#i am very fortunate enough to see him in the limited event and then half of the main story that im a bit happy anyways

[paxkalasag]

A few hours later I've decided I just want to write about vyn mo yi from what I know as an early game player....because despite having very little knowledge of the overall story....I already very much enjoy him. It's partially from listening to the cn vo and reading text in en that I've come to this conclusion as to why I intend to favor vyn above all the boys.

So really it's starting to be more of a vyn appreciation character analysis than anything essay related but I still wanna apa this shit since apa is my preferred love language.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Wednesday 11 July 1832

7

11

rain in the night likely for more soon tho’ fair just now at 7 ½ a.m. and F67 ½° - out at 8 20 – at Pickersgills’, now to be called the Park farm – home at 9 ¼ - breakfast in the little room in ½ hour during which a heavy shower and out again at 10 5 – to the top of Stony lane (Wellroyde) no workmen – sauntered home – treading down grass in the Dolt wood – Joseph Bottomley came to me, the man who did the mason work at Mytholm mill – it is he is to do the road for James Smith but George Robinson not at home and not expected till Saturday – sent the man to H-x for a stamped receipt and came in at 12 20 from about one to four and a half interrupted only a minute or two by on Bottomleys’ return at 2 gave him a check on Rawsons and wrote out the receipt and he signed it being, as he said but a poor hand at writing -  wrote a full ½ sheet and 1 page and ends of envelope to Lady S- ‘Thank you very much, my dear Lady Stuart, for your so kind letter which did me a great deal of good, in making me forget myself, to think of you and dear Vere - the end of this month is almost upon us. I hardly expected quite so soon the happy day to her, the doubtful one to you, and only wish it was possible to run away with you as soon as it is all over, and you feel at liberty to think of amusing yourself. But it is quite in vain to talk of wishes. I know not when I shall be able to leave here; and however much it would delight me to see Vere’s happiness, I must give up all hope of it now. But it is very good of you dear Lady Stuart to ask me. I can quite well understand all you say and all you feel, and shall think of you very often - yet, tho’ your loss will certainly be great, I hope and believe, you will get over it better than you expect - you will never be alone - everybody’s kindness and attention will be doubled; and I shall be very anxious to hear, that, in this instance, as in many others, the anticipation was worse than the reality - amid the almost innumerable people you will have to write to, do not forget me; for I am sure my anxiety about you will be as great as anybody’s’ - have heard nothing from Vere about her plans for the winter - ‘what shall I do about the coffee pot?..... there is no chance of my being in London to choose it myself. I should be so much obliged, if you and Lady Stuart de Rothsay, who also knows of the promise, would be so very good as do this for me. I shall see it someday, and am quite sure of liking your taste better than my own. I only limit you to not less than twenty pounds’ ...... ‘How nice the dear girls will look as bridesmaids! Do not, dear Lady Stuart, be so unsettled and so uneasy - you know not how much I think of you - whatever may be the real state of the case I am sure Vere would not leave you far, unless she herself believed it necessary - your liking Donald so much

SH:7/ML/E/15/0091

is a great comfort’ - mention our alarm for fear one of the women servants (Cordingley) was beginning in the cholera on Monday - ‘immediate medical advice and strong antispasmodics relieved her, and she was well enough to leave her bed this morning’. Mr James Wortley sure of his election - ask when the Hamiltons  are expected........’adieu dear Lady Stuart I am very anxious about you, and very truly and affectionately yours A Lister’ then wrote the following 3pp. of ¼ sheet to Miss H- ‘Shibden hall Wednesday 11 July 1832 – I suppose, my dearest Vere, from Lady Stuarts’ letter, that you are waiting to tell me the day – It is to be the end of this month! two or three weeks sooner than I had expected – never too soon to do well – never too soon to be happy – may this greatest event of their life be the most fortunate – may your own, and the most sanguine hopes of all your friends be more than realized – may he whom you have chosen be no less happy than yourself, and may the blessings of heaven fall thickly on you both! you know how delighted I should be to see your happiness – but that cannot be so soon as the end of this month, or the next, or perhaps, if your plans be foreign, for many months must come – I know not when to hope that my affairs and my aunts’ anxieties about them, will let me leave here; but you will guess my intention to run away as soon as I can – I am nearly as much occupied as you, but you have all the advantage in kind – so it ought to be, and so my heart would have it be – Say something for me to Donald, and believe me very affectionately yours AL’ – I am satisfied with this and it was written quickly enough it was my letter to Lady S. took me so long ‘tis 5 ¼ just as I have written to here – then till 6 10 wrote 3 pages and ends to M- written in much better apparent spirits than my last - hoping to see her yet fearing - begging to hear again as soon as she could - should not burn her letters ‘till..... you are here again?’ - said that on looking over old packet of letters one of Louisa’s had turned such I little thought of her inditing - had I remembered it, it might have change the whole tenor of events - said that as she, M-, observed I did not think my spirits would run away with me - but her cheering had done me good - I did not look far from the world that peace it was ‘not intended to give’ but for some of the lesser good things it was intended to give I was disappointed to seek in right earnest and if a diligent search could profit me (an why not) I might succeed one of these days - she trusted the cares of the world would soon pass away ‘yes! Mary! but not all - let some remain to form the zest of happiness for ‘he never knew pleasure who never knew pain’ you see how I have profited by your instructions - a green Alp near Grenoble has been depict on my mind for some time. In days gone by the Crimea used to be my theme - now I come nearer home’  - Dinner at 6 20 – at 7 sent off my letter to the ‘honourable Lady Stuart Whitehall’ enclosed my note to ‘Miss Hobart’ and undercover to ‘Lord Stuart de Rothesay at the Earl of Hardwickes’ 3 St. James’ square London’ – and my letter to ‘Mrs. Lawton, Mrs. Belcombes’, Minster-court, York’ – Holt called at 6 ¾ and left me the stone and coal plans that he had got from Mr. Briggs, and then went to the meeting at Mytholm, to settle about the coals – brought down Letter index to today, and made out rough draft of index of the 1st 13 days of March last till 8 ¾ - my aunt and I went into the other room at 9 ¼ - skimmed over the courier – came to my room at 10 5 – heavy shower between 9 and 10 and a little rain between 1 and 2 – afterwards fine afternoon and evening – F66 ½° at 10 ¼ p.m.

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied (Part Two)

Series: Undercover Hotch fic/series™

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader 

Word Count: 4,408 | Rated: T | Warnings: swearing, discussion of domestic abuse, possibly compromising positions(?), an almost kiss

Tropes: bedsharing, fake married, mutual pining

Chapter Summary: after holding hotch's hand for a few minutes, it wouldn't be a problem to hold it for most of the morning? because now the retreat gimmicks begin as the two of you search for information while dealing with the events.

A/N: sorry for the delay on part two -- had some family things going on this month <3. look out for part three :) Thank you to @bucky-of-the-opera for always letting me bounce ideas off of her and generally being amazing.

“Where do we start?”

The retreat lodge was larger than you imagined — with sprawling grounds that weren't just limited to the main lodging area where the couples stayed — but extended beyond to woods, hiking trails, and beyond. Hell, you glanced out the window at a nearby mountain, you wouldn’t be surprised if they owned a mountain as well.

“I have no idea,” you murmur, your arm intertwined with Hotch’s, as the two of you stepped into the lobby for the patented mix-and-mingle with the other couples before breakfast. Not only mind-numbing, soul-churning mingling — but with other couples with marital issues -- exactly what every vacation needs, “this place doesn’t seem big on technology — I haven’t seen a single computer or cellphone,”

“The front desk only has paper logs,” he shakes his head, “I asked about the lack of technology in the rooms. A noted policy of no tech — including the employees. I don’t think we are even allowed our cellphones after this breakfast.”

You scan the couples beginning to shuffle down now, “If there’s no tech here, where do you think they keep their guest and employee files?”

“I don’t think breakfast is ready yet, sweetheart,” he replies, as your gaze snaps to his cheeks burning, as you realize a couple approaching your six, “but I’m sure you won’t have to wait too much longer,”

“I’m right there with you,” the husband winks at you, his stomach shaking as he laughs even before he jokes, “if I don’t eat soon, I’m going to lose one of my only reasons for coming to this place,”

And something tells you it isn’t much of a joke either.

“But not the reason for coming here, isn’t that right, dear?” his wife assumedly smiles at you, icily, “Molly Chapman. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and you are?”

You introduce yourself, forcing a straight face on as you manage to say your alias, offering your hand, “This is my husband, Thomas,” as Hotch introduces himself to Molly’s husband, Harry, who claps your boss on the shoulder.

“So,” Harry leans in, almost clandestinely, “what are you two in for?”

“Harry!” Molly chastises him, but her eyes hook onto your expressions, her lips pursed in disapproval if only to hide her smile.

“Well, if it helps, me and the missus here need some help communicating,” he crosses his arms, shaking his head, “never learned much about that growing up,” and he elbows Hotch, “but I’m sure you can relate — we’re practically in the same generation,” And you nearly snort, trying and failing to hide your smile — which Hotch notes, as you see him shoot a small glare your way.

Harry and Molly don’t notice, too busy reprimanding her husband again, before she sighs, pinching at the bridge of her nose, “It’s just as well, we are all going to find out about each other’s problems anyway,”

And you furrow your brow, “I saw group therapy on the itinerary — is it mandatory?”

“It is,” Molly nods, “Dr. Rosen, the therapist who helped design the program, insisted on it — otherwise it would just be a vacation, not a couples retreat,” and she raises an eyebrow, “didn’t you read that in the paperwork when you signed up?”

“I did most of the paperwork,” Hotch intercedes, his fingers intertwining with yours, “my love here was busy wrapping up some loose ends for work so I ended up taking the lead on it,”

“Oh well now I know what’s wrong with you two,” Harry chuckles, as Molly elbows him again, half-heartedly, as he gestures to you, coffee in hand, “you wear the pants in the relationship, got that one wrapped around your finger, now don’t you? Not surprising, with the age gap and all--” as he looks you up and down, winking at Hotch, as you gape at him, “nicely done, sir.”

Your blood begins to boil, several insults picked out and fine-tuned on your tongue as you open your mouth, “Well—”

“We’re working on it,” Hotch clears his throat, jerking his head toward the now ready breakfast buffet, “Harry, it looks like—”

“Food’s on!” and he’s scurrying away to the table, as his wife follows suit, giving both of you a nod, as you glare at his retreating back.

“Food fucking saved his life,” and your eyes slide back to Hotch, as he gestures for you to head over to the breakfast table, “and so did you,”

“Well, I figured you murdering someone on our first day here would attract some unwelcome attention,” he steers you away from the direction of the Chapmans, his hand now slipping around your waist, and you do your best to ignore the flip of your heart, focusing on the fancy finger foods the retreat put out for breakfast, until you feel Hotch’s fingers drum on the small of your back, “do you see that?”

You glance at him, following his gaze until your eyes fall on a door that says ‘Employees’ Only’ around the corner, the manager slipping through the door, locking it behind him. You glance away nonchalantly, helping yourself to some mini-breakfast sandwiches and some fruit, “Do you think they keep the employee files?”

