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jjheejz · 3 years

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About Internet Water Army in the case

This is an ongoing update about the case from start to development. List of all related posts can be found on this blog's pinned post (link provided at bottom of each post as well).

19 August 2021 update: Added the scale of his success for reference, before bonus below

18 August 2021 update: Added timeline of events, orange title in post, found out the official English term for Immoral Media = Internet Water Army)

Major updates since first draft: Added bonus, added disclaimer, certain info details

Originally posted on 16 August 2021

[The purpose of this post is to provide a perspective as to why the Media is raised/blamed regarding the issue. Especially for international fans, as all the encounters happened on Weibo. Also, those who were on weibo, do read through if you will. So although it's lengthy, do try to read all, at least if not the last two parts].

The Media referred by most, is not the common perception of the Entertainment Industry (celebrities, directors, shows, channels, staff etc), but the dark side of the Entertainment industry: Antis, toxic fans, toxic marketing accounts. They are called Internet Water Army💧.

Toxic Marketing Accounts is one of the things they do, these accounts on Weibo has millions of followers, each of their post likes are in the hundred thousands (buyable) to give credibility to passer-bys. Some use similar names to Official accounts, some use similar logos. Their posts are usually subjective or aims to steer view points of a certain celebrity/movie/show. Before the latest update of this post (18.08.21), I just group them all together and term them as Immoral Media*.

*Below is my original post using my original term because at point of first draft, I did not know the official term (so have changed/added the term from Immoral Media to Internet Water Army in content below but retain the content based off first draft).

If you have chased before celebrities, or just simply passed by an article about certain celebrities, recall how some title that caught your attentions were like. Clickbaits is one of the many things they do. If GZ is your first and you do not have Weibo, then this read(link) is good enough.

Just as the term Immoral Media (Internet Water Army), it’s immoral and unethical, but they exists because they are paid to do so. Who pays them? Entertainment Companies, and maybe other Organisations

Normal Media/Marketing vs Immoral Media/Toxic Marketing/Internet Water Army

When a show or movie comes out, the normal Marketing department will generate outreach and buzz so that people know a show is airing soon/know the show exists etc. Official announcements are not enough, because there isn’t much context (limited content to put up as well) so having some other Marketing accounts do the buzz in a planned period to gain awareness through posts, some articles about the casts, the plot summary, the production details etc is normal. This is Marketing, bigger companies will probably have stronger Marketing departments (aka influence) and can hire more Marketing accounts to generate buzz. Celebrities (aka casts) themselves, are also Marketing point.

Then we have the Internet Water Army/Immoral Media, these are what they mainly do:

Create Fanfiction-rumors: Creating rumors about celebrities to shift audience perception of them. [eg. XX was seen with XX leaving a hotel, XX was drunk on Event Y and did ZZZ to AA, XX is dating BB and has been in a relationship for N years etc]

Honing their brain degrading skills: Come up with titled clickbait headings/ trending topics with negative written contents. For articles, exceptionally out of heading content related to the celebrity. [Refer to Baidu, it’s a winner of these, feel free to Google Translate]

Regressing their common sense and understanding skills: Take everything a celebrity does completely out of context in a negative way and create a topic out of it [eg. XX said AA is a ---, “XX raised his finger, a sign of ---?”, XX pushed BB aggressively on Variety Show Y - A competition variety show, XX is in beef with CC because XX was caught giving CC the eye]

Using their fingers to stir shit and bathe each other in it: Escalate all smallest form of possible tension created by fans/themselves into a huge thing by acting as the fandom's fans/lurk in fandom chat groups, and voicing their disguised opinion to spread tension/exaggerate severity of the issue [eg. XX fans mocked AA - in groupchats: tbh I've never liked AA before, AA just gives off a vibe that I dont like and now this? It just disgusts me even more > Yea, i feel this way too. AA has problems / XX Lurkers expressing views on XX about NN, slowly to NNMHFXW - XX did NNMHGT - I cannot accept NNmHfHw, I'm leaving = multiply by 1000++]

Epitome of a self-deteriorate: Creating something out of nothing and react to that something negatively to gain massive attention/reaction [eg. “XX raised his hand on show Y” - dk what XX fans are thinking, are they literally blind? XX fans are tasteless just like XX hahaha / “XX did community service” - they are acting / “XX breathed” - From the start, i thought XX was NN, but I am so ZZZ that XX breathed. Goodbye fandom, i’m leaving. Those who still want to stay I urge you to rethink your life choices] - if I may add, Xiao Zhan’s fanfiction case as well.

Metaphor - Ability to use bare hands to collect paychecks from the urinal/toilet bowl where their boss/client peed in: Doing all of the above.

Apologies for any term offense, but not apologetic of the term context. This is what they do for a living. Any normal human being who do not like anything, will generally not be interested at anything about it in the first place, so to have some antis/toxic fans knowing certain things and inside jokes/references in their posts questions their goal.

On involved in Internet Water Army/Immoral Media 💧

Fans on weibo during these few months witnessed many of the above on GZ. From rumored girlfriend (spammed with articles) to mean and nasty comments on trending topics, to bouts of insults and fake emotional cryouts by certain fan accounts that GZ's office has to release a number of Lawyer’s letter to them.

Aside from WOH there were also a few other BL adaptation films that were actually released this year but they did not reach exponential success like WOH. BL adaptations are so highly followed by because this is the key to wealth. Literally. Successful BLs like The Untamed and Dao Mu Bi Ji saw the amount of wealth fans are willing to spend on the celebrity as compared to say BG or idols (younger fan groups). This is why when WOH shot up exponentially, Immoral Media start to sweat.

Major anticipated adaptations were supposed to air this year eg. Hao Yi Xing(HYX), Sha Po Lang(SPL) etc but was severely held back due to the stricter change in BL adaptations submitting their scripts for approval regulations (WOH manage to submit earlier before the change). Because of this, most final films were rejected and they have to keep re-editing, by then WOH was already months into reaping tonnes of major brand endorsements, shows/movie casting, variety show appearances etc, something that is seen as too successful in the Immoral Media’s eyes, because they have to create buzz for other celebrities, some are specific celebrity oriented and thus circulate rumors about having endorsement opportunities shifted from celebrity X to GZ (think fanfiction-rumors and shit stirrer) causes tension in celebrity fandoms. - A real event just in July:

The Untamed’s cp fandom is called BJYX which had always been in the Top 1 of Cps for 2 years dropped for awhile to Top 2, over taken by LLD. Both of them had a war and hated each fandom, one fandom is somehow not allowed to like the other fandom even casually after everything broke out because it started out with some BJYX toxics photoshopped GZ on of portraits .

Also another case of which he wore the same costume as WYB did in a previous photoshoot and it became a useless comparison of who wore better, who looks better, degrading the other. (Finger stirring shit).

Now apply all of the above things the Internet Water Army do and we have them earning money, while both fandom reacts and hate each other.

In LLD, our own fans started suspecting each other on who is a spy from BJYX and what not.

The first few months of Internet Water Army saw LLDs mostly mocking them because the average age is 30-40s, they know and see through all of their intentions so nothing was big. They were trumpeting and LLDs didn’t even care, what with all the doing tedious stats was not even important to them.

Over time, as the issues they create became more and more serious LLDs did start to care, reporting Toxic Marketing accounts/toxic fans became a daily task, go vote for GZ at certain polls etc, solo fans, and LLD fans also split apart. Solo fans think cp fans use GZ to furnish their fantasies, and cp fans thinks they are the ones furnishing their dreaming-girls fantasy with (aka my boyfriend).

There was also a period where LLD had a habit of continuously mentioning “we are in the 30-40s so we can see through everything about the media, we are all fans for the first time, we are good at spending money (because of purchase power compared to other fandoms)” it was prevalent for so long it felt odd, ‘chasing celebrities the first time’ in particular sounds more vulnerable as a weakness than a strength / sth to be proud of.

Gradually, more secretive/insider confirmed ‘sweets’ were flying around. Fans advised each other to not circulate, and the mindset of “if you know, you know, dont tell.” (This is a problematic mentality, of which fans will still be curious to know and search for it themselves, but this secretive hook is unhealthy. Over the long term, it becomes hard for existing fans to know a lot of things properly to judge for themselves, especially those who knew and publicly reacted, but blasting those who ask and telling those who know to keep quiet, this did not help some to understand why on certain things, even so for international fans, dont know and dont understand, causing misunderstandings. Yes, certain information should not be shared, so why should you react about it publicly in the first place? - Internet Water Army effect)

The last few months (for example the July fan war) created a tonne of seriousness and anger. A period even broke out with a tonne of ‘insider confirmed sweets’ (which is LLD’s daily dose of happiness), it was hard to tell what was real and what was fake. Trending topics became negative and everyone warned each other not to enter because it will give the trends ‘views’ and trend statistics, in reality entering there is to enter an exhibition by the self-deteriorates, collecting the fandom's traffic data (it's a sure lose for fans each time they enter the topic). Everyone even starts thinking that the trend’s popularity was caused by each other (it's true but it can be bought daily and not caused by fans). There was a raise in the number of fans who were getting emotional because they want to protect but Internet Water Army kept coming and got worse, because fans, tbh, not just GZ fans, every other celebrity’s fans are always fighting with an Army, getting played and plotted in that Army's calendar.

Even so, despite all of these, LLD is actually a fandom Internet Water Army may find the hardest to break because they understand GZ so much, they could tell what are fake news regarding GZ, because among everything above, there are still plenty of logical fans to stop many fans from drifting too far and debunking them. Why? 30-40s are grown up adults.

Why 13.8.21 and the Japan issue is plotted?

First of all, in the political climate of China, there are many political dates in a month that is NO-Entertainment news. Because it’s the honoring of certain important political events. It’s like Remembrance Day, thus the sensitivity is higher. On these days, there are usually no news and even the Internet Water Army zip their pants. This year also marks the 100th year of the Chinese Communist Party(link)

Secondly, he had no work schedule on 13 August 2021. A great full day to focus on any other news (because if he had schedules, everyone will turn their attention to his events, what trumpeting outside is just bird chirps).

Thirdly, when the news broke out, especially about the shrine, the reception was actually quite serious within the fandom so the scale of this might be big but to what extent in reality?

Lastly, 15.8.21 marks the 76th anniversary of the announcement of surrender of Japanese in World War 2(link). Also a day of NO-Entertainment news.

Timeline of events:

13.8.21 - [His rest day, Eve of Chinese Valentine's Day, Japan News broke out] His rest day, no schedules = increased attention about him online. Lowered guard among fans because they are getting ready for tomorrow's Chinese Valentine's sweets = Caught off guard = Huge break out of fans' reactions

14.8.21 - [Chinese Valentine's Day, Eve of the 75th Anniversary of the announcement of Japanese surrender] Keep a wishful and happy demenaor to not destroy the mood, suppressed thoughts about ZZH's Japan news

15.8.21 - [75th Anniversary of the announcement of Japanese surrender, Official announcement of ZZH's boycott and all China social media account ban] NO-Entertainment news day, Solemn day, not allowed to voice anything so the fandom can only wait for tomorrow to start voicing out/debunking but before they can wait out, the boycott and social media ban happened, every official accounts about him was gone overnight, fans had no time to react

17.8.21 - [All official fandom accounts related to ZZH and JunZhe were locked/removed]

Forced to be silent since the day his matter broke out, over the course of official news release with everything taken down in a day because of the Japan correspondence, his accounts banned overnight across the Chinese media and the overnight cancellation, fans could not speak anything about it. Overnight cancellation like this scale happened for the first time in China, leaving no time to react by the fandom, by the time they can, they are silenced.

When the period of events occured within a set of special dates, it’s not coincidence.

Conclusion

Because he was too successful and had many actually honorable past things, and a hard to influence fandom, Internet Water Army view him as a huge threat enough to want to destroy him, because it’s hard to defeat. With a chance they have, they will hold it till the end, bringing up this issue to the Government during this period also shows a sign of how scared they were of him and perhaps his fandom to plot something like this.

Updated on 19 August: Here's a screenshot of assumed calculation on the scale of GZ success for reference while chatting with a fellow fan, assuming GJ also has 27 brands, and there are 1000 brands. Rationale of numbers used: Only big brands can hire big celebrities.

Bonus

Mentioned in the first post, will mention again in case. After the news broke out within 2 days, there was a drop on his weibo followers from 18.9mil to 18.7mil. 200k+ drops, if the politics was such a big national issue, there should at least be a huge drop, even at least a million right? Because weibo is a China-Chinese majority right? Nope, we get a puny 200k drop.

What's funny? The self-deteroriates:

Translation: "Are his fans bought? Why didnt he drop fans? Those people got brainwashed to this point?" / "I've never entered his weibo and today i feel like having a look yet it showed I've followed him. All his fans were bought right? It disgusts me, i immediately unfollowed. This kind of process is worse than WYF..." / "i dropped fans because of him...no...I just reposted 2 posts and I've dropped 4 fans?"

Isn't the tone and regressing brain cells, all too familiar and same?

Added above, will remind again to read this link. It has an even more in-depth knowledge on who are paying them.

So what should we do? Link here

Related posts 🛏️:

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serpentinesarang · 3 years

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Familiar

pairing: chan (bang chan) x gender-neutral reader

genre: no smut, married!au, emotionally heavy, lots of plot build-up/context description, slow burn, fluff at the end, second-person POV

word count: 2098

content warnings: themes of death, depression/grieving, lack of eating, swearing; this is a SERIOUS piece that may make you cry. please proceed with caution and take a mental breather after.

summary: your husband chan died a year ago, and life hasn’t been the same until you meet a peculiar stray dog whom you decide to keep.

a/n: partly inspired by the netflix anime film “a whisker away.” hint hint: australian dingo...

korean key:

⦿ sasaengpaen (사생팬) = crazy spy-like super fans, sasaeng for short; pronounced “sah-seng”

⦿ annyeong (안녕) = multipurpose word that translates to hi/bye and no; in this story, it’s used in the hi/bye sense. pronounced “on-yawng”

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Preface

It happened a year ago. The crash. The sasaengs. The coma. The stroke. The doctors’ denial of life support. The funeral.

Your husband Chan had died tragically after a catastrophic car accident outside the JYPE building in Seoul when a group of sasaengs tried to take control of an already chaotic situation on the street. Chan had been rushed to the hospital, so bloodied and so internally fractured that he immediately fell comatose and incidentally suffered a stroke due to the bodily trauma.

You’d begged with all your might for the doctors to put him on life support, but they refused, saying he’d be vegetative for the rest of your life. They even sent an insurance liason up to Chan’s ICU suite to speak with you about having to pay for his life support as long as you continued to live, and you were just so beaten down by all the hospital staff that you agreed to release his body to the funeral home his parents had flown in to coordinate with.

And you were destroyed.

Your employer had given you three months’ bereavement, but you still couldn’t bear to go to work for four more months. You slept 12 hours on Chan’s side of the bed every night and only wore his clothes during those four months of intermittent crying. After you used up the remaining sick days and paid time off you’d accrued over the years, your manager finally terminated you for missing too much. The next two months were spent on the couch with no appetite and inconsistent sleep, the good memories of Chan continually flooding back to you at random times.

This was when you’d decided it was time to get your shit together because the scale declared you 15 lbs [7 kg] lighter; the circles under your eyes scared you each time you dared to glance in a mirror; and your phone’s mailbox had filled to its limit with messages from anyone and everyone offering their condolences for your loss. So three months passed, and you were able to gain back most of your weight, sleep more consistently, and clean out your social media.

Those last three months were the cleansing your soul so desperately needed, and for the first time since the incident, you were starting to feel a level of normalcy again. You’d even pushed yourself to get back into the workforce, and thankfully, this new employer didn’t cause a scene about your 11-month gap in job history.

The dominoes were falling back into place. Sadly, you’d felt compelled at one point to ghost the rest of Stray Kids because it was just too painful for you to act like you could handle yourself around them. Out of worry and compassion, they all individually sent you messages here and there, but you told yourself maybe in the future. After all, your life had disintegrated to less than dust, so you were your priority moving forward.

Now

Your phone’s alarm wakes you to another dreary November day. It’s a snippet of an audio message he’d left you long, long ago when he was away for a tour. “Good morning to you, [Mr./Mrs.] Bang, my beautiful angel. I’m thinking of you as always. Text me when you get this. Love you, honey.”

November 25th, to be exact: the one-year anniversary of Chan’s death.

You sigh, whispering to the ceiling, “I love you too, baby.”

You pick yourself up, go through all the usual motions, and head to work in the morning snow, trying to keep your mind as numb as you’ve been recently feeling. Perhaps you’ll do a little something once you return home, you resolve.

The workday passes; the snow continues blanketing the city; and nothing really good or bad has happened in the meantime.

You step off the elevator onto your floor of the apartment building. You’re freezing from the windchill, mindlessly deleting spam email on your phone while trudging in your heavy boots to your door.

Once you reach your unit, something at the edge of your eyesight causes you to freeze. You take in the sight before you: a large, tan and white dog lying on your welcome mat with its front paws extended toward you. Its deep brown eyes stare right into yours, and you feel all the air in your lungs disappear.

“A-annyeong,” you murmur softly, pocketing your phone.

The dog blinks in response, not moving his gaze.

You crouch down in front of the dog slowly, trying not to spook it. “Are you lost, sweetie?”

The dog emits a barely audible whimper, and you can’t tell if it’s sad or relieved to have been found. It’s not wearing a collar, and its abundant fur looks clean, like an inside pet.

Feeling conflicted, you purse your lips. “You must be... I’ll tell you what: you be good and stay here for me, okay?”

The dog exhales sharply before closing its eyes.

Wow, well trained pupper, you think to yourself as you rise. You spend the next five minutes ringing the entire floor’s doorbells, even banging on the doors of the units that didn’t respond to the bell. Each and every neighbor of yours denies owning a dog that looks like a Shiba Inu, and they all claim to not know anyone else who might have one.

“Fuck,” you hiss under your breath after the last person closes their door.

Returning back to your unit, you find the dog hasn’t moved an inch, but it must recognize your presence because its eyes fly open, and its head shoots up toward you.

“I guess you’re mine for now,” you address it. You enter your passcode and push the door open, pointing expectantly with an approving facial expression for the dog to understand it’s okay to go in.

And it happily trots inside, sniffing around the entryway while you shuck off your boots, parka, and other winter layers.

The dog seems to be waiting for you to finish because, once you turn toward it, it immediately turns around and saunters to the bedroom on the far end of the apartment. You keep up at its side and determine with a friendly visual inspection that this dog is a boy.

Approaching Chan’s old side of the mattress, he turns back to you and sits down in front of the nightstand, digging his eyes into yours once more.

Your brow furrows as you try to piece together what’s happening. “What? What’s up, sweetie?”

The dog replies with a heartwrenching whimper, angling his snout forward as if asking for you.

You pad closer and sit on the backs of your legs. “Will you let me touch you?” you ask him softly, raising a hand for him to sniff.

Oddly, he straight up disregards your hand and leans forward to lick your chin.

