune out your anger and tune in to the man finally getting to the point. The auction. Everyone participating had a paddle. Like a professional, the man on stage began to call out numbers. Starting low, in the thousands. If you had to put a number on an artifact like this it would be somewhere in the millions due to its age, but in reality the history was what made it utterly priceless. You can't stop this from happening. You knew ahead of time calling in a tip on The Nest would get you on a hit list. So instead, you opted to come and get a good description of the thieves and potentially the buyer. If they had property or assets in Linkon or anywhere else outside of the N109 zone, then you could submit a real tip. And even if the necklace vanished, you could still achieve justice.

"Twenty-five hundred, I got twenty-five hundred can I get thirty, can I get thirty," The rapid fire words attempted to rile the crowd up. In spite of his best efforts, the crowd didn't seem all that impressed. Conversations struck back up among powerhouse couples. Lower crime lords went back to attempting to haggle a protocore smuggler for his wares. The man on stage kept looking to two others in the audience. They were close enough to the stage for the light to fall on their faces. They looked nervous.

Ah ha. 

You lift your hand to your mouth to hide a hint of a smirk. Bingo. Three thieves. The three must be in on it together one way or another. You drink in their appearances, every scar, every mole. Every easily notable body mark that would identify them. Steadily, the room returned to the murmur it had been in when you first arrived. No one was giving the man on stage the time of day. And it was beginning to make him sweat.

Good. You lean back, an impassive audience to his humiliation as a low voice rang out.

"Five million." 

Your shoulders tense. Your eyes widen. You look around, hoping you didn't just blow your cover. But lucky you, everyone in the room had the same reaction as you. Eyes and bodies slowly turned towards the newcomer, emerging from the shadows with slow, unhurried footsteps. He was tall, taller than the man on the stage. Broad shoulders. Strong, a fighter's build. You focus back towards the stage and the thieves in the front row. They were grinning but trying to hide them, smacking each other's arms in disbelief.

You've seen enough. You swivel back around in your seat, paying for your drink in a generous wad of cash. The bartender nods and takes the sizable offer, pocketing whatever wasn't needed for the drink. You stand up, weaving your way through the growing crowd who was staring at the intimidating figure now on stage. His silver hair caught in the light, but you couldn't make out anything more since his back was to you. But you don't need to. You have enough. Even if the necklace vanishes, you have enough to turn in the thieves themselves. It won't return the necklace to its rightful home but it'll be one less group to cause these kinds of problems.

You slip into an alleyway, finally taking a deep breath as you escaped the suffocating atmosphere of The Nest. The low lights, the lingering haze, the scent of smoke and sin lingered in that place. It clung to your clothes and your hair. You'd need a shower after this. You pull out your phone texting your old friend on an encrypted service.

You: Done. Thanks for the assist.

Anonymous: Ur welcome. Be careful, don't go straight home, just in case.

You turn off your phone and pocket it. You slowly begin to walk, heading towards the back of the building before deciding to go to Azure Square. But as you quieted your footfalls, moving quickly but quietly, a slow, gnawing sense of dread crawled up. From the heels of your feet. To the back of your knees. Slithering up to your thighs. Hips. Waist.

Slowly, this sense of dread coiled up your spine. Goosebumps erupted all over your skin, and you turn your head. Your eyes widen and a scream bubbles up in your throat as a black mist coiled around your mouth. Your scream is muffled. You lose control over your body as you're knocked over, dragged back into the alleyway as you struggle violently. But with each twitch, kick, and squirm the intangible shackles around you only tightened. You're pulled into the darkness of the alley once more when that deep, rich voice from earlier called out.

"I've never seen you at The Nest before." His voice was low. He spoke slowly, languidly. Like he could do this all day. Like you were in a game of cat and mouse, and he had already caught his prey. ”Don’t think I didn’t see you eyeing these new jewels, sweetie.” That same low, baritone voice from the auction caught your attention. The black mist around your mouth vanished as the man slowly walked towards you. In a flash of light you can barely make out red eyes that had an otherworldly glow. But he remained in the shadows, not letting you see his full face. "What are you?" He cocked his head. 

You know better. You do. You recall the advice of all your mentors. Don't do anything stupid. If you must, don't get caught. You've already failed both. And with your legs still bound you couldn't enact the last of their advice. You lick your lips, eyeing the man as you lay on the ground. You scoffed, looking away from him. “Just the person who found those jewels.”

“This isn’t finders, keepers, sweetie. I paid for these fair and square.” He approaches, still just barely out of view from the shadows. He tilted your chin up to face him again with the toe of his shoe. His right eye began to glow a deeper red. You suck in a breath, your head suddenly pounding in pain. It felt like someone had dug their fingers into your brain directly through your eyes. The probing was unwelcome and made your stomach churn.

“And those thieves that pawned them off to you stole them from an archaeological site! Those belong to their proper community.” You spat back. “I don’t want them. I want them to go back to where they do belong.” You say it without a second's hesitation. But it wasn't because of this probing. The sensation stopped for a second. The glow dimmed, before surging back. The prodding became less intense, but it still felt like someone was actively in your head. The mist around your wrists vanished, allowing you to slowly hoist yourself into a sitting position on the ground. He didn't speak. Neither did you. You swallow. Your legs were still bound in a black and red mist, but it didn't hurt. It was just a bizarre pressure. You slowly rub your wrists, waiting.

”I didn’t realize your kind were so… altruistic nowadays.” You scoffed at his response, looking away. He must've put two and two together. Your heart rate picked up. You just blew your cover to someone very powerful. So much for don't do anything stupid.

"Times have changed." You respond. "That doesn't belong to you, or me, or those thieves. You're right. This isn't finders keepers. We're not children." You look back down at your legs. The mist was slowly abating, retreating back to the man still standing in the shadows. He looks down at the necklace in his hands, and your gaze follows. His eye glowed for just a moment more, but with a soft hum you felt his presence leave your mind. You had never heard of anyone with an evol who could do such a thing. A shudder rips through you, from head to toe, and finally he turns on his heel.

"Times have changed, yes." He confirms, the steady footfalls from his dress shoes slowly fading into the distance as he returns to The Nest. You watch. You wait. And as soon as you knew he was gone, you scramble to your feet. Without another word, without another glance, you turn and run as fast as your legs will allow. Every single one of your old professors, mentors, colleagues... all of them would smack you upside the head for doing something so ballsy and stupid.

But favor and fortune shone down on you that night. You survived. You escaped. And now you can file an anonymous police report. For the sake of preserving your own life you decide on a whim to omit the presence of the man with silver hair. At this point, it wasn't fully about the necklace. It was about the principle, it was about the thieves. About justice.

That necklace didn't belong to you. Or him. Or the thieves, or the archaeologists.

It belonged to its home village. One you hoped it would survive to return home to.

Bzzt.

Bzzt.

Bzzt.

BZZT.

You slowly open your eyes, the constant vibrating from your phone drawing you out of slumber. It was five in the morning, and only the first few rays of light from the sun were breaching your window. You were tempted to put your phone on do not disturb and go back to sleep. You snatch it off your nightstand, ready to do exactly that when the messenger's name caught your eye. A friend you had made in the village you had just been working in. You sit up a little straighter, opening her messages.

The first thing that came up on your phone was a picture of the necklace. All cleaned up and glittering like it had just last night in that odd man's hands. It was in the museum, already in a safe case, with multiple signs in different languages. You exit the picture, hurriedly reading all of her messages. Someone in the middle of the night last night broke in to the museum. But they left the necklace. No note, no identification, nothing. As you were reading through her texts another text appeared on your screen. Hannah Capek.

You switch to her text. It was a news article. 

Breaking News: Artifact Smugglers Apprehended in the Night

Dr. Hannah Capek: Justice has been served! Sleep a little easier, okay? Some good samaritan ratted them out. 

You tap on the link. Unable to believe your eyes. But Hannah's words rung true. The article had been released only an hour ago from a journalist who worked at night. Three artifact smugglers had been turned in at the Evol Police's doorstep in the middle of the night, all three confessing to their many crimes in near tears. It was clear someone had scared them, but the confessions matched multiple recent robberies and smuggling operations documented all over the region. These guys were professionals. The police took them into custody and would be launching an investigation to verify what they said.

You sit up, your covers sliding off your body as you reread the article once. Twice. Thrice. No. No way.

You run your fingers through your hair, absolutely bamboozled by this change in events. You forward the pictures and context from your friend to Dr. Hannah, and then forward the link from Dr. Hannah to your friend. She immediately texts back. Gleeful, thanking you. You sit up straighter and rapidly text her not to. This wasn't your doing. You had nothing to do with those thieves showing up at the police department. You had nothing to do with the necklace reappearing. You wouldn't be able to even get there in a night!

Who could have done this? The man who bought it? He seemed the most likely suspect. But he paid five million for it, why would he turn around and give it back to the village? He said it himself, this isn't finder's keepers. You swing your legs over the side of your bed, standing up. You walk over to the curtains, peeking out beyond them. The sun was just rising. Whoever did this did it in the night, likely only a few hours ago. All of this was breaking news. Brand new. Something you hadn't seen in your career, or your lifetime.

Just who was that man?

It started with a blur just outside your peripheral vision. 

You were sure you were just paranoid after visiting The Nest. Exposing yourself on Abyssal Chaos and showing up in person at a well known information hub wasn't the brightest idea in hindsight. And yet, somehow, it got you the exact end results you were hoping for. You found yourself constantly looking over your shoulder for the next few weeks as you went about everyday life. And every once in a while, you would catch a black blur just out of line of sight. It was fast.

And finally, one day, you catch the bird in action.

You had left the window open just a crack to get some fresh air. It was a beautiful day, so you might as well give your home a refresh. You come out of your bedroom, trash bag in hand, and catch the culprit red handed. A red and black crow was sitting on your balcony, pecking at the window, as if trying to open it. You drop the bag. The crow stops. It's a stare off.

Neither of you move. You stare at the bird. The bird stares at you. An uncomfortable silence falls before you slowly reach for your phone. The bird cocks its head. Was- was its eyes glowing? You take a single step towards it, and it doesn't fly off. You open your phone and do a quick search. Or three.