“Maybe,” he breathes in your ear, as he reaches over your shoulder to grab some food, making you shiver at the closeness, “but how do we—”

“Welcome!” a voice booms from the foyer, sweeping arms as he steps forward cutting through the dining room, “Please everyone take a seat. Help yourself to some breakfast.”

You both make your way to a table, and Hotch pulls out your chair for you, giving a small smile, as he takes his seat beside you.

“I hope you all are beginning to get to know each other, but that is not all you will be getting to know today,” he clasps his hands, he bared his teeth with his fake white smile, “I am Richard Rosen, and I will be guiding you through your time during this six-week retreat, where you are not only going to learn about our facilities, about mindfulness, and about yourselves,” his eyes scan the crowd smiling, “you’re going to learn about each other.'

Oh, how wonderful.

You had read up about this guy last night — went to Harvard — Harvard College in Indiana, and got his certification in Psychology after four weeks of surely intense training. After that, he opened his own practice in New York City, which folded after several complaints ranging from sexual harassment to fraud. Unfortunately for his clients (and fortunately for him), there wasn’t enough evidence to get his lack-luster certification yanked. He then moved from city to city, learning from his mistakes, and never stuck to the same city for long enough for someone to catch onto his treatment packaged charade. Until eventually, he settled upon White Mountains Retreat, where he was allowed to stay in one place, but with a revolving door of patients.

He was one of your suspects — no record, but had easy access to the couples, and intimate knowledge of their relationships.

"But our time will begin together tomorrow,” he beams at all of you, “Right now, I'm going to pass it over to the man who you will be coordinating your incredibly list of daily activities during your stay here — the man responsible for all the wonderful memories you will make — Mr. Brock Hillen," Rosen steps aside, welcoming Hillen to take over, and he doesn’t wait a beat, checking his watch before disappearing down a hall.

“Where’d he go?” you murmur, and Hotch shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” Hotch murmurs, lips barely moving, “but do you see that?”

And you spot cuts on Brock’s arms before he tugs the sleeve of his shirt down to cover it, “Could be consistent with causing those injuries our victims,”

And Brock Hillen was no less suspicious than Rosen — with a criminal record to match. With two charges of domestic assault, Hillen already had a history of violence with his ex-wife, but since she divorced him, he has had no other charges. Yet, because of his record, he went job to job, until he found himself as the Activities Coordinator of White Mountain. Could it be that his rage over his wife leaving him led to the murders? Maybe something in the last few weeks that triggered it.

“Hello all!” he greets, holding his arms out, his fake blonde hair nearly blinding under the bright light of the chandelier that hangs above him, “thank you Richard, for that all too kind introduction,” he begins his spheal on the healing nature of the resort, the efforts of his team in coordinating the next six weeks for them, and you begin to lose interest around his third sentence with the word “enchant” in it.

And your eyes can’t help but slide to Hotch a moment, whose arm rests on your lower back still, the metal of his watch gently pressed against your shirt, and you swear his thumb brushes against your spine. You almost want to brush it away, his touch is so gentle, so sweet, so intentional, but it wasn’t — it wasn’t.

“For our first event,” and now you’re blinking back to Brock — to the reason you were here — to catch a killer, “I’m going to have you do one of the very things that Richard mentioned — an activity that will allow you to you learn more about yourselves and each other,” and he gestures around you, “as well as the grounds themselves,” Other employees start handing the couples a clipboard, “your task will be to get each of your stamps from around the retreat — this obviously includes our grounds and other facilities, including our spa, chapel, gardens, and so on.”

“Seems like a perfect opportunity to look around,” you murmur — as Hotch takes the clipboard, flipping through the scavenger hunt -- at least there wasn’t some cheesy shtick to this activity.

“To symbolize the journey you all will be embarking on together as couples, you must complete the task hand-in-hand,” Brock brings his two hands together, “please, there will be staff all over the facilities, if you need a hint, feel free to ask, and I will be here as well to provide any assistance,” he gestures to employees behind the couples, “now, at the sound of the gong—”

At the sound of the what—

And then a loud crash fills the air, rattling your eardrums, making you jump, “Take each other’s hand, and begin!”

Couples begin scattering about, pulling each other along — you spot Molly dragging Harry away from the breakfast table.

And Hotch rises beside you, offering you his hand, clipboard in his other hand, “Ready?”

You glance from him to his hand.

Probably not, but— your fingers intertwine with his, his calloused fingers warm, and the cool metal of his band brushing against your skin—

“Ready.”

What other choice did you have?

~~~

“How many more do we have?” So far, the first few stamps have taken you all around the other facilities — the spa, the garden, the sauna — but none inside the retreat center itself. Not a single one had given you a change to find where the files were kept in this place.

“Two more left,” he murmurs, “I assume the last one will take us back into the main building, so the other must be—”

“At the chapel,” you glance at the map of the place you were handed by an employee who took pity on you two after you had wandered around the grounds — completely lost, “at least we don’t have to bother figuring out the riddles now,”

“You mean you don’t need to bother,” you shake your head, “i’m sorry, I’m just—”

“Are you okay?” he asks, as the two of you stroll towards the chapel, everyone else out of earshot, “the first day can be—”

“No, it’s not that,” you look around the grounds, and you resist the urge to flex your fingers, but he notices you tense — and you know he would drop your hand but he can’t, so he steps away a little, “It’s not you—”

“But it’s you?” he chuckles, as you bite your lip, “I know it’s a lot,” he sighs, as you two reach the chapel, a relatively small building built on top of a hill. It’s a white marble building, its one spire splitting the sky above it asunder, practically gleaming in the sunlight. The double mahogany doors are drawn open for the couples, another just leaving as you two arrive. You watch him stare up at the chapel, “it is for me too.”

You frown, as the employees at the entrance greet you, and direct you to sit near the front together for a few minutes — to take solace in the quiet before you receive your stamp. Hotch hands them the clipboard as you both wander down the aisle together.

The aisles are lined with white pews, light streaming through beautiful stained glass windows. Your footsteps echoed against the stone floor. You step and sit into the pew beside Hotch, sitting back a moment. The chapel itself had no denomination — it was clear it was made for the sake of religious and non-religious functions — likely an intentional choice not to exclude any religion or atheists for that matter.

After all, money was money in their eyes.

You two are quiet a moment, your hands still interlaced for the sake of the employees still watching the two of you, “I think for me,” your voice low, “it’s just weird to be this close with anyone,”

“You mean physically or?” you shrug.

“It’s part of it — it has been a while since I’ve shared a bed with someone,” you purse your lips, “but like you said, it’s hard for me to let someone see me, like all of me,” and you glance at him, “and it’s hard when you’re literally the leader of a team of, you know.”

“I know,” he leans against the back of the pew, “it’s impossible to hide things from the team even when when we don’t spend every minute with them, and now that we’re spending the all of the next six weeks together--”

“There won’t be much we can do to hide,” you nod, looking down at the floor.

And that was what scared you the most.

The employees hand you back the clipboard at that moment, excusing you both back, and the two of you step out of the chapel, “I just want you to know,” you say, as the two of you reach the bottom of the hill, “you don’t have to hide anything from me,” and he raises an eyebrow, as you add, “if you don’t want to.”

“Do most people hide anything because they really want to?”

“No I meant,” you chew your lip, “This is probably hard for you, and I don’t want to act like I know what you’re going through — I don’t,” you would never deign to think you knew what it was like to lose your the love of your life, your best friend, and mother of your child in one fell swoop, “but you don’t have to pretend,” not with me, you want to add, but you don’t — you can’t.

He blinks a moment, eyebrows raising only for a millisecond, before he sighs, “It’s easier to pretend,” he presses his lips together, as another couple approaches, “and that’s what we’re here to do,” and he begins to walk forward, gently pulling you along, as your cheeks burn, your head fixed on the ground, until he adds, “but I appreciate it,” and you meet his gaze, several emotions in his eyes, before he tears it away, “thank you.”

You don’t get to respond, as the two of you step inside to find only most of the couples still hadn’t returned yet — still collecting the last of the stamps, and most of the staff floating around the grounds to corral and nudge stragglers along. And their absence left an opportunity.

So you glance around, before tugging a distracted Hotch along, wandering around a corner, “What—”

And you grab him by the shoulder, pinning him to the wall, cheeks burning all the while, not daring to meet his gaze, but its just the same because you hear the small gasp of your name that leaves his lips in a whisper, and his body tenses against your palm.

You lean up closer, before slowly craning your neck around the corner, “We’re a couple at a retreat looking to sneak away,” you murmur, lips barely moving, as you lean closer, nose brushing his neck — god he smells good — but you refuse to let your lips brush against his skin, “or that’s what it will look like to anyone.”

His tenseness melts away, and he’s pliable to your touch, as your fingers graze his neck now, your thumb resting against his cheek, as he stares down at you — so adoringly as you tug him by the shirt away from the wall, following you with such ease.

You’re next to the employees only door — your fingers reach for the knob, turning — “It’s locked,” you murmur, and his brow furrows, as you cup his cheek, guiding his gaze to the lock.

And he’s spinning you around gently so that you’re pressed to the wall, your breath catching in your throat, as he looms over you, his fingers cupping your chin. His arm around your back, pulling your lower half close to him, but he’s holding the door knob in place while he tries to pick it with his other hand.

Your cheeks burn as he looks down on you, his gaze freezing you in place, far too close — his breath warming your lips, taking the breath from your lungs and replacing your blood with lava. And you can see so clearly — the cut of his jaw, the soft lines of his face, and the curve of his lips—

And then the lock clicks open.

He’s turning the knob, as you spare one glance over your shoulder to see if anyone sees either of you, but then the door is shutting behind you. You feel the wall for a light switch, and you flick it on, while you hear the click of the door locking again.

And you blink, a glorified break room — a few tables and a basic refrigerator stuck in the corner, a worn couch stuck against a wall, and a sink stuck in the corner with a subpar dish rack — far from the accolades that were in each guest’s room — but then again, the employees weren’t paying through the nose for the rooms.

You two stay close, as your eyes scan for anything that could be a camera — even one that isn’t obvious — placed in a smoke detector or lamp shade, “No cameras,” he pulls away, and you try to swallow the lump in your throat, tucking away the embarrassment to dwell on another time (likely right before when you’re trying to sleep).

But then again, the guests weren’t the ones working 18 hour shifts on their feet.

Hotch calls for you, pointing towards a few file drawers stuck in the corner, and the two of you head over, running your finger down the label on the drawers, “These are all client records — administrative, financial — nothing on the employees.”

“They must keep the employee records somewhere else that employees don’t have access to,” and you’re rifling through the folders, for something — anything.

“I haven’t seen any other employee areas,” you shut the drawers, and then you glance around, your eyes falling on another door in the corner of the room — “unless—”

“It must be Rosen and Hillen’s offices,” you walk over, reading the placard — Administration Offices, “locked?”

“This isn’t something that can be picked easily,” Hotch shakes his head, “it has a bump guard — it prevents—”

“--lock bumping,” and Hotch looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, “I’ll tell you my reason if you you tell me yours,

He snorts, “I learned it sometime between 6th grade and military school,” and it’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, “my father — he—”

“You don’t have to—” you shake your head, “unless you want to—”

“I’ll just say, it wasn’t a good childhood,” he raises to his feet.

And you can’t help but give a small smile, “But look at how well you turned out,” and he’s shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders, “Hotch,” you make him meet your gaze, “you’re a good man — don’t doubt that.”

His eyes meet yours again, warm, as he looks away to the floor for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching, “Thank you,” he breathes, and he’s stepping forward, “I—”

And then the doorknob is jiggling. Your heads snap to the door, before looking back to each other.

Shit.

Before you know it, his wrist is around yours, and he’s tugging you to the couch, as you fall backwards onto the soft cushions. He’s halfway kneeling between your legs, his body draped over you, and he’s leaning closer, murmuring an apology as he lips draw close to yours, “Hotch—”

And then the door is opening, as his lips nearly brush yours, “Hey!”

An employee stares at the both of you, as you both stumble to your feet, adjusting your clothes, “This is employees only — what are you—”

“Sorry!” you yelp, jumping to your feet, “so sorry,” and you brush past them, Hotch following at your heels.

And the two of you find your way back to the lobby, your heart still in your throat, as you tug on your clothes, “Thanks for the —” your cheeks burn, “I mean, good thinking—” you shake your head, "you know what I mean."

He snorts, his fingers finding yours again, giving them a slight squeeze, "Anytime," and your heart oh-so-helpfully skips a beat, tongue-tied, but luckily you don't have to response as Hotch glances at you, "you never did tell me how you learned about lock picking."

You shrug, “I have a checkered past,”

“That’s not much of an answer,” and you shoot him a half-smile.

“I have to keep you interested somehow don’t I?” you reply right as Brock begins to speak again.

The event wraps up with another talk from Brock — who has an employee approach him towards the end of his talk, whispering in his ear, and he nods, waving him off, “and one last thing — I know you all came to rejuvenate your marriages and partnerships through this retreat and we fully encourage you to do so but—” you swallow thickly, realizing just which employee must have whispered in his ear right then, “please refrain from doing so in restricted areas that are not for our guests.”

You cannot even bear to look at Hotch, keeping your gaze straight ahead, grabbing a drink on the tray, and sipping at it — and you wondered if you were masking your mortification well.

Probably fucking not.