“Awww,” you gush at his sudden affection. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” You stroke the top of his tan head, and again, the poor thing whimpers while leaning into your touch.

You scratch at the bases of his ears before cupping his jowls in your hands. “You’re such a sweet boy, you know that?”

The dog blinks rapidly, pushing forward again to gently lick at your unsuspecting lips this time.

Giggling and stroking his front shoulder areas, you say, “Ohh, thank you, thank you. I haven’t been kissed in a year, so I appreciate that, sweet boy.”

A moment passes, but you have to do a double-take when you notice the thick stream of fluid cascading from his shiny eyes.

You gasp. “Oh nooo, are you crying?” With your thumbs, you carefully wipe away his tears. “Don’t cry, sweetie. I did enough of that for nine months straight, and I can’t have you making me sad too,” you confide with the animal, stroking his head again.

He responds by standing on all fours and pressing the top of his head to your own forehead, and you go breathless again.

He’s so human-like... so emotional... you think, raising your arms over his body and hugging him. You stay there for a solid minute before he finally pulls back and sits again.

You sigh quietly, evaluating his expression. “I don’t know about you, but it’s been a long day.” You nudge your chin up to the bed. “Wanna rest for a while?”

The dog ever so quietly barks with its snout closed, as if in acknowledgement, and he waits for you to move first. So you rise and position the pillows on Chan’s side against the wall for you to sit upright. You spread your legs in a butterfly position, and without you having to beckon or give permission, the dog hops to the corner of the bed and situates himself between your legs. You notice then that he’s eyeing something on the wall above the bed.

The professional landscape shot of Chan with his arms tightly curled around you under a peony-adorned gazebo near a lake, the day of your wedding. You were looking into each other’s eyes with the sincerest of smiles.

You turn to glance at the framed photo. “Yeah,” you sigh deeply, turning back to the dog. “That’s Channie, my husband.”

The dog picks up on your change of tone and scoots forward as close as he can get, resting his paws on your upper thighs and his snout on your stomach. His gleaming eyes practically compel you to go on.

Placing your hands on his soft back, you continue in a strained voice: “He was taken from me last year, on this day actually, November 25th. He was so badly hurt in the accident that he went into a coma and had a stroke a couple days later.”

You pause, and the dog whimpers on your stomach, his sad gaze making your throat constrict and your eyes water.

How can a dog be so in tune with me...?

You push that question away with a sigh and bring a hand to rest on his head. “I never left the hospital. The nurses had to kick me out of his room when he passed. And I cried my eyes out for almost a year.”

Your eyes drift off, glancing at the ceiling and the walls while remembering your grieving process. “So now I sleep on his side of the bed... I wear only his clothes at home... and I shower with the same things he always did. He’s always with me, even when I’m not wearing my ring.”

Tears have started falling onto your cheeks, and you look back down at the quiet dog to find him crying again as well, his glassy eyes still intently watching you.

An uncontrolled sob escapes your lips before you mash them together, trying to keep it together.

“I love him so much,” you throw your head back against the wall. “I love him so, so fucking much,” you whisper, the hot tears falling faster now.

You hear the dog whine rather loudly, so you focus on him again as he raises his head. “He was my person, and now I have no one,” you blubber, using your hands to angrily wipe away the tears.

The dog replies with a seemingly uncharacteristic growl, its eyes still very soft in contrast.

“Okay, okay, now I have you,” you concede, catching your breath. “I don’t know where your parents are, and I’ve been alone for too long.” You pause, almost unwilling to continue. “Will you stay with me, sweet boy?”

He barks out a high-pitched yelp, spastically moving his paws against you so they’re digging into your abdomen now.

Cheered up by the dog’s responsive expressions of emotion, you burst into a brief laugh and scratch the underside of his snout. “You remind me of him, you know. Soft hair, gorgeous brown eyes, super caring.”

Again, he whimpers, very quietly this time. You tenderly kiss his moist nose. “I’ll call you Chris... because only I was allowed to call him that.”

Chris responds by licking your lips again.

Your random gasp makes him jump a little. “Oh my gosh, I bet you’re hungry or thirsty!” You try shifting on the bed, but Chris’s weight holds you firmly. “Do you want food?”

Chris lowers his snout, resting it on your chest now. He doesn’t make any noises, but you can guess what he means by this.

“Okay, Chris, I gotcha. We’ll stay here and eat when you’re ready,” you promise as you smooth his pointed ears backward.

...

I found them... if only they knew it’s me... I’m Channie, and I’m still yours, honey.

#bang chan #stray kids #channie #chan skz #chan stray kids #bang chan stray kids #bangchan #bang chan imagines #bang chan fiction #fanfiction #kpop #kpop fanfiction #fanfic #kpop fanfic #skz #skz imagines #skz fiction #stayverse #bang chan fluff

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welllpthisishappening · 5 years

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An American Haunting (1/2)

Emma Swan does not believe in ghosts. She simply talks about them on tourist-filled walking tours at Colonial Williamsburg.

It’s a belief she’s certain she’ll always hold, until, one summer she starts hearing a voice, asking her for help. And, suddenly, every certainty Emma Swan has ever had starts to shake just a bit, a hint of history and a past that’s far more extensive than she could have imagined.

----

Rating: Probably like a pretty solid teen Word Count: 6.4 K this chapter. Closing in on 13K overall AN: This is, hands down, the single most self indulgent thing I have ever written and one time I wrote a college basketball story that was literally just my own opinions. I grew up going to Colonial Williamsburg, have been on every ghost tour, including the one the RAs took us on when I went to HISTORY CAMP AT WILLIAM AND MARY. That happened. So, I’ve been wanting to write a story based at CW for years, but I couldn’t ever come up with something legit idea-wise and then today. Bam. BAM. i had an idea. I wrote the idea out in several hours of sunshine-fueled key smashing and here we are. Part two eventually because I really do hate spamming the internet with words. I won’t ever go in the Peyton Randolph house at night.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

----

The gasps always made her smile.

That was a very strange sentence out of context, but Emma couldn’t help the way her lips quirked up every single time, biting the side of her tongue so she wouldn’t actually laugh at the whole, stupid thing.

He had quite a flair for the dramatic, after all.

“Even Lafayette himself once wrote that he felt someone push against his back upon entering the house! But there was no one there. There never is. Just a feeling, that chill that creeps up your spine and takes up residence in the back of your brain, waiting for you to let your guard down.”

And…cue the gasps.

Emma covered her mouth with her hand, fingers curling around the side of her jaw. Her eyes flickered towards the couple in front of her, still sporting their Colonial Williamsburg tickets on lanyards and the man’s ghost tour sticker was peeling off at one end.

The woman reached for his hand.

And Killian was wholly and entirely in his element.

He leaned forward, a spark in his eyes that was not even remotely supernatural, but completely theatrical, the stretch of a smile moving in slow motion across his face.

“Take a look at some of the photos you’ve been snapping this whole time,” he muttered. If he leaned forward any further his stupid tri-corner hat was going to fall off.

Emma shifted against the side of the fence she was leaning on, tugging on her own skirts and trying to find a way to stand that didn’t end with her stupid eighteenth-century appropriate shoes digging into the back of her heels. It didn’t work.

It never did.

Killian wasn’t done.

“See anything yet?” he asked lightly, a practiced spiel that always ended with—

“Oh my God, there are orbs in the photo!”

Emma rolled her eyes skyward, all stars and a few clouds and it was humid enough that her hair was actually starting to curl at the ends. Maybe she could convince Regina to let her wear a different outfit later that week. This one was impossibly heavy, all full skirts and an apron that didn’t make any sense at all because she wasn’t working in any of the kitchens on property, was leading tours from nine at night until somewhere in the realm of midnight for extra money and she was certain each group was getting smaller and smaller.

The crowds were getting smaller and smaller.

No one wanted to go learn about Colonial American history on their vacation.

“That’s right,” Killian said, crossing his arms and rocking back on his own heels. Emma assumed they didn’t hurt his feet. He was still smiling. “The Peyton Randolph house is considered one of the most haunted buildings in the entire United States. Visitors since even before the first shots were fired in Lexington and Concord have claimed interactions with the supernatural. They’ve been shaken violently in their beds, heard laughter from other rooms, furniture moves—“

“—But what about the orbs?”

Emma was going to need pliers to move her hand away from her mouth. Killian uncrossed his arms, resting his weight on the replica musket he was holding.

He was supposed to be a Colonial soldier.

At the Randolph house while it was used as a hospital in 1781. Just about every building in Williamsburg was used as a hospital in 1781.

It was unfairly attractive.

Him, not the hospital thing. Emma was a psychopath.

“Well,” Killian drawled, “that’s up for debate, isn’t it? Could be a catch of the light. Could be—“ He shrugged, eyes flicker towards Emma and she had to bite her tongue again. “Disembodied ghosts looking to find their way onto the afterlife. No one knows for certain, do they Miss Swan?”

She might have gasped.

Killian’s smile widened.

Idiot.

That wasn’t part of the script at all.

“Oh, yes, absolutely, sir,” she said quickly, trying her best to stay in character. The group turned expectantly toward her, eyes wide and that woman appeared to be gripping her husband’s hand like some kind of vice. “Lots of whispers about this house and, well, Mr. Randolph, you know, I don’t like to speak ill of such a respected gentleman, but—“

“—Is that the newspaper guy?” another voice interrupted, and Emma was going to have to have a serious conversation about Regina about that too.

And she was just about to respond, not sure how she was going to do that while staying in character, but the words got caught in Emma’s throat, a sudden chill spreading through all of her limbs.

She felt rooted to the spot, mouth going dry and goosebumps exploding across her skin. Her vision danced in front of her, no orbs, but something just on the edge that felt a bit like a shadow creeping across her eye line, a hopelessness that Emma was certain she could taste, like ash and disappointment and none of that made sense, but her knees suddenly felt very weak and—

Help me. Please. I need help.

Emma didn’t hear the footsteps at first, flinching when Killian’s fingers curled around her elbow. People were gasping again.

“Swan?” he whispered, bending his own knees so he was level with her. His thumb traced absent-minded patterns on her sleeve. They were going to get in trouble for that. “Are you alright, love?”

She nodded slowly, not sure if it was actually true or not, but the shadow was gone and that had to count for something.

“Fine, fine. I’m—I’m fine.” “Try that again.” “Fine, sir,” Emma snapped, an abrupt return to form and characters and Killian's eyebrows leapt into his hairline. His tongue swiped the front of his teeth.

“Just a touch of vapors, is it?” Emma scowled, resisting the very real urge to kick him in the shins, but she didn’t need Regina to yell at them for more than one thing and she really wanted to switch costumes. “The air is rather heavy tonight, sir, that’s all,” she said. “Shall we continue on to the next place, then?”

There was a general murmur of agreement and confusion from the crowd, Emma pulling her arm back to her side quickly enough that she nearly elbowed herself in the ribs. Killian’s had to pick up the musket. He’d dropped it at some point.

“Alright,” Emma continued, backing up towards Nicholson Street, “if you’ll all be so kind as to follow me this way, our next stop takes us up the road towards the public gaol and Hangman’s Lane where, legend has it, member’s of Blackbeard’s crew were taken to the gallows.” More gasps.

A few ooh and exactly one no way, really . Emma smiled.

And Killian’s eyes never left hers, concern practically wafting off him and mixing in with that very specific smell that was Williamsburg in late August, like dogwood trees and sunscreen.

He was waiting for her.

She wasn’t all that surprised, but it was still kind of nice in a butterflies in her stomach and slightly erratic pulse kind of way and Emma had gotten a few more gasps out of the crowd. Well, Ruby had when they’d gotten to Shield’s Tavern and the story about the lady who haunted the corner room upstairs, but that felt like splitting hairs and Emma was exhausted.

“You want to tell me what happened now?” Killian asked, legs stretched out in front of him where he was sitting. On the stairs behind the Public Armory, a few feet away from the staff rooms.

He was already back in modern clothes, which was a little bit like playing with fire, guests still filing out of the historic area and meandering down Duke of Gloucester Street, but he had that very specific type of pinch between his eyebrows and— “No,” Emma replied. “Because nothing happened.” “You’re honestly getting worse at it.” Emma made a face. “I really don’t see how that’s possible.” “Swan.” “Yeah, what was that about? You’re just throwing out real names in this now? You better watch out or I’m going to tell Regina on you.”

“Please, the only thing you want to do when talking to Regina is tell her how annoyed you are with the overall state of your skirts.” “Oh, that’s so dumb, honestly.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” Killian challenged. He leaned back on his elbows, another very specific type of spark in his eyes and this was really starting to become a problem. In a way where it wasn’t, obviously. Becuase he waited for her and knew her and Emma really had way too many thoughts about how good the whole Colonial outfit regularly looked on him.

But they were going to have to tell people eventually.

And she wasn’t sure she could cope with that.

“It’s a lot of skirts,” Emma mumbled, a quick shrug and pitiful attempt to get around him. “C’mon, move, I’ve got to change and—”

“—What happened, Emma?” He caught her around the ankle, impressive considering the amount of fabric in the way, glancing up at her with a look that was treading somewhere between imploring and a little overwhelming. Maybe they wouldn’t have to tell anyone.

Emma couldn’t believe people hadn’t figured it out already.

That lady from the tour definitely knew.

“Did it happen again?” Killian pressed, and his thumb was doing that thing again. Tracing and brushing, following a pattern that wasn’t really there, but might have been obvious for him.

Emma swallowed. “I don’t—’ “—Swan.” “This is not a real thing,” she exclaimed, at least the forty-seventh time they’d had that particular conversation. “It’s not! I’m just—I’m tired and I’m worried about attendance and—” “—Well if management would stop sending out all those cards and things to donors, then we wouldn’t have such a problem. You see the Christmas ornament designs Regina’s been looking at yet? They’re ridiculous.” Emma sighed out something that might have been a laugh, letting Killian tug her down to his side. She burrowed her face into his chest. “It was louder this time,” she whispered. “Like it was—I don’t know, getting desperate or something.” “And you still couldn’t see anything?” “No. Just heard it. Her. Heard her and I was freezing cold again.” Killian’s hand had started moving at some point, up and down her arm and Emma got the distinct impression he was trying to account for all of her. As if some voice she’d been hearing for the better part of the summer would be able to make her disappear.

The whole thing was, honestly, starting to get on her nerves. Emma had never been all that apt to believe in the facts she was touting on one of Colonial Williamsburg’s several official ghost tours. And while her’s was definitely the scariest of the bunch — the kid-friendly one didn’t mention hanging pirates — Emma wasn’t the kind of person to have nightmares or worry that she was being followed by some kind of frustrated spirit.

Until.

It started just after the Fourth of July festivities in the historic area, one of the few times when the place drew regularly crowds. Emma was sitting on the Palace Green, more ridiculous skirts and sweat pooling at the base of her spine and it had been the middle of the day. None of the stories about being haunted ever happened during the day.

That was...against the rules or something.

Help me. Please. I need help.

She’d brushed it off as the heat and exhaustion, but it kept happening — the same words, the same voice, someone looking for help and Emma seemingly incapable of doing anything except getting cold when it happened.

She was probably just going insane.

That wasn’t really a much better option.

“You’re ok,” he whispered, and her breath definitely hitched as soon as his lips ghosted over the top of her head. That was a bad word choice. “It’s ok.” “It’s crazy, that’s what it is.” “I don’t think you’re crazy, love. This is—” “—Oh, God, do not tell me that this is one of the most haunted places in America. Just...do not do it. I’ll punch you.” “You kind of looked like you wanted to before.”

“You like drawing out the Randolph schtick.” “Did I get the best reaction of the night?” “No.” “No?” Killian echoed, all scandalized incredulity. Emma shook her head, glancing up and he didn’t argue when her chin dug into his shirt.

“No. Ruby got some pretty good gasps at Shield’s and David got what can only be described as as a whimper when we started at the Wren, so—” “—That doesn’t count, the Wren is proper haunted.” She made a noise in the back of her throat, not quite a disagreement, but more like innate skepticism and Killian definitely kissed the crown of her head that time. “There is no such thing as actual ghosts,” Emma said, ignoring her maybe -boyfriend’s wide-eyed stare. “There’s not. This is—we are doing this for profit and to freak out the tourists. I’m—” Emma pushed up, nearly tripping over her goddamn skirts in the process. “I’ve got to change and then I really think you owe me a milkshake for going off-script.” Killian grinned. Slowly. It was cheating. They both knew it. The ghosts Emma absolutely, positively did not believe in knew it.

“You want to walk to Wawa or…” “Walking’s fine. Five minute?” “I’ll be here.”

She made him buy the fried ravioli under the heat lamp at the register too.

And Emma didn’t notice the brick sitting outside her apartment door when she got home, trudging into her room and falling asleep almost immediately, Killian’s arm curled around her middle.

“Ok, do not freak out.” Emma looked up, her phone in one hand and a half-finished cup of lukewarm coffee sitting a few inches away from her. She winced.

Ruby had that look on her face.

And Mary Margaret wasn’t far behind.

Which meant David was— “Where’s David?” Emma asked.

Ruby stopped in her tracks. “What kind of question is that?” “Usually these kinds of conversations also include David and I just don’t want to have to repeat ourselves when he gets here. I’ve got to be at—” She glanced at the schedule hanging on the far wall. “Tarpley’s this afternoon.” It was apparently Mary Margaret’s turn to freeze. Her eyes bugged, lips popping audibly. “You have to work at Tarpley’s today? Oh, Emma you can’t go.” “Excuse me?” “You seriously can’t go there, Em,” Ruby said, hooking her foot around an open chair and dropping down in a small cloud of fabric. “Where’s Regina? You’ve got to tell her.” “Is there a reason I have to tell our boss that I can’t go where I’m scheduled? Honestly, Tarpley’s is the easiest gig out there. I barely have to remember any facts, just for the few kids that come in with that’s—what’s the name of that thing they’re doing this summer?” “—Kid’s in Liberty,” Mary Margaret answered. Her eyes hadn’t returned to their normal size. “That’s a garbage name, isn’t it?” “Emma, I am not kidding around here,” Ruby hissed. She leaned forward, tugging Emma’s phone out of her hand and ignoring any objection. “This is a big deal and—Tarpley’s is crazy haunted, you know that.”

Emma groaned. Loudly. And slid down her chair. It hurt her spine. “Are you kidding me? Ok, who did he tell?” “You mean your boyfriend?” “Killian is not my boyfriend.” “Yeah?” Ruby grinned. “Tell that to how worried he was about you this morning. Becuase he, how would you describe it M’s?” Mary Margaret still didn’t look entirely confident, but Emma knew she couldn’t pass up a good romance either and secret dating in the middle of a vaguely popular tourist destination certainly fit the bill. “Something about a whirlwind,” she muttered. “And he told David. David just—” “—Can’t exist without telling you things?” Emma finished.

“Basically. Why didn’t you tell us you were hearing things?” “Oh my God, I am not hearing things! That’s—I’m just tired and...hallucinating?” “I’m going to be honest, Em, that is not great either,” Ruby pointed out. She took a sip of Emma’s coffee, sticking her tongue out when the temperature was wrong.