Crow meaning omen

Crow safe foods

What do crows like to eat

You keep looking up an at the crow, who was still staring you down. Cocking its head. You find a list of crow safe foods and move to your kitchen. You fetch a small bowl and fill it with an assortment of small bits of food approved by bird professionals. You turn back around and find the crow still staring at you. The closer you got the more you saw of its robotic nature. 

"Poor thing." You murmur. You lift the window with one hand, reaching out onto your balcony before resting the bowl against a chair. "Here. It's not much, but it's something. You scared me, I thought someone was following me around all this time." Every time you saw something, it was up high, and quickly moved out of sight. It made perfect sense for it to be a bird. Nothing nefarious at all. "Did someone fix you up after a car hit you, or something?" You sit in your window sill, eyes trained on the bird. It cocks its head from side to side. Before slowly crooning at you. It hops over to the bowl provided and began to pick through the assortment. 

"I'll take that as a thank you. You're welcome." You nod, leaning back against the window frame. You scootch yourself in, pretzeling yourself into the window frame separating your apartment from your balcony. The crow seemed used to people and didn't bat an eye at your antics. You take the moment to admire the bird. The sheen of his feathers in the light revealed so many more colors than what was originally visible. "Pretty bird" You hum. The crow pops its head up, squawking in surprise. It was almost like it was flustered by the compliment. You can't help it, you cover your mouth as you laugh at him. The crow only grew more indignant. It cawed at you, sharp and raspy. 

"Hey! It's a compliment, take it!" You try to encourage it through your laughter, but the bird only seems more irritated. If a bird could scowl it certainly would. It grew tired of your antics and took off, diving off your balcony and flying away. You don't have a moment more to protest. Your eyes trail after the crow as it vanishes into the city, flying off and away. You reach out to the bowl, which only had a few things missing, and bring it back inside. "Oh well. There goes my dreams of being a Disney princess." You laugh to yourself, shutting the window behind you.

You figured that would be your first and last interaction with it. But you were pleasantly surprised.

Once a week, every week, the crow would return.

It became a routine. A habit. It would knock on your window with its beak, and you would join it on the balcony or in the window with a bowl of food. You eventually got good at recognizing its patterns and you would leave a little dish of water and food out before joining it. The first three weeks you sat in comfortable silence.

But the fourth, a month in to this strange situation, the crow brought you something.

Its caw was muffled. It held two items in its beak. You extend your hand slowly and the bird dropped the items in your hand before diving into the food. It had brought you a shiny twist tie, likely just some piece of trash, and a piece of paper. You had read that crows might bring gifts if befriended, so you immediately tie the twist tie around a finger like a ring. The bird lifted its head as you did so, and you extended your hand to show off the twist tie. 

"You have a good eye." You compliment, smiling cheekily. "I accept this proposal of friendship. Thank you for your generous gift." The crow cawed in affirmation, or you were interpreting it like that at the very least, and went back to eating. You turn your attention to the piece of paper. You unfold it. Mephisto. You look at the crow.

"Mephisto?" It immediately looked up again, mid nibble on a nut, and crooned. "Oh. That's your name, is it? Mephisto?" Mephisto bobbed his head. You laugh, looking down at the paper in awe. "Mephisto... Short for Mephistopheles. Whoever named you knows their Faustian mythology. And has nice handwriting." You pocket the paper, the crow bobbing his head again. "Well, Mephisto. It's nice to finally have your name. Guess I owe you mine." You lean in, whispering your name to the crow as if it was a precious secret only for the two of you to know. You pull back, grinning at the bird. Perhaps you shouldn't have discounted your disney princess dreams yet. "I've been enjoying seeing you every week, Mephie, but I'll be out of town starting next week." Mephisto squawked.

In a flurry of feathers he flew right at you. You hold up a hand and he settles on your fingers, chattering at you in protest. "Caw! Caw caw caw-"

"Mephisto- Mephie! I'm sorry, I have an excavation to go on. I can't just skip it." You try to assure the bird. "I'll be back. I promise, I'll come back." While crows were smart as could be, you weren't sure how much he could understand. You lift your free hand, not moving too fast, slowly approaching his head. The bird shut his eyes and headbutt your hand. You chuckle, stroking his feathers gently and carefully. "I promise, Mephie, I will come back. I'll be in the mountains for an excavation, that's all. It's for a month, I'll be back after that. I trust you can look after yourself, along with whoever else is caring for you." The crow crooned again, still protesting your incoming absence.

"Hey." You coo. "I'll bring your ring you gave me. That way I'll have something to look at and think about you while I'm gone, okay?" You murmur, showing him the twist tie he had just given you. Mephisto slowly opened his eyes, crooning mournfully once more. "Yeah, I'll be back. I'll be here next week for our weekly meet up. I just didn't want to spring this on you." You add, and he just looked at you. He clacked his beak, still balancing on your fingers. He flapped his wings a few times, and you extend your hand to give him space to spread them out. He cawed and released your fingers. As he flapped his wings, he made his way to the banister of your balcony. He tilts his head at you. You smile. He always does this. "Goodbye, Mephisto. I'll see you next week." You nod to him. With a caw, he turns and takes to the skies. 

Mephisto didn't appear the next week. You waited in the windowsill for hours, but he never appeared. You couldn't deny your disappointment, but you figured it was for the best. You focused on packing, and the next day you were gone.

This excavation was situated in the mountains. Though, luckily, your excavation was in a convenient clearing. After conducting a brief walking survey you and your crew got to work. You were lucky enough to have one of your colleagues from the last excavation on your team, so the two of you partnered up. You worked on your one meter by one meter unit together, worked with the total station, and he helped with bagging and tagging artifacts. He was always one of the guys who was quiet when your last supervisor was being a misogynistic piece of shit, but he was much more vocal at this one. Talkative, always wanting your attention. This excavation was much older than even your last one, and from context clues you and your team were thinking of it as a frequent place people stopped crossing the mountains for trade. Beads of various precious stones were found, and a few pieces of jewelry were still in tact.

The rest of the team was pausing for lunch, heading to a separate part of the clearing to overturn buckets and sit down to eat. You volunteered to stay behind and finish up some field notes, so they left you be to do so. You turn over an empty bucket and sit down, scribbling some notes about the recorded depth of trench one, unit six, which had a jade bead and a bracelet with similar beads at a depth of 40 centimeters. You describe your findings, the quality of jade, and the variety of soil present when you heard a rustling. You lift your eyes, expecting to find one of your colleagues coming to ask you something. But no one was there. Your eyebrows furrow, and you lift your eyes a little higher. 

In the tree branches a familiar pair of red eyes were watching you. Your pencil and field notes slip out of your hands, hitting the dirt with a dull thud. 

"Mephisto?" You call, slowly standing up. He cocks his head, not coming any closer. "What are you doing here? You're far from home." You put your hands on your hips, slowly beginning to tap your foot. "You ghost me the day before I leave but have the ability to come and find me in the mountains." You finally squat to pick up your field notes, tucking your pencil behind your ear. Mephisto doesn't respond. He just cocks his head at you again. He looks down at the baggy at your feet. You follow his gaze and put your foot in front of it. "Nooooo, Mephie, this is one shiny I absolutely cannot allow you to take." You spoke slowly. "Mephisto. No." The crow looks back up at you.

"CAW!" He cawed rather emphatically. Was it a 'no, I'd never!' or a 'come on, please!' kind of caw? You couldn't decide. You put your fingers to your temple, sighing. 

"Sorry, Mephisto. I'm gonna have lunch soon. Don't have any food to spare you this time. I'm sure whoever is caring for you is worried, shoo, go home. I'm okay." You reach your hands up and gently shoo the bird away. He caws at you again, crooning once, before giving up. In a flurry of feathers he flies off, one feathers actually drifting towards the ground. You watch him as long as you can, approaching the feather. You pick it up, holding it up to the light to admire it. The sheen was otherworldly, absolutely beautiful. You glance around. No one was around. So you make your way to your bag, carefully tucking the feather in amongst your personal journal's pages.

You hear more rustling, so you look over your shoulder. Your teammate from the last excavation was standing in the treeline, cocking his head.

"Hey, we were getting worried. Didn't think it would take you more than a few minutes to finish up." He tilted his head, leaning on a nearby tree. You grab your lunch bag out of your work bag, nodding your head with a smile.

"Nah, I was just finishing a few things up." You walk back over, picking up the artifacts and carefully adding them to the artifact bucket. "Just was double checking the munsells for the soil. Is the earth slightly more yellow or red, you know?" You chuckle, approaching him with your lunchbox and water bottle. He laughed, walking with you. 

"Oh, don't I know it. Debating over the tiniest shift in shade, only for a cloud to move and make it look totally different." 

"And you can't put the dirt right beside the reference pictures in the munsell book or you'll ruin it. I'm still trying to find the money to buy a personal copy, but those things are expensive." You shake your head at the thought. Usually a company would ensure your crew had one, but you wanted one for yourself. Living the way you were, however, you couldn't afford to shell out that kind of money. Anwir laughed in agreement

"Oh don't get me started. You wouldn't believe the things I did in undergrad to be able to afford my degree. And even now I'm scraping by. Shit pay, shit benefits, shit coworkers..." He winked at you. "Present company excluded. But hey, we do it for the love of the discipline."

You shake your head at him, but know he had a point. Your own first thought was the awful supervisor from your last excavation. Misogynistic, chauvinistic, all the phobias and istics to make him a nightmare to work with. The field was changing, sure, but you'd still find people like him stubbornly clinging to the good old days of the discipline. "Anwir, remember how our last supervisor kept double guessing me every time I said something about munsell or depth or times? Or... anything?" You laugh again. "Listen, I double guess myself enough, I didn't need him in my ear doing the same." Anwir laughed again.

"Oh, he was the worst, wasn't he? Sorry the excavation ended the way it did, but damn, glad to be away from him." He looked away, off towards where the rest of the crew were already eating and laughing. "He wasn't all bad, but he was still a dick."