~~~

Brock then adjourns them for the rest of the day — not wanting to “overwhelm them” on day one (or rather padding their time here with nothingness) — welcoming them to have their meal in the dining facilities or up in the rooms.

Most people head off to their rooms, while others linger in the lobby — chatting amongst themselves — he spots Harry rushing off to the dining facilities, his wife in tow.

The rest of the day goes off without much to-do. Hotch glances around — not a single thing of note learned about the guests or the staff. The other couples are all sociable to some extent — some more reserved than others, but none of them fit the unsub’s types so far — placing you two directly in the paths of the unsub.

By the time it’s time for bed, his body is aching for nothing but sleep — and it looked like you had the same idea. Already slipped under the covers, you’re curled up, half-asleep as your eyes flutter heavy with sleep.

Neither of you felt the need to stand guard in the room — the doors were securely locked for each of the couples, and the team was monitoring the situation at the local precinct. But you both kept your weapons close by — concealed in case someone happened to find their way in.

“Are you asleep?” Hotch whispers, and you mumble, shaking your head, turning to glance at him — your shoulders tense and brow furrowed.

“Is something going on?”

And he shakes his head, “No, sorry,” and you relax back in bed, but your lips still pursed, “I just hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier,” and you tilt your head — and he almost smiles at your sleep-induced confusion.

“Earlier?” and then it floods back to you — as you blink, glancing away from him, “oh—”

He shakes his head, “I just don’t want you to think I was—”

“Hotch, I know you weren’t,” you slowly sit up, “if you hadn’t done that, I think we would have been on our way home on our first day,” you chuckle, “and I know you wouldn’t take advantage — especially when we have a job to do.”

Right, a job, he chides himself, It was a job.

“If you want to sleep—”

“I’m not having this conversation again,” you yawn, turning around and getting comfortable again, “good night, Hotch.”

And he looks at you, a small sigh parting his lips — until he finally settles in bed beside you.

His arm resting across his forehead, he glances at you again. He had spent so much of today holding your hand, his fingers nearly flexing at the memory. It had been so long since he had held someone’s hand, so long since he had worn a ring on his finger, so long since he called someone his partner.

It felt so nice.

Nice — not only because he hadn’t realized how much he had missed having someone, someone beside him, someone there — but because —

Because it was you.

And he knew that because — he didn’t want to let go of your hand.

[translations-by-aiimee]

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 19

Original Title:  二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 19 - This Venerable One Will Tell You a Story

The girl was extremely pale, with an oval face and round eyes which were especially attractive. She was wearing a light pink skirt, her hair tied back. She looked like a young woman. She rubbed her eyes blankly in the dark, looking from side to side.

"Where am I. . .?"

Chu Wanning said: "You are in Return to Truth barrier I set up."

The girl was taken aback and said fearfully: "Who are you? Why is it so dark here? I can't see you, who's talking?"

Chu Wanning replied: "Did you forget?. . . You're already dead."

The girl's eyes widened: "I'm. . . I. . ."

Slowly, she remembered.

Lowering her head, she folded her hands across her chest. She murmured in a soft, unwavering voice: "I. . . I'm already dead. . ."

"Only souls can come to the Return to Truth barrier. Here, their hatred will be eliminated. No matter whether the dead person has transformed into a vicious ghost or an ordinary spirit, they will retain their original and personality appearance, known as their 'Return to Truth.'"

The girl was frozen for a while as if she was gradually remembering the past. Abruptly, she dropped her face and silently wept.

Chu Wanning said: "Have. . . you been wronged?"

The young girl sobbed: "Are you King Yan*? Or Bai Wuchang*? Are you here to avenge me?"

*(T/N: King Yan [阎王爷] is the one to judge the dead while Bai Wuchang [白无常] is one of the deities to escort spirits to the underworld)

Chu Wanning held his forehead and said: ". . . I'm not King Yan or Bai Wuchang."

The girl sobbed quietly. Chu Wanning was quiet for a while and didn't speak. He waited until her cries calmed down a bit and then said: "But I am here to help you air your grievances."

When the girl heard this, she choked and raised her gaze, and said with a mixture of joy and sorrow: "Then you really are Lord Yama*!"

*(T/N: Same person as King Yan)

". . ." Chu Wanning decided not to continue this topic with her and instead asked: "Do you know what you've done after you died?"

"I don't know. . . not really. I just remember that I was so, so sad. I wanted to get revenge. . . I wanted to go to them. . . I wanted to find him again. . ."

When the soul had just awakened, it would take a minute for all their memories to return to them, but it didn't matter. Chu Wanning patiently asked her: "Who did you want to go to?"

The girl whispered: "My husband, Chen Bohuan."

Chu Wanning was astonished. Chen Boyuan - wasn't that the name of the eldest son of the Chen family?

He asked: "What. . . what's your name? Where are you from?"

The power of Tianwen was infused with this illusionary barrier, and the dead who entered would almost always talk honestly with Chu Wanning. Therefore, the girl replied: "I'm a concubine, Luo Xianxian. I'm from Caidie Town."

"Before I came, I read the analects of Caidie Town. There are more than 500 households in this town, and there's no Luo family. Who is your father?"

The girl slowly remembered the details, her eyes filling with even more sadness: "My father used to be a scholar in the village. He was my father-in-law's brother-in-law's close friend. A few years, he contracted tuberculosis and passed away. Then I was the only one left from my family."

"Then why did you die?"

The young girl froze for a moment and then she sobbed: "I had no other option but to die. They, they lied to my father and stole the secret recipe for the butterfly fragrance powder. They beat me and scolded me, threatened me, and told me to leave Caidie Town. I. . . I'm a weak woman, where else could I go? I didn't have a single relative left in this world. . . The world is so big, where could I go? Apart from the Underworld, where else could I go? Where would there be room for me. . ."

After she recalled the events of her life, she seemed to have infinite bitterness and sorrow in her heart, She was desperate to talk to someone. Chu Wanning didn't even have to ask anything else, she slowly continued on her own.

It turned out that Luo Xianxian lost her mother when she was young. She heard from his father that she had an older brother, but her brother was separated from them in the chaos of the Lower Cultivation Realm, and they never saw him again so she didn't know whether he was dead or alive. When her elder brother was lost, Luo Xianxian wasn't even a year old, still in swaddling clothes. Later, she tried to remember her elder brother, but she still had no recollection of him.

There were only two people left in the Luo family were Xianxian and her father. The father and daughter depended on each other. They wandered around and finally built a small house in Caidie Town and lived there.

That year, Luo Xianxian was five years old. The Chen family's oldest son, Chen Bohuan, was two years older than her.

At that time, the Chen family hadn't made its fortune. Several members of the family lived in a two-bedroom earth-rammed hut. An orange tree was planted by the low wall of the small courtyard. In autumn, the tree was full of fruit and it grew over the low wall and snuck into the Luo family's yard.

Luo Xianxian tilted her head. The branches full of oranges looked like lanterns during the Lantern Festival. She was shy and introverted. She didn't play with others. She was always alone. She would dutifully be peeling some beans, raising her head from time to time and peeking at the orange tree peeking over from the Chen family's yard.

The oranges were temptingly yellow, and against the sunlight, you could almost taste the sweet and sour fullness of their juice.

Luo Xianxian looked eagerly, gulping and swallowing from time to time. Her cheeks were sore from the cravings.

But she never reached out to pick one. Her dad was a scholar who had been inferior to her father-in-law's brother-in-law. He failed the exam, but he didn't lose his backbone. His sour scholar brain was probably hurting but he always coached his daughter to be a "gentleman."

At the age of three, Luo XianXian knew that wealth couldn't be lusted after and poverty couldn't be changed. She never reached out to pick the oranges that were close at hand, even though she craved for them.

One night, Luo Xianxian sat in the courtyard humming and washing clothes by the moonlight.

Her father wasn't very strong, so he had to go to bed early. The poor man’s child had to take charge of the house. The little girl rolled up her sleeves, soaked her thin arms in the barrel, and rubbed her face earnestly.

Suddenly a hoarse cough came from the door, and a young man covered in blood staggered in and stared at her.

The little girl was so frightened that she even forgot to scream.

The young man's face was dirty and bloody, but his eyebrows were very handsome. The two people stood frozen staring at each other for a while. In the end, the young man couldn't stand up anymore. He sat down slowly against the base of the wall, panting, and said hoarsely: "Bring some water."

Xu was that kind of young man who didn't look like a bad person or perhaps Luo Xianxian was simply too kind-hearted. Although afraid, she still ran back to the house, made a cup of tea, and held it up to the young man's mouth.

The young man wasn't very polite. He threw back his drink, then wiped the corner of his mouth. Rolling his eyes back, he stared at Luo Xianxian's pretty face. His eyes glazed over and he didn't speak for a while.

He didn't speak, Luo Xianxian didn't either, she just blinked timidly. She held her hands at a distance she thought was safe enough and sized up the stranger.

". . . You look like an old friend of mine." The young man suddenly grinned, squinted his eyes and smiled eerily. With the bloodstains on his face, it was really quite terrifying. "Especially the eyes, they're so round. It looks like you could gouge them out, stick it in your fingers and swallow it in one bite."