“Get your own coffee then,” Emma sneered. “Ok, ok, so I’m just...listen, this is not a big deal.” Mary Margaret’s eyes were never going to recover. “It’s not! Because it’s not a real thing. There are not actually ghosts in Williamsburg. It’s an old place with old stories and—” “—Ghosts,” David said, appearing in the doorway with a bag of Raleigh Bakery goods in his hand. “I refuse to take responsibility for any of this. Your boyfriend—” “—Come on—” “—Found me before his shift started at the blacksmith, which is where he is by the way now, Em, if you’re planning on killing him before work, and wanted to know if there were any stories we don’t use on the ghost tours. Specifically about a woman looking for help.” Emma lifted her eyebrows. “And?” “And nothing. I can’t find anything.” “Did you look real hard, then?” Ruby asked knowingly.

“Maybe not real hard,” David admitted. “But we pretty much cover our bases on all the tours. I mean you can ask Regina if you want to, but…” “No,” Emma cried. Her voice cracked on both letters, another less-than-good thing, but she was bouncing between emotions so quickly she kind of felt like a ping pong ball. Or that stupid game with the string and the stick and none of the kids who bought it could ever do it right. “We are not telling anyone about any of this because—” She cut herself off when she heard the first clack of heels, Regina walking into the room with a stack of papers on her hip and bags under her eyes that looked deeper every time Emma saw her. “What are you doing in here?” Regina asked. “Emma, you’re supposed to be opening Tarpley’s five minutes ago.” “Yeah, that’s not how time works. I’m going, I’m going. I’m—” Regina blinked. “Yeah?” “Nothing, I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

She looked around, as if she were challenging the rest of the room to contradict her and none of them said a word. “Let’s help the tourists learn something, huh?”

She made it through the day.

No ghost. No voices.

Just a day filled with overheated families and kids dressed in Colonial garb, more than a few obvious retirees sporting their own tri-corner hats because, for reasons Emma could never understand, that was apparently something people wanted to do.

She sold replicas of the Declaration and the Constitution, tiny books that reprinted George Washington’s Rules of Civility and Thomas Paines’ Common Sense. And soap. So much soap. People who came to Colonial Williamsburg loved buying soap in bulk and a variety of scents. Lemon, lavender, bayberry.

All of them.

Emma’s hands reeked of the scents when she locked the door to Tarpley’s behind her. She didn’t have any extra ghost shifts that night, but she knew Killian was back at the Randolph house and, well—she did like when the crowd gasped.

So she didn’t consider changing or even going back to the employee rooms, hiking up her skirts and heading towards the palace green and, really, she should have expected it all to go to shit.

The first gust of wind wasn’t much more than a soft breeze, but then the dirt blew up against her ankles and Emma felt like someone had strapped a very strong, nearly indestructible steel pipe to her back.

Her spine straightened, mouth falling open like something was actually trying to yank the air out of her lungs. She tensed, the lump in the back of her throat making it impossible for Emma to swallow the way she wanted to.

She tried to lick her lips, but even that was too much movement, shadows extending out from the Governor’s Palace in front of her and whatever sound she heard would probably echo in the back of her consciousness for the rest of her life.

It wasn’t human.

That much she knew.

It sounded like it was coming from an impossible distance and right in front of her, all at the same time, a shrill wail filled with despair and fury and something else just on the edge that felt a hell of a lot like determination.

And if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, Emma would have sworn it was a dream.

But she was awake and, somehow, still standing there, knees locked into place with what she could only described as awe and bone-rattling fear. Because there was someone running towards her.

A woman.

She was dressed exquisitely, a soft yellow fabric that ballooned around her when she ran. There were tears on her cheeks, streaks of kohl and a softness to her mouth that made Emma want to strangle whoever had done this. Several times over. She didn’t slow down, even as she got closer to Emma, a haziness around her that made it obvious she wasn’t entirely there.

Her shoes clacked on the cobblestone street, sniffling every few moments and Emma couldn’t blink if she tried.

She followed the woman as she continued forward, head on a swivel and her own breathing turning erratic. The woman’s shoulders heaved, until something changed, abruptly and suddenly, and her gaze snapped directly towards Emma, eyes boring into what genuinely felt like her soul and that steel whatever got even stronger.

Emma stood up straighter, not sure what was happening, only that it was important and— “You have to help me,” the woman said, voice sounding like it was coming from underwater. “What he did. What he—tried to change. It’s not right.” Emma blinked. Once, twice, three times. “This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream,” she chanted, pinching up her arm like that

would get her to wake up. It didn’t. She wasn’t asleep.

The woman shook her head slowly. She didn’t take a step forward. That was probably for the best, Emma wasn’t sure what she would do if that happened. “You can help,” she said instead, “make sure the truth is known, what I—what we did. You can make sure it doesn’t happen again. He’s trying. Now. Please. Help me.” Emma didn’t respond.

And eventually, when she stopped to think of everything that happened that night, how it changed the scope of anything that happened after, she would always regret that just a bit.

The woman took a deep breath.

Impressive, since, by all accounts, she was a ghost.

“Please,” she repeated softly before turning on her heels and floating straight through the front door of the Wythe House.

She left her right heel on the ground, the sight flickering for a moment, like it was clinging to this plane of existence and Emma couldn’t pull her eyes away. Until. One more burst of light, another sharp wail and— Emma didn’t remember her knees giving out, just a pair of hands around her shoulders and mumbled words in her ear, kisses peppered to every bit of skin he could reach and the goddamn musket was a few feet away.

“Swan, Swan, Emma, look at me, love, c’mon, I need you to actually show that you’re breathing.”

She didn’t say anything. Again. That was becoming a quickly frustrating habit of hers.

“Emma,” Killian sighed, only slight frustration. The rest was obvious fear and— “How did you get over here?” she asked. “That’s...aren’t you Randolph’ing tonight?” “Did you just use the family name as a verb?” “Am I awake right now?” Killian kissed her again — just between her brows. “Yeah, you are, love. And I...I don’t know how I knew. I just—” He swallowed, tongue darting towards lips that shouldn’t have been that distracting. All things considered. “I could feel it.” Emma jerked her head back, the condensation from the grass seeping through her skirts. Regina was going to yell about that. Loudly. Incessantly. “Wait, what?”

“It doesn’t make any sense, but—” “—I think I saw a ghost.” To his credit, Killian didn’t laugh. He didn’t really do anything, which was also pretty understandable, but Emma was teetering right on the edge of a complete breakdown and she kind of wanted him to kiss her some more.

If only to prove this was real.

“When?” “Just now,” Emma whispered. “She was...she came out of the palace. All fancy dress and she was crying and she said...she said I could help?” “You think it was the same woman? The one who was asking for help before?”

“If there’s more than one ghost involved in this, I will scream very loudly.” That got him to laugh. Killian ducked his head, lips catching Emma’s, and it was over before it really began, which was probably for the best, but she was greedy and dealing with ghosts and her knees were very damp. So she wanted to kiss him.

For several interrupted minutes.

No ghosts allowed.

“Was there anything else?” Killian asked. “I mean she didn’t introduce herself, I’d imagine.” “No, the ghost and I did not exchange pleasantries.” “I’ve never heard of a haunting on the Place Green, that’s…”

“What you asked David about?” Killian blushed, the spots of color on his cheek obvious even under the dim lighting of now-electrical lamps around them. “I was worried,” he said softly. “About—” “—Me?” “Quite a bit, yeah.” “You could feel it?” Emma asked. “Feel what, exactly?”

“I don’t know how to explain it...it was like—like I could feel this tug in the pit of my stomach and I knew it didn’t want me, specifically, but it was like everything that I’ve ever felt for you was disappearing. Like you were…” “Disappearing?” “It sounds crazy, I know.” “I just saw a crying ghost leave her shoe on the grass, so. You know, comparatively.” “She left her shoe?” “Technically,” Emma nodded. “It was a ghost shoe, so it’s not there anymore. But it was silk, I think. Pink.” Killian narrowed his eyes, gears almost turning audibly in his head. He pressed the tip of his tongue to the corner of his mouth. “That’s something, love. What do you say to a little bit of research tomorrow afternoon?”

The Wren Building and the Wren Library were two different places on the campus of William and Mary, a fact that always inexplicably annoyed Emma. But the campus of William and Mary was also absurdly old and, if the stories were true, haunted in several different places and Thomas Jefferson went there, so Emma also figured it was the prerogative of said campus to be frustrating if it wanted.

She’d already lost track of how long she and Killian had been there, tucked into a corner of the Library, not the Building, with half a dozen stacks of books around them and David’s promise that he’d sneak them ginger cookies from Raleigh at some point.

“This is pointless,” Emma said, slamming another book closed and ignoring the look of reproach on Killian’s face. He was very worried about offending the books.

Or possibly the ghosts.

She hadn’t slept very well the night before.

“We’re just not looking in the right books, Swan.” “Babe, we are—” She nearly swallowed her tongue. And Killian didn’t tense so much as he smirked at her, which was really, patently stupid when they were also researching ghosts, but maybe boyfriend sounded kind of good, if not just a little antiquated and— “Oh, don’t do that,” Emma mumbled, but that only gave the smirk more power.

Clap if you believe in using relationship qualifiers.

That was an out of place reference. “You were saying, love,” Killian drawled, propping his head on his hand. Emma rolled her eyes.

“We’ll circle back around to that.” “Will we just?”

“Tell me the most out of left field Revolutionary War fact you know.”

“And that will help us how?” “It’ll distract me from finding absolutely nothing about some lady in a yellow dress that, in all likelihood did not exist,” Emma explained, the smirk turning into something that looked a little more genuine. Killian’s chair squeaked when he pushed out of it, in her space in three quick strides and he didn’t react to whatever sound she made when he tugged her up only to pull her back onto his legs.

He hooked his chin over her shoulder.

“The Continental Congress tried to replace Washington at one point. When things were at their worst, before Saratoga and the French showed. Lost some of that faith him. You know he didn’t have a picture-perfect military record—” “—Starting the French and Indian War will probably do that to you.” “Ok, it wasn’t Washington specifically.” “It helped,” Emma argued. “And this is really not a lesser-known fact. I also have a degree, you know. Plus the colonists won at Saratoga and Benedict Arnold was a good guy for a while and—” “—the French showed up,” Killian said. “We’re making the same point here, love.” She huffed, equal parts frustration and exhaustion. “The woman didn’t have any other defining characteristics? I’m just...I’m trying to time her.” “Like her 40 up the Palace Green?” He nipped behind her ear, leaving Emma squirming on his lap and they were going to get kicked out of the Library. She hoped David showed up with the cookies before that. “It just doesn’t make sense,” Killian mused. “Once the royal governor left the colony there wasn’t anything at the Palace that would warrant a dress. It was a hospital. That’s—” “—Oh, if you say it’s haunted, I’ll strangle you.” “That’s not romantic at all, Swan.” “And that’s not a disagreement. I know the story, anyway. Used as a hospital during the Siege of Yorktown and French soldiers died there and now kids at the College jump the wall and see apparitions or whatever.” “Have you ever done it?” “Once,” Emma answered, appreciating the look that elicited. “When I first started here. It was Ruby’s idea, obviously. So I went with her and David and M’s. But nothing happened. No ghosts, no weird voices asking me for help. No lady disappearing into the Wythe House.”

Killian jerked back. “Wait, what?” “Did I not mention that yesterday?” He shook his head slowly, the muscles in his throat moving when he swallowed. The lights above them flickered. “Spooky,” Emma muttered, gritting her teeth when Killian pinched her side. “God, stop that. So, yeah, that happened too. She lost her shoe and then kind of...melted through the door, but that’s—that’s not a clue. George Wythe was a really important guy. He had hundreds of people staying with him.” “During the war, though? That would have put him in Philadelphia.” “So he was ahead of his time and came up with a colonial Airbnb.” “Swan.” “I’ve never heard of a ghost story at the Wythe house.” “I have,” David said, and Emma wished he’d stop showing up like that. It was doing damage to her pulse.

And Killian’s, apparently.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled. The arm around Emma’s waist noticeably tightened. David’s eyebrows lifted.

“Cookies. And information you can use.” “I thought you said you’d never heard about a woman asking for help,” Emma said, well aware that it sounded exactly like the accusation it was.

“That’s true, I haven’t. But I have heard about a woman haunting the Wythe house, or at least its staircase and,” he clicked his tongue, squeezing one eye shut in thought, “possibly the upstairs bedroom too.” “God, get to the point.” “The story goes that a woman had been attending an event at the Palace—very Colonial Army, strategizing and—” “—A woman?” Emma interrupted sharply. David glared. She ignored that. “I know, I know. That’s...I’m just—for real?” “Again, the story goes that she was well respected and well married. Her husband had been big money in London, came to the colonies to expand the empire or whatever and ran in close circles with both Washington and the Marquis.” “Lafayette?” “You know another one?” “Give me the goddamn cookies, David.” He chuckled, another step into the room and he’d bought cornbread too. “Do you know what anniversary we’re closing in on?”

Emma was going to scream. It was going to be dramatic and emotional and college kids would very likely talk in hushed whispers about the Wren Library Incident for years to come. Only, she never got the chance. Killian was talking.

“The Comte de Grasse showed up in Yorktown. The beginning of the end of the Revolutionary War.” “Ding, ding, ding,” David nodded. “And according to the story some of the plans for the blockade of the Chesapeake that the Comte staged were drafted in a small room outside of the Governor’s Palace. Out by the gardens in the back.” “Where the hospital was?” Emma asked, and David was starting to look a bit like a bobblehead. “Ding. Again. The story goes that the woman was there with her husband, a man named Robert Gold and—don’t make fun of the name, I am not in the mood.” Emma mimed zipping her lips closed. Killian kissed the curve of her shoulder. “Anyway, no one knows why, but something happened in that last meeting and the woman she ran out, not a trace of her ever seen again, except, at midnight, when the sound of one heeled shoe can be heard walking up the stairs in the Wythe House.”

Emma had to look down to make sure her heart had not, in fact, fallen on the floor. She was having trouble breathing. But whether that was from the state of her lungs or just how tightly Killian’s arm was holding her was probably a debate even a group of revolutionaries outside the Governor’s Palace wouldn’t have been able to decide.

“Shit,” she breathed. “One shoe, David? You’re sure?” “Is that important?” Emma didn’t answer him. She twisted, meeting Killian’s gaze and the tip of his tongue was back in the corner of his mouth. “What do you think?” “I think I have several thousand questions I didn’t have before.” “So list ‘em out.” He kissed her before he said anything else. That was nice. David groaned.

“Possibly lesser-known Revolutionary fact,” Killian started, “but Washington had two options in 1780. The French were trying to get some support from the French West Indies, but that wasn’t guaranteed and Washington needed to do something drastic to make a move on the British. So he could either follow de Grasse to the Chesapeake or try and recapture New York.” “I mean obviously they didn’t recapture New York.” Killian shook his head. “No, they didn’t. Rochambeau advised them this way because he heard the British were building a deep-water port in Yorktown. And it wasn’t quite a last-ditch effort, but trying to contain Cornwallis down here was...an almost unheard of tactic. A lot of things had to go right and there was a certain amount of subterfuge to it. Washington and Lafayette both engaged British troops to make it seem like they were going for New York.” And it only took her a few seconds to understand.

The light above them definitely got brighter. “You think he had help,” Emma said, stabbing her finger into Killian’s chest. He caught her around the wrist. “Someone here. Whoever told Rochambeau.” Killian nodded. “I do.” “You think it was Robert Gold?” “Why would someone with deep pockets in London be at a meeting of the minds just months before the British surrender?” Emma’s head was spinning. And racing. And possibly tripping over things. She was very glad she was sitting down. “But what about this woman?” David pressed through a mouthful of cookie. “Why would she run out of a meeting if her husband was helping the colonists? Unless she didn’t want that?” “No, that’s not right,” Emma said quickly. She blinked at the sudden certainty to her voice, as if it wasn’t hers at all, and she really wished her mouth would stop going dry so often. Killian tilted his head. “I don’t—David, do not react to this—she told me that he was trying to do it again. That’s got to be the husband, right?” Killian shrugged.

“Ok, that’s not helpful at all.” “Hold on, hold on,” David cut in. “We’re still talking about Emma’s ghost? Em, did you see someone? Here?” “Not here specifically.” “Oh my God.” “She said that exactly, Swan?” Killian asked. “Again?”

“Seems important, right?” He hummed, tongue swiping in front of his teeth. She needed to stop looking at his tongue. “America won,” Killian muttered. “That...it all worked the way it was supposed to, eventually, but the road to Yorktown wasn’t great. There were a dozen instances where Washington could have lost control and—” “—These sound a hell of a lot like questions only the woman can answer.”

“No.” “Excuse me?” “I know what you’re thinking Swan and absolutely not.” “Ok, first of all, you are not a mind-reader, so jot that down. And second of all, that’s ridiculous. You are the one who is constantly talking about ghosts and—” Emma cut herself off. She couldn’t help it. Because the look on his face wasn’t one she’d ever seen before and she wasn’t entirely sure she ever wanted to see it again.

She leaned forward, both hands on Killian’s cheeks. He kissed the inside of her left wrist. David didn’t make any noise. “I don’t know why this is happening,” Emma whispered. “But it is. And it’s...I can hear this woman and I saw her last night and she needs—if I can help her, then I’m going to.” Killian took a deep breath. “I know, Swan. But I’ll be damned if you do it by yourself.”

“Well, this is very romantic and absolutely lovely, but, uh, you guys are both idiots if you think I’m not going too,” David said.

Emma nearly fell off Killian’s leg. “Are you kidding me?” “Are you? I was the one who knew the story, Em. Plus, something about this just...it feels off, you know?” “The ghosts weren’t a clue?” “You’re using humor to deflect and that’s fair, but I can also get the key for the Wythe house from Locksley. So.” “Fine,” she groused, only faking the irritation a little. “What time would you like to commune with the dead?”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #colonial williamsburg fic #god what even is this???#i certainly don't know

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vagrantblvrd · 5 years

Text

Leave the Lights On (1/1)

Summary: Michael’s had his share of bad luck but his crappy little car dying on him in the middle of the night with a storm about to hit is a new low.

Notes: IDK, romcom shenanigans with possible vampires???¯\_(ツ)_/¯

(Read on AO3)

Michael’s had his share of bad luck but his crappy little car dying on him in the middle of the night with a storm about to hit is a new low.

To make matters better his phone died an hour ago thanks to a faulty charging cable he hadn’t replaced yet. Thought he could get a few more hours of it, long enough to get home and jury-rig something until he could, but then his boss had thrown extra orders at him and it had slipped his mind.

His car’s been limping along on its spare tire for over a week now while he pulled extra shifts to afford a replacement, and everything is terrible.

Goddamned miserable, because on top of everything else he’s starving and his car still smells like the pizzas he delivered earlier. Shitty job he took to pay the bills until he finds something better in this shitty town and -

There’s a sudden flash of lightning tearing through the night sky followed by a bone-rattling roll of thunder somewhere ahead of him. Storm rolling in like the meteorologists forecast and goddamn does he not want to be here for it.