"Not all bad? Maybe cause you didn't have to face his wrath." You scoff in return, but stop talking about it as another one of your colleagues offers you a bucket.

You'd enjoy your break while you could.

As soon as everyone was done eating, it was back to work. The rest of the day flew by, and the others found a couple more notable discoveries in the same level. Other items of some value, primarily jewelry. An interesting find, one with some notable implications for the region and the ancient trade route. You pack up and head back to the base provided, before unpacking and handling more paperwork related issues. You shower, change, then work on paperwork and a narrative for the day for your field notes. You find Anwir stepping outside to make a call, but comes straight back since it was his night to cook.

He made a rich, comforting meal that immediately made everyone feel a bit more comfortable and relaxed. Aching muscles and joints calmed down, and everyone got a bit more comfortable. 

In theory, it should have been a great night.

But you look at the twist tie you had tied to the pencil sitting on your field notes. The very same Mephisto gave you almost a month ago. The excavation is already drawing to a close, with only one week left to wrap up. Something feels off. Something in your body is twisting and groaning. Not like a stomach ache- but just some soul deep churning, insisting something is wrong.

Your mind is buzzing, but in spite of it all you're exhausted. You and everyone else decide to call it a night early. 

During an excavation, you could sleep heavy, or sleep light. It depended on levels of exhaustion, pain, and any lingering thoughts that might leave you tossing and turning. But that night, you slept like a log. You slept like the dead. You slept harder than you ever had on an excavation, and when you did finally wake up with a low groan, it took you a moment for your colleagues' screams to register in your mind.

But as soon as they did, the exhaustion left your bones. You grab the nearest item, lucky you a sharp trowel, and run barefoot to where all the others were. The storage room. There were signs of a struggle- paperwork everywhere, indents in the wood, and a splatter of blood on the floor. The artifact bucket had been noticeably moved, and as you make your way further inside it was clear it had been rifled through. You turn back to your colleagues, doing a headcount.

"Anwir- where's Anwir?" One of the women call out, before dashing down the hall.

"He wasn't here when I woke up!" His roommate called back, quickly following her.

You turn back into the room. It reminded you of the massacre you had found at your last excavation. You slowly walk further in. You shouldn't touch anything. You should call the local authorities and the company sponsoring you, then wait. But one thing stood out among all the mess. The rest of your colleagues ran off, calling for Anwir, asking if the blood on the floor was actually his. But on the desk in the back right beside the artifact bucket, there was a piece of paper. 

You look over your shoulder before picking it up, unfolding it.

”Keep your sparkly things under lock and key, I could suggest a few supplies. If you're worried about the other archaeologist, call the local authorities and ask for him yourself.  -S"

There, in the same handwriting as the note with Mephisto's name, lay a note clearly left for you. S. S must be Mephisto's owner. You look over your shoulder again, folding the note and tucking it into your pocket before anyone else could come in. You immediately leave, hearing the chaos unfolding among the others. Anwir's roommate called his phone, only to reveal it was still in his room. You instead step forward.

"Let's go ahead and report this to the local authorities, and the company that hired all of us. Excavation should be postponed until we know his whereabouts and safety."

"It's too early to submit a missing person's report." His roommate protested, but he was already dialing the phone number. "Don't know what they can do for him just yet, but yeah, let's get them to look at the artifact room."

When the non-emergency line picked up, your colleague explained the situation to the person on the other end. Whoever was on the phone began to laugh.

"You said his name was Anwir? We had an Anwir dropped off just this morning. He was shaken up pretty bad, he claimed he was a part of an artifact smuggling ring and had attempted to steal some of what you all found yesterday."

The silence that fell over the room was deafening. No one moved and inch. 

"Anwir? Anwir was going to steal...?" You murmur, eyes slowly narrowing. The bastard. 

"Yes, we're waiting to hear back from our contacts in the big city. He already gave us a few other names, including the names of three others from his ring that had been captured a little over a month ago. He keeps mentioning black mist...?"

Black mist. S. Mephisto.

Your lips set in a thin line, your eyebrows drawing together. 

It's all connected.

The chaos unfolding all around you faded to background noise as you retreated inward, trying to piece together the events of the past few months. The excavation with the creepy supervisor, and Anwir. The night at The Nest. This excavation. Mephisto's appearance. The black mist. The man at The Nest, he's probably S himself, if not someone associated with him. Mephisto is likely his bird, you wouldn't be surprised if he was surveillance on you. Surveillance you befriended and gave food to, no less. But he was likely how S knew where you were. 

S left you a note. And he dragged off Anwir. And, as icing on the cake, hurt Anwir or got hurt by Anwir? Your eyes slowly drifted to the patch of dried blood on the floor. Whoever this S was, he had a vested interest in keeping these artifacts from the smuggling ring.

"Hey-" You snap out of your thoughts as one of the others gently grabs your shoulder. You inhale sharply but register her presence and calm down. She slowly lets go. "I went ahead and called the higher ups. They want everything on hold until we figure out what happened with Anwir. They're sending someone to take the artifacts to the lab, and they're debating putting the whole thing on hold. Since the last time this happened the thieves destroyed the equipment as well..." She grimaced. "They don't want to end up with stolen stuff and broken gear." You slowly nod.

"Fair enough." You hum. "Good chance to update logs and stuff. Gods, this is the second time..." 

The other archaeologist laughed dryly, her amusement not reaching her eyes. "Yeah. Anwir, huh? Wonder if that was why he stepped out to make a phone call last night..." You think back on the dinner and feel your heart drop.

"We all felt really tired after he made dinner last night." You spoke slowly, looking back in the artifact room. "And there was a struggle. That should've woken any one of us up. Did he-?" You look up, meeting her gaze. She understands what you're saying before the words can fully fall out of your mouth. She scowled. 

"Bastard." She snarled, whirling around on her heel and pulling out her phone again. "I'm reporting that. We should get hazard pay- and a drug test."  As she marched off, calling supervisors and the police, you find yourself once more. Everyone was rushing around, verifying nothing else was touched or taken. You slide your fingers to the pockets of your pajama pants, tentatively tracing the outline of the note.

S.

You push yourself off the doorframe, returning to your room. Alright, S. It's time to show your hand.

You were unsurprised that the company and local authorities agreed and called off the excavation. Clearly there was a break in at the house you were staying at, since Anwir insisted none of the team attacked him. That coupled with his involvement in a smuggling ring and the drugs he laced the food with gave them all ample reason to call it early. It was always disappointing to have to leave early for any reason. For you even more so, having such rotten luck twice in a row. But perhaps this was a blessing in disguise.

The very same day you arrived home to your apartment, you had a familiar guest waiting for you on your balcony. 

Mephisto looked quite proud of himself. He perched on the chair, puffed up with his head held high. You can't help but shake your head. You couldn't be mad at him, he was just doing what he was programmed to do. You ignore him, bringing your suitcase to your room. You begin to unpack, tucking your field supplies away in the same corner you always do. You load your hamper with dirty clothes to wash, put away your work boots and everyday shoes, and put a clean pillowcase on your pillow. During all of these mundane 'first day back home' tasks , the caws and pecks on your balcony window grew in frequency and volume.

Mephisto was throwing a tantrum.

You try to ignore it. You were a little irritated with him, after all. Just a little. He was basically surveillance, from what you understood. And you shouldn't be giving this S figure any more information on yourself than you already have. Who knows his true intentions? Maybe he's trying to get you in his debt, to call in some big favor. Or maybe he's a creep. You don't have enough information yet. More research necessary. Typically a comforting phrase, since it kept you in a job. But clearly you signed yourself up for something much bigger than yourself. All you wanted was for that necklace to stay in its cultural context. So many artifacts around the world were not where they belonged- colonialism was the major contributing factor. 

But you were determined to be a part of the change. Of the path forward. 

You snap out of your thoughts at a particularly loud squawk. You turn on your heel and approach the window to the balcony, sighing.

"Okay, okay, I hear you. I just had to take care of some things." You open the window, and he hops back and forth on the back of the chair cawing at you emphatically.

"CAW! Caw, caw, c a w!"

You weren't sure what he was saying. But you knew he was mad at you for making him wait. You leave the window open, excusing yourself to your kitchen. You pull the same crow mix you had made out, and since everything in it was dried it should still be good. You put some in the bowl and bring it back, offering it to him. He swings his head away.

"Oh you're really mad at me for ignoring you for a few minutes?" You curl into the same spot in the windowsill, crossing your arms over your chest. "I should be the one mad at you, you know. You're working for S, aren't you?" You fish the paper with his note out of your pocket, holding it in front of the bird. He squawked indignantly. But- was that guilt on his face?? "I knew it." You sit up a little straighter. "Okay. You're a cyborg. You've been following me around and keeping tabs on me at home. You're surveillance, aren't you?!" You point at him accusingly. His wings and head slowly drooped. Looking away. He crooned, low and slow. An admission of guilt- you think. 

You tuck the paper away again. "Hey, listen." You speak slower, in a softer tone of voice. "I'm not- I'm not mad at you, Mephisto. I'm just worried." Mephisto kept his head lowered. Was this bird guilt tripping you? Honestly, fuck it, stranger things have happened. The world turned topsy turvy ever since the Chronorift Catastrophe. "Ever since I went to The Nest, weird things have been happening. Feeling followed, feeling watched... All I wanted was to ensure more artifacts aren't stolen." You put your chin in your palm, watching the bird. "I mean... look at the British Museum. And other museums like it. I love what I do, honest, but I can't change history. Archaeology is rooted in colonialism, but my generation can be the change. You know? Repatriate the stolen goods, make sure everything goes home as safely as it can." You settle yourself in the window still further, getting as comfortable as you can. Mephisto lifted his head, his red eyes trained on you. Cocking his head back and forth. He crooned. Slowly. 