When he said such horrible words so plainly, even with a little smile, Luo Xianxian trembled even more, and subconsciously covered her eyes.

The young man said: "Heh, clever girl. Just cover them up. Don't keep staring at me. I can't control my own hands."

He spoke casually with a northern accent.

Moonlight fell into the courtyard. The young man licked his chapped lips and suddenly saw the orange tree stretching into the yard. For some reason, his eyes lit up. His pupils flashed in the light, the lustre brightening for a moment before dimming back down. He raised his chin and motioned.

"Girl."

Luo Xianxian: ". . ."

"Pick an orange and peel it for me."

Luo Xianxian finally spoke up. Her voice was soft, slightly trembling, but she didn't hesitate to say: "Sir, that's not my family's fruit tree. It belongs to someone else. I can't pick one."

The young man was taken aback. She wasn't sure what went through his mind but his face slowly sank.

"I told you to pick one. I want to eat an orange. Pick it for me!" The last phrase was harsh like he spat it out through his teeth. Luo Xianxian shuddered, still stubbornly stood her ground.

The little girl was soft-natured, but her bones were the same as her stubborn father.

"I won't."

The young man's eyes narrowed. He raised his nose, his expression changing: "Do you know who you're talking to, brat?"

"If you want to have some water, I-I'll pour it for you. If you want to eat, there's some food inside, but the orange tree isn't mine. I can't pick it. Father said taking something without asking is stealing. I'm a gentleman. Wealth can't be lusted after and poverty can't be changed. You can't fish. . ."

In her rambling, she started talking about fish instead. The half-grown girl blushed. She insisted on what her father had taught herself and ended up completely fumbling her words, but under the young man's gaze, she was violently trembling, and her legs were weak.

The young man was speechless.

Hearing such a little kid, especially a young girl, say things as odd as "taking without asking is stealing", "wealth can't be lusted after and poverty can't be changed", and - and "I'm a gentleman"?? pfff, he normally wouldn't be able to stop himself from laughing out loud.

But he couldn't laugh.

On the contrary, there was a strong resentment in his chest and his heart was being crushed like it was being trampled by a horse.

"I hate your kind, so-called. . ." He supported himself on the wall, shakily rising to his feet, and hissed out: "Good man, gentleman, hero, benevolent."

Under Luo Xianxian's horrified gaze, he slowly moved his injured foot, he moved over to the orange tree. He looked up, sniffed the smell of the orange tree almost greedily, and then a red gleam of rage flashed in his eyes. Before Luo Xianxian could react, he climbed the tree, shaking it, trampling, kicking, and hitting its branches.

All the oranges on the branch crackled and fell to the ground, rolling away. The young man's smile was twisted and he shouted wantonly: "Taking something without asking is stealing! Wealth can't be lusted after! The mighty never yield!"

"Sir! What are you doing! Stop! Dad! Dad!"

Luo Xianxian hadn't wanted to call for her father. Her father was a weak, powerless scholar so there wasn't much he could do. But she was a little girl after all, and she was so terrified that she finally broke down.

"What are you shouting about! Your dad can come out and I'll cut him down too!"

The little girl was scared silly. Small water droplets rimmed her round eyes, tears forming.

The Chen family next door went to a neighbouring village to visit relatives so the whole family was away. No one could stop this lunatic.

The little madman shook the oranges all over the ground and still wasn't satisfied. He stomped on the ground several times, crushing several oranges, growing ferocious. She didn't know where he found the strength, but he jumped over the wall and flipped into the Chen's yard. In the courtyard, he found an axe and chopped down the whole tree. Then he turned around and cackled.

He laughed and laughed then abruptly stopped. From his squat, he straightened himself, staring blankly in a daze.

Suddenly, he turned his head and waved to Luo Xianxian: "Girl, come here."

". . ." Luo Xianxian didn't move. She was frozen to the spot, the little cloth shoes embroidered with yellow flowers digging into the ground.

Seeing her hesitating, the young man calmed down his voice and said as sweetly as he could, "Come here. I have a treat for you."

"I. . . I don't. . . no, I don't want to go. . ." Luo Xianxian mumbled. Before she finished speaking, the young man suddenly grew irate again——

"If you don't come here, I'll go into your house and slice up your father!"

Luo Xian trembled harshly but finally took small steps towards him.

The young man squinted at her: "Hurry up, I'm not waiting all day."

Luo Xianxian lowered her head and moved towards him. When she was still a few steps away, he suddenly stretched out his hand and violently pulled her over. Luo Xianxian let out a scream, but it only reached the back of her throat before something was shoved into her mouth to gag her. The young man stuffed an orange into her mouth. It wasn't peeled or washed, but covered in the dirt and pushed into her mouth.

The young man tried to force her to eat it in one bite. The orange split open and was rotten inside. Half her face was covered in the rotten fruit, but the lunatic was still smiling. He crushed the fruit into her face, stuffing it into her mouth that she was desperately trying to keep closed.

"Aren't you a gentleman? I thought you didn't eat stolen food. So what are you eating now? Huh? What are you eating now!"

"Haaa. . . no. . . I don't want. . . dad. . .dad. . ."

"Swallow it." The young man narrowed his eyes and stuffed the last bit of fruit into Luo Xianxian's mouth. His pupils gleamed with an eerie light and he shuddered. "Swallow it!"

He watched Luo Xianxian forcibly swallow the orang. She muffledly choked out "Dad". The young man was silent for a while, then he suddenly smiled.

That smile was more terrifying than his hideous face.

He stroked Luo Xianxian's hair with satisfaction, squatting in front of her, and said softly: "What are you calling your dad for? Shouldn't you be called out to me? Isn't the orange I gave you sweet? Was it delicious?"

With that, he picked up another one off the ground.

This time, he didn't stuff it in her mouth. He carefully peeled off the orange peel and cleaned off all the white piths attached to it. Then he wiped his hands, broke off a piece, and brought it to Luo Xianxian's lips. He whispered: "If you like it, eat some more."

Luo Xianxian knew that she had encountered a madman today. She had no choice but to lower her head and silently ate the orange that the madman handed her. The sweet and sour juice melted down her throat and her stomach churned. . .

The young man squatted there, feeding her slices of oranges. He seemed to feel better and even started to gently hum a song.

His voice was rough, very hoarse, like a broken gust of wind, vague and inaudible. Luo Xianxian could only make out a few words.

"Three or four flowers fall into the pool, the bell chimes once or twice on the shore. The best thing is to be young, a light-footed horse, you can see the end of the world. . ."

He suddenly said: "Girl."

". . ."

"Tsk." He curled his lips and reached for Luo Xianxian's slender face, "Let me look at your eyes."

Luo Xianxian shivered. She was powerless to resist. She could only let the young man inch forward, his bloody finger coming closer and closer to her eyes.

"This is how it is," he said.

Luo Xianxian whimpered and closed his eyes. She was really afraid that this madman would, on a whim, poke out her eyes like they were fruit.

But the young man didn't poke them.

The other coldly said to her: "Didn't you teach me the saying that wealth couldn't be lusted after and poverty couldn't be changed? I've also got something to tell you."

"Hmm. . ."

"Open your eyes."

Luo Xianxian's eyes were tightly closed. The young girl laughed in exasperation and hissed: "Don't be like that. Open your eyes!"

". . . Do you think I won't be able to gouge your eyes out if you have them closed?!"

Luo Xianxian forced her round eyes open, her slender eyelashes trembling, and tears streaming down her face which looked pitiful and fearful. She wasn't sure how to make this stranger happy. He suddenly let go of her cheek, his hand lingering in the air, and then gently patted her head.

He gazed into her eyes, and a trembling smile shook from the corner of his mouth. His smile was distorted, ferocious, and just a bit miserable.

He said: "There are men in Linyi. Twenty of them are dead."

After he spoke, he turned around and his figure sank into the darkness and gradually disappeared.

Only the mess on the ground was the only evidence that such a person, covered in blood in the middle of the night, had been here.

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[betweentheracks]

Hello and yay for this blog!!! I have a question :D. If a certain Chinese star were to wear jeans that say "my cock is gluten free" and "pull me down and fuck me," do you think his stylist would have chosen this knowingly, or do you think it's possible they just were like "hmm english words looks good" and didn't bother to look up the meaning? If they did know the meaning, would they have likely informed the star? Very desperate for the thought process behind this Choice hehehe. Thank you!

Ah, I was wondering hoping if I would get asked about those infamous jeans and here you are!

First and foremost; the following is all speculation from my experiences in the business and is wholly subjective. 

It isn’t impossible that they weren’t aware of what was written on the jeans, but it also isn’t all that likely either. When you pull up these jeans on the Dsquared2 site there’s a listing of what is doodled and written on the jeans and it’s not something that would be overlooked by neither stylist nor client. 

That said, Yibo does know some English and while he may not have known these words exactly, there’s more than enough ways of discerning their meaning. I would also bet half a year of my salary that his stylist would have known what was written here, or any number of personnel that works with them for that matter. I would also take into consideration that even if the jeans had slipped by all these people that may or may not have had the ability to see what was all over them, some of Yibo’s fellow idols should have (looking at you specifically, Seungyoun).

Setting this aside for a moment, I’ll go into who I think is responsible for the jeans being worn to begin with - Wang Yibo himself is the likely culprit. 

Why do I think this? There’s many reasons but most are inconsequential while two points frame the scene as I see it. 

This is markedly not a choice a stylist would make. Stylists, at the end of it all, are employees and therefore it shouldn’t be too surprising to know we have rules in place we must abide no matter if we are working outside the purview of the company we are housed under. Even when we work exclusively with a client, we are still taking the name of our company as well as our own with us and are operating as an extension of the brand the company promotes and promises. I don’t know of any company here (and I live in rather free faring place which welcomes eccentricities, mind) that would allow these jeans to be submitted as part of a pitch to either buy or borrow unless they were very specifically in line with a client’s public image and style. Technically these jeans would classify as offensive and profane which means they would invite trouble and cause a stir. While stylists are not associated much with the PR side of things we are still essentially a team playing for the same client - this selection, if gone badly, would be like asking for lightning to strike twice in one place at the same time. If a scandal amounted from them PR would have to handle it and that means the stylist would come under fire for making such a bold and risky choice, most especially with a younger client that thus far didn’t have the sort of image one would think to associate with jeans such as these. 

The second reason is that, from what I can tell, this is in line with Yibo’s personality. He’s very serious about style and engages with it as he does most things; by overtaking it completely and rebranding it to suit him to the point that it makes one wonder if the style wasn’t designed with him in mind. He makes full use of what fashion is all about at it’s core; expression. These jeans in particular would have suited the Yibo of the time he wore them (2018, if I remember right?) as he was trying to break away from the image he held as a pretty boy with demure and soft looks which held the shock value of being in such contrast with his dancing and rapping. He’s mentioned before that he doesn’t really like being “cute/sy” and having to do things in the way of that since it’s not true to who he feels he is. Which, honestly, a lot of idols and stars go through this experience where they no longer wish to be constrained by the persona they play for the public and one of the most impactful means of going about it is to address the styling since it is the focal point of public image. 