“Fucking hell.”

He should just stick the oncoming storm out in his car, not risk getting lost in the dark and cold like a moron, but.

There’s a creek about a hundred yards away and the news was all over flooding concerns in the area with the storm coming in. Absolutely could not shut up about it, and as much fun as being swept away in the dark sounds, Michael would like not to add that to his list of life experiences, thanks.

And...he isn’t in the boonies out here, okay. There are houses around, even if they’re a little spread out.

Big sprawling things, old money and all that. Some have fallen into disrepair and neglect over the years, but the whole reason he’s out this way is one of the pizza shop’s regulars.

Odd guy who always has Michael leave his order at the door, but he tips well enough that Michael stopped thinking about it a while back. (God knows he’d hate to see his ugly mug in the middle of the night just to get his food.)

Well.

Alright, sort of.

Look, the guy lives way out here in a house – mansion – that looks like it should be in an old Gothic noir film. And as often as Michael delivers pizzas to his house he’s never seen his face.

When Michael first started working at the pizza shop his coworkers loved to spin their little theories and share stories about whoever lived out here being fucking vampires or some other horror movie monsters. Well, that or some reclusive serial killers because why not try to freak out the new guy?

Another flash of lightning and angry rumble of thunder have Michael making what’s sure to be another terrible decision in a long line of them. Gathering what he doesn’t want to leave behind in case his car gets swept away or someone comes along and thinks it looks like a tempting target.

His phone, though fat lot of good it’ll do him. The empty delivery bags because his boss will take it out of his paycheck if he loses them. Random shit he should have taken up to his apartment a long time ago but just didn’t get around to because procrastination.

Michael locks his car up and pulls the hood of his hoodie up and starts on the half mile (give or take) walk back to his regular’s house. If he’s lucky he’ll get there before the storm hits.

========

Michael’s luck is shit.

The sky opens up when he’s long past the point of no return. No other choice but to push on until he hits the house or find a comfortable ditch to die in like the idiot he is, so he pushes on.

Soaked through in minutes and there’s no way his phone will work after this, so might as well add that to his list of reasons why being an adult sucks ass.

But hey, he’s probably going to die out here and get eaten by fucking coyotes or something, so there’s that.

========

By the time he reaches the guy’s house, Michael’s freezing.

Can barely feel his fingers and his feet went the same way a while back. Heavy and clumsy and he’s an even bigger idiot than Gavin which is saying something.

Maybe not on the edge of getting frostbite or whatever, but he’s not doing great either. Cold and wet and miserable and hating every moment. The sight of the house (mansion) looming out of the dark like something in a Gothic movie is welcoming rather than borderline unsettling.

So.

Michael's probably fried the last of his functioning brain cells in his trek of stupidity. (Frozen them? Something.)

He takes far too long to ring the fucking doorbell, with his hands being uncooperative as shit and he misses a few times.

And then it’s a waiting game. Michael eyeing the doorbell and wondering if he should follow Gavin’s example and spam the fucking thing because God knows most people are asleep by now, but -

The door is wrenched open and Michael blinks up at an annoyed looking guy.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Floppy hair – look, Michael’s brain is frozen and the guy's hair does this...thing.

Incredibly blue eyes and these lips, okay. These lips that are...moving?

Because talking, and it takes Michael a few moments to realize it through the cold and numb and the pounding rain. (Also, Michael’s dumb, dumb brain.)

“Shit, fuck,” he says, tries to wave his hands in apology because Michael's a goddamn mess. “Uh, sorry to bother you but my car died and I didn't want to drown.”

The lips stop moving, and the guy goes from being annoyed to alarmed to concerned in moments, almost too fast for Michael’s muddled mind to keep track of.

But that’s fine, because the guy’s attention drops to the delivery bags Michael shoved down the front of his hoodie when he almost dropped them some time back. Fingers too cold and stiff to hold on to them any longer.

Michael tries to explain he’s the worst kind of idiot, but the guy hisses in sudden realization – Michael must look worse off than he thought – and reaches out to drag Michael inside.

========

The guy’s got a nice voice, all rich and deep and Michael’s never thought of himself as someone who had a thing for voices, so there’s that to deal with now too.

Could be lingering effects of frozen brain syndrome, or maybe Michael’s just real dumb, whichever.

The guy bundles Michael off to this ridiculously huge bathroom, shoves a change of clothes at him -

“They’re clean, I promise, just please don’t freeze to death on me, the lawyers would have a fit.”

- and leaves him to shower and change in peace.

Tells him where the laundry room is so he can put his clothes in to wash while they wait out the storm before he fucks off to make coffee or whatever he’s babbling about.

Michael doesn’t know what the thing with the lawyers is about, but hey. Problem to puzzle out later, if he doesn’t get himself horribly murdered first.

And, okay.

The guy probably isn’t some creature of the night or serial killer, based on how awkward he is, about Michael barging in on him like this. All fluttery hands and oh shit and what do I do to not have this idiot die on me and what is going on???

The clothes he handed Michael aren’t from one of those old movies Michael’s been subjected to thanks to family members and various other assholes in his life. No unbearable amounts of lace and other finery to fit the setting. Just a pair of sweats, soft and warm and these amazing socks that make his toes super happy, but whatever.

Michael takes a long shower, lets the hot water thaw him out as much as it can, chase the chill that seems to have sunk into his bones away and leaving him feeling more like a real human boy again.

There are huge, fluffy towels set out for him and he hums a little as he dries off, taking care to get as much water out of his hair as he can.

He’s sure to get a cold out of this mess. Can feel the back of his throat acting up, body feeling tired and sluggish and just overall shittier than usual, but he’s got his mom’s lectures about that shit in the back of his head and it can’t hurt, right?

There aren’t any mirrors in the bathroom, which is a little odd but not alarmingly so. Some people just don’t like having the damn things around, nothing all that strange when it comes down to it. Michael runs his fingers through his hair and leaves it at that because fuck if it ever does what he wants anyway.

When he feels he’s somewhat presentable and mostly thawed, Michael ventures out of the bathroom and gets his first real look at the place.

Definitely perfect for some old timey movie. All antique furniture and shit, but there are modern day touches tossed in here and there. Security system of some sort, which makes sense because everything here looks expensive as shit.

No decorative mirrors or reflective surfaces he can see aside from the windows he passes, and okay, this whole vampire theory his coworkers fed him feels a bit more believable. (The tiniest shred, because vampires aren’t real and his coworkers are asshole, but yeah.)

Michael keeps his hands to himself as he follows the faint sound of noise coming from the floor below. Takes the stairs slow because it would suck to fall and break his neck after everything else that’s happened, and finds himself in the kitchen.

Big spacious thing that’s meant for a whole staff toiling away to cook meals and the like. Modern appliances here and there to take their place and a scuffed up table and a couple of chairs at one end by the pantry that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the furniture Michael’s seen.

The guy is muttering to himself as he fusses with a coffeemaker on the counter, other appliances scattered around and looking frazzled.

Michael doesn’t blame him, because complete stranger showing up in the middle of the night like Michael had and just.

Yeah.

“Hey,” Michael says, and winces when he startles the poor bastard. “Sorry to barge in on you like this.”

The guy turns around to stare at Michael.

“What?”

Michael shrugs, plucking at his borrowed clothes.

“I mean,” he says. “In hindsight I should have stuck it out in my car, but it died next to the creek down the road and I was worried about flooding, so you know. Sorry for bothering you.”

He doesn’t know if the guy is just not keen on people or what, but having the pizza guy show up like an idiot like this can’t be a fun experience for him.

“Uh,” the guy says again. “Jesus, no. The damn creek floods every time it rains. With a storm like this it would have been, uh. Bad. Real bad for you if you'd stayed with your car.”

Huh. Okay, so maybe Michael did make a good choice there.

They stare at each other for a moment longer before Michael remembers his manners, and sticks his hand out. Still cold as shit even after the hot shower, but in working order again and everything.

“I’m Michael by the way,” he says, feeling like an even bigger idiot. “Nice to meet you?”

He’s not sure about the protocol here, but figures introducing himself can’t hurt.

The guy tips his head to the side, slight frown on his face giving way to his bemused little smile as he shakes Michael's hand.

“Ryan,” he says, chuckling a little at how awkward this whole situation is. “I’m Ryan.”

========

Ryan sits Michael down with a cup of hot coffee and containers of creamer and sugar and rattles around what sounds like it’s going to be soup going from his muttering.

The nice part is that he checks with Michael first to make sure he doesn’t have any allergies or other diet restrictions before he does. Means no surprise dairy to worry about and Michael sips his coffee as he watches.

Ryan’s real comfortable with the knives and other pointy kitchen tools and gadgets he’s using. He’s more intent on killing the hell out of vegetables and a rotisserie chickens he pulls out of the fridge rather than Michael, so that’s one less thing to worry about. (For now.)

Interestingly he puts garlic in with the onions, which is another point for him not being a vampire, or maybe the myths and legends surrounding vampires are wrong on that front.

Every so often he’ll remember he’s not alone and shoot Michael these sheepish little looks like he’s aware he looks like a lunatic, but it’s not like Michael can judge, so.

“How did you get stuck out here anyway?” Ryan asks, dropping herbs of some sort into the pot on the stove.

Michael shrugs, because the reasons are many.

“Bad luck,” he says simply. “A fuck-ton of it.”

Ryan turns to look at him, corner of his mouth pulled up into this little smile that says he knows the feeling, has had his share of it too.

“Fair enough,” he says. “The landlines are out due to the storm, but you can use my cell if you need to make calls.”

Simple little offer and Michael’s grateful for it, but Ryan’s delivery was the last one of his shift and the pizza shop has to be closed up by now. Anyone he knows in the city are long asleep and there’s no point in waking them up to remind them how dumb he is. Definitely no point in calling a tow service now, so.

“It can wait,” he says, and grins at the dubious look Ryan sends him.

Ryan’s a little odd, sure. Quirky, eccentric, but he doesn’t feel dangerous and Michael likes to think he’s a good judge of character. (Gavin’s an anomaly, outlier like that Spiders George asshole.)

“Okay,” Ryan says, just that simple

It goes on like that, the coffee Ryan gave him warming him up and helping to shake out lingering fuzziness from his mind. Kitchen warm and cozy and Ryan’s occasional muttering to the soup he’s making like a lunatic more amusing than alarming. (Quirky, even.)

Michael learns Ryan’s new to the area too. Moved out here a few years ago when a relative died and left the place to him, has a whole pack of said relative’s lawyers sorting out the rest and nitpicking everything he chooses to be for whatever reason.

“What?”

Ryan shrugs, another sheepish grin as he sets a steaming bowl of soup in front of Michael before serving himself.

“I’m the last surviving benefactor in the Will, and I guess I don’t measure up to their standards?” he shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but there’s this hard line to his mouth, tension in his shoulders that seems like it shouldn't be there.

He's got the lawyers breathing down his neck, micromanaging him and the way he lives his life because there are clauses in the Will or some shit Ryan has to adhere to before the place and the rest of his inheritance is his free of strings.

Sounds exhausting as fuck and not worth the hassle, but what the hell does Michael know?

Michael snorts, because this house – mansion – reeks of money, and he can only imagine the kind of asshole who’d looks around them at all of it and think, ah, yes, perfect without a shred of irony.

He might be wrong on this one, but Ryan doesn’t strike him as being one of them.

“Yeah, well,” Michael shrugs, and tries the soup Ryan made. Tasty as fuck and the guy made it from scratch for the little idiot who showed up at his door without warning, so it’s pretty incredible. “Holy shit, this is good.”

Ryan laughs, all stupid shy about it as he ducks his head and mumbles a thank you and Michael, alright, Michael isn’t in love, but he’s definitely something.

========

After they clear the dishes away and clean up the kitchen – Michael insisted on helping because he’s intruding on Ryan’s life enough – Michael goes through the stuff he brought with him.

Sets the delivery bags up to dry with Ryan’s help and tosses his poor abused phone on the kitchen table.

“Mind if I take a look?” Ryan asks, as Michael scowls at it and tries to find something he can cut from his budget to put towards a replacement for it.

“What?”

Ryan rolls his eyes and makes grabby hands for the glorified brick on his table, and Michael hands it over because fuck if he has a good reason no to.

It’s deader than dead, and only a miracle worker could salvage anything from it, but Ryan still tries.

Takes the battery out and grabs a can of compressed air or something to get as much of the water out of it as he can before shoving the rest in a bowl of uncooked rice.

“If we’re lucky it’ll still work after this,” he says when he looks back at Michael, like he didn’t just go into crisis mode over Michael's damn phone.

“Uh, yeah Thanks?” Michael says, and laughs at himself because what the actual hell. “You seemed to know what you were doing.”

Another awkward little shrug.

“I work in IT,” he says which explains some of the stuff Michael's seen that doesn’t fit the décor. “So, you know.”

Michael doesn’t, but he just nods along.

Ryan nods too, because awkward. Drums his fingers on the kitchen table now there's nothing for him to fiddle with and the comfortable silence between them stretches thin.

“...I can show you to one of the spare bedrooms if you’re tired?” Ryan offers, with a shrug, deprecating smile, as he goes on. “Or I could give you the grand tour of the place?”

Michael considers it for a moment.

He is tired, but the combination of a shitty night and the coffee Ryan gave him have him keyed up. Not quite jittery, but sleep is going to be long in coming.

A glance at Ryan shows the guy might be a night owl (one more tick in the vampire category) and he seems…

Lonely?

He seems lonely.

Lives in this big, sprawling mansion on his own and hasn’t mentioned any friends or coworkers. And even thought Michael’s been delivering pizzas out here for about a year, this is the first time they’ve met. (Although being in IT, it’s possible Ryan works from home and has a plethora of friends he keeps in contact with online.)

Who knows.

“I mean,” Michael says. “Who in their right mind would turn down a tour of Wayne Manor?”

That gets a startled laugh out of Ryan, this big dopey grin because of course he’s that kind of nerd.

========

The place is massive, but enough there are wings to it. Ryan chatters on about this room or that, and most of it seems to be untouched.

“It’s a little big for my tastes,” Ryan says, uncomfortable about it as they leave behind yet another library full of stuffy old books and antique furniture. “I only need a few rooms to myself, but one of the terms of my inheritance is I can’t sell it, so.”

He shrugs, like he knows its not the worst thing in the world but there’s something a lot like regret there too.

Michael gets it, though.

The place is...it’s dark and gloomy and whoever lived here before seems like the kind of asshole who looked down on the little guy. Expensive everything and Michael feels wildly out of place here and he’s just the pizza guy.

Ryan in his old faded jeans and t-shirt with some kind of nerdy computer joke and awkward smile lives here.

Maybe more luxurious than the cramped apartment he mentioned living in before this, but Michael doesn’t think it was a step up for the poor guy with all the bullshit he has to deal with.

Ryan points out the gardens and courtyards, although with the storm it’s hard to make anything out. He’ll take Ryan’s word for it they’re a sight to behold and all that, maybe steal a glance at them in the morning if the weather’s cleared by then.

There’s hesitation on Ryan’s part, like he’s not sure Michael will give a shit, but they end up in a huge garage.

Huge.

Might have been a hose stable or whatever the fuck back in the day that's been converted into a modern-ish garage at some point.

And there are a lot of cars.

Old classics that belonged to the previous owner. Pretty little sports cars a handful of less obscenely expensive cars here and there and a few limos.

As in more than one, because you can never have too many?

One that looks like it’s only a few years old and more going back decades, the kind you’d see in old movies or black and white photos.

“Jesus,” Michael says, too afraid of scathing the sleek black paint job to touch the one that looks like it’s from prohibition era.

Ryan makes a noise of agreement, hands stuffed into his pockets as he gestures to a modest little sedan parked towards the garage doors.

“I stick to driving mine,” he says, crooked smile on his face. “Less to worry about with the insurance that way.”

No shit.

Wreck that and it’ll be a pain, sure, try the same with any of the others cars here and it’d be a goddamned crime.

Ryan gives Michael that crooked grin again and they head back into the mansion through the kitchen.

Michael grabs another cup of coffee because he’s smart like that, and follows Ryan into a room he’s turning into his.

Obvious from the moment they set foot inside, and Michael smiles as he looks around.

The antique furniture has been moved somewhere else to be replaced with what must be Ryan’s own furniture. A few pieces are battered and well-used but look comfy as hell, and there’s a huge flat screen television mounted on a wall.

Computer setup and other shiny gadgets and tech scattered about that give the room a lived feel to it, like this is where Ryan spends a substantial amount of his time.

There’s a set of doors leading to a deck overlooking a garden, and it must get a decent amount of sunlight in the day. Not as gloomy or dark ad the rest of the place and he can see why Ryan likes it here.

Michael breaks into a grin when when he spots the gaming system Ryan has hooked up to the television, or rather gaming systems.

“Oh, dude, sweet,” he says, looking over the games on a nearby shelf. “You play video games?”

Ryan laughs, this delighted little smile on his face when Michael looks back at him.

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “A little.”

That’s complete bullshit because there are a shit-ton of games on the shelf and a little stack of them beside one of the consoles, but sure, sure.

Ryan opens and closes his mouth a few ties before he visibly decides fuck it.

“Do you, uh. Want to play something?”

========

“Oh, bullshit!” Michael yells, throwing his hand up as Ryan snipes his character in the head yet again from whatever hidey spot he’s in now. “Fucking, come out and fight me like a man, dipshit!”

Ryan’s side of the ouch is shaking as the man himself fucking loses it, goddamn giggles.

He's got this weird little laugh most of the time, kind of croaky and adorable as shit. But then he comes out with that damn giggle of his and Michael forgets he’s supposed to be angry at the sneaky fuck who’s one of the best video game snipers Michael’s played against.

Ray’s infuriating as fuck, sure, but goddamned Ryan is so fucking smug about it.

Breaks out of that awkward shell of his to taunt Michael, comes across as some menacing creep and laughs like a lunatic when he pops Michael’s character in the head with some impossible shot.

A far cry from the awkward bumbling guy Michael met only a few hours ago and it’s kind of amazing.

“I hate you,” Michael says with no heat behind it as he waits for his character to respawn. “So much, you don’t even know.”

Ryan’s still too busy laughing to care.

========

Michael's crazy, zany adventures catch up to him and he can’t put off his exhaustion any longer.

Ryan catches him in the middle of a jaw-cracking yawn and laughs, this little huff of breath.

“I think it’s time we called it quits,” he says, eyebrow quirking when Michael tries to reassure him no, Michael's good to keep playing and another yawn catches him off guard.

“Okay, okay,” Michael agrees, cheeks heating. “You might have a point there.”

Another quiet little laugh and Michael is kind of gone on this idiot, just the tiniest bit.

Real easy on the eyes and easier to get along with, even if he is a sneaky son of a bitch when it comes to video games. Fucking loves his loopholes and goddamned smug about how good a player he is when he’s winning.