"I'm going to interpret that as you agreeing with me." You smile, reaching out to pat him on his head. He didn't shy away. "Well. Whoever this 'S' figure is, he seems to think the same way. I'm assuming he's the guy at The Nest. Tall, white hair, broad shoulders, ominous glowing right eye?" You describe him, watching as Mephisto began to rummage through the nuts. "Returning the necklace he bought. And even stopping another theft from happening in the first place. I'm honestly impressed, he could've made some money off of all of that, but he didn't." Mephisto looked at you again, crooning low and slow. He paused, lifting his head up in a sudden jerk. He cocked his head one way. Then the other. His eyes grew wider as he stared off into the distance, before sharply returning to the present. He flapped his wings, getting closer to you. You extend two fingers and he perches on them, lifting his wing. He rummages around in his feathers before pulling something shiny out. 

A red and black crow pin. He dropped it against your chest. You were taken aback, but figure this must be another gift as a thank you for feeding him. You use your free hand to pick up the brooch, admiring it in the fading evening light. "Wow..." You flip it to look on the back. It had the backing to be converted into a necklace. "Thank you, Mephie..." You look back at the crow, your smile slowly growing wider. He cawed one more time, flapping his wings. "Oh! Do me a favor before you go." You unhook the back of the brooch, pinning it to your top. "I'd like you to pass along a message to S." You lean in, the bird waiting for you.

"Thank you." You whisper. before leaning back. "Maybe one day I can thank him for his assistance in person. But until then, I'll just let you keep playing messenger." Mephisto waited, cocking his head one more time. He crooned, then took off. Carrying your thanks with him as he returned to his master.

There was radio silence for a week. No Mephisto. No excavations. No nothing. It gave you time to edit your field notes, to check how much a new munsell book would cost, and do some basic upkeep on your supplies. But you still needed work, and you needed your next job. 

That being said? It’s late. You’re tired. And you’ve been staring at the computer screen far too long.

With a heavy sigh you push yourself away from your desk, standing up while popping your back. You grab your keys and slip on your shoes at the door, hopping down the stairs as you make your way to the building’s entrance. You pull out your earbuds, about to put them in for your walk to the convenience store when a glint in the light caught your attention.

A man sat on a motorcycle in front of your building. His helmet sat in front of him on the seat, one of his hands rested atop it and flexed back and forth. He was dressed in leather protective gear typical of those who ride motorcycles. This was customized, however, with red and white stripes of a lightning-esque design on the arms and chest. He wasn't facing you at first, so you were content to walk by, when a familiar caw caught your attention. Mephisto was contentedly perched on the man's fingers, but his eyes were locked on you. He cawed emphatically a few more times. You opened your mouth to greet the bird when the man finally turned to face you.

He had a smug, almost lazy smile on his face. An aura of danger but an expression of contentment. Like this was always supposed to happen. Like he had been waiting for this. 

Your mouth runs dry. 

"Hello. sweetie." The man, undoubtedly S, finally spoke. He lifted his two fingers and Mephisto flew towards you, circling you before landing by your feet. He hopped towards you, puffed up with pride. "Mephisto here told me you wanted to speak with me?" He tilted his head. His very aura was threatening, but he remained seated on his motorcycle. Not making any sudden moves towards you. 

"I- no, that isn't exactly what I said." You look away, rubbing the back of your neck. As you shifted the street lights caught in the crow brooch you still wore. S's eyes immediately snapped to it, his smug smile widening ever so slightly.

"I see Mephisto delivered my gift." He nodded to it. Finally, he stepped off his bike, leaving his helmet on the seat. He looked massive enough at The Nest, but finally standing toe to toe with him made him look even bigger. The man is built like a brick house. You swallow, standing your ground as he approached, His long fingers lifted, almost as if to graze the brooch. You take half a step back, eyeing him warily.

He paused. His red eyes flickered up to you, and the smile slid off of his face. His eyes bore into yours. Searching for something. His right eye began to glow for just a moment, but when he heard your hitched gasp the glow vanished. S's eyes remained still. Searching your gaze, but not prying into your mind. He was searching for something, anything. But he didn't appear to like what he saw.

"Anwir." His voice dropped. "Anwir was the one involved with the smuggling ring for artifacts. He began when he was in university to make ends meet, but even in his professional career he has continued. He's gone by multiple different names. He and your old supervisor were working together." He stood up to his full height, his eyes finally leaving yours as he looked to the side. "You were right. Believe it or not, I've... had experience in repatriation, I guess you could say." 

You watched him in shock. You wanted to protest, ask how he could know that. But it made perfect sense. Anwir himself said he had to do some odd things to make ends meet, and that might explain his dismissive attitude towards the last supervisor. "How would you have experience in repatriation?" You ask him slowly. Mephisto caws, flying up and perching himself on your shoulder. His steady weight felt like a reassurance. In spite of the odd situation, you weren't in any trouble. Not in any danger. 

"Let's just say I have my own vendetta against the rich assholes who think they can steal and smuggle precious relics as they please." S leaned down again, a smile reappearing on his face. Well, more like a smirk. "We have similar goals. I'd like to cut a deal."

"Tell me your name first." The words fall out of your mouth before you can stop them. You stand up a little straighter. "I know you've been watching me, so you already know my name. But I need yours if I'm going to trust you." S remained bent down. His eyes trained on yours.

"You don't know it already?"

"No. All I know is 'S'. So tell me your name, S." You watch him closely. There was a flicker of something in his gaze. A hint of hurt. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. 

He leaned in, breath ghosting over your ears as his voice dropped to a whisper. "Sylus." You stood your ground, not shying away from him. You let him whisper his name into your ear like its a secret he ought to protect. He leaned back to meet your gaze again, before glancing at the crow still perched on your shoulder. "Mephisto, come." his voice dropped, a firm command forcing the bird to comply. He hopped from your shoulder to Sylus's, perching there. But the bird turned back to you, crooning low and slow. In spite of yourself you exhale a soft laugh.

"Good to see you too, buddy." You murmur, extending your hand. Mephisto leaned into your hand, allowing you to pet his head. Sylus shot his bird a side eye before turning his attention back to you. "So. What is this deal you want?"

"I have an interest in some of the other members of your field. Some of them are beginning to work with an enemy of mine, and I need someone in the discipline to help me keep an eye on them. Anwir was one of them." Sylus adjusted how he was standing, crossing his arms over his chest. "Help me keep tabs on these individuals, and in return I will help you in stopping the broader artifact smuggling trade in the N109 zone." 

"The N109-" You cut yourself off, eyes wide. "Are you sure? There's no other catches to this, right?" You should be wary of anyone trying to persuade you with connections to the N109 zone. But in spite of it all, even with his intimidating presence, you didn't feel unsafe with him. Something about him felt distantly familiar. "I'm not sure I can get myself involved in something like this. I know I shouldn't have been at The Nest that night. I just-"

"You just didn't want to see history fall into the wrong hands." Sylus finished the thought for you. He sighed, looking away while pinching the bridge of his nose. "Neither do I. But there is something much larger than history going on here. Anwir was a part of a much larger syndicate. You went on two excavations with him, which makes you a potential target for his group, especially since you were at The Nest. You need someone to look after you. This deal is hardly just for my sake. It's for yours."

"Generosity always comes with strings attached." You shoot back. Not angrily, not like that at all. Appraisingly. Testing him, seeing how he'll take resistance. "You wouldn't offer protection without expecting more from me."

"Oh, so you're savvy in business deals now, are you?"

You mimic the way he's standing, head high and with your arms crossed over your chest. "Grants, funding, working with companies... there are always strings attached. Expectations. I need to know the fine print before I agree to anything. Last thing I want is to agree to a deal only for all my hard work to end up tied to the wrong group." Sylus chuckled, low and slow.

"A fair assessment." He shrugged, making Mephisto squawk as he tried to maintain his balance. "Alright, then. Here is what I will expect from you, sweetie. You will go about your normal life in the field, nothing different there. But Mephisto will tail you to act as surveillance on your companions. If I find someone suspicious I will alert you. Or, if you find something or someone suspicious, you will alert me in turn." His lips curled into a smirk. "In return for information and allowing Mephisto to tail you I will ensure your safety and continue to look into the artifact smuggling rings." His eyes lowered to the brooch on your shirt. He lifts his hand again, but doesn't touch it yet. He points at it. "This will act as your connection to me. If you ever need anything and cannot contact me, find Elysium, and ask for the Sweet Evil Trap from the Connoisseur's Menu." He does eventually allow his finger ot graze the brooch, and you do not shy from his touch this time. "The people who matter will know what you mean."

You cock your head, but don't question it. N109 zone folks were odd. You nod your head in confirmation. "I can do that." You agree. In the back of your mind you were taking note of all these things, wondering if you should reach out to your old friend against to see if you could find any information on this Sylus figure from the N109 zone. You wanted to know who you're dealing with and what you just signed yourself up for. "I just hope I'm not making a deal with the devil here."

"The devil?" Sylus laughed. A true, deep laugh. A slight hint of surprise in his voice. "What do you take me for? We were just discussing our mutual, noble ideals of repatriation."

"I'll remind you that the first time we met you dragged me down an alley with black mist and pried into my mind so deep my soul hurt." You shoot back. "That doesn't necessarily instill the most faith in a person."

"Fair." He shrugged, Mephisto again squawking. "Then allow me to demonstrate my willingness to aid you. Consider me... a patron for your discipline." 

"... I don't need an academic sugar daddy." 

"I didn't say that." Sylus laughed again. "No, no. Simply a patron of the discipline. We have the same end goals. No 'sugar' needed. Unless you're offering, of course." In spite of everything, his tone revealed he truly was joking. You manage to laugh in return, even in the odd circumstances you were presented with. 

Stalked, followed, dealing with colleagues going against everything the discipline should stand for and believe in. Here you stand with a criminal, someone you should stay far away from. And yet, right now, it feels like he is the one you can trust most out of all of them. 

"Alright." You finally acquiesce. "Fine, we can do this. But I reserve the right to call things off. I'm not stupid, I know I can't report this to the police or anything."

"I won't ask you to. This is your choice." Sylus finally looked to Mephisto. With one look the bird took off, already heading towards the N109 zone. "And I will not hold it against you if you must call it off." He sauntered back to his motorcycle, lifting his helmet. "You will know when you hear from me." He flipped his visor shut, and got onto the motorcycle. You don't know why. But you stay to see him off. As the engine revved to laugh you lifted a hand, waving him off. Before he took off down the dark streets, he glanced at you. Even through the visor of his helmet, you catch a single wink before he took off. 