The Dsquared2 jeans don’t only say “my cock is gluten free,” there’s actually quite a lot to them and I think it would help if more were aware of it so here’s the description of them on the website: 

D Squared Limited Edition Jeans. Sexy Twist Printed Low Rise. Fun, Evil Boy, Love Sucks, Pull Me Down, Open Me, Unzip, Buttons, Wine Is My Water, Tic Tac Toe, Dean & Dan, Sex, Gluten Free Cock, Hot Patches

The jeans actually say “pull me down and fuck me” right there on the ass, but naturally they can’t list the expletives in the marketing. Not strictly important to this post, but still worth mentioning given the hushed treatment of what the placement of such words could easily imply and the effect that could have had. 

Anyway, the bit that is very telling in my opinion is that “evil boy” tag. I’m not terribly certain due to having never been fortunate enough to work with these jeans myself and the internet only has so many pictures from so many angles, but “evil boy” is either written somewhere (which I think is the case since there’s devil horns present as well) or they’re being promoted as such for aesthetic value. Regardless, I am fairly certain this would be the feature which caught Yibo’s eye. It’s on brand for someone seeking to shatter the conceptual ideal of being naive, innocent, youthful, or soft.

The jeans as a whole fit with Yibo’s sense of humor, as I’ve seen it at least. He lost his mind and fell into full laughter and hysterics over a dick joke, not even minding that he was being filmed or anything. He was still laughing about it even after the other hosts had moved beyond it, making them circle back around to it and in turn making it all the more hilarious for him to enjoy. You can see it clearly in the bts footage from the CQL set that he enjoys being mischievous and stirring things up and having a good time. 

This is who he is, I believe, and it makes a lot of sense for him to have made this stylistic choice and then either convince his stylist to let him run with it or change out at the last second. Both of these are possible, though one of them is less probable than the other given how tricky it actually would be to sneak a wardrobe alteration past the many people that make up the staffing roster for any events, and then to be able to change in the limited time frame available between exiting the dressing room to being in the public sphere would be one in a thousand. Much simpler to goad your stylist into being lenient enough to give you free reign over your own styling - we can only hold out and say no when the grounds for it are met, which this wouldn’t have done in all likelihood - and most of the time we build up a good enough relationship and rapport with clients that we end up doting on them a bit and heed their requests when we can.

That’s all from me on this token moment in Yibo’s very stacked fashion history. Thanks for asking!

Furthermore, there’s the third possibility that this wasn’t a styling choice whatsoever. Or at least not one that involved the stylist in any real regard. It is very plausible that this was just Yibo in his own clothes, having dressed down after the main events wound down. I’ve never actually watched to see what that night looked like overall, but from the videos I have seen it looked to me like the actual do had passed and they were all just goofing around and having their own dance competitions and such when he was wearing them. I can’t say for sure that he did or did not have them on for the whole thing or if they were his own self packed casual wear. In which case it would fall back to his studio to tend to since stylists generally don’t hold authority over personal clothing choices and only ever have a hand in it when it is expressly stated in contracts or temporary clauses, and it just isn’t too common anymore. 

Worth a quick mention for means of distinction, here in the US this choice wouldn't have raised many eyebrows no matter if it was chosen by an artist or a stylist. The only reason I feel it necessary to say this is simply because this is not so in China and that alone lends context to the controversy of these jeans. In the scope of conservatism these jeans are outrageous and I think that a stylist would steer clear of utilizing them at all if they value their job. This is why I don't consider it likely at all that Yibo and his stylist collaborated to make use of these jeans as a way to shake away the remnants of his pretty boy aesthetic.

[ghostgothgeek]

Chaos.

Another for the Phic Phight! This one kinda combines two prompts and I had so much fun writing it! In this, Danny and Tucker don’t know Sam plays video games yet. 5,063 words.

"What do you mean you don’t feel the same way? We´ve had a mutual crush on each other for years." Sam says angrily after finally confessing her love to him. But Danny´s heart was beating hard for someone else entirely. Prompt by phantomfana. 

Danny wants to ask his crush to the upcoming school dance. Prompt by Rikaleeta.

-----

It was another long night of ghost hunting for Danny. Technus took up the first part of the night, trying to take over the park’s new security system. Tucker was fortunately still awake to help him out with that. Then Johnny and Kitty rolled in, but they weren’t looking for trouble, they just wanted a date night and swore they wouldn’t be a problem. Apparently Fridays were their days off for “everything but each other”. Danny was a romantic, but he didn’t know if this was sweet or nauseating. Ember had put up a good fight, though. He was proud he only had one injury to tend to. He had dodged most of her attacks, but she was still a pretty advanced ghost. And, of course, Danny had caught the Box Ghost six, count them, SIX times. How did he always manage to get out?! He wasn’t difficult to take down, he was just a pest. 

Danny sighed as he sat down at his computer chair. It was only 12:30 am, and it was a Friday. He could sleep in tomorrow and he deserved at least a couple hours of fun. He logged into his online gaming account and saw Tucker was online. Figures. He pulled up the chat anyway. 

Astrohaunt: Hey Tuck. Still up?

Technopedia: You know it. Chaos signed on about a half hour ago and I’m not passing up the opportunity.

Astrohaunt: Dude is so good it’s unreal!

Technopedia: He goes to our school, I tracked one of his IP addresses and he logged in at school a few times.

Astrohaunt: Tucker wtf. That’s creepy!

Technopedia: I just want to make sure Chaos is actually a kid and not Lancer again!

Astrohaunt: I still can’t wrap my mind around Lancer playing Doomed…

Technopedia: Same. But Chaos IP is different from Lancer, so we good. Unless more teachers play Doomed.

Astrohaunt: I hate you for putting that image into my brain.

Technopedia: Sorry dude. But quick come join before someone else gets Chaos.

Danny, Tucker, and Chaos had made a great team. Whenever Chaos was around, they were actually able to progress through the game. They played several rounds until Tucker was caught by his mom and was forced to sign off, but Danny and Chaos kept playing. 

TeamChaos: Hey, what’s up?

Astrohaunt: Omg dude you’re so awesome. 

TeamChaos: Ha, thanks. Gotta blow off steam somehow. 

Astrohaunt: Tell me about it! Between Lancer’s three projects and midterms and...other stuff...this is my only time to actually chill. I’ve been so stressed!

TeamChaos: Same. I did finish one of the projects though. I’m always here if you need to talk, you know. 

Astrohaunt: Wow, I may just take you up on that offer. I’ve had a rough night.

TeamChaos: Lay it on me.

And so Danny, sparing the ghost hunting details, stayed up chatting with Chaos until 5 am. He got along really well with the guy, they had a lot of similar interests. This was just the first of many up-all-night conversations they shared. After a few months, Danny felt a special connection with Chaos, and yet, he didn’t even know his name! 

Astrohaunt: We’ve been talking all these months and I still don’t know your name. I’m Danny. 

TeamChaos: Oh, thought you knew. It’s Sam!

Astrohaunt: Hey! One of my best friends is named Sam! 

TeamChaos: You don’t say!!!

The next day at school, Danny pulled Tucker over to him, whispering, “Dude, help. I think I might be gay....” 

“What?!” Tucker shouted.

“Quiet, Tuck!” 

“Okay, well uh...why?” Tucker sent him a weird look and took a step back. 

“No, not you. Chaos. I think I have a crush on Chaos.” Danny ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do! I never thought I’d be...you know. Chaos and I just have good conversations and he’s always there to listen to me when I need to vent. I thought maybe I found another best friend but...this is different. Chaos is so cool and I’m crushing and I don’t even know who he is or what he looks like! Or if he feels the same way! Maybe I’m just stupid and-”

“Dude, chill. You’re jumping too far ahead of yourself. Whichever way you, you know, swing...I’m still your best friend.” Tucker pulled out his PDA. “Let me see what I can find out. I know Chaos goes to our school.”

“Thanks, Tuck. As if being half ghost wasn’t hard enough! Oh, and he’s in our class, because he’s talked me through assignments and knows what they are and stuff. He’s almost as good as explaining things as Sam. Crap...Sam. Don’t tell her about this!” Danny started fidgeting. 

“Well,” Tucker raised his eyebrows in surprise, “I can tell you with absolute certainty that Chaos is definitely a girl.” 

“You found out who Chaos is?!” 

“What, like it’s hard?” Tucker chuckled. “I traced the IP addresses she uses. I know who she is. So do you,” Tucker smirked, “It shocked me at first, but it makes total sense! And I can totally see why you like her.” 

“Really?” Danny let out a breath in relief. “Okay that makes me feel a lot better...hey, maybe I can ask Chaos to the dance next Saturday!” 

Tucker rested a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Go for it. Ask Sam. I’m almost positive she’ll say yes.”

“Okay, I will...wait, not Sam! Chaos!” Danny clarified. “Well, actually, I think Chaos told me her name was Sam. Ha, small world. I can’t wait to introduce Sam to Sam. I think they would really get along.” 

Tucker busted out laughing, “Oh, dude. You go ahead and do that.” He left Danny standing there in the hallway, still laughing all the way to his next class.

Danny, a bit confused by Tucker’s laughter, shook his head and smiled to himself. Okay, good. He’d had enough identity crises to fill a lifetime. Chaos was definitely a girl. Now if he just knew Chaos returned his feelings, things might actually work out for him this time and he could actually have a girlfriend.

Meanwhile, Sam was having an internal debate of her own. Sitting in a class where the teacher couldn’t give two shits about what the students were doing, she had always used this class as her thinking time. Usually her thinking-about-Danny time. She nervously clicked her pen as she thought about recent events. 

She and Danny spent so much time chatting online when they weren’t hanging out in person. Danny was a little bit more bold online, probably because he didn’t have to interact face-to-face or risk his pants falling down in public again. Online, they talked about everything. No topic was off limits. Plus, Sam felt like their friendship had only grown even stronger when they could chat online and not have to worry about blushing or getting teased by Tucker. Chatting online took away all the pressure and made it much easier to connect with Danny. 

Danny hadn’t said anything yet, of course. He was probably scared. Hell, she was scared. She was already so in love with him, and getting closer online only further solidified that fact. She had never been in love before, and even though she hunts ghosts, this was more terrifying! She was fairly certain he returned her feelings, but both were too chicken to actually make that final step. They’ve been best friends forever. She didn’t want to mess up their already great dynamic or force Tucker to be the third wheel, though he did insist he was more than okay with that and encouraged them to finally get together. 

Sam stopped clicking her pen as she suddenly remembered it was senior year. They hadn’t picked colleges yet, but whether they ended up going to the same school or not, things were going to change. Danny was very attractive, and going off to college meant girls may actually approach him when they didn’t know his parents were ghost fighters. The fact had never bothered Sam, but she did kind of like how it kept most girls at school from asking him out or giving him attention. Valerie had been a challenge, especially because she was a ghost hunter herself and probably wanted to get tips from his parents. Sam was glad that relationship ended relatively early. It was too hard on her. Joyous or not, though, she was still mad at Valerie for how she broke his heart. 