Ryan grins at him, and waits for Michael to untangle himself from the blankets and everything else before leading him to one of the spare bedrooms.

There’s an awkward moment as they stare at one another before Ryan clears his throat and scurries away wishing Michael a good night.

Michael snorts, because talk about smooth. (Probably for the best anyway though.)

The spare room is the same ridiculous level of extravagant as the rest of the place, and Michael’s a little worried about sullying the place up with his commoner cooties, but he’s fucking tired.

Tired and sore and fuck it all anyway, because as stuffy as the room is the bed is comfortable as shit and he’s asleep before too long.

========

Morning comes too soon, Michael woken up by the literal quiet after the storm.

No rain coming down in torrents, wind battering at the mansion like a live thing. The only sounds he can hear are songbirds venturing out after the storm looking for food, and it’s weird as hell.

He’s used to the sounds of the city, always something going on. Someone making noise. Loud and obnoxious and comforting in its own way because it’s all he’s known.

This...weird as hell, sure, but not awful.

Michael stays in bed as he remembers how the hell he got here and why. Common sense comes along way too fucking late and wow.

Because all the ways he could have died horribly somehow not happening. Ryan turning out to be an awkward dork with a goofy smile and ridiculous laugh, and Michael's quick to shut down any further thoughts about Ryan because it’s smarter that way. (Safer, too.)

Michael gets up, taking the time to be a good guest and make his bed before he goes to the laundry room to collect his clothes. Takes a quick shower in the bathroom before he changes into them, and then he goes...it’s not exploring, just.

Venturing.

Ryan doesn’t seem to be up yet, or maybe he’s just in another part of the mansion, and Michael ends up in the “living room” Ryan’s cobbled together.

It's another library that’s been repurposed. Tall bookshelves lining the walls and a long table on one end close by the glass doors that open up into one of thee courtyards. Ryan’s made it fit his needs instead of the other way around.

While taking a better look at Ryan’s video game collection Michael comes across a framed photo. Ryan and another guy, both dressed like people in the Victorian era. Michael stares at it for a long, long moment, not sure what to make of it.

A formal portrait kind of thing, both of them elegantly dressed with solemn expressions on their faces and what the actual fuck?

“Oh, uh,” Ryan says appearing from nowhere. “That’s my younger brother.”

Michael turns around to see Ryan standing beside him, and look okay, look.

Michael knows vampires aren’t real, but Ryan’s odd, eccentric. Thinking back on what he told Michael the night before, a lot of it doesn’t add up.

Ryan flips between formal turns of phrase to more modern ones, and he’s just.

Strange.

Woefully out of touch when it comes to certain things. The guy fumbles slang and shit like that, which fine. He’s also a major dork so that could be explanation enough, but.

It’s nice and bright in here now, sunlight spilling in through the windows and glass doors that lead out to what looks like a beautiful garden. And Ryan, okay. Not bursting into flames or whatever the hell it is vampires are supposed to do in this situation.

“Halloween?” Michael asks, smiling as he does because that would make the most sense, wouldn’t it? Couple of dapper assholes out for a night of Halloween fun somewhere.

There’s not that much of a family resemblance between the two of them. Ryan the broader of the two, light hair and eye color, but that doesn’t mean anything in the grander scheme and all that.

Ryan shakes his head, fond little smile on his face as he reaches past Michael to pick the frame up.

“No,” he says, and doesn’t explain why the hell he has a photo like that. “It’s one of the last ones I have of us together though.”

“Uh - “

Ryan sighs, brushing his fingers over the glass like a character in an old movie.

“There was a fire,” he says, “part of the reason I moved here.”

Michael wants to ask, he really does, but he’s not sure if it would be the right choice at the moment.

The way Ryan talks could mean there’s a horrible family tragedy in his past involving his little brother, or it’s something less devastating like a simple falling out that he’d rather not dwell on. Maybe it’s just the way life goes sometimes, people falling out of contact only to reconnect at a later date.

Whichever one it is, it doesn’t feel right for Michael to go sticking his nose into things, so.

Yeah.

“Anyway,” Ryan says, setting the frame down gently and gives Michael a bright smile. “Breakfast?”

========

Ryan cooks them some omelets and brews a pot of coffee and Michael – tired and confused and getting a little irritated over it, shoves the vampire/not vampire debate away for later, because fucking really.

They talk about the weather, seeing as it’s a significant factor in this situation and Ryan tells him the landlines are working again. (As expected, Michael’s phone is dead as shit even with Ryan’s heroic efforts.)

Once they clear the dishes away – Michael has to insist on helping with that again, fuck’s sake – he makes a few calls.

Tells his boss he won’t be in for the day because reasons, and Ryan offers to drive him out to see if his car is still there before he calls a tow service.

“Oh, fuck. Good idea, yeah.”

Ryan doesn’t laugh at him because it’s not funny, but he totally does.

The drive out to the spot Michael’s car died on him is quiet, both of them lost in their own thoughts.

Michael’s car is where he left it, but the creek did indeed flood. There’s water reaching almost to the car windows and no hope of getting a jump from Ryan and driving himself home now.

“Well, shit.”

No way to tell if it’s a lost cause from the insurance company’s view, but it’s not looking great for Michael, which is awesome.

Not like he relies on the damn thing for work or anything.

========

Michael doesn’t expect to hear from Ryan again after that, figures it was a nice - if weird - thing that happened to him thanks to his luck and life in general.

He had to quit his job at the pizza shop because his car was deemed a total loss by the insurance company and what they gave him was nowhere near enough for a decent replacement. (A pizza delivery driver without a working car is worse than useless.)

Michael's working the night shift at a distribution center for a big box store. Hard, thankless work loading trucks up all night long and shitty pay, but hey, bills to pay and all that.

And then a few weeks after he ended up at Ryan’s freaking mansion, he gets a knock on his door and this kid in an ill-fitting suit beaming up at him.

“Michael Jones?” he asks, even though it’s clear he knows who Michael is. Pushes past Michael into his crappy apartment and glances around before turning back to him to pop open the briefcase he’s carrying. “I’ve got an offer for you on behalf of my client.”

Michael stares at this idiot kid with his idiot smile and this look in his eyes that says he’s not walking out of Michael’s apartment until Michael hears him out.

“I’m sorry, what?” Michael asks, utterly bewildered. “Who the hell are you?”

========

Fucking Ryan.

========

“Jesus Christ,” Jeremy breathes, looking up at the fucking Gothic mansion Ryan calls home these days. “How the fuck didn’t I know about this place before?”

Michael doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care.

Too annoyed at Ryan and his...Ryan-ness to give much of a shit as he limbs out of Jeremy’s car. Manages not to slam the door because Jeremy is doing him a favor driving Michael out here on little notice like this.

The lawyer’s sensible hybrid car is parked under the covered awning near the garage, and Michael -

“Michael?”

Michael reins his temper in and leans in through the passenger side window to meet Jeremy’s worried gaze.

“Magic,” he spits, because for all he knows it is, and then feels guilty at the look Jeremy gives him. All woeful sad puppy dog eyes and Michael, please, because Jeremy’s a shit. “I don’t know, Jeremy. It’s not like people come out this way that often, you know?”

Jeremy cocks his head like he’s thinking about it, and okay, now is not the time.

“Thanks for driving me out here, I’ll pay you back for it later,” he promises, because they’re a long way out of town and gas is expensive these days.

Jeremy snorts, waving it off as he gestures to the mansion. “You want me to come with you?”

In case Ryan is a serial killer or something worse, and honestly, Jeremy’s a good guy. (A fucking idiot, sure, but still a good guy.)

Michael glances at the mansion. Takes in the way it’s pretty fucking intimidating against a steel gray sky, more storm clouds in the distance because the weather is miserable this time of year.

“Nah,” he says. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.”

Jeremy’s eyebrows shoot up, because yeah, no, this whole situation is sketchy as hell.

“Really.”

Michael shrugs. It’s hard to explain, but he’s just here to yell at Ryan. Shake some sense into him if he can, but mostly it’s the yelling thing.

Jeremy’s got work later and the lawyer can drive Michael home, no need to hang around for his ass.

“Yep,” he says, and pushes off Jeremy’s car to head inside, ignoring Jeremy as he yells after him.

========

“Michael,” Ryan says, fidgeting with the book he’s holding. Science fiction author Ryan seems to like, filling the bookshelves in the library he’s taken over. “I didn't expect to see you here again.”

Michael narrows his eyes at that, gaze flitting toward the lawyer who’s off in a corner on his phone. Big hand gestures and this note to his voice like his life is a disaster and hahaha, no, really, I need you to do this One Thing, for the love of God.

“No?” Michael asks, and holds up the folder of paperwork Ryan’s lawyer dropped off with him. “Weird.”

Ryan...winces, rubs a hand over his face.

“Ah,” he says. “That.”

Yes, Michael thinks. ’That’ indeed.

Like Ryan’s lawyer said, it’s an offer.

A job offer. Personal assistant to the human disaster that is Ryan Haywood and various perks and benefits that would go along with said job offer.

Such as ridiculous amounts of money as payment, his own room(s) at the mansion, pick of the cars in the garage – excluding Ryan’s personal one- and a whole slew of things that most people would have to sell their souls to get.

And here Ryan is offering all of that plus some to Michael after knowing him for less than a day.

It’s suspicious as hell and while part of Michael is screeching at him at to swallow his pride and agree, the rest is...annoyed.

Because Ryan – vampire or just a run of the mill serial killer – is real fucking stupid.

For all he knows Michael could be a goddamned serial killer, and here the idiot it inviting him into his home like it’s no big deal. A place in the middle of nowhere where no one would discover the body for quite some time and what the actual fuck is wrong with this idiot?

“I thought Kerry explained it to you?” Ryan says, backing up a step when Michael scowls at him. “We went over the contract several times, and while I admit he is young, he’s very thorough.”

Oh, Kerry was very clear on the terms and conditions of the contract. Bright and cheerful as he went over it in excruciating detail, yes. Answered all of Michael's questions with confidence and only faltered when Michael told him he’d need time to think it over before he’d kicked Kerry out of his apartment and stewed.

Read the damn thing over and over, going through what fine print there was with a fine-toothed comb just in case and realizing for all the legal babble there was, it was a straightforward offer.

No strings attached, and Michael was free to stay in his apartment in the city instead if he felt more comfortable with that. And he'd still have his pick of the cars and everything else. Could negotiate any terms and conditions until all parties were satisfied and honestly he shouldn’t be annoyed at how accommodating Ryan is trying to be with this, but he is.

Part of it has to do with Michael’s own stupid pride, he’s not a fucking charity case okay. More than capable of looking after himself even if it lands him in the trouble every once in a while. The rest is just.

Baffled at how stupid Ryan is.

“You don’t even know me,” Michael says, because it’s true, isn’t it? They’re virtual strangers and yet here Ryan is ready to let him into his odd little home for no reason. “Why go to so much trouble for me?”

Michael knows all about Ryan’s woes with his dead relative’s lawyers, knows Kerry works for the same legal firm. That Ryan chose him to handle his own personal legal matters and apparently that includes helping draft a job offer for Michael or whatever the hell.

Ryan fidgets, looking every which way but at Michael and otherwise stalls until he can’t any longer.

Looks awkward as hell, sheepish and worst of all, guilty.

“...I like you,” he says after a long, painful moment. “And believe it or not, I don’t get a lot of company out here.”

Well, yeah.

Creepy mansion in the middle of nowhere? No shit he doesn’t get visitors out here. Michael bets he doesn’t even get the goddamned Girl Scouts breathing down his neck when cookie season rolls around.

Ryan sighs, glancing at Kerry who is still on his phone and oblivious to the two of them.

“I know what it’s like to be in a bad place in life,” he says, makes this vague hand gesture meant to encompass that spot in his own life. “And since I have the means to help you out – or try to – I did.”

He winces again before looking up at Michael.

“I didn't think it through at the time,” he admits. “I realize it seems...sketchy.”

Among other things, yeah.

Michael sighs, because he gets it, he does.

Ryan’s a sweet guy, if a bit misguided.

“Look,” Michael says, not sure what to say next because what the hell does he say next? “I’m not mad about it - “

Ryan snorts, corners of his mouth quirking.

“Shut up, I’m not,” Michael insists. “Annoyed, sure, because you’re an idiot, but I’m not mad.”

He really isn’t.

And...that sense of wounded pride is quiet now that Ryan’s explained himself. Awkward and fumbling, but his offer seems to have come from a good place.

Michael would be a fool to turn Ryan’s offer down, let his pride get the better of him. He’s not the smartest guy out there by a long shot, might not get a better opportunity than this in his life, and -

He’s lonely too, even with people like Gavin and Jeremy and the other assholes he met since moving out here.

Ryan’s out here by himself, living somewhere he doesn’t seem all that happy to be, and here he is trying to do a good thing for some asshole he barely knows.

Michael looks at Ryan, the tired little smile on his face that looks stiff and painful, and feels guilty for being the sort of asshole he is.

The truth of the matter is Michael doesn’t want to kill himself for minimum wage working in a warehouse or whatever other shitty job he’ll land at some point.

He’s tired of barely scraping by and while Ryan’s offer was way over the top, he can work with it. Whittle it down to something more manageable, easier to live with and not feel like he’s taking advantage of Ryan’s generosity.

Ryan must realize it, because he cocks his head as Michael starts talking.

========

Kerry left hours ago and took the amended contract with him.

There are still sections that need to be gone over, finalized before anyone sets pen to paper but overall Michael's feeling more comfortable about it.

He had to argue Ryan down on a few points because goddamn the man’s an idiot, but with Kerry on his side he got his point across. (Ryan still thinks Michael’s being the dumb one here, but honestly it’s still Ryan.)

“You’re incredibly dumb,” Michael says, listing to the storm closing in on the mansion outside, one that's bound to be another doozy. “Like. So much, it’s hard to believe anyone could be that dumb.”

Ryan sends him an annoyed look, and on that huge flat screen television of his, Michael's character goes down in a spray of blood and choked off cry.

Another goddamned headshot from fucking nowhere.

“Oh?” Ryan says, smile full of teeth. “Is that so?”

Michael snorts because yeah, yeah. The guy’s a pro with the fucking sniper rifle but the moment Michael gets in close enough to make the damn thing irrelevant, he’s pretty fucking easy to deal with.

“Yeah,” Michael answers, flashing him a grin. “It is.”

========

Look, Michael has no clue what’s going on in his life anymore, alright?

He’s got a better job lined up for himself than anything he’s had before even if he’s not sure he’s qualified for it. An idiot of a boss who may or may not be a vampire or just a run of the mill serial killer, and somehow all of this is okay with him because Michael is also an idiot.

Michael doesn’t know what he’s doing, but Ryan’s laughing at some dumb joke he just told and the storm outside seems small and inconsequential.

The company’s not half bad, so Michael will keep on keeping on for now and deal with whatever shit comes his way the way he always does.

#myan #ragehappy #vagrant fic #idek anymore #it started as a lol moment and grew into this???#¯\_(ツ)_/¯#leave the lights on #vampire??? au

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hershelsstyles · 6 years

Text

Lost in Japan

Part 3 - Harry gives Nina a backstage tour

word count: 2,281

Series masterlist

The city gets dark and after having dinner at a local restaurant, I go back to my hotel. After I check in and get up to my room, the first thing I do is pull my SD card out of my camera and shove it in my laptop.

I look at the amazing images I got from today, I choose my favorite and post it to Instagram. I tag the location and write a small caption.

Less than a few minutes later, the picture has over 2,000 likes, and so many comments saying the same thing.

"Omg Harry's in Tokyo to!! Is that why he followed her?"

I remember how Harry said he would be in Japan soon. My stomach starts to feel bubbly. Why am I feeling nervous?

After chilling, I open my laptop again and decide to read through my emails. It's crazy how when you gain a small following on Instagram the number of random companies email you with all sorts of weird brand deals. Almost all of them are spam, but I come across one email from a personal Gmail account that I don't recognise. I click on it.

From: [email protected]

Hello, you have been invited to Harry Styles live on tour in Tokyo on the 12th of May. Please be at the venue at 7 pm, give your name to the box office to collect your tickets. Looking forward to seeing you there.

Kind Regards

Jeffery Azzof,

Full Stop Management.

This is insane. I immediately check the date as I have basically been jumping time zones throughout the last week, I have no idea what day it is. Today is the 11th of May, that means the concert is tomorrow. My heart is skipping beats, I feel so excited. This is actually crazy, Harry has invited me to his show! How does he know I'm in Tokyo? I know I told him I was going to be in Japan soon, but I never specified dates. My phone buzzes in my lap. Its a notification from Instagram, @harrystyles liked your post. I open the app to see which one he liked, it's not even my latest post, he's looking through my feed.

I don't even have to think about whether I'm going or not, there is no question about it. I don't know if I'm supposed to reply to the email or not. I decide against replying because firstly I would know what to say or not sound desperate. I sit on my bed and try to comprehend what just happened. I think about what I'm going to wear, what is it going to be like? Am I going to see him? Obviously, I'm going to see him perform, but will we get the chance to see each other again?

I decided I should probably listen to his album some more if I'm going to his show. As I'm getting ready for bed I'm singing the words to 'Sweet Creature', his album is actually really good. It so different to One Direction but I find myself starting to really like it. I wonder if it's going to sound different live, what kind of show he will put on. I fall asleep listening to ‘From the Dining Table.’

The next morning when I wake up, I remember the events of last night and my evening plans and my stomach is doing flips. I'm so excited, but nervous. As I hop in the shower and get ready for the day I can't wipe a smile off my face.

Today I was planning on going to the gardens Harry suggested I visited, and since the show is at 7 pm I still have the whole day ahead. After spending the day around Tokyo shooting the whole time, I head back to my hotel around 5 pm so I can get ready.

After I shower, I straighten my hair. I put on a bit of light makeup which consists of a tinted moisturizer, bronzer, a swipe of highlighter on my cheekbones and eyelids, mascara, and lip balm.

I put on my outfit which is a red dress which comes above my knees and has buttons down the front. It light and summery as Tokyo weather is warm, and so is a concert. I decide against any fancy shoes and settle with my old skool black vans, I'm going to need comfort as Ill probably be standing the whole night.

After spending about 20 minutes trying to figure out a route to get to the venue on public transport, I decided to give up and call a taxi. I don't want to risk getting lost and being late. I make my way down to the hotel lobby just as the taxi arrives.

When I get to the venue I'm overwhelmed with how large it is. I quickly spot the box office in the crowds of people and make my way over. Next to me is the merchandise tent with very long lines. I look at the merch being sold as I join the much shorter line for the box office, my eye is caught by the 'Treat People With Kindness' t-shirts, I love that, he's using his platform to spread such a nice message. I really want to get one but the line is so long and I'm already in the line for the box office.

Soon it's my turn to step up to the window. I begin to realise the person working probably doesn't know English, and I don't think my Japanese is good enough to explain why I'm here. My worries soon disappear as when I approach the window she greets me in English.

"Hello, how can I help you today?"