The flirt took you off guard. Your breath hitched again, and watching the bike vanish down the road only left your heart beating a little faster. You couldn't even remember why you really left your apartment. In a slight daze, you turn on your heel, and go back inside.

A few days later, while you were finishing up digitizing some other notes, you received notification that you had a package. You don't think much of it, pausing to stretch and go downstairs. A friend could have sent you something, or it could be some letter from an organization or group you worked for. Or it could be junk. As you hop down the stairs two at a time, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You don't glance at it until you show up to the mailroom. You fetch the package, and only then glance down.

Unknown number: Enjoy, sweetie. 

You narrow your eyes. Wrong number? You don't respond at first, returning to your room. You open the text, looking at the number to see if it might be someone you know. You open the package with the sharp edge of your trowel you really know you shouldn't but you had it out so you might as well. You place your tool down, removing the brown paper. 

You freeze. You slowly pick the book up, holding it up in the light. You had never see a munsell book so... clean. You open it, looking through the colors of soils. You flip through each page, fingers caressing the page with a care most equipment didn't receive. Your phone buzzes again, and you quickly look down.

Unknown: You could be greedier, you know.

Unknown: A book is nothing. Whatever you need, tell me. I may not be your "academic sugar daddy", but I am your partner.

You put the book down, hurriedly picking up your phone.

You: Sylus????

You: Thank you, I've been wanting to have my own for years

You: This wasn't necessary

Sylus: Don't worry about it, sweetie

Sylus: A book is nothing. You could be greedier. Whatever you need, whatever your heart desires

Sylus: All you need to do is tell me. We have the same goal, don't we? If this will help achieve it, then it is more than worth it

You stand, slack jawed. You look between your phone and the book sitting on the table. Beside it, your trowel. And beside that, your field journal bookmarked with one of Mephisto's feathers. "Partners." You murmur aloud. You gently remove the feather from your field notes, instead tucking it into the munsell book. Your trowel remains beside it. You take your phone, pressing the 'call' button beside your newly added contact for Sylus. You move further into your apartment, putting your phone closer to your ear.

"Hey, partner. I think I'd like to be greedier." A low, tired chuckle came from the other end of the line. It was mid morning, was the man nocturnal?

"Whatever your heart desires."

[scarluna]

LINES OF DECEPTION - ACT VI. (SNEAK PEAK)

Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT III / ACT IV / ACT V / ACT VI / ACT VII / ACT VIII

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

Rya’s hand hovered over the remote as the reporter’s voice filled the tense air of the office.

“Breaking news this morning,” the reporter began, her tone grave. “Authorities have confirmed the discovery of a deceased individual late last night at their apartment. The victim has been identified as an employee of Jeon Enterprises and was last seen attending the high-profile masquerade ball hosted by MNT Media just days ago.”

Rya and I exchanged a glance, our breaths caught in the shared silence. The weight of the words was crushing, and my mind raced to process what I already knew.

“Last seen at the ball...” Rya whispered, her voice barely audible, but I caught the way her hands trembled as she gripped the remote.

I swallowed hard, fighting the knot forming in my throat. My stomach churned.

The broadcast continued, showing images of the ball—the glittering chandeliers, the elegant gowns, the masked faces. And then it switched to a live shot of an apartment building cordoned off with police tape, officers moving in and out under the glow of harsh floodlights.

“Sources close to the investigation report signs of foul play, though no official suspects have been named. Jeon Jungkook, CEO of Jeon Enterprises, has been taken for questioning as he has been the last one seen with the victim.”

“Damn it,” Rya muttered, her voice cracking slightly.

I didn’t answer, the words sticking to the back of my throat. We both knew who it was. There was no need to say it out loud.

Instead, I fixed my gaze on the screen, where the reporter was now recounting snippets. “The victim was known to be a driven and outspoken employee, with significant professional ties and ongoing disputes that may have played a role in the events leading up to their death.”

[thatguywiththetumb1er]

Rise of the Golden Idol isn't perfect and I'm still trying to pinpoint exactly how I feel about it (I'll probably watch like 7 other people play it and then go from there), but I will say it's story is pretty fucking top notch.

It builds a brilliant web of intrigue that balances genuine unease with dark, dry comedy to the point where trying to describe any of the plot points in this game makes you feel like you're trying to summarize a season of Riverdale to someone who's never heard of it.

Allow me to demonstrate, minor spoilers for RotGI:

Okay so it's like 1973 or 4 or something like that and a local TV station is holding its annual talent show. Two of the entrants, a magician and a musician, used to date but had a REALLY nasty breakup so he unlocks the cage holding her rabbit which breaks loose and she fills his trumpet with O-Range™ soda. (It's what happy tastes like!™) Trouble is, that Soda belongs to a *deep breath* professional burpist who is going to *deeper breath* close the show by burping a series of impressions of the presidents. Without the carbonation to fuel his... talent(?) he instead decides to wing it and dance freestyle. When he does he unintentionally does a perfect recreation of an interpretive dance from a bygone, vaguely Lovecraftian culture which, when translated from DANCE LANGUAGE, conveys a message about the dangers of trusting fools who mess with powers beyond their comprehension. The fools messing with powers beyond their comprehension who are responsible for this happening deem said information as "completely useless." The man wins the talent show. Everybody flips shit. A ballerina attacks the host. This is a minor plot point that is only tangentially related to the main story. It is one of the less bananas things that happens.

DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN????????

[fujocoded]

New Contractor Announcement ✨

Friends, please welcome our new contractor and first-official-sysadmin, Kat 🎉

Kat is not only a long-term member of Fandom Coders, but a prolific self-hoster of fandom software, and we're SO excited to have her aid in our quest!

Over the next few months Kat will work on getting our servers in order: from backing up our data, to setting up monitoring of our resources (no more accidental 20GB log file), to much needed "service down!" alerts. She'll also help us set up infrastructure for future services!

This is Kat's first professional experience as a sysadmin, and a huge step in our mission to create opportunities for members of the fandom community!

If you'd like to join us, we're looking for writers, technical and not! Drop your contact in our form 👇⬇️👇

And if you'd like to give *your* aid to our mission of creating professional opportunities for software hobbyists (and beyond) in our community, ESPECIALLY now that being a junior in tech is so incredibly hard, support us on Patreon!

Help us help them help the web!!

(Last thing, to get ahead of potential questions about Kat's TOS banning certain content from her sites: we talked extensively about her stance on issues dear to fandom, and we're comfortable with where she stands. Likewise, we stand by her right to choose what she's personally comfortable hosting.)

[cruisedirector]

I was organizing Star Trek photos on Facebook in an album when I realized that I never wrote anything about the legendary fan writer Claire Gabriel, who was my friend in fandom intermittently for decades.

I met her because of her original series fan novels 'Simple Gifts' and 'The Porcelain of Twilight', which my longtime friend Vertigo had loaned me. Ironically, it was Claire's interpretation of a particular aspect of Vulcan society ringing entirely wrong to me that inspired me to write to her in 1988-89, back before the internet when we were reading paper zines with the authors' home addresses sometimes printed in the back. Claire thought that Vulcans would be opposed to terminating pregnancies in all instances, even to save the mother if the fetus would otherwise survive, because it was logical to preserve new life; I thought that was the most illogical thing I'd ever heard, and I told her so. She was very nice about it and we agreed to disagree!

It was a bit gutsy of me to write to her because Claire was already very famous among Star Trek fans as the author of the short story "Ni Var", published in the Bantam Books anthology 'Star Trek: The New Voyages'. Leonard Nimoy wrote the introduction to this story for the collection. I didn't know until Claire and I started corresponding, first about 'Simple Gifts' and then about her other writing, that the version of "Ni Var" in the Marshak-and-Culbreath anthology had been heavily edited, and Claire had a different, earlier version from a zine that she felt was more faithful to the characters. She sent it to me, we corresponded for several months about Star Trek and writing, then I moved to Chicago and -- as often happened in those chaotic days of mail forwarding -- we lost track of each other and didn't communicate for half a decade.

When Star Trek: Voyager premiered in 1995, it impacted nearly every aspect of my life. Within a few months, I was running a fan club, organizing a Usenet board, putting together an internet mailing list that in those days required ccing a lot of people, eventually getting a professional reviewing job...and I was writing and editing fan fiction, both for the fan club and for what we assumed would be zines but eventually wound up on web pages. I got an email from Claire under her professional name and it took a minute for the penny to drop, but then I realized who she was. She hadn't known she was writing to me, either, since I was using two different pseudonyms on the internet at the time -- one for my reviews and professional writing, one for fan-related activities and fanfic.

We were then in touch several times a day for several years, often ecstatically discussing television episodes. It started out being all about Voyager -- she wanted to know where the Janeway/Chakotay fans were, and it will shock none of you to know that I could answer that question -- but ended up covering most aspects of our lives, as well as other fandoms (notably La Femme Nikita, in which she wrote a novella that was at one time hosted on one of my web sites, like her Voyager fan fiction). Claire was a fantastic editor and always very generous with her time to younger writers.

I met her in person when I was passing through the city where she lived. We had a meal at a McDonalds so that my kids could play in the ball pit while we had a conversation. We followed each other on various journaling platforms, and later on, we friended each other on Facebook and chatted there about mostly fannish things while we were in different places in our lives.

At some point, Claire's Facebook page disappeared. I thought at first that maybe she'd blocked me over something political; we never agreed on some pretty big issues like the one that led me to write to her in the '80s in the first place. Then I discovered from a mutual friend -- another fannish legend, Kathleen Dailey of 'Unspoken Truth: The Romulan Commander's Story', to whom Claire had introduced me, along with Jacqueline Lichtenberg and other science fiction authors I had known of since childhood -- that Claire had passed away in May 2024 at the age of 91. We hadn't been in regular touch for a few years at that point, but I was still sad and am sad still. When I came across things I wrote when we lost BeccaO and lauawill and Sorbet, I wanted to remember Claire here, where I know other people who knew her.