But that was 2 years ago. They had all moved on and friendships were more or less mended across the board. This made Sam glance at her favorite picture of her and Danny. Tucker had taken the candid picture and it was now her phone’s background. In it, Danny was giving Sam a piggyback ride. Her arms were lightly strung around his neck, legs looped around his waist. Danny had kept going in the opposite direction Sam told him to go, which frustrated her but also made her laugh. She had rested her chin on his shoulder, her face pressed right up against his. Danny was looking at her and Tucker had captured that rare moment when Sam had a huge grin on her face, still laughing. She smiled at the picture. They would be okay no matter what. Their friendship would survive.

Anyway, Sam also realized she had already come close to losing Danny, in more ways than one. Whether it was to other girls or a ghost, there was always that anxiety stirring in her head that she could lose him entirely some day. Life was too short. She needed to take the plunge for both of them and just get them both over this hurdle, and they could finally, finally, actually get together. 

Sam made her decision. It was now or never. She was going to tell him. Today. The trio was meeting up at Danny’s house later anyway, and if she got there early enough, she could talk to him before Tucker showed up and teased them about it. Sam firmly nodded her head to herself, a confirmation of her decision. It was finally time.

After school, Danny was pacing in his room, trying to figure out how he wanted to do this. Asking a girl to the dance wasn’t a huge deal, and yet at the same time, it was. He would rather ask in person, but he still didn’t know what Chaos looked like, so asking in person seemed to be off the table. He could look in the yearbook for all the girls named Sam at their school. He could already omit one Sam Manson from that list. How many Sams could possibly attend their school? It would be easier to ask Tucker, though. Tucker already knew who she was. Sam and Tucker were on their way over right now. When Sam wasn’t paying attention, he could ask Tucker for Sam’s full name. 

Chaos Sam, not best friend Sam. God, this was so confusing. Why were girls so hard for him? Freshman year, Paulina only liked his ghost half and wouldn’t give his human half the time of day. Sophomore year, Valerie hated his ghost half and that hatred was more important to her than her feelings for his human half. Junior year, he had been denying that he was in love with his best friend. And now that he had finally accepted that he did like his best friend as much more than a friend, a new girl entered the picture and he now found himself trying to choose between two Sams. Because it apparently wasn’t hard enough for him already to make the biggest and most important change he could possibly make in a friendship, let’s add another crush to the mix and give them the same name.

Sam. Best friend Sam - that’s who he was planning on asking originally, even if he chickened out and had to ask her as a friend instead. Plus, he and Sam had somehow gotten closer recently, and he was pretty sure she liked him. Sure, it was only because Tucker told him so, but it was a possibility. The thing was, he didn’t want to ruin things. Especially because he truly didn’t know how Sam, best friend Sam, felt about him. She was a tough and courageous girl, surely she would have said something by now if it were true. So Tucker must be pulling his leg.

But he did have another option - Chaos Sam, who may actually return his feelings. Sure, the feelings weren’t nearly as strong as what he felt for his best friend, but the feelings were still there. Plus, if he got rejected by Chaos, it would be less heartbreaking than being rejected by Sam, someone he had known for years rather than months. He could deal with losing a newer friend, but not one of his best friends. Sam was too important and he knew he needed her in his life.

Danny sighed. This was really hard, but he made a decision. It was easier to go with Chaos than risk ruining things with Sam. Danny had enough drama going on in his life already, he needed an easy win. 

He broke from his thoughts when the doorbell rang. He ran downstairs and opened it, only slightly surprised to see Sam there. She was usually early for things. He and Tuck were more prone to being late. 

“Hey, Sam. Come on in!” Danny moved so Sam could enter his house. He shut the door and followed her upstairs and back to his room as she returned his greeting. She was pacing the same path he just had, muttering quietly to herself. She looked nervous. “Something on your mind?” 

Sam was startled out of her thoughts. “Huh? Oh yeah.” She noticed his disheveled appearance, also noting he was fidgety. Was he going to do what she was about to do? “What about you, you look like you’ve been thinking a little too hard about something.” She smiled softly. 

Danny chuckled, “Yeah, but it’ll resolve itself soon. I’ll worry about it after the movies. Tuck should be here any second. Oh, but I’m glad you’re early. Can you help me with something quick?” 

“Of course.” Sam followed him to his desk, smiling and rolling her eyes when he pointed to a homework problem. “I should have known.” 

Danny gave her a lopsided smile and watched as she showed him how to do the problem in her perfect handwriting. It took no more than a couple of minutes. Now, they were just waiting for Tucker to arrive. 

Sam looked at the time. He would be here soon. She needed to do this now. She needed to tell Danny. She couldn’t wait until after the movies for him to tell her. She had already waited long enough and couldn’t bear another second.

“Danny, can I talk to you for a second?” She sat down on his bed and gestured for him to do the same. 

Danny could sense the seriousness in her voice, and nodded anxiously. He was scared when Sam was serious about things. It was usually something bad.

“Danny…” She decided to get straight to the point. “I like you. As in like-like you. More than like, and more than a friend. And we’ve been doing this dancing around for at least 4 years now and I’m sick of it. I just want to be with you already. What do you say?” Sam held her breath as she waited for Danny to answer. 

He stared at her with wide eyes before nervously rubbing the back of his neck and turning his attention to his shoes, avoiding eye contact with the goth. God, why him?! He had stupidly thought, for once, things would be easier for him this time. He had already sent an offline message to Chaos that he wanted to ask her something, and then Sam had to come along and tell him what he had wanted to hear for some time now. But he couldn’t blow Chaos off when he had already somewhat asked. Of course, his life just had to be complicated every step of the way. He really liked both girls and didn’t want to hurt his best friend. Regardless, he had to be honest. He owed Sam that much. “Well, I mean, yeah, but…” 

“But what?” Sam whispered, clearly already upset. Fuck. Fuck fuck FUCK. This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. He decided to try going with Chaos so he could avoid heartbreak from his best friend. The very thing he had been so afraid of, he was doing to her right now. 

Danny sighed again. “But I can’t. I’m so sorry, Sam.” It was hard to choke out, but he said it, and he felt terrible. He pressed his lips together and kept staring at his shoes until Sam lifted his chin up, forcing him to look at her. 

“What do you mean you don’t feel the same way? We’ve had mutual crushes on each other for years!” Sam said angrily, feeling her heart break as her best friend and love of her life rejected her confession of love. She was so sure he returned her feelings! Especially after all the great conversations they had shared online these last few months. “Or, at least, I thought we did.” Tears swelled in her eyes. Did he lead her on? “I-I need an explanation, Danny,” she quietly stated after he didn’t continue. 

Danny frowned and his heart ached. He didn’t want to hurt his best friend like this. Hell, he really liked her! Of course their crushes were mutual! And if this had happened 6 months ago instead of now, he would have jumped at the chance. But now...now he had Chaos and already forced himself to stick with his decision. It was easy with Chaos; there was no friendship to risk, no denying of being lovebirds or brushing off kisses as fakeout makeouts. Plus, he couldn’t lie to his best friend. She would know if he was lying. And he already told himself she deserved the truth. “There’s...someone else…” 

“What?” Sam whispered before turning angry again, “Paulina? Valerie? Star?” she spat out. 

Danny shook his head, “Ew, no...it’s someone I met online...I’m so sorry, Sam. I like you a lot, I really do, but I think I’ve already come to the conclusion that I like this girl I met online, Chaos, and I have to try to see that through.” 

Many emotions crossed Sam’s face as she pieced together what he just said. At first she was upset, but as he explained himself, she felt disbelief, confusion, anger, and finally, hope. He couldn’t really be that clueless, right? “Show me.” 

“Huh? I mean, I don’t actually know what she looks like, but we message every night and she really understands me! I know it sounds ridiculous, but-” 

“Show me,” Sam repeated. “Show me her profile.” 

“You’re not going to hurt her, are you?” Danny questioned cautiously.

“No, of course not. Just shut up and show me the profile.” Sam was more calm now, and that was kind of scary. Even though Sam said she wouldn’t hurt Chaos, he didn’t want to give her the chance. But he knew how stubborn his friend was, and eventually in whatever way, she would force the information out of him. 

Danny sighed and pulled up the profile to show Sam. “I’m sorry, Sam. I’m still your best frien-” 

“Shut up.” Sam scrolled through what Danny pulled up for her and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. Closing her eyes slowly, she took a deep breath. “Didn’t Chaos tell you her name?” 

“Uh,” Danny thought, “oh yeah! She said her name was Sam, because I thought she was a boy at first and I had an existential crisis, but then Tucker told me-” 

“Danny. I’m Sam.” 

“No I know, and sure it’ll be a little weird cause you’re Sam and she’s Sam, it’s confusing, but I-” 

Sam interrupted him once again. She could hear Tucker’s footsteps approaching. She was running out of time to not make this a spectacle. “No, Danny. Chaos. Sam. Me. I’m Sam. I am Sam,” 

Tucker only heard the tail end of the conversation as he entered the room. Never able to pass up a comedic opportunity, he smirked and added “I am Sam. Sam I am. I do not like green eggs and ham!” 

It was suddenly silent in the room as his friends seized conversation and glared at him. Oops. 

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” Tucker could see the fire in Sam’s eyes. “Uh, oh wait I forgot my...sock. I’ll be downstairs!” He raced out of the room.

Sam turned her attention back to Danny. “No, you stupid fucking MORON. I am Chaos. You’ve been talking to me the whole time. I thought you knew that!” Danny stared at her blankly until she pulled out her phone and he watched her log into her account, proving it to him. Sure enough, it was Chaos’s profile. He could see all the direct messages between them, including his offline message about wanting to ask her something.

“Wait, you? You’re Sam? I mean, Chaos? I mean Sam?” Danny looked back and forth between the profile and his best friend. 

“UGH!” Sam shouted as she threw her hands in the air. “Yes, Danny. That’s me! Did you really not notice that Chaos was the same age as me and a girl who goes to our school? We have the same name and interests! Didn’t you wonder why it was so easy to talk right off the bat? I thought you put that all together and us just pretending to not know each other was a little bit you were trying to do or something!” 

Danny stared at her as he continued to piece it all together. He was definitely embarrassed. He felt so stupid. How could he not tell that Chaos was Sam, his best friend since 7th grade? Talk about being totally clueless. 

Wait. Clueless? Well, fuck! He got the nickname now! 

His eyes flickered back and forth as he thought everything through. Eventually, he started to crack a smile. “Wait, so I’ve had a crush on you and also you? You’re the same person! This is great! Do you know what this means?!” 

Sam slapped her forehead and began walking downstairs. “I don’t even know if this is worth it anymore…” 

“Wait, how come Tuck and I never knew you played video games! We can enter team tournaments! You’re so good!” Danny chased after her. 

Tucker watched as Sam grumbled about Danny caring more about video games than her. An excited Danny was right on her tail. 

“Tucker! Sam is Chaos! I’ve been in love with Sam this whole time!” Danny explained. 

“Tucker, I need you to refrain me from slapping his stupid clueless face,” Sam started. 

“Wait, you didn’t know Sam was Chaos? Dude! I thought I was obvious about that!” Tucker began laughing at Danny. 

“I know, so did I.” Sam crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Danny, you can calculate levels of rocket fuel and figure out how to get us to Mercury or something,” Tucker started. 

“Mars, actually,” Danny corrected. 