"Hi, um I was told to come here and pick up a ticket for Nina Grey"

"One moment please," she says as she types into her keyboard. I nervously watch her in anticipation, maybe that email was a joke, my email is in the bio of my Instagram, anyone could have sent it.

I start feeling hot, and not because of the warm weather, my nerves are kicking in. She then picks up the phone next to her and starts speaking quickly in Japanese. I can't understand anything she's saying other than when she says my name.

She puts down the phone, I'm fully preparing myself for her to start laughing at me and tell me there no ticket for me.

But she instead smiles at me "I will just print your ticket now, Jeff will be here to take you inside soon"

I recognise the name Jeff, the guy who sent the email. A flood of relief comes over me. The lady hands me my ticket and tells me to wait by the VIP check-in area for Jeff. I thank her as I walk away.

Not long after, a tall man in his early thirties walks over to me, he reaches out his hand to shake mine. "Hi, you must be Nina, I'm Jeff, Jeffery Azzof. I'm Harry's manager, the guy who sent you the email."

I shake his hand, "Hi yes I'm Nina, nice to meet you."

"Well, we better get you inside, ah and before I forget you will need this." He hands me a lanyard with backstage written on it.

"Follow me." He says.

"I really wasn't expecting this, thank you"

"No problem, now I'm just warning you, backstage can be pretty chaotic, so try not to get in the way, everything needs to run smoothly." I nod while we keep walking.

I can tell Jeff is good at his job, his tone wasn't rude or mean, just simply being honest, which I appreciate.

We pass a security guard as we enter through a large door, Jeff waves and smiles. The security guard doesn't say a thing. Jeff was right about backstage being chaotic, there is staff running around, people chatting, eating, and getting ready.

Jeff takes me to the main area where there's a food and drinks table, there's also couches and tables all around, and a ping pong table in the middle of the room. The table has the same words written on it as the merch, 'Treat People With Kindness'.

There are two people that are playing a seemingly serious game of ping pong. One of them looks to be a sound engineer as he's wearing all black and has earpieces, walkie-talkies, and many wires sticking out of his pockets. He hits the ball to the other person playing with him. It's Harry. He's wearing sweatpants, black vans, and a white t-shirt which I recognise, it's his own merch.

I stand and watch the game with Jeff, "Harry is very serious about his ping-pong" He says.

When Harry goes to hit the ball he looks up at me and smiles. He completely misses the ball and it bounces off the table onto the ground and under a couch. The sound guy throws his hands up in the air.

"I finally won! I bet the unbeatable Harry Styles!" Harry doesn't seem to care very much as he puts down his bat and walks over to me.

"Nina, how lovely it is to see you again!" He says going in for a hug. "Thank you for inviting me"

"No problem, I figured since you're here and all you might as well come! I didn't think you would to be honest, we have only met once."

"Of course I was going to come, who would say no to a free show?" I say laughing, he laughs too.

"No seriously, I had nothing else better to do, and I listened to some of your stuff and it's actually pretty good"

"Thank you, that means a lot. You look incredible by the way, red is defiantly your colour." I feel my cheeks starting to blush, and before I can say anything back he grabs me by the hand. "Okay let me show you around"

He first takes me to some dressing rooms, there is a hairdresser styling a guys hair sitting in a chair.

"Nina, this is Ayae our hairstylist, and Adam my guitarist getting his hair styled, because he defiantly needs it," he says jokingly.

"Adam, Ayae, this is Nina."

"Hi, nice to meet you guys"

"So this is the girl you met in business class while the rest of us were sitting in coach?" Adam says in a thick British accent.

"Yes actually it is, and I offered to upgrade you guys, but you all said no"

"Well, we will see you guys later, better get on with this backstage tour." Harry says as he walks out the door, I wave goodbye. The door to the next room is shut, as Harry knocks, I read the sign above it which reads 'Wardrobe'.

"Its always good to knock, I've definitely walked in on more people changing than I would have liked to," He says laughing.

"Come in!" An American voice yells out. Harry opens the door and there are two people standing there looking very suspicious.

"You guys were definitely making out weren't you?" Harry asks. "Definitely not!" the woman exclaims too overprotectedly.

"This is Mitch and Sarah. Mitch is my best friend and guitarist, and Sarah plays the drums, very well might I add." They both acknowledge me by nodding their heads.

"Hi, I'm Nina"

"So this is wardrobe where we keep all our clothes" Harry says as he runs his hand over all the clothing on the racks. "Okay we better be moving on" Harry says as he walks out of the room.

I'm shown around more places, and basically introduced to every person we see. Helene his photographer, Claire his pianist, and many more people I can't remember the names of.

He looks at his watch, "I'm going to have to go and get ready for the show soon, but I want to show you one more thing." He says excitedly.

I follow him as we wind down more hallways, through more doors, and the further we go the louder it gets.

"Warpaint the opening act is on now, but you have to see the crowd from here," he says as he runs up the metal stairs leading to the side of the stage.

I look out at the crowd, "Woah, this is insane" I say. The whole arena is filled. "Don't you feel nervous?" I ask "All these people have come to see you"

"I don't really get nervous anymore, only when there are people in the crowd I know, like you." He says, I smile and laugh, this is so crazy.

"Well we better go back now, I'm due on stage soon, this is their last song."

When we get back to the main backstage area, Harry goes up to Jeff and puts his hand on his shoulder.

"Make sure Nina gets to her seat alright"

"Sure thing" he says then gets distracted by his phone ringing. "Sorry gotta take this" he says walking away.

"Well Jeff is going to kill me if we get behind schedule, so I better be off to get ready. Thank you for coming tonight, I know its kind of odd I just met you, but I really wanted you to be here."

"No thank you for inviting me, that was really nice of you."

"Enjoy the show, see you after?"

"Sure, good luck Harry," I say smiling as he walks off down the hallway.

Jeff walks over to me and puts away his phone. "Okay should I take you to your seat now?"

"That would be great, thank you," I say as Jeff gestures me to follow him out the way he showed me in.

Part 4

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #fanfic #1d #harry styles smut #liam payne #louis tomlinson #niall horan #harry styles fanfiction #one direction #fluff #dirty harry imagine #fanfiction #fandom #writing #harry styles live on tour

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minrcrafter · 5 years

Photo

SunnyShadowz [PVP] {1.13.2} {Economy} {Raiding} {No griefing} {Any Language} {Realistic Spawn Town} {Parkour} {Hidden Reward Signs} {Discord Sync}

SunnyShadowz is a server based in Sweden that has a lot to offer to differentiate itself from your typical survival server. We started out almost 7 years ago as a build project with very few features but have since entirely revamped the server.

So is this server for you? Well, as of today, you can:

Explore a continually expanding town thoughtfully built to mimic a real town and all its components, and find secret rooms with in-game currency rewards.

Navigate around town using our interactive map on our website.

Complete parkour courses for even bigger rewards.

Own an apartment in our town.

Own plots of land, big and small, and rent shop booths and chest storage rooms to avoid being raided and to set up your own shops safely.

Buy and sell almost every item in the game in our own shops which are spread out over spawn, in facilities that are fitting for what is being sold. Also, if you enjoy building you are in luck, because all building blocks are very cheap!

Fight strangers and friends in the Colosseum in town; once you enter you can only get out by using a teleport command.

Set 3 teleport locations right from the start, and even more when you rank up (see below).

Teleport to your friends.

Speak in two channels, "Global" for all languages and "English" for English only.

Speak directly to players on the server from our Discord server; chats are synchronized.

Be part of a friendly and growing community with staff that will happily answer your questions.

And finally, you can of course play survival, and there are barely any limits here.

Our survival world is as vanilla as they go, the only drawback is that bundles of TNT take longer to explode fully to prevent lag. The world is also running normal difficulty, apologies to any hardcore players out there.

So we are no small feat, and still we are always looking at ways to improve our server. Player feedback is invaluable to us and we will never leave anyone empty handed.

Our staff is also very organized; any issues that show up are placed on a to-do list as soon as we know about it, and dealt with in due time, depending on how critical the issue is. Suggestions on price changes also end up here, because as we are selling over 300 items, keeping it balanced is quite important. Luckily, the system we have in place is robust and allows us to easily modify and re-balance the pricing.

Ranks

On SunnyShadowz you can progress through a set of ranks:

Member

VIP

VIP+

Moderator

You begin as a Member. The rest are obtainable by just playing and sticking to the rules, but by far the easiest one is VIP which gives you access to placing more warps, starting a vote to change the time of day or the weather, purchasing a large plot of land and more. Read up on all the benefits for each rank on our website. Our official warps can be found in the Warp Center right next to where you spawn, and on our website.

Please do not ask us if we need staff because ALL ranks need to be earned.

Rules

No griefing (exceptions: The Nether or The End)

Be respectful towards everyone

No excessive swearing

No glitching

No cheats/mods (X-ray, Fly Hack etc.)

No spamming chat (public and private)

No trolling, scamming or rank abuse

No advertising and no links the may contain pornography, racism or disturbing content

No anti-AFK mechanisms

No offensive or intentionally laggy build

OBS! NEVER share personal and/or sensitive information about you, such as your full real name or home address, on public servers in the main chat. If you wish to do so in a private message, please be aware that ALL messages are logged on this server to find players breaking certain rules. Remember to report any bad chat behavior.

Our server is in 24/7 operation but will occasionally go offline for plugin updates, server security updates, Minecraft updates etc.

Every staff member knows both Swedish and English.

If you wish to learn more about SunnyShadowz please visit our website!

Website: https://sunnyshadowz.wordpress.com/guide/

You can also contact us on our Discord server if you have any questions!

Discord: https://discord.gg/J3B4sR5

IP Address: sunnyshadowz.no-ip.org

Server computer specifications for the tech savvy

Quad core CPU

10 GB server dedicated RAM

250 GB SSD

250 mbit/s connection

#Minecraft servers #minecraft

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seasontu66-blog · 5 years

Text

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buttersyrupwithbread-blog · 5 years

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Overwatch origins: AVECLE6

If you dabble in the Overwatch esports Twitterverse, then you might have noticed this hashtag come a whole lot: #avecle6. The catchcry of this Overwatch World Cup French team as 2017, you are going to see it Twitter manages and spammed under any place even vaguely associated with Team France--it the group's official Twitter manage .

They attracted tens of thousands of French lovers collectively beneath the #avecle6 bannermade their very own site, were coated by French sports book L'Equipe, and even gained an endorsement against the French National Assembly.

The fire of this French fanbase was so inspiring to us at Blizzard, the revamped board program for 2018--together with GMs, coaches, and community prospects being compulsory characters --was a direct outcome of the French team's success in connecting with their regional fans.

Known chiefly as the primary tank and flow partner for French commentator Sébastien"AlphaCast" Ferez in the moment, the French network had their own doubts regarding Troma.

"To be truthful, I did not feel stress, but I needed to provide something longer, as few people believed I was not likely to be helpful for the French group," Troma stated in 2017. "I took the nomination just like a fantastic honor, therefore I believed I needed to perform a lot for those fans!" His positivity was contagious, and he utilized his skills in web design and neighborhood direction to rally his nation. The hashtag #avecle6 has been Troma's notion.

"It means'together with all the six,''' AlphaCast clarified. "It comes in the French soccer team,'that the 15 of France. ''' Troma chose to proceed with a comparable format and use it to Overwatch, with players. "We retained #avecle6 this season even though we've got seven players since, in soccer, 15 players are playing on the area although there are far more players"

The French esports scene is similar to any other around the planet, among the greatest --"Otherwise that the finest!" "When it comes right down to using a federal group, it has always been significant to French people to have a team which represents them. I feel like it is a good illustration of how we're. By way of instance, when you look at nations such as Sweden, everyone speaks English, but a great deal of folks do not actually speak English. Consequently, they will perhaps be focused on what is happening in their nation, and perhaps that explains how enthusiastic they are about their staff and how pleased they are. "

AlphaCast says it is going to be the ideal group stage yet because of its place, but also due to the narrative of this present iteration of this French roll.

"I feel like a great deal of people would presume France is certainly the number one group concerning raw ability, but it is really a very, very difficult time for them."

--ALPHACAST

"I believe that the French group is in a funny situation where essentially you've got Rogue heritage being placed together, so it is sort of a return with this group, with the inclusion of [off-tank] Poko and [primary tank] BenBest," he explained. "But they have to prove themselves , which may be rough since the match changed a whole lot, the selections are distinct. I feel like a great deal of people would presume France is certainly the number one group concerning raw ability, but it is really a very, very difficult time in their opinion. They have had to work a good deal."

Nonetheless, there's well-deserved hype round Team France this season, generated from the nation's homegrown Overwatch ability, also Troma is on a mission to once again exploit that energy. It is a movement which started simply, with a guy who only needed to spread positivity and togetherness--motivated by Uther the Lightbringer out of warcraft.

"Uther instructed me to struggle regardless of the odds, to do the ideal things and also to be reasonable and brave," Troma stated, describing that his encounter playing with World of Warcraft Arenas helped mould his strategy.

"I met so many fantastic players but also so much caution," he explained. "When I watched how some were talking to other people, newbies especially, I told myself I'll never be helpless like that, and will attempt to bring positivity rather than negativity. Virtuous circle rather than vicious circle"

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yoitscro · 6 years

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I think that if What Pumpkin is still alive and kicking, especially while it seems that Hussie is still around (with both sources clarifying that changes and updates are to still come), that this whole Viz Media scare is nothing to be worried about, when it comes to content continuing through those who know what they’re doing. Things change, change happened even when Homestuck was still updating as a comic alone. Change always happens, and probably for some better benefits, especially for a company that was having conflicting financial issues. We’ll get more Homestuck/Hiveswap material, and Viz Media will hopefully succeed as a distributor versus touching anything that involves the Homestuck Universe and it’s story.

There is the issue of people who “left” and it’s disheartening, because while some people don’t care or are oh so respectfully celebrating the potential lay offs just because of distaste in individuals, fans do care about the staff as individuals, especially those that are long time Homestuck fans themselves that have provided us with official content. Some even our friends!

I personally feel like fans deserve to know what happened to creators who built up hype that the fandom returned with their will to stay around despite the odds, but who knows what’ll happen especially with NDA’s floating around (which you guys should refrain from spamming/harassing previous employees about). I think the best that can be done for now is that if people do care about those such as James Roach, Shelby Cragg, so on, that they can consider commissioning them for work, giving toward Patreons, promoing, etc.

Oh, and it’s still been only a day or so since this caught fire. I think we should all take a breather, chill, and remember that there comes no benefit in trying to start change.org pages, hacking shit, or spreading fear speculations among others. That’s more harm than good. Just wait; we clearly have awareness of future updates to come, and have time to plan ourselves accordingly while this lively fandom is not going anywhere anytime soon.

#hiveswap #homestuck #friendsim #whatpumpkin #mspaintadventures

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asdra · 6 years

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Streaming websites based on my experience

Last night I saw a post asking what site to stream art on and I simply replied with what I’d be going with personally and did not elaborate, so here’s my 100% honest opinion on each streaming website:

Picarto:

Use this site for art streaming, I guess? I haven’t spent much time there, but I guess it’s just for art. Personally, I’m more interested in being a variety streamer, but if you want to only stream art, by all means, use Picarto.

Twitch:

I don’t want to talk too bad about this site because you can easily gain an audience here due to its popularity, but this site literally refuses to behave for me 90% of the time, it basically hates users that have less than disirable internet and will break in ways that will confuse the hell out of you. I just don’t understand. If you want to stream here, go ahead and do it and I wish you luck in finding an audience.

YouTube:

As weird as it sounds, people actually stream here. I have watched too many streams on YouTube to be happy with my life, but at least it loads okay most of the time. Probably the best if you prefer people to just watch and not talk to you because the layout is terrible for chat interaction. I’ve heard they’ve gotten FTL since the last time I watched streams there, so maybe that’s changed so I don’t know.

Mixer:

This site is my home now. Use this site if you want the most support. The community here is based around sharing your viewers with other streamers and interacting with chat. Staff is fast acting, I’ve seen people get banned within seconds of being reported for hate speech. However, although this site tries to be for variety streaming, it is very heavy on xbox gaming, but spend a lot of time watching other streams and interacting with chat and people will be very likely to want to watch you. I know plenty of people here who are really hoping on helping this site grow more variety, so it’s not impossible. The fact that it immediately tries to load streams in the highest possible quality every time you load may make it seem like a bad choice for people with bad internet, but that is not the case at all as I have the least problems loading Mixer.

Streamers can customize buttons that will allow viewers to play sounds and gifs on the screen. What is played, the cost, and the cooldown, are entirely up to the streamer. The cost will be a currency that viewers obtain by spending time watching streams on all of Mixer, but with a certain bot, you can set it to your own personal chat currency.

Streamers on Mixer can also costream, which merges the chats from each channel involved. However, the viewer count does not add viewers across each channel for some reason and instead reflects whoever is in the channel you are viewing it from.

After streams, streamers will often end by raiding another streamer. They will choose someone to host, which will bring their viewers to the new streamer, and then spam their chat to celebrate spreading the love.

I know I’m probably very, very biased towards Mixer. It does have its flaws, just like any site would. But I’ve spent the most time on Mixer, it’s the site that made me realize I actually enjoy streams and I’ve made a lot of great friends there. I don’t stream just yet because I’m still fighting to have the internet to even do so, but all my friends there are excited to see me start and will be there for me when I do. I also mod for 10 different streamers there. (Literally exactly 10 at the time of posting this.) I could literally go on for days about how and why I love Mixer, but for now, I think I’ve said enough.

#i’m sorry I just have so much love for Mixer and the people I’ve met there #and I hunger for more variety there

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extra-fulgadrome · 6 years

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MVP - a Snapshot of Hana Song

Hana’s grandmother, born Sagong Chŏng-sun, had been a child when the Japanese occupation of Korea ended. At the height of the occupying force’s cultural suppression, Chŏng-sun’s own grandmother had taught her young granddaughter traditional Korean games that would have otherwise been stamped out — games rooted in folklore, some even older than hangul. These were Hana’s precious heirlooms, and many were the days spent cooped up in her mother’s tiny apartment, playing yutnori and gonu with her grandmother while they waited for the rain to let up.

“Halmoni…” Hana had once whined, pushing herself away from the low table to lie back against the threadbare rug. “You never let me win.”

Her grandmother simply gazed down at her, eyes steely and unsympathetic, as she gathered up the spread of playing cards to shuffle.

“If you want to win, work for it, child.”

She wasn’t the sort of person who backed down from a challenge. Bolstered by those words instead of being discouraged, Hana started to match her grandmother’s skill in games with her own cunning, despite the gap in experience. She won perhaps one in every five games they played, and was always improving — and when she won, how her grandmother’s eyes would shine with pride, and the moment wasn’t even spoiled when the old woman would tease her (“Are you getting better or just more lucky, Rabbit?”).

Then, her grandmother’s health took a turn for the worse, and little by little the games they shared became increasingly seldom occurrences, until they stopped altogether.

It was hard going for a long while after Grandmother passed. When Hana looked at the chess set in their once-shared bedroom, the game half played, never to be finished… it was all too much.