[pulsaris]

O evento tecnológico anual mais conhecido de Portugal no Mundo está quase aí, com o debate de novas ideias e a partilha de “velhas sabedorias”. Os empreendedores de todo o Mundo reúnem-se para debater o impacto das suas actividades profissionais e empresariais no Meio-Ambiente, estando sempre focados na sua sustentabilidade.

Com os seus serviços de Web Design e de Web Hosting, a Pulsaris assegura que as novas ideias estão presentes na Internet e que empresas, profissionais e instituições assegurem um equilíbrio saudável dos seus diversos recursos de Internet.

Todas as gerações agradecem, depositando confiança num futuro próximo de sustentabilidade ambiental plena.

[brabblesban]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 2: 𝐘𝐞𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

The gift arrives, and Astarion continues spinning himself into his little web of mistruths. Ban does some sleuthing.

Now professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Originally beta'd by @leomonae

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Ban and Astarion by @primopinku

Astarion stood with hands clasped behind his back, watching Roderich’s workers carry the mirror inside the palace. It was huge, and he absently wondered what he would do if it didn't fit through the doorway to the bedroom. He supposed having it in the ballroom wouldn’t be such a bad idea, but it might prove to be an issue when hosting parties; people would inevitably notice his consort’s lack of reflection.

Roderich approached him and gave a small bow. “My lord,” he said. “Which room would you like the mirror to be brought to?”

Astarion regarded the man before him; Roderich was frightened, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Perhaps rumors of the activities that had occurred in this palace during Cazador’s reign had reached Roderich’s ears. He deliberated between further terrifying the man for his amusement or placating him, and begrudgingly settled on the latter, as delectable an idea as the former was.

He draped an arm over Roderich’s shoulder. “Our bedroom, on the far wall,” he replied. “Take two left turns and you’ll find it.” He leaned in. “Would you like to join me for some refreshments, Master Glasscraft?”

Up close, Astarion thought, he could see the family resemblance. The shape of his face and nose were reminiscent of Ban’s - Ban, who had gone to Rivington today to see Shadowheart.

Ban, who had been rather quiet since the day she saw him hiding the contract.

The silence had been unnerving him, bringing out his insecurities at a frankly terrifying speed. While he normally would have sought to explain his feelings to her, he hadn’t this time; the sheer fear of her anger and the thought of losing her winning out over his better judgment.

Roderich flinched, but as the arm over his back was a normal temperature, felt himself relax slightly. Perhaps Cazador Szarr could have been the monster he had been suspecting Lord Ancunín to be, but presently there were fewer and fewer reasons to suspect the man beside him.

“Some tea would be nice, I suppose. But I can’t stay too long. My wife, Arlette… she’s waiting for me.” He doubted vampires ever stocked human food and drink, so that was a good sign, but he still felt the need to clearly state that someone would notice if he disappeared. His throat was a bit dry and scratchy, regardless.

“Tea it is, then.” As Astarion called a servant over and rattled off a request for tea and some biscuits, Roderich quickly instructed his men as to which room to bring the mirror and where to place it. Turning his attention back to Roderich, Astarion shot him his most winsome smile, taking care not to show his fangs this time.

“I’ve asked for the tea to be delivered to my study,” he said, arm still around Roderich, steering him in that direction. “So. Do tell me about dear Arlette. Children? I’d assume a son, considering…”

The shop’s name, yes. Astarion fought back the wave of indignation at the fact that Ban didn’t even seem to merit a mention there. Of course, they likely assumed her dead, and he had no idea why she had left them in the first place, but still.

Roderich, finding the small talk a bit peculiar but not impolite, nodded, clearing his throat. “Arlette and I ha-have a son. Adrien.” He entered the study, following his host, and took a seat on one of the plush armchairs in the room; Astarion took the one next to his, crossing his legs.

As the tea and biscuits arrived on a metal tray, Astarion noted the hesitation in Roderich’s tone. Fear, perhaps? He gingerly picked up his own cup, making a show of finding the tea hot, blowing across its surface, to further disarm the man.

“Arlette and Adrien.” He paused a moment, then offered some information in return, keeping the conversation flowing. “I myself am newly wedded, only about a year or so ago. Alas, the gods haven’t seen fit to bless us with offspring as yet. Grandchildren?”

Roderich shook his head, a heaviness settling over his features. “No,” he said. “It’s… Adrien-”

His voice was rough; Astarion noticed it, but did not comment. Instead he took a long sip from his cup, allowing the man a moment to recover.

“Adrien hasn’t taken a wife.” Roderich settled on saying.

Astarion let the silence stretch, picking up a biscuit with slender fingers. Taking a bite or two; he regarded Ban’s father. A brother, then, with something seemingly causing Roderich distress at the mere mention of his name. Interesting.

Astarion’s chamberlain entered the room, and made a small bow. “My lord,” he said, “they have finished.” At the man’s words Roderich stood, eager to be done with this conversation.

“Lord Ancunín.” He gave a small bow, “I really do need to take my leave. Arlette needs me to weed the garden today, and…”

Astarion waved his hand in a gesture of nonchalance, as if it did not trouble him at all. “Take some pastries with you, Master Glasscraft. I’m sure your wife and son will appreciate them. The kitchen will have a box prepared for you - just let him lead the way.” He nodded towards his chamberlain.

“Yes, my lord. Thank you. I shall be off.” Roderich followed the chamberlain and was soon on his way home, grateful to be away from Lord Ancunín, his questions, and his oddly piercing gaze.

Still in his seat, Astarion mulled over Roderich’s words. How much of this was old information, and how much did Ban know?

And whatever could have happened to Adrien that so disconcerted his father?

Ban stared at the mirror as she slipped her bathrobe off, draping it over the couch. She did so merely as a matter of habit - of course she no longer saw herself or the bathrobe, only the empty room staring back at her. The mirror was large and ornate with gold inlaid into the frame. Leaning against the wall of their bedroom, it gave the impression of a great beast looming over their bed.

She hated it. Not that mirrors have ever been something she liked - they reminded her too much of her past - but this one in particular felt ominous, a little too big and a little too oppressive a presence in their place of refuge. She knew Astarion would have it moved the moment she asked, but for now at least she was willing to let it stay. After all, he’d done a marvelous job introducing her to it earlier today; the memory of him fucking her in front of it so they could see what his cock did inside her - him spreading her apart, coming apart inside her, just for her - was one she thought she’d remember for a while.

Ban spied Astarion’s reflection in the mirror as he walked in from the bathroom, towel still wrapped around his waist. His expression looked conflicted, until he schooled it into something more neutral.

“I see you’re admiring our newest acquisition,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the back of her shoulder, then slowly trailing a path of kisses up to the base of her neck. He closed his eyes, hands resting on her waist. The fear of her leaving, now ever-present, fluttered in his breast; his brows furrowed briefly, but he managed to smooth them down.

All this, Ban could easily see reflected in the mirror. A small sigh escaped her, and she turned to face him. He fell still, eyes still closed, afraid to see or hear what she’d say next. She cupped his cheek, smiling a little when he leaned into her touch.

“I still stand by what I said. This feels a bit much.”

Her words were met by quiet, soft laughter, and he kissed her palm.

“You did mention that.” His hands shifted forward, fingers knitting together against her back, pulling her in close. Astarion debated between playing up his usual snark or letting his walls down, but there really wasn’t any contest. There hadn’t been any for a while now, in moments like this. “Do you dislike it?”

“Not dislike, I think, it’s just…” She frowned. “It’ll take some getting used to. I won’t mind as much if we do what we did today more often?” A small conciliatory offer, one Astarion grasped without hesitation.

“Of course,” he huffed, amused. Astarion leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “To bed then, love?” He finally opened his eyes, offering her a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Astarion’s fingers deftly removed the towel from his waist, throwing it onto the couch nearby; despite her nearness, there wasn’t any stirring of desire in him, the worry overruling every other thought. He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to bed. Crawling in after her, he curled his body around hers, holding her close. He tucked his face against the back of her neck, hiding.

Astarion had been waiting. Since she’d come home and seen the mirror, he’d been waiting. For what, he didn’t know - a word, a quick anecdote of her life before, anything. Even a snide comment would have been something.

He hadn’t meant to blatantly state the mirror wasn’t from her family, of course. It had slipped out in a moment of nervousness as he’d tried to reassure her about the new addition to the bedroom.

“Even for you, this is a bit much,” Ban had said as he’d walked in.

Astarion remembered dragging a chair with him, planting it directly in front of the mirror and sitting down. He’d placed it close to the glass; his knees had almost touched his reflection’s. There had been apprehension, a worry that she’d somehow immediately know the origins of his purchase and confront him right there and then. Her pithy comment and the fact that she’d almost caught him with the contract had simply exacerbated his unease. He’d defaulted into his usual defense then, the old act slipping on effortlessly.

“I didn’t buy this from your family, if that’s what you’re so concerned about. And…” He had kept his expression neutral, cooly leaning forward to tilt his face, making a show of admiring his own visage on the mirror. He’d sensed her watching him, likely entranced by his little display, as intended. His eyes had flicked towards hers and in one smooth, practiced move, he’d leaned back to spread his legs.

“Sit.” He’d tapped his right thigh.

Why he needed to do this, to dig at the truth of her past, he didn’t exactly know; after all, the issue of her family was something they’d never spoken of, and which had seemingly no immediate relevance to their life. However, he did see her occasional sadness, saw her pull away when whatever he said or did reminded her of something, and he wanted to understand. He had tried asking her - had done so gently, at times with a little more force, but it always ended the same way.

I don’t want to talk about it, Astarion.

That, usually combined with an angry huff and silence for the rest of the day, even when he acquiesced and let the matter go.

The anger had been a recent thing, an ugly creature borne out of her need to avoid anything even approaching the topic of her past. As their relationship had slowly improved, Astarion had taken it upon himself to learn more about her, figuring that her past would have shaped her; thinking that knowing her more fully would help him predict her better.

That was the logical reason, of course. At the core, all he wanted was to be entrusted with her heart, the whole of her self, in a way that was greater than before, in a way that indicated he’d been fully accepted back, forgiven - permitted to know and love her completely. He sighed, thinking about her most recent eruption.