“But you can’t figure out that your best friend and your crush are the same person? You’re more than Captain Clueless, you’re like….Lieutenant Clueless? That’s like, bigger right?” Tucker continued. 

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Tuck,” Sam chimed in. 

“Shut up Sam, this isn’t about you,” Tucker immediately stopped his train of thought when he felt Sam glaring daggers at him. “Heh, uh. Except it does. It actually has nothing to do with me. I’m sorry I told you to shut up, please don’t hurt me!” He threw his hands up in front of himself in defense. 

“Relax, Tucker. I’m more angry with this fucking dingus,” she pointed her thumb in Danny’s direction. 

The halfa was about to protest, then closed his mouth. “That’s fair, I deserve that.” 

“I can’t even look at you right now. You scared me! I poured out my emotions to you. I thought you were rejecting me and that I would have to change my name and move to a different country! Wait, are you still rejecting me?” Sam stopped her pacing to look at him. 

“Of course not, Sammy!” 

“Oh don’t you ‘Sammy’ me! I told you I love you, you stupid fucking idiot!” Sam began throwing pillows at Danny, who expertly dodged them (though as a result, Tucker got hit in the face by one). 

“Technically, you didn’t say ‘love’ you said ‘like’”, Danny offered as Tucker shook his head and slashed finger across his neck, signaling Danny to stop talking. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! This is all my fault! I’m going to go jump off a cliff now!” Sam growled and Danny let out a small “oomph” as one of the pillows finally got him. 

“I’m out. Good luck, bro!” Tucker quickly slipped out the door, leaving Danny and Sam alone. 

Sam was about to follow Tucker out when Danny stopped her, “please don’t leave!” She still had angry tears in her eyes. He frowned. This was not how he expected things to go. She watched him for a few seconds before sitting down on the couch, refusing to look at him. “Sam I’m so sorry, this is just a huge misunderstanding.”

“No, Danny. It’s not. You were going to turn me down to go out with someone else.”

“But that someone was still you!”

“Yeah, but you didn’t know that! We’ve been friends for years, and you were more interested in someone you just met a few months ago! I don’t want to be anyone’s second choice, Danny! I’ve been standing by for years as you continuously chose other girls over me. I thought we were done with that, and that you were finally choosing me first, but you won’t and you never will and I’m so stupid.” Sam put her head in her hands as she tried her hardest not to let tears fall. 

And that was when he finally figured it out. It wasn’t just the moment of rejection, it was years of rejection, and at her biggest confession, she still thought he was choosing someone over her. Not to mention, Tucker witnessed most of the conversation. Sam rarely showed her emotions. She always had her heart guarded, and he knew this. Tucker knew this. Hell, she didn’t even tell them she was rich until after a few years of friendship. It took them a while to get her to open up to them. She was a pretty private person. She was probably already hurt like this before. And now, she was probably embarrassed.

“You’re definitely not stupid. I’m stupid. I should have known it was you. That was actually what I really liked about Chaos, she reminded me of you.” 

Sam forced a small sarcastic laugh, “Yeah, right.” 

“No really,” Danny sat on the couch next to her and grabbed her hand, placing it in both of his. “Sam, you’re absolutely incredible. How dumb would I have to be to not notice?” Sam gave him a pointed look. “Okay yeah but it’s not the way you think it is. I liked Chaos because she was a lot like you. She reminded me of you. And it just seemed easier to go with her because she was basically you, but she and I didn’t have a really great friendship that could have gotten ruined if we broke up or something. I could live without her, but I can’t live without you. You’re always my number one. Always have been, always will be. Even if I did just fuck everything up. I’m so sorry, Sam. I’m ready to be with you, if you’ll still have me.” 

Sam stayed silent and stared at her lap, processing this new information. Of course she would forgive him; she always did. She just needed a little time. 

Danny was getting nervous that he really did fuck this up for good. This was so fucking important! He couldn’t risk fucking this up! Sensing her hesitation, Danny tried one more thing to get her back. One thing he hasn’t done before. One thing he just learned how to perfect.  

“Sammy, I’m sorry,” a duplicate popped up next to her on the other side of the couch, startling her. 

“Please forgive me?” Another duplicate was floating in front of her, hanging upside down, hair flopping all over the place. 

“I know I’m a dummy but,” Sam snapped her head towards a third duplicate. 

“I’m only a dummy because I’m in love. With you,” the real Danny finished. Sam looked back and forth between all the Dannys.  

“We’re sorry, Sammy,” all the duplicates said at once. 

Sam was trying really hard to hold back a smile. “You learned how to duplicate,” she stated simply. 

Original Danny grabbed her hands. “Sam. I will make this up to you. I promise.” 

She could hear the determination in his voice and sighed. “You better.” 

Danny smiled and hugged her. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!!! I love you so much!”

Sam pushed him off of her. “I love you too, you fucking idiot.” 

“But I get to be your idiot!” Sam couldn’t hold her laughter back anymore. “Oh!” Danny shouted, “Will you go to the dance with me? Please?” 

Sam pretended to ponder the answer before saying “alright”. 

“Yay!” All 4 Dannys cheered. The duplicates on either side of her kissed her cheeks as the real Danny kissed her forehead tenderly. The final duplicate, feeling left out, squeezed his way in to give her a hug. 

Sam was now roaring with laughter before kissing the real Danny sweetly. “You know, duplicates won’t always get you out of trouble,” she warned. 

“Yeah, but they could come in handy for other things,” he wagged his eyebrows up and down suggestively before passionately kissing her, the duplicates kissing her neck and touching her in near-dangerous places. 

Sam bit back a moan, eyes lustful before smirking, “I think you just found a way to make it up to me.” She began dragging the real Danny and one of his duplicates back to his room. Fuck the movies.

[muyurei]

Cultural Relics Are Not To Be Messed With – Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Guanghe Underworld Criminal Organization

sorry for the slow pace of translations 🙇‍♀️ here’s chapter two!

There is a high chance that Dong Mingbo’s already heard of the demon knife Qi Chen had spoken about, probably because despite being the middle-aged man he is, his heart is yet to be diminished and is still full of desire for thrill and vitality, so he looked for and then collected a knife that looked demonic enough in itself and even named it as such. Besides this possibility, this knife could have also been commissioned with the purpose of replicating Long Ya, or the Dragon Tooth knife, and in the need to make it look as realistic as possible, it was also broken and made to look as though it was the real deal with how it’s being restored.

Of course, it wasn’t as though Qi Chen was silly enough to go ahead and ask these questions, so he left his inner thoughts alone and went out of the office, not forgetting to heed to Dong Mingbo’s request of closing the door. He then went downstairs and returned to his workshop.

Guanghe Company’s number of employees was very limited in number. In the two days Qi Chen has spent working here, he’s only seen around a dozen to twenty people, most of them gathered in the large, open office room located on the second floor of Building A. On one side of the office, there were floor-to-ceiling windows that gave the room a lot of light. There were even potted plants arranged near them in an organized manner. Up ahead, there was a semi-open office room only separated from the outside by a translucent glass door, only a little smaller in size. This was the place where the leaders of each team and department in the office stayed in, in which around seven or eight office tables were placed inside.

When Qi Chen came to report in the first say he went here, it was very fortunate for him that the tables in that office were labeled with name plates indicating who occupied that spot, making it easier to navigate around, all of which were likely put up by the respective owners of those office tables. However, there was one unoccupied table among those. It was empty, and it didn’t have a name plate.

Conveniently, at that moment, there was a girl who was a member of the company’s human resources personnel. She pointed at the empty table and told him: “Originally, this was supposed to be where the deputy leader of the executive team sits, but he had been heavily injured the last time he was out on a business trip. He’s been stuck in a comatose for about two or three years now, so the table was emptied and the computer was restarted. It’s very much alright to occupy the table now, though, so don’t worry too much about anything regarding transferring to a new work place.”

Qi Chen: “...Wait just a moment! What do you mean by ‘heavily injured on a business trip and was rendered comatose for two to three years’? What exactly...?”

The girl thought about it for a moment, then replied: “You call it... vegetative state, was it? The word’s vegetative, right? Ah, whatever. He just doesn’t respond or move anymore, like this–” She then rolled her eyes back and tilted her head, showing him an expression of someone who had hemiplegia for a few seconds.

Qi Chen: “...”

“You get that?” The girl returned to her normal appearance. She patted Qi Chen’s shoulder and then added: “That’s not the main point I have here, though. Honestly speaking, you seem all delicate skin and tender flesh there, so I’d kindly like to remind you of something... do you see that desk behind you?”

Qi Chen really wanted to know how the quiet-looking, small-staff girl managed to speak with the atmosphere like that of a White-Bone Demon*, but he pushed this thought down and turned behind him to look at the desk as she told him to. He was greeted with the sight of a frosted acrylic name plate attached to the desk – Executive Team Leader • Long.

(*t/n: white-bone demon, a character from journey to the west. see: https://villains.fandom.com/wiki/Baigujing. in modern business terms though, it refers to women in powerful positions. think of it as though hr girl is speaking with the voice of someone who you’d expect would be the ceo of the place)

“...Ah, a code name?” His mouth twitched as he looked at the single Chinese character that literally meant ‘dragon’.

HR girl shook her head. “No, he really is surnamed Long.”

In the company, workers often had name plates on their desks, usually containing their position, the team or section that they work in, and their full name for easy and convenient identification. For instance, this table in front of Qi Chen had a name plate with Supervisory Team Leader • Hu Yi engraved on it, just like how the usual pattern of name plates in the company go. This person, however, only had their surname engraved on their name plate, which was rather unusual, but other than that, there didn’t seem to be anything else on the desk that seemed strange. Because of this, Qi Chen wondered: Is there something wrong with this team leader?

It was lunchtime, which meant there weren’t any people in the office, so the HR girl didn’t hold back at all in her talking. She pinched her thumb and index finger together, leaving just a little bit of space between them, and said: “Executive Team Leader Long has a... slightly bad temper, so to say. Don’t try to make any mistakes that might provoke him, alright?”

However, despite two days having passed since he first worked here, Qi Chen was unable to see this slightly bad-tempered executive team leader. It was said that he had gone on a business trip, and his return date hasn’t been determined yet. Qi Chen didn’t take the warning too seriously – the executive team and the logistics team are, after all, different from each other. He’ll just have to be careful when it comes to interacting with other teams, especially with their leaders.

He recorded today’s work – the restoration of the Dragon Tooth knife earlier in the morning – into the work log, then looked at the time, only to see that it was time for lunch. Qi Chen had just clicked save when he felt as though the computer screen suddenly bugged out, and a quick, blinding glare from outside the window flashed before his eyes. He blinked, then turned his head to look at the glass of water on the table. It was half-full, and the water inside of it seemed to be shaking, though it wasn’t very obvious unless it was looked at closely. Soon, it stopped, returning back to normal.

“Earthquake...?” Qi Chen muttered below his breath. He couldn’t help but look up – he felt as though there was some slight movement coming from upstairs just now.

Regardless of whether it was an earthquake or something that was being heavily moved upstairs, it had gone by in the blink of an eye. Qi Chen glanced at the ceiling for a second time and then withdrew his gaze, not thinking much of it.