Seeing Hana’s despondency, her mother, a serious woman who did not share her family’s great love of games, did an impulsive thing. One late evening, she detoured on her way home from her work and purchased an old Sega Dreamcast from the secondhand shop, along with a handful of scratched CD roms. It was an ugly plastic box, two console generations out of date. Hana had never been too interested in video games — it was one of a number of “boy things” that, like wrestling in the muddy yard and smuggling nude magazines into school, she wasn’t terribly curious about. When she connected it to the little television in the dining room, only half the games still ran. But the dull glow of the television, the bleep-bloops of music, and the click-clack of colorful buttons was engaging enough to occupy those quiet, lonely hours before her mother returned home every night.

Hana wasn’t sure what changed, or why, but at some point before graduating middle school and after she had completed all of her Dreamcast games several times (perfect save files all in a row, one-hundred-percent completion) she found herself standing outside of a gaming cafe. The cafe’s staff charged by the hour to use their high-end PCs, top of the line rigs which outpaced her school’s computers (and the brick of a laptop her mother sometimes brought home, which was little more than a spreadsheet machine) to an absurd degree.

With only vague ideas of what she was getting herself into, Hana sat herself in a plush chair and pulled herself towards the computer, drawing a few curious looks from the largely male customers — curious, but not unkind as she had feared. With bright eyes and a heart full of hope, Hana logged on for the first time.

The subsequent year passed by in a blur, studies falling to the wayside even as she entered high school.

Warcraft. League. Counterstrike. Age of Empires.

A crowd at her back, cheering her on, as she no-scope headshots a platinum-level player from halfway across the map, again.

MMORPG. MOBA. FPS. RTS.

Her mother, face pulled into a frown, asking her why her grades have been dropping, asking where Hana went after school.

Casual. Noob. Hobbyist. Veteran.

When did the games become more than just a distraction, Hana wondered, idly purchasing herself a Starcraft subscription.

Winning got me this far, as she signed on to her first esports sponsorship. How much father can I go?

Then, later, when the MEKA recruiters come, was it in my blood all along?

Life was a challenge, but not one she couldn’t overcome. The training was tough and the hours were long, but it was just as fun as it was exhausting, and she always performed best under pressure.

Hana Song was a excellent gamer and entertainer, well-loved by her fan-base, but D.Va was transcendent. Rising star, liberator, celebrity, soldier. An idol, a warrior. The face of MEKA’s elite pilots, “D.Va” was a household name the world over, proudly and decisively combating the Omnic crisis. All of this came with perks — her mother would never have to work again, and what little time D.Va spent off of the training grounds or the battlefield passed in luxury.

And that was all well and good, but she’d be lying if she claimed any of that was the reason why she devoted herself to the Korean army’s Mobile Exo-Force.

Was it any real surprise that war was the greatest game mankind had ever produced?

Was it shocking, given that it was the favored subject matter of countless movies, novels, video games, children at play, and great works of art? Humans invented war before they’d made the wheel. D.Va turned war into the casual online entertainment of record numbers of steam watchers the world over. The world continued to spin.

There was some controversy at first, the rumblings of malcontent parents worried that their children would be desensitized to violence, but, well. It wasn’t as if she was fighting actual people, was she? Her heart went out to the sane Omnics in the world, the ones who hadn’t rebelled against their programming and spewed out appliances of death and destruction, but the thing that had risen out of the east Chinese sea and threatened to sink the Korean peninsula wasn’t exactly a cute little roomba.

Meeting the Bastion unit that old man Torbjörn dug out of Sweden had made her reconsider her position on Omnics, just slightly.

It had been during a photo-shoot they had met, a joint operation between the South Korean and the United States militarys — the kind of event that the Americans called “cross-promotion” when what they meant was “propaganda.” D.Va’s inclusion was almost an afterthought, pitched by MEKA for her brand’s popularity and to widen the expo’s audience appeal. For the most part, all she had to do was shake hands with shoddy old bureaucratic men and pose with her mech. After a few hours with the photographer the organizers ran out of things for her to do, and she was shuffled off into the gardens outside the building to sip non-alcoholic sparkling cider and be bored as hell while the “adults” talked business.

Then, from a behind a shrub, beeping. “Bwee, bwoo bwoorbweebweep booo…”

D.Va abandoned her empty plastic champagne flute to investigate, because beeping bushes were the most interesting thing that had happened in hours.

She followed the noise to its source, a pristine Bastion unit that she would have balked at the sight of and sounded the alarm… if it hadn’t been very carefully unshelling a bag of vending machine peanuts with its huge robot hands, and feeding them to a family of ravenous squirrels. D.Va vaguely recalled the news that they’d reclaimed a Bastion unit over in Europe, but she’d thought it would be under lock and key in some remote facility, not hanging out in a government park, making nice with the local wildlife.

“Bweep bweep,” the thing chimed, shifting its… optic?… over in her direction. Spotted.

D.Va took a step back, and snapped a twig beneath her heel, sending the rodents scattering. The machine beeped sadly at their departure, and five minutes later, despite herself, D.Va found herself keeping the Omnic company, sitting on its back as it rolled around the park in tank form.

It… Bastion unit E54, was a good listener, she’d give the robot that much. She spilled her guts to the machine about her frustrations and anxiety, and Bastion always replied with the appropriate emotion (if you could call it that) in its signature style. Sad bwoops for D.Va’s worries, curious bweeps when she talked about gaming, happy bwops and beeps when she talked about how proud she was of her progress.

A photo of D.Va in an elegant gown, riding on top of a Bastion unit as it plucked a flower and offered it to her, made its way on to Omnic rights webpages as a sign of peaceful progress between the races of man and machine… then was picked up a few days later by the mainstream media, who smeared her with rumor-mongering headlines like “KOREAN MECH PILOT, LYING DOWN WITH THE MACHINE?” and “SO-CALLED HEROINE OPENLY EMBRACES ENEMY”. It was a short-lived scandal, but those tense few days where MEKA threatened to pull D.Va from the spotlight made her sick with stress until the PR department managed to spin the story in a positive light.

Her fans (with a few crybaby outliers screaming about betrayal, but screw those guys, really) just thought it was a cute photo. Her Japanese audience especially appreciated its “moe factor” and spammed her with fan art.

D.Va was just glad that the experience, which she would remember fondly as the most open she had been since her grandmother had died, had not been entirely tainted by the unexpected aftermath.

From that point onward, however, MEKA was much more careful about where D.Va was allowed to go. Her life became nothing but endless training, drilling, and fighting. If she had thought her schedule had been strict before, the D.Va of a few months ago wouldn’t have been able to imagine what it was like to only be allowed nine hours to herself a day — eight for sleep, one for meals. Perhaps it was MEKA’s way of punishing her, or perhaps they feared an increase in the Omnic’s ferocity after the recent assassination of Tekhartha Mondatta, leader of the Omnic spiritual movement, the Shambali. Either way, with no time to spend on her usual hobby, the most she got in the way of stress relief was reading the travel blog of Mei-Ling Zhou (and a mobile version of mahjong she played for a little before bed each night, but that was more so her brain didn’t get cobwebs).

Mei was a figure of fascination to D.Va — sleeping in the cold for nine years, only to emerge into a tumultuous world where her organization had been disgraced and disbanded. Having to escape from the arctic tundra with nothing but her wits… then going on to continue the work right where she and her fallen comrades had left off. Saving the world! ...from an ecological crisis, sure, which wasn’t exactly as cool as an evil empire bent on conquest or a dark god from beyond the stars or a demon army, but Mei very much had the indomitable spirit of her favorite video game heroes.

So when she heard Mei was coming to South Korea to set up a weather data collection device at one of their military bases, D.Va asked — not begged, or pleaded, but seriously and maturely requested for her CO to grant D.Va the honor of acting as an ambassador during Mei’s visit.

Sooner or later the higher-ups at MEKA had to stop treating her like a child. She was fighting their war, they came to her for aid.

They tentatively agreed, provided D.Va remain on her best behavior leading up to the visit. It was like dealing with her mother all over again, and left a sour taste in her mouth as she exited the administration building.

At least the excitement made the coming weeks bearable.

Finally, the day came. D.Va stood tall, dressed in a pristine MEKA uniform, her arms crossed confidently over her chest and her stance wide and strong, as the transport shuttle reached the helipad and touched down. Her first thought, as the scientist clambered out of the craft somewhat unsteadily, was that Mei-Ling Zhou looked different when she wasn’t bundled up in that heavy fur coat.

A moment later second thought was she’s so cute! Round face! Big dewy eyes! And she was so short D.Va could reach down and scoop her right up! The MEKA pilot approached the older woman, smiling brightly.

“Zhou-Seonbae! Welcome to sunny South Korea,” D.Va said, bidding Mei peace with a gesture — or, as D.Va preferred, V for Victory.

“Hello Miss Song,” the woman said, in mildly accented hangul. Then, switching to english, “Just call me Mei, if you don’t mind!”

“Only if you call me D.Va!” she chirped, and Mei smiled back at her as she hefted a large metal case out of the cabin. She was strong for such a little woman.

They thanked the shuttle pilot, and D.Va escorted Mei to a waiting car and their security escort. The ride over to the cellphone tower where Mei would be installing her probe was only twenty minutes travel the base’s airport, but the short journey was full of happy chatter. D.Va confided that Mei’s travel journal was a source of great personal inspiration to her, and the older woman introduced her to Snowball, Mei’s cute little drone.

“Snowball… that’s nun mungchi, in hangul.”

“Nun mungzhe…?” Mei said, consideringly, patting the little bot on its round head. Snowball’s blue LED eyes swiveled around to look at her. Adorable.

“Nun mungchi.” D.Va held up a finger, her face serious. The spitting image of a patient, if strict, teacher.

“Nun mungchi.” Mei repeated earnestly.

“You’ve got it!” D.Va said, delighted. Mei put her hand on her chest and beamed, as if receiving a great honor.

“Niiirn miiirrchiii,” Snowball whirred cheerfully, bopping the car’s roof in its excitement before careening back down to the seat below, blue eyes spinning cartoonishly.

They were still laughing when their car pulled up to the tower.

At the end of Mei’s stay, the two women parted with great reluctance, both promising to stay in touch. D.Va couldn’t have been happier to count Mei among her friends, and refreshed from the time she had spent getting to know her hero, plunged back into her training with renewed vigor and enthusiasm.

Just in time, too, as MEKA mobilized in response to one of the worst Omnic raids yet, spearing farther inland than even the most pessimistic estimate predicted. The enemy forces had quickly spilled over into unevacuated civilian territory and time was of the essence. They deployed at four in the morning to hold down the line in Daegu while the infantry set up a defensive perimeter. Her orders were to cut the enemy off from encroaching further, to minimize damage whenever possible, and to defend fleeing civilians.

As D.Va touched down in Daegu and began to repel the machine invaders, she saw there weren’t many people left to defend.

This battle, she thought grimly, as she gunned down a line of drones as they swept through an abandoned playground, is not exactly livestream material.

Hemmed in on all sides, D.Va made a tactical retreat and found a vantage point from which to target her foes at more of a distance — everyone knew the high ground was most advantageous. Her fusion cannons were essentially buffed shotguns, the wide spread of buckshot not meant for precision shooting, but she would manage. The targeting system of her mech got a real workout as she sniped stragglers from the Omnic’s main forces (“Boom, headshot!”), eventually drawing their attention all over again. Nowhere to go, she switched mental tracks to tower defense game and activated her mech’s defense matrix, unleashing a strategic barrage of missiles. Soon, the twisted bodies of the Omnic assault forces lay strewn around the pitted street, their zerg rush at a merciful end — for now.

“...multikill,” she panted, the fusion cannons mounted in her mech’s arms smoking, the barrels white-hot. Any more and the metal would warp — not that it mattered much now, seeing that she was down to less than three-fourths of her ammo capacity. A bead of sweat dripped down her face. If she were being honest, that had been... a real pinch.

Time to restock.

“Need a supply drop,” she said into the comms, waiting for confirmation from command. A minute passed in worrying silence.

“This is D.Va, requesting a resupply drone. Please acknowledge, over.”

There was no response. She switched to the encrypted channels, trying again to reach command to no avail, before attempting to contact the various squad captains.

Nothing.

“Is it broken…? Well, that’s just my luck!”

Even in the privacy of her thoughts, she refused to acknowledge the bleak alternative.

A plan started to come together. Under the circumstances, D.Va would have to make her way over to the supply depot on foot... so to speak. She boosted into the air, intending to take the rooftop route, collateral damage be damned. It was just a few short miles to the north, along the perimeter.

An unexpected burst of fire caught her mech across its visor, the heavy steel slug sending a long hairline fracture through the supposedly bulletproof polymer. She wheeled around to face the source, spotting an airborne Omnic with a mounted railgun of all things. She strafed left, aiming carefully for the machine’s rotors, but it simply tilted away, her barrage deflected harmlessly by its armored shell.

...OP, plz nerf.

Not missing a beat, she fired her last missile at the hovering Omnic, but the distance was too great — it simply swiveled its body 360 degrees clockwise on an axis, the missile sailing harmlessly through the spot its bulk had been occupying a nanosecond previously. Just as she began contemplating activating her mech’s self destruct sequence and booking it, the readout on her HUD indicated a swarm of enemies was approaching from the southwest. Fast.

“Ah, shi-bal…”

No choice now, she would have to make a break for it—

“I’ve got you all in my sights.”

A splash of light in the alleyway where the Omnic hoard was approaching, and one by one the enemy’s icons flickered out, leaving just two — the flying railgun in enemy-red, and the unknown combatant in grey, who was approaching her position now. Were they friend or foe?

As the grey icon came nearer, one thing was clear: they were about to walk right into that railgun’s line of sight, and it was almost done charging a second shot.

Time to be a goddamn hero.

“STAY BACK,” she shouted, the mech magnifying her voice, as she grabbed her light gun from its holster and activated the self-destruct subroutine. The mech launched forward and she launched back, and she was briefly airborne before landing on her heels, digging into the asphalt even as she tried to gain some distance. The timing was crucial, and she knew it by heart, but this was cutting it a little close—

The fusion reactor detonated, shattering a block’s worth of glass and decimating the aerial Omnic.

Well, if anyone asked, she’d just say an Omnic did it.

D.Va, upright and unharmed, popped her gum and turned to face the stranger, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She narrowed her eyes.

“I know you,” she said in english. “The American vigilante… Soldier: 76. Is that right?”

His weapon, which had been raised in alarm towards the explosion, slowly lowered as he took her in. She kept her grip on her light gun tight, but let her arm hang at her side. This guy could be dangerous, could be an ally. She would have to play this by ear.

The masked man grunted by way of greeting, then relaxed his stance. That was no way to react to a warrior of her caliber, but if he wasn’t going to take her seriously as a potential combatant, she would happily take advantage of his oversight. Moreover, now that D.Va could get a good look at him, he seemed injured. There was no visible blood, but he was favoring his left leg… a sprain or break, perhaps.

“You’re that… actress.” Tch.

“I’m a proud soldier of the Mobile Exo-Force of the Korean Army, and you are wanted by the UN for questioning.” He ought to know his place, this old man.

“You, a soldier?” He shook his head, and without the benefit of seeing his expression, it was difficult to tell if it was in disbelief... or amusement. “Your country drafts middle schoolers, now?”

“I am a mech pilot with hundreds of confirmed kills, and unless you can withstand a direct hit from a weapon that damaged tech developed on a multi-million dollar budget, I also just saved your life.”

Perhaps he was shocked into submission, or perhaps he was grateful but too proud to admit it, but regardless, the old man had nothing to say to that. Cool and professional despite her distaste, she approached him from his injured side and offered him her shoulder. Grumbling, he slung his gun around his back and wordlessly accepted her aid, leaning on her as she supported him. Soldier: 76 was heavy, but D.Va didn’t just train in mech piloting. No, she was also quite talented on the track, in the obstacle course, and (naturally), on the range. With her free hand, she twirled her gun.

“You’re a decent shot, right, 76? Try to keep up. It’s a long walk to the perimeter.”

“Hmph. We’ll see who slows down who.”

The destruction of Daegu was a huge blow to the people of South Korea, who had grown comfortable and confidant after MEKA began its initiative to outfit its mechs with pilots and repel the Omnic invasion. Morale was especially low in MEKA’s headquarters, the mood desperate and mournful since the confusion caused by the communications blackout (which resulted from an Omnic hack) had seen many young pilots killed. The populace’s faith in MEKA was shaken, just as those pilots who had managed to survive the disaster where shaken by the loss of their comrades in arms.

It wasn’t the first time they had taken casualties, but never before have they been so numerous.

D.Va felt a wave of pity and understanding for the dissolution of Overwatch, an event of which Soldier: 76 had spoken to her about, just a little, as they fought and fled their way through the streets of Daegu. It had been what little information she managed to get out of him, between his long bouts of gruff silence, occasional condescending remarks, and even rarer praise.

For her part, D.Va was keeping busy with disaster relief. She, along with a bulk of the MEKA recruits, had volunteered their time to the recovery efforts. Command had cleared them for this duty almost almost as soon as they put the request in, probably just because it was a good idea to stay visible to help PR, but who knows? Maybe they thought it would lift their spirits.

As much as D.Va believed this was valuable work, however, it just depressed her. The sooner she was allowed to fight again, the happier she would be. No matter what that Grandpa: 76 said, she knew her place was on the battlefield.

For now, at least, she could occupy her time constructively. It was better than sitting back at base, doing nothing. Yesterday she had cleared a street of rubble, today she assisted the paramedics with search and rescue. Tomorrow she might help with handing out supplies...

Her mech beeped twice, and a bell icon appeared at the bottom of her HUD. A call, nonurgent.

She pressed the receive button, accepting it immediately.

“D.Va,” she identified.

“It’s Maeng,” came the familiar voice of her fellow recruit. “We’ve got a VIP waiting in the market district. You mind playing babysitter until we can get a security detail on him? My shift is just about over and I wanted to grab a bite before I get some shuteye.”

“Yes, yes,” she replied, as he pinged her the VIP’s location on her minimap. “You can always count on me to make a good impression!”

Her usual cheer wasn’t quite there, but Maeng still thanked her before he exited the call. He was a sweet kid, and it was heartbreaking the way he hadn’t been sleeping since the incident. It was the least she could do.

D.Va headed over, detouring briefly to assist with an electrical fire that had broken out, before arriving at the designated area. Exiting her mech, she checked her hair in the glossy reflection of its visor, winking at the cute girl mirrored back at her.

“Oh my gosh,” went a warm voice behind her, from inside a large emergency tent, “I mean, I knew you were from here, but I never thought… well…”

That voice was… familiar.

The man stepped into the light, and D.Va’s eye widened. The Brazilian DJ smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head as he walked… no, skated forward.

“It’s so cool to meet you. Wish it was under better circumstances, but I’m a big fan, D.Va!”

“You’re Lúcio! The Lúcio,” she exclaimed, a disbelieving smile pulling at her lips. That Maeng could’ve at least warned her…!