“Ban, I just-” He’d backtracked, trying to salvage the situation before it escalated into yet another anxiety-filled day of barely being spoken to as punishment.

She’d rounded on him, eyes wild and full of fury and fear - although not of him, if her words had been any indication. “Stop, Astarion. There’s no point in asking, no point in prodding, do you understand?”

“I know...” He had tried to take her wrist and been rebuffed with a quick withdrawal of her hand; his fingers had closed around air. “I merely want to see you.” Like you see me.

“What else is there to see?” Ban had raised an eyebrow, challenging him. “I love you. I am happy with you. I am not afraid of you. What more do you need to know?”

Everything else, he’d thought, but that fear in her eyes had stopped him. Small steps. He knew trust to be a delicate thing; earning it would take time.

Perhaps direct questions might help.

“What was it that… caused this?” Cautious, careful words; he’d tried his best to keep his voice neutral.

After all, he still hadn’t even understood why the argument had started. They had been at Wyrm’s Crossing when a merchant had accused Ban of stealing a necklace.

The culprit had been Astarion, of course. The necklace had a pendant in the shape of a rose, and he had thought it would look wonderful on her. His fingers had moved before he could think, the necklace gone before anyone had been the wiser.

The vendor had eventually noticed the missing necklace. A cursory scan had shown it likely to have been the couple who had just passed by: a silver-haired elf, adorned in a beaded, gold-trimmed jacket, and his companion, a human dressed in nice enough, but rather simpler clothes.

Ban had vehemently denied the accusation, her voice rising in time to match the vendor’s, though still reining herself in.

“Rich,” the man had hissed, eyeing her, “and yet with scruples no better than a common thief. Your companion here picked you up from the streets, no doubt.”

Astarion had seen red then, the temptation to simply end the man’s miserable life almost overwhelming. Instead he had taken a step, encroaching on the man’s space.

“You do not speak to my wife in that manner, cretin,” he had growled, his fangs threatening to make an appearance.

Then he had said the thing that he was almost sure had caused her to recoil. “We could buy your wares, your sorry little shop, and even your sorry little self. ”

He had seen her blanch then, her hand disengaging from where it had been linked around his arm. She hadn’t looked scared of him so much as it had seemed like she’d remembered something, and whatever it was had upset her. Unsure, Astarion had dragged her away from the bristling vendor before the argument could escalate even further.

It had gone downhill from there until, hours later, he’d found himself once more trying to find his way through the mire of her anger and her secrets. What was it that… caused this?

Ban frowned at Astarion’s question, the words ringing in her head.

I could buy you!

Her father had loved saying those words, bandying them about whenever some unfortunate soul crossed him. The moment similar words had left Astarion’s lips, all those memories had come flooding back.

Of course, she would never tell him. It was the past, and as much as Astarion had inadvertently reminded her of her father, she knew he hadn’t meant to. She knew he wanted to know; the way those eyes pleaded and his voice trembled told her in no uncertain terms how badly. She worried, though, that if he knew of her past, knew what she’d suffered, his vision of her would forever be altered.

Ban knew Astarion had always seen her as strong. Resolute. Someone capable of protecting others. She wanted to be that for him, to be his rock - forever, if possible.

There was also the fact that she’d always loathed being weak, even for him.

The mirror was, he supposed, his last, desperate effort. He’d hoped seeing the mirror would bring the conversation to the fore… but then what would have happened?

He would have told her that he did indeed purchase it from her family. He’d have begged for forgiveness, explained he only did it to get her to open up, that she needn’t do anything with the information he’d gleaned about her family. That he wanted to understand her like she understood him, and why was that so wrong?

He’d have told her that he’d tried everything else: he’d spoken, he’d pleaded, he’d begged and tried to explain how important this was to him, and it had all fallen on deaf, if not angry ears, until subterfuge was the only option left unexplored. He’d have told her that it ate him up inside to know she still didn’t love him enough - trust him enough - to share all of herself with him, the imbalance a constant reminder of all the things he could never take back, of sins remaining unforgotten and of wounds unhealed.

Astarion shifted against Ban as frustration seeped in anew, a small grunt escaping his lips.

She knew everything about him, from his worst memories to his greatest fears. She’d seen him at his best, and at his absolute worst. What had he seen of her?

A carefully curated facade, which did sometimes crumble to reveal her soft, loving core - but what about all the parts of her that aren’t her love for him? What about her life before? What made her this?

He wanted to know those pieces of her, to pick them like roses amongst thorns; to love them, to help, to soothe where needed. To do what she’d done for him.

It tore him apart to not be allowed that. To not be trusted with it.

How long would she hide herself from him? He’d given her every ounce of himself; every single day he rested his heart upon her palms, ready to be crushed at a moment’s notice, and yet he was given so little in return. Was he to expect an eternity of this, of her holding back, never giving what matters most of herself? Had he been seen and deemed unworthy of her trust, of her?

And if so, how long until she decided this wasn’t worth it? That she could find someone worthy of sharing all of herself? That he wasn’t worth it, after all?

And just like that day in Wyrm’s Crossing and the countless other days before it, Astarion’s plan for the mirror to trigger a conversation had fallen flat on its face.

When she’d come home earlier today and seen the mirror leaning against their bedroom wall, it had stirred something. She’d definitely reacted to it; he’d seen her staring. But there had been no words, nothing to indicate any willingness to open up to him about her thoughts.

Panic had flooded his mind then. He’d slipped into seduction, hoping that would disarm her enough to say something in the glow of post-coital bliss. Instead she’d merely kissed him and stood up, leaving him to clean himself off and scramble for words that wouldn’t come.

He hadn’t been able to say it, the cold grip of fear squeezing his heart until all he could do was watch his own reflection in the mirror.

The man staring back at him had looked terrified.

Ban noticed Astarion’s frustrated noise as he snuggled more firmly against her back.

“You alright?” she asked, feeling the hand resting on her stomach tighten in response. He sighed, his warm breath tickling her nape. She knew he was troubled, knew that it had to do with whatever he was hiding, and also now suspected that the mirror was related to it.

Astarion cleared his throat. “Perfectly fine, if in need of rest,” he said stiffly, but there was no hiding that tone, nor the tension in his body. The fear had fully set in and he didn’t want to risk their forever by admitting his misdeed.

Besides, he reasoned, it’s such a small, irrelevant thing. Maybe she isn’t bothered by the mirror. Maybe those memories are just that - recollections not worthy of further thought. Perhaps there isn’t a need to even bring this up.

“Astarion. Talk to me.” Ban turned to face him; he closed his eyes as she did, refusing to look. “What’s with the mirror, and whatever you were hiding in your desk a tenday ago?”

No. No. His mind scurried for a response, looking for an excuse and finding absolutely none. He forced his eyelids open to meet her gaze. There was nothing for it; he had to at least say something.

“I thought it would jog your memory, and perhaps pry open your mouth.”

“Mem-” Ban swore. “ Gods. How many - I keep telling you. I don’t want to talk about it!”

Of course it had to do with her past. She tried to bite down the vitriol threatening to make its way out of her and entirely failed.

“Why are you so keen on knowing, anyway? Can you not keep your nose out of my business for once?”

Astarion gasped at her poisonous jab. For so long he’d been backing off whenever she snapped at him over this, but his patience had run out. “Because you won’t tell me anything! How can I make things right if you won’t trust me?”

The moment the words were out of his mouth he regretted them; his jaw snapped shut. She wouldn’t like that; any mention of anything regarding her opening up was met with anger or stony silence. Astarion quickly changed tactics, doing what he usually did at this point: placating her while panicking quietly.

“Ban,” he sighed. “That… I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Probably not,” came her clipped response. She moved away, out from his arms, curling up at the far side of the bed.

Astarion watched her, the last embers of that defensive anger slipping away under the endless tide of his fear. He didn’t reach for her; simply drew the blankets over her body, tucking her in.

He pressed one small kiss to her shoulder, sighing as she made no move to indicate she’d even noticed him.

“Goodnight, Ban,” he murmured, as he allowed himself to slowly slip into trance. I love you. He didn’t say it, frightened of what her response would be - or worse, wouldn’t be. He didn’t hear a reply.

Ban waited until he was fully in trance, his breaths slow and deep, before she moved.

The hallways were bathed in moonlight, a beautiful sight that she had always loved. Tonight, however, they barely merited a glance.

A quick left down the hallway, and she was in the study. It didn’t take long to find the parchment Astarion had tried to keep hidden. To find the truth.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @ battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind@pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann @wisteriaofthegraves @girlygamer-blog

[venusvity]

Yoo Mirae (Korean: 유미래, born January 6, 1997), known professionally as Bliss (Korean: 블리스; Japanese: 至福), is a Korean singer, dancer, and actress based in South Korea. She is a former member of the South Korean girl group Venus, formed by Angelico Entertainment in 2018. She is portrayed by Lee Yoomi & Wendy Son.

Mirae was born on January 6, 1997, in Gunpo, Gyeonggi Province, South Korea. Her mother is the esteemed musical theatre actress Yoo Misun. Mirae attended high school at the School of Performing Arts in Seoul. Throughout her school years, she starred in multiple school musicals. She joined a school drama club and earned more experience in the entertainment industry by attending auditions.

In 2014, Mirae joined Angelico Entertainment as a trainee after passing its auditions. 

In October 2014, she appeared in Emphasis' music video for "Du Du Du!" as a lifeguard. The same year, she starred in Priority's "Say You Love Me" music video as Reid's love interest. In 2015, she would be featured in W Korea alongside Kang Juwon of Priority. Mirae would do a lot of modeling pre-debut, working with brands such as Laneige, Nature Republic, Amuse, Bobbi Brown Cosmetics, and Etude House.

𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟖: 𝐃𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒

On March 17, 2018, Mirae would officially debut in VENUS with the release of their first extended play (EP), SHE DEVIL, and its lead single, "SHE DEVIL." She would take on the stage name "Bliss."

She was the group's co-leader, main rapper, and main vocalist.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎 - 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟏: 𝐀𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐃𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐭

In January 2020, Bliss made her acting debut as the female lead in the web drama Please Try Again, which achieved record-breaking viewership.

On March 24, 2021, Bliss was announced as a cast member for the musical Midnight Sun as Seo Haena, with DAY6's Wonpil, Baekho, DeepDive's Kiwoo, GOT7's Youngjae, Shinee's Onew, Kang Hye-in, Kei, and Lee Ah-jin. To promote the musical, she collaborated with stage member Onew to release "A Melody Called You (너라는 멜로디)"

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒: 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒

On June 10, 2024, during the Venus contract transfer, Bliss, unlike the other four members of Venus, would not sign with Mydol Entertainment. A letter announcing Bliss's departure from the group would be posted to Venus' social media accounts.

It is still under heavy debate if Bliss left the group or was removed by Mydol CEOs.

On August 7th, 2024, Bliss renewed her contract with Angelico Entertainment.

Before her debut with Venus, Yoonah featured in advertisements for Samsonite, Smart Uniform, LG Electronics, and Nikon. 

In September 2018, Bliss and band-mate Baebi became endorsement models for Japanese cosmetics brand Kiss Me. 

In September 2021, Bliss was announced as the new host of the program Music Bank with L.O.L's Jesse. For their performance on the program, they were awarded with the Best Couple Award at the 2021 KBS Entertainment Awards.

In February 2021, Korean clothing brand It Michaa selected Bliss as its muse for its Spring 2021 collection. She was also appointed for the summer 2021 campaign on It Michaa's line, For a Day Michaa. 

In 2022, Coca-Cola Korea selected Bliss as an endorsement model for Dr Pepper.

In January 2023, Bliss stepped down as Music Bank host after sixteen months in the role.

In February 2023, Bliss became the new muse for the South Korean casual fashion brand SJSJ.

In December 2023, Dyson selected Bliss as its official Brand Ambassador, representing the new Dyson hair care products. Then, in January 2024, the American athletic apparel retailer Alo Yoga announced Bliss as the new face for its spring 2024 campaign. 

[enki2]

The more persistent control you have over a device, the more you and the device adapt to each other, becoming a more effective group organism. The higher the input and output bandwidth of the interface (i.e., the greater the number of distinct ways you can interact with it / it can respond to you), the faster the system can adapt.

So, the horse metaphor makes perfect sense: your desktop ships with a real keyboard on which you can probably do 300 WPM without blocking part of the display, and has a display that can hold half a dozen legible non-overlapping windows. If you have a screwdriver, you can open it up and replace basically any part. Even without a screwdriver, you can generally out of the box persistently dramatically change the UI settings to fit the needs of your environment (light vs dark mode, font size and style). You can stick linux on & that opens up a lot more. On a desktop computer, it's possible for a motivated 10 year old of average intelligence to progress from normal computer use to writing non-trivial application software for their own use within a couple years -- I am proof, & I'm far from alone.

Tablets are on the opposite end of the spectrum: simplified, locked down. The user does not collaborate with the tablet; instead, the tablet has only those affordances that channel the user's behavior into habits the developers of the tablet software consider desirable.

Mobile & web achieved the dream of proprietary software people: user-facing software that the user can't even disassemble because the important parts aren't accessible; since they did this through physical distance rather than the legal system, they can profit from other people's open source software too, circumventing many of the restrictions intended to keep improvements folded back into the community or to limit commercial use. But the side effect of this is that it gives professional computer touchers much more control over regular people's computers: not only can you not fix bugs in someone else's web app yourself, but you can't refuse to upgrade to a version that's a worse fit for your purposes. Where desktop computing encouraged the development of communities of amateur computer hobbyists who, together, would adapt or create alternatives to things that didn't work right (as well as creating lots of interesting, funny, unnecessary stuff that can only be classified as Art -- little games and toys, elaborate shitposts, weird mods and skins), mobile does not. The only thing you need to make your desktop computer do something brand new is a desktop computer, the software development tools & documentation that ship with the OS, and some free time -- you don't even need an internet connection; developing for web or mobile also functionally requires a desktop, on top of your mobile device for mobile (and if it's an iPhone you gotta have a Mac & pay Apple $99/year), & for web you need to pay for hosting and a domain name.

[margareth-lv]

😵‍💫🫡 Anxiety, apathy, withdrawal, delusions 🫡😵‍💫

@odessa-2 inspired me with her note today and a reminder of the post Oliver Jeffers shared on Instagram on 3 January 2021 (side note: I have a feeling this is a completely random date and has nothing to do with anything other than Caitríona being at the time, as many people believe, already heavily pregnant with this child, whose birth wasn't announced until August,  but I could be wrong. Is there anything that you associate with this date?).

*** *** *** My body reacts nervously to any event involving Caitríona and Oliver Jeffers. Maybe it's some kind of PTSD, I'll explain in more detail below. *** *** *** Anyway, my first reaction to the news in fandom over the weekend about the New York Times article was quite nervous.

😅

In October, […] the visual artist and author Oliver Jeffers, 46, hosted a candlelit dinner for a group of Irish and Northern Irish artists and friends.

Caitríona was also present at the dinner to celebrate the launch of Oliver's latest book, 'Begin Again'.

Caitríona/Oliver, that combination doesn't sound right to me, it means smoke and mirrors and supporting the narrative. Luckily I was wrong this time.

*** *** ***

2021. Oliver Jeffers at Caitríona's 'wedding', sitting in the fireplace recess in a white suit, accompanied by a stone dog. There was no better place for him than the soot-blackened fireplace? There was no other suit than white for a friend's wedding? There was no better companion for this wedding than a stone dog? ❓

Smoke and mirrors. As dense as a spider's web, a web of connections, dependencies and interests.

*** *** ***

July 2022. Oliver Jeffers invites Caitríona to take part in the 'Our Place' festival he is organising.

Here they are in conversation with Kathy Clugston in Belfast on 2 July 2022 ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Caitríona is sitting on the stage, tense.

Excuse me. I don't mean to be rude, but she looked like she was getting dressed for the event in the dark. And when you watch the whole thing, you realise that, surprisingly, she wasn't at all comfortable on stage. She didn't have much to say except for her personal memories. She didn't have any general thoughts, any wider perspective than her own. You could see her lack of confidence and fear in her body language, the unspoken part of communication. Sadness, stress and depression. So what does she say? What does Caitríona say?

The fandom has been buzzing for years about the fact that Caitríona never referred to 🧛🏻‍♂️ as her husband. So now Caitríona, sitting uncomfortably next to Oliver Jeffers, raised her right hand in an embarrassed laugh.

Well, her husband used to say, wait, what did he used to say? Oh yes, he used to say that a strong personality keeps their accent. I mean, the most interesting thing is what happens after that. Because the most surprising thing is what she starts talking about after she calls her 'husband'. Within a couple of sentences she starts talking about Sam, you know, the one she works with. And "Sam, who I work with, for the last three months he's been saying, 'What's up with you, you're really Irish all of a sudden'". And then she talks about her 'only son'.

A brilliantly acted scene (if it weren't for all the nervous laughing and tensing up).

💁🏻‍♀️

You ask, how do we know which 'husband' was in the festival audience? From here, of course ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Smoke and mirrors. As dense as a spider's web, a web of connections, dependencies and interests.

*** *** *** Incidentally, I am keen to compare Caitríona's pictures with her 'husband' with those of her real-life friends:

*** *** *** That's why when I saw the 'NYT' article about Caitríona and Oliver Jeffers, my stomach tightened. This time, however, I couldn't have been more wrong. 🙃🙃🙃

… because Caitríona's handbag was on the floor, near her feet, as someone on 'X' pointed out.

Which means that the professional purse-holder had been given the evening off on the day of this dinner.

Can one feel more relieved?

❓

I ate my breakfast in peace and quiet.

*** *** *** Source 1: Starting at 36:29 is the short clip I quoted above.

Source 2:

*** *** ***

Voilà. Enjoy, @lovehimloveherstuff (Although reading what I've written here probably has nothing to do with 'enjoying'. I am so sorry.)

[December 11, 2023]

[saturnine-saturneight]

Free Shit 101

Or: How I make cool graphics for Writeblr posts and Twine games

made from this and this!

We all know it: graphics are snappy. They catch the eye. Getting interest in pure text is hard. So, if you can't or don't want to draw, what do you do? You browse the internet for free shit and make a collage!

Many resources on the web are free for personal use, but some on this list are even free for commercial use, meaning you can make that book cover for self pub with them. Creative commons licenses are your friend, though not all CCs are created equal. If you're planning to post something in a place where you could potentially garner some attention, read through the specific license terms to avoid getting into trouble. You can look up the different creative commons licenses here.

And of course, this is a short list full of my personal favorite sites and programs that I actually use. If anyone has other resources that they love, please feel free to share them!

Graphics

Pexels.com

Pexels is full of high definition, professional-quality free stock photos by photographers. Everything on Pexels is free for commercial use so long as you don't use it unaltered, as per their site-wide license.

Wikimedia commons

Wikimedia commons has everything you would expect from Wikipedia pictures, including art and history. It's great for pictures of antiques, for example. The site can be filtered by license type.

Flickr

There are plenty of professional level photos to be found on Flickr, released for free by their creators. My favorites here are the nature and animal pictures. Again, Flickr doesn't set a uniform license for all photos, but instead lets you filter.

Sounds and music

Pixabay

Many people know Pixabay as a free image site, and I know I said graphics, but did you know that Pixabay also hosts free music and sound effects? Where Wikimedia commons and Flickr leave the choice of license to individual users, Pixabay takes Pexel's approach and sets a site-wide license.

Fonts

1001freefonts

A cool font can make or break a graphic. 1001freefonts is an aggregator for them, easily filtered by style and installed on your computer in no time. Filter by "free" and "free for personal use".

Programs

Fire Alpaca

I think everyone knows Fire Alpaca by now. In the context of graphics, it can be used to remove backgrounds, adjust colors, make collages, add a filter, slap on clouds with a free brush... You don't have to be able to draw, and there are plenty of tutorials out there to do just about anything you can imagine.