The people in the company was very precise with their mealtimes – they were never too early or too late when it comes to coming and going about with their food. Naturally, Qi Chen always felt that eating was a delight, so after cleaning up his work table, he took out his phone and his wallet, and then he walked out. Behind him, a small, thin, dark-skinned man also proceeded to walk out, looking down at his phone at the same time.

Because of this, the following events happened:

As they walked out of the building, Qi Chen saw a tall figure emerging from the side, who was just about to enter through the door. Before they could accidentally bump into each other, Qi Chen and the tall man were able to stop walking for a moment.

Qi Chen was secretly celebrating in his heart that he managed to avoid an ‘accident gone bad’ when the man who was fiddling with his phone behind him suddenly ran into Qi Chen.

Thump! Qi Chen was then knocked forward and his forehead hit the tall man’s chin.

Qi Chen: “...”

The man hissed and took a step back, holding his jaw in his hand. “Do you even know how to walk?! Just going around with your eyes closed, aren’t you?”

“Sorry.” Qi Chen rubbed his forehead, thinking to himself, I really did just get shot while I was lying down, didn’t I.

(t/n: to get shot at while lying down = to get berated/scolded despite having done nothing on purpose)

He stepped aside to move out of the man’s way, and only then did he notice that the man was holding a cup of coffee in his other hand. However, he probably had to dispose of it soon, considering that the coffee had splashed out just a bit. Not on Qi Chen’s body, though – on the man’s hand, and his iron gray trousers.

“Lao, Lao, Lao– Boss?! Why are you here?!” The little dark-skinned man poked out his head from behind Qi Chen. Seeing the person who they had bumped into, he couldn’t help but stutter and call out weakly, only to end up shrinking back behind Qi Chen.

Qi Chen, who had somehow became a human-shaped shield: “...”

The man was wearing a light gray dress shirt, very akin to the color of smoke, and it looked as though it had been carefully tailored to fit his body – broad-shouldered and long-legged, tall and lean; it made him look very respectable and serious*. If he didn’t have that annoyed expression on his face, he would’ve definitely left an excellent impression on Qi Chen, 100% at that. He couldn’t see the man who was cowering behind Qi Chen, so Qi Chen had to bear the brunt of his scowl. “Am I not allowed here? Would you rather that I’m not?”

(t/n: literally, he looked like a dog. someone who looks upright and dignified but actually has an unpleasant attitude)

The little man paused and thought back to what he said. After thinking about it, he felt as though he really did just sound rather rude earlier, so he poked his head out from behind Qi Chen again and said, “Boss, why come back just now! We missed you to death!”

Qi Chen: “...” What an ever-loyal dog!

(t/n: literally, what a big dog leg. refers to disciples who’d follow their masters around. may or may not be a reference to the “looked like a dog” part in the previous sentences)

However, the man ignored the little man’s buttery words. Instead, he turned to Qi Chen and sized him up with a disdainful expression on his face. He muttered a few words, though because his voice was too low and quiet, Qi Chen only caught wind of the word ‘knife’ and nothing else.

“Ah, by the way boss, just earlier, my head was lowered down because I was scrolling through Weibo... I wasn’t able to see where I was going, so I knocked into him, which resulted to the two of you bumping into each other...” The little man’s voice kept getting quieter and quieter, and while it was evident he was scared, he didn’t forget to clear Qi Chen’s name to his boss.

Qi Chen didn’t mind too much, in all honesty, but he felt around his pockets for a pack of tissues, took one out and handed it to the man: “I’ll get you another cup. Please wipe your hands.”

“No need!” Despite his temperament, the man has profoundly handsome features, and was born with good and smooth skin. At this moment, though, he had a deep frown on his face, looking as though everyone around him owed him eight million in cash, and his voice was full of impatience. He didn’t even glare at the real cause of their accident – he continued to look menacingly at Qi Chen, turning over the sleeves of his light gray dress shirt over his wrists twice so the coffee doesn’t seep into the fabric, and he ignored the tissue in Qi Chen’s hand. He passed by Qi Chen’s outstretched arm, taking a long step forward, and continued to walk to the office room meant for the team and department leaders in the company. Before he left, though, he snorted coldly and said: “Is your head made of granite?”

Qi Chen: “...”

How come he’s the only one here getting blown up by this person’s gunpowder?!

(t/n: gunpowder = anger, annoyance, like how ‘exploding in anger’ goes.)

Qi Chen turned his head and saw that the real-life powder keg had already strode in to the small office room, walking straight to the desk that Qi Chen had stood in front of not too long ago, and put down his coffee cup on the table...

This was obviously the company’s legendary “slightly bad-tempered” Executive Team Leader Long.

Slightly... bad-tempered...

Haha.

Qi Chen looked away, putting the tissue paper he took out earlier into the little man’s hand. “Let’s just go eat now.”

The little man froze for a moment, and up and about he went, trailing after Qi Chen.

“Qi Chen?” The little man looked at the ID that Qi Chen had on him, and then warmly said, “Eh? Xiao Chen, I’m so sorry... I really was just fiddling around with my phone and didn’t look at where I was going... I ended up even getting you disciplined... Because of this, let me treat you to lunch to make up for it! What do you want to eat? Do you want to go to the underground–“

“Underground what?” Qi Chen wasn’t very familiar with this particular area in the business district, so he didn’t know where the nice places to eat in were. However, he does remember that just beyond the traffic light by the company’s gate, there was an underground shopping mall nearby. He thought that that was what the little man had been telling him about, so he nodded and said: “Alright, let’s eat there. I don’t really know my way around here just yet, so I’ll just go with whatever you recommend. Though, it’s really not necessary to treat me. I won’t break or lose anything just by getting scolded by Executive Team Leader Long, so don’t worry about it.”

“About the executive team leader... he sure does have quite the temper, but most of those in business are like that, you know. It’s normal to find someone here who’s that fierce, and it’s not an understatement to say that we’re all pretty afraid of them. I mean, even Supervisory Team Leader Hu doesn’t look very approachable, always standing there with that menacing face... it’s scary. It does make sense, though, given his position in the supervision team.” He followed Qi Chen, telling him the things he knew while gesturing around. “And Ming-jie, you don’t just get to talk to her whenever you want. Most of the time, she gives everyone that glare overflowing with a k*ller’s aura. If the person on the receiving end isn’t used to it, they might just piss their pants out of fear.”

(t/n: jie, literally, sister. sister ming. used to address girls who are older than you.)

Qi Chen: “...”

He walked out of the company area and looked back at the building’s sign with confusion. He asked the little man: “I still know how to read, right?”

The little man: “...”

Qi Chen: “You were talking about the people working in Guanghe Cultural Heritage Conservation Co., Ltd., right?”

The little man: “...”

Qi Chen: “For a moment, I really thought we worked at Guanghe Underworld Criminal Organization.”

The little man: “Sh... Is something not right?”

Qi Chen nodded. “I don’t think anything here is right.”

The little man: “...”

Qi Chen continued to walk towards the underground shopping mall near the traffic light with a solemn expression on his face. The little man immediately caught up to him in two steps, slapping Qi Chen’s back and said: “Wait a moment!”

F*ck! Can a human being even be this strong?!

Qi Chen, who had been ‘patted’ on the back, almost vomited out his kidneys. He looked back at the other man dejectedly and asked: “What?”

The little man replied, “Why are we stepping out of the company?”

“Aren’t we going to the underground mall to eat?” Qi Chen looked puzzled.

The little man took a look at the entrance to the underground mall near them and suddenly remembered that there was indeed a food court inside. “Ah! So you want to eat human food today?”

Qi Chen: “...” What are you even saying!

“Then... what was that underground thing you mentioned earlier?” Qi Chen asked exasperatedly.

The little man turned his head and pointed at the company building. “There’s a cafeteria in the basement floor of our building. You can enter just by swiping your ID.”

“...” The corners of Qi Chen’s mouth twitched. “Do you... usually eat non-human food?”

The little man’s face brightened. “Yes!”

Qi Chen decisively crossed the road. “...No thank you. I think I’ll pass on the company cafeteria for now...”

The little man stood on one side of the road and looked at Qi Chen’s back, muttering to himself: “There’s something wrong here...”

He followed the rope tied to his ID while crossing the road and caught up to Qi Chen in three steps.

The midday sun reflected on the glass windows of the high-rise buildings, the light felt more of a glare to the eyes, blinding anyone who looks. Behind him, there was a heavy traffic, and pedestrians bustled in a stream. When Qi Chen was about to step on the escalator to go to the underground mall, he heard the little man behind him mumble something, and asked him: “Xiao Chen, you wouldn’t happen to be human, would y–“

“AH–!”

Someone let out a shrill shriek not too far from behind them, interrupting the little man’s words. They were both startled, stopping in their tracks and looking back at the commotion. A crowd had formed by the road. Qi Chen didn’t know what happened, only that nothing happened in the road just then. He could vaguely hear a woman crying out loud, and the onlookers let out worried noises.

“I’m not... I... I don’t know how I...”

The words were said rather irregularly in broken stutters, until it didn’t even sound coherent at all.

The author has something to say:

Little theater: Qi Chen: The moment I met you, it felt like eating ☐☐ do you have a grudge against me →_→ Long Ya: You literally filed me all over! Qi Chen: Obviously I had to, it’s not on purpose, but glaring at me and only me, aren’t you afraid that your eyes might fall out →_→ Long Ya: You actually used something so ordinary and stupid as a metal file on me! Qi Chen: File and weld gently my &ss! Long Ya: Now that you’ve mentioned it, you actually f*cking welded me with a welding gun too! Qi Chen: No way to talk properly now [bye bye (t/n: literally, 【手动拜拜. refers to the bye bye hand emoticon on weibo and qq that moves)

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(As of 04/13/21: Edited.)

[lu-undy]

Chapter 107 - SBT

Here it is!

"Meow…" 

"Non, mon garçon." Lucien turned his head. "Glovy, those tomatoes are not ready yet, do not bite them." 

[No, my boy.]

"Meow!" 

"Glovy..." Mundy added from a few metres away, in a fatherly tone. He was lying on the grass with a hat on his face and Soot lying on his chest and stomach, napping. 

"Meow…!"

"Glovy, you don't want me to count to three now…" Mundy said and the kitten obeyed on the spot. 

"He listens to you better than he does me." Lucien said, raising his head from the tomato plants. He had spent the afternoon there, helping Caroline to take care of the plants. He had trimmed the trees and was now on his knees, removing the weeds between the tomatoes. 

The kittens were roaming around, discovering fresh grass and a garden. Most of them played with the plants innocently. Only Glovy had wanted to taste them with his little fangs.

"Kitties? Who wants some treats?" 

"Mum, you gave them some after lunch already…!" Mundy removed his hat off of his face and looked up at his mother.

"It's four in the afternoon! Someone's gotta feed the little ones so that they grow strong, eh, Glovy?"

"Meow! Meow! Meow!" The kittens came jumping around Caroline's feet. She sat on a chair and bent down to deal the treats to the eager little balls of fluff.

Mundy was laying on the grass, with Soot on his chest, while Perle was inside, with Mike.

"Easy on the food, Glovy." 

Glovy stopped chewing sharp before resuming