Lúcio blinked at her, then grinned goofily. D.Va trotted forward giddily, and the two shook hands enthusiastically.

“Haha, you’ve heard of me? Man, that’s wild. People know me even in Korea, huh. Makes me feel even better about doing this charity concert, if people won’t be wondering ‘who’s this guy?’ the whole time, you know?”

“Of course we know you! Synaesthesia Auditiva has topped the music charts here for months and months now! A lot of us followed you even before that, on the internet.”

“I’d been told global reception was pretty good, but you know, there’s a big difference between being told and seeing it for yourself, I guess! I probably don’t even have to say this, but you’re really big in Brazil. The kids call you Coelhinho, and I’ve even seen people with tattoos of your logo, believe it or not.”

“Oh, I believe it,” D.Va said confidently, putting her hands on her hips. Lúcio laughed good-naturedly, doubling over and shaking his head so all his funny dreadlocks waved around. When he rose, D.Va couldn’t help but think that he was awfully tall. She stood up straighter, feeling her face light up just a little bit.

“So you’re doing a free concert?” she asked, leading them back to the seating in the tent. Folding chairs. Not the most comfortable or appropriate thing for a pair of international celebrities, but that was life.

“Yeah. I’ve done this a couple of times before, like during that hurricane that wrecked Georgia and Florida, or when that bad earthquake hit Italy. Trying to use the power of music to lift spirits, you feel me? First time I’ve ever had a concert in Asia, though.”

“I’m sure the people here will be happy to have you play for them,” D.Va said. She meant it, too.

“I’ve got a fundraiser going online right now, too, and it’s going pretty good. Hopefully I’ll be able to give a little more than good vibrations,” Lúcio said, smiling conspiratorially. “I’d give you a sneak peak at the set I cooked up, but I can’t even get ready until the power in this area comes back, and the last guy told me it might be a while.”

“...probably a few hours, at least,” she admitted.

The conversation lulled into a slightly awkward pause, as they both smiled and tried not to look at each other. D.Va didn’t understand why she was being so silly about this — she had met scores of K-Pop artists and famous actors, so she shouldn’t be feeling this flustered. She stared at the dusty ground, and traced a line in the dirt with her foot. It gave her an idea.

Finally, she broke the silence.

“Lúcio, have you ever played gonu?”

“Nope,” he replied, flashing a winning smile. D.Va liked that smile. She liked it a lot.

“It’s a traditional Korean game — a little bit like tic-tac-toe. Here, let me show you…”

Happy Birthday, @cervamater. Keep on shining, starlight.

#overwatch #d.va #hana song #fan fic #happy birthday mirin

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thepatchworkpirate · 6 years

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Following my Pre-Planning post…We’re 30-ish days from DragonCon, and this may be your first year going! Never to fret, Dragon is the most nerd-friendly place! Get ready to hang out with 77,000+ of your closest (new) friends!

Labor Day weekend in Atlanta is busy – and HOT. There are several things going on in town that weekend, and with these tricks you’ll do just fine.

1 – Pre-Plan: That’s right, pre-plan. I know I said it before. You should already be doing this. You should also start taking Vitamin C supplements (you’ll read why further down). By now you should have your room situation taken care of and your badge purchased. If not, you still can or you can get them online for $140 (until 8/17, then they’re $160 online). Tickets are $140 on site so do not buy it at the higher price!!! Also if you’re doing celeb photos, you should pre-pay them online from Epic Photo Ops. I believe they do on-site sales as well.

If you’re driving, you should already go ahead and scope out what parking lots are around the con on-line. They can range from $3/day (uncovered) to garages that are $18/day (covered), and even hotel parking which I do NOT recommend, as it’s $30-35/day and that’s just crazy. All of the hotels have a service where you can unload your gear and have it set aside in the lobby while you go find parking.

If you’re flying, check out what route on the MARTA you need to take and if you’re having someone meet you at the airport, schedule your meetups.

Atlanta also currently uses Uber and Lyft, but watch out for Uber surge pricing.

Success!

2 – Pack: Packing is essential. Veterans have become masters of suitcase and car-tetris. With as many costumes as some of us bring, it’s vital. In the past I’ve written a short packing list that you can check out. I recommend packing short sleeves and shorts, jeans, and COMFORTABLE SHOES as your mundane clothes. You don’t have to go outside normally, but there is programming in both the Westin and Sheraton that you have to walk to (as in not via skybridge). It’s only a couple of blocks for either. Same goes for the Vendor Hall and Gaming, which are now located in the AmericasMart across the street from the Hyatt.

3 – Arrival: You made it! Now you need to meet up with your room holder (unless that’s you), and get your stuff up to your room. Take a few minutes, relax, BREATHE. Shenanigans are already happening (and do 24/7 pretty much). Unpack, get a nap in (you’ll need it), get some food.

Now that you’re at DragonCon, you’ll need to be aware of some things….

Realize that you’re going to stand in some lines at some point. That’s okay! Big celebrity panels tend to form huge lines (as do the masquerade and puppet slam). Line up for those as early as DragonCon staff will let you. All panel rooms are cleared after each one, so you can’t just park in a room all day. It’s not fair to others who wait in line.

Bonus: Most big name panels and the masquerade are broadcast on DragonCon TV in the host hotels, so you can avoid it altogether if you just want to watch it in your room.

Bonus 2: You can meet new people in line. People you obviously have at least one common interest with.

Learn your way around. DragonCon is HUGE and it’s easy to get lost. The con is spread out over five hotels, which are:

Hyatt Regency Atlanta – 265 Peachtree Street NE

Marriott Marquis Atlanta – 265 Peachtree Center Avenue

Hilton Atlanta – 255 Courtland Street NE

Sheraton Atlanta Hotel – 165 Courtland Street

Westin Peachtree Plaza – 210 Peachtree Street

The Hilton, Marriott, and Hyatt all connect to each other via skybridges. You can also reach the Peachtree Center food court through the Hyatt and Marriott.

Pick up your badge. Badge pickup is located in the Sheraton. DragonCon staff have had their stuff together and for the last few years it’s been pretty speedy. If you have your barcoded postcard, bring it! If you need to purchase a badge, be ready with your ID and money. If you’ve lost your postcard, that’s okay too. Just be ready with a Photo ID. DragonCon has posted an article with the process and the hours of operation here.

Plan a schedule. You can pick up a program at the end of registration. It lists all of the events and panels that are going on. They should also be in the app (you can download in the Play Store or App Store). Just keep in mind you’ll probably change this up a bit.

Find the ConSuite! It’s open 24 hours, and they provide snacks (and SPAM) and beverages to all convention goers!

They are located in the Hyatt in rooms 223 and 226.

Check out the food court. Seriously, you have to eat. Make time for that. The food court provides a LOT of options, including:

Cafe Momo

Chick-fil-A

Metro Cafe Diner (24 hours!!!)

Moe’s Southwest Grill

And so many more! Check out this link to find out what all is available: Peachtree Center Food Court

Personally, I recommend Café Momo for breakfast and dinner as they cost by weight and you can get SO MUCH FOOD for a decent price. They also have gluten free options.

There’s also a 24 hour CVS, and you will make at least two trips there. Just saying.

What events are must-see? DragonCon is enormous and it is impossible to see everything you want to, whether it is your first con or you are an eternal member. However there are many events which should be seen at least once (and preferably your first year, because you may want to participate the next!)

The Parade (10am Saturday). With over 3,000 participants, this one is a must-see for everyone.

DragonCon Night at the Georgia Aquarium (7-11pm Saturday). You have to do this at least once! They close the aquarium early to the public, and then reopen for a night of costumed fun. You get to visit this amazing attraction with FAR LESS crowds than a normal day. It is simply breathtaking, and the photos that come from this are to die for.

The Masquerade (8pm Sunday, Hyatt). Most people will watch in overflow locations, or on DC*TV from their rooms as this event fills up very quickly.

4 – Have fun, but be responsible: It’s hotter than hell in Atlanta (Hello, Satan’s buttcrack!), so hydration is super important! There are water fountains in the hotels so I recommend bringing a refillable water bottle.

Remember the rule of 4, 2, 1…

4+ hours of sleep per night

2+ meals a day

1+ shower per day – with warm water and soap. Axe bodyspray does not count as a shower. Seriously, no one likes con funk. Don’t be nasty.

Pretty much how Con Crud feels…

Don’t accept drinks from strangers. Most people are there to have fun and it’s harmless, but there’s always the risk of someone putting something in a drink. Also, you don’t want to share drinks with people because you’ll end up with Con Crud. That’s right. There’s always someone sick there and it’ll spread like wildfire. No one wants a week long cold right after being on a week-long trip. Just be smart. Also, this is why you should start taking Vitamin C supplements a month ahead if you don’t already.

Know your limits. As adults, we’re all going to have fun and probably partake in adult beverages, but don’t get so wasted that you’re puking everywhere and what not. Be smart.

Be courteous to people in general – costumed or not. Don’t pull on someone’s Proton Pack, prop, or piece of a costume…and don’t be a creeper on someone in costume. Sexual harassment is never okay.

Follow the Law of Wheaton – Don’t be a dick!

Allow disabled people onto the elevators first. They have no other option to get upstairs, you do.

Follow the rules of the con. They’re printed on the back of your badge.

Make memories! That’s why we’re all here – to have a great time!

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I can’t wait til DragonCon and I hope to see you there!!

Surviving DragonCon – 2018 Edition Following my Pre-Planning post...We’re 30-ish days from DragonCon, and this may be your first year going! Never to fret, Dragon is the most nerd-friendly place!

#atlanta #con survival #cosplay #dragon con #dragon*con #dragoncon 2018

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multipleservicelisting · 3 years

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Inside Twitter’s Decision to Cut Off Trump

SAN FRANCISCO — Jack Dorsey, Twitter’s chief executive, was working remotely on a private island in French Polynesia frequented by celebrities escaping the paparazzi when a phone call interrupted him on Jan. 6.

On the line was Vijaya Gadde, Twitter’s top lawyer and safety expert, with an update from the real world. She said she and other company executives had decided to lock President Trump’s account, temporarily, to prevent him from posting statements that might provoke more violence after a mob stormed the U.S. Capitol that day.

Mr. Dorsey was concerned about the move, said two people with knowledge of the call. For four years, he had resisted demands by liberals and others that Twitter terminate Mr. Trump’s account, arguing that the platform was a place where world leaders could speak, even if their views were heinous. But he had delegated moderation decisions to Ms. Gadde, 46, and usually deferred to her — and he did so again.

Mr. Dorsey, 44, did not make his misgivings public. The next day, he liked and shared several tweets urging caution against a permanent ban of Mr. Trump. Then, over the next 36 hours, Twitter veered from lifting Mr. Trump’s suspension to shutting down his account permanently, cutting off the president from a platform he had used to communicate, unfiltered, with not just his 88 million followers but the world.

The decision was a punctuation mark on the Trump presidency that immediately drew accusations of political bias and fresh scrutiny of the tech industry’s power over public discourse. Interviews with a dozen current and former Twitter insiders over the past week opened a window into how it was made — driven by a group of Mr. Dorsey’s lieutenants who overcame their boss’s reservations, but only after a deadly rampage at the Capitol.

Having lifted the suspension the next day, Twitter monitored the response to Mr. Trump’s tweets across the internet, and executives briefed Mr. Dorsey that Mr. Trump’s followers had seized on his latest messages to call for more violence. In one post on the alternative social networking site Parler, members of Twitter’s safety team saw a Trump fan urge militias to stop President-elect Joseph R. Biden Jr. from entering the White House and to fight anyone who tried to halt them. The potential for more real-world unrest, they said, was too high.

Twitter was also under pressure from its employees, who had for years agitated to remove Mr. Trump from the service, as well as lawmakers, tech investors and others. But while more than 300 employees signed a letter saying Mr. Trump’s account must be stopped, the decision to bar the president was made before the letter was delivered to executives, two of the people said.

On Wednesday, Mr. Dorsey alluded to the tensions inside Twitter. In a string of 13 tweets, he wrote that he did “not celebrate or feel pride in our having to ban @realDonaldTrump” because “a ban is a failure of ours ultimately to promote healthy conversation.”

But Mr. Dorsey added: “This was the right decision for Twitter. We faced an extraordinary and untenable circumstance, forcing us to focus all of our actions on public safety.”

Mr. Dorsey, Ms. Gadde and the White House did not respond to requests for comment.

Since Mr. Trump was barred, many of Mr. Dorsey’s concerns about the move have been realized. Twitter has been embroiled in a furious debate over tech power and the companies’ lack of accountability.

Lawmakers such as Representative Devin Nunes, a Republican from California, have railed against Twitter, while Silicon Valley venture capitalists, First Amendment scholars and the American Civil Liberties Union have also criticized the company. At the same time, activists around the world have accused Twitter of following a double standard by cutting off Mr. Trump but not autocrats elsewhere who use the platform to bully opponents.

“This is a phenomenal exercise of power to de-platform the president of the United States,” said Evelyn Douek, a lecturer at Harvard Law School who focuses on online speech. “It should set off a broader reckoning.”

Mr. Trump, who joined Twitter in 2009, was a boon and bane for the company. His tweets brought attention to Twitter, which sometimes struggled to attract new users. But his false assertions and threats online also caused critics to say the site enabled him to spread lies and provoke harassment.

Many of Twitter’s more than 5,400 employees opposed having Mr. Trump on the platform. In August 2019, shortly after a gunman killed more than 20 people at a Walmart in El Paso, Twitter called a staff meeting to discuss how the gunman, in an online manifesto, had echoed many of the views that Mr. Trump posted on Twitter.

At the meeting, called a “Flock Talk,” some employees said Twitter was “complicit” by giving Mr. Trump a megaphone to “dog whistle” to his supporters, two attendees said. The employees implored executives to make changes before more people got hurt.

Over time, Twitter became more proactive on political content. In October 2019, Mr. Dorsey ended all political advertising on the site, saying he worried such ads had “significant ramifications that today’s democratic structure may not be prepared to handle.”

But Mr. Dorsey, a proponent of free speech, declined to take down world leaders’ posts, because he considered them newsworthy. Since Twitter announced that year that it would give greater leeway to world leaders who broke its rules, the company had removed their tweets only once: Last March, it deleted messages from the presidents of Brazil and Venezuela that promoted false cures for the coronavirus. Mr. Dorsey opposed the removals, a person with knowledge of his thinking said.

Mr. Dorsey pushed for an in-between solution: appending labels to tweets by world leaders if the posts violated Twitter’s policies. In May, when Mr. Trump tweeted inaccurate information about mail-in voting, Mr. Dorsey gave the go-ahead for Twitter to start labeling the president’s messages.

After the Nov. 3 election, Mr. Trump tweeted that it had been stolen from him. Within a few days, Twitter had labeled about 34 percent of his tweets and retweets, according to a New York Times tally.

Then came the Capitol storming.

On Jan. 6, as Congress met to certify the election, Twitter executives celebrated their acquisition of Ueno, a branding and design firm. Mr. Dorsey, who has often gone on retreats, had traveled to the South Pacific island, said the people with knowledge of his location.

When Mr. Trump used Twitter to lash out at Vice President Mike Pence and question the election result, the company added warnings to his tweets. Then as violence erupted at the Capitol, people urged Twitter and Facebook to take Mr. Trump offline entirely.

That led to virtual discussions among some of Mr. Dorsey’s lieutenants. The group included Ms. Gadde, a lawyer who had joined Twitter in 2011; Del Harvey, vice president of trust and safety; and Yoel Roth, the head of site integrity. Ms. Harvey and Mr. Roth had helped build the company’s responses to spam, harassment and election interference.

The executives decided to suspend Mr. Trump because his comments appeared to incite the mob, said the people with knowledge of the discussions. Ms. Gadde then called Mr. Dorsey, who was not pleased, they said.

Mr. Trump was not barred completely. If he deleted several tweets that had stoked the mob, there would be a 12-hour cooling-off period. Then he could post again.

After Twitter locked Mr. Trump’s account, Facebook did the same. Snapchat, Twitch and others also placed limits on Mr. Trump.

But Mr. Dorsey was not sold on a permanent ban of Mr. Trump. He emailed employees the next day, saying it was important for the company to remain consistent with its policies, including letting a user return after a suspension.

Many workers, fearing that history would not look kindly upon them, were dissatisfied. Several invoked IBM’s collaboration with the Nazis, said current and former Twitter employees, and started a petition to immediately remove Mr. Trump’s account.

That same day, Facebook barred Mr. Trump through at least the end of his term. But he returned to Twitter that evening with a video saying there would be a peaceful transition of power.

By the next morning, though, Mr. Trump was back at it. He tweeted that his base would have a “GIANT VOICE” and that he would not attend the Jan. 20 inauguration.

Twitter’s safety team immediately saw Trump fans, who had been saying the president abandoned them, post about further unrest, said the people with knowledge of the matter. In a Parler message that the safety team reviewed, one user said anyone who opposed “American Patriots” like himself should leave Washington or risk physical harm during the inauguration.

The safety team began drafting an analysis of the tweets and whether they constituted grounds for kicking off Mr. Trump, the people said.

Around noon in San Francisco that day, Mr. Dorsey called in for an employee meeting. Some pressed him on why Mr. Trump was not permanently barred.

Mr. Dorsey repeated that Twitter should be consistent with its policies. But he said he had drawn a line in the sand that the president could not cross or Mr. Trump would lose his account privileges, people with knowledge of the event said.

After the meeting, Mr. Dorsey and other executives agreed that Mr. Trump’s tweets that morning — and the responses they had provoked — had crossed that line, the people said. The employee letter asking for Mr. Trump’s removal was later delivered, they said.

Within hours, Mr. Trump’s account was gone, except for an “Account suspended” label. He tried tweeting from the @POTUS account, which is the official account of the U.S. president, as well as others. But at every turn, Twitter thwarted him by pulling down the messages.

Some Twitter employees, fearing the wrath of Mr. Trump’s supporters, have now set their Twitter accounts to private and removed mentions of their employer from online biographies, four people said. Several executives were assigned personal security.

Twitter has also broadened its crackdown on accounts promoting violence. Over the weekend, it removed more than 70,000 accounts that pushed the QAnon conspiracy theory, which posits that Mr. Trump is fighting a cabal of Satan-worshiping pedophiles.

On Wednesday, employees gathered virtually to discuss the decision to bar Mr. Trump, two attendees said. Some were grateful that Twitter had taken action, while others were eager to leave the Trump era behind. Many were emotional; some cried.

That afternoon, Mr. Trump returned again to Twitter, this time using the official @WhiteHouse account to share a video saying he condemned violence — but also denouncing what he called restrictions on free speech. Twitter allowed the video to remain online.

An hour later, Mr. Dorsey tweeted his discomfort about the removal of Mr. Trump’s online accounts. It “sets a precedent I feel is dangerous: the power an individual or corporation has over a part of the global public conversation,” he wrote.

But he concluded, “Everything we learn in this moment will better our effort, and push us to be what we are: one humanity working together.”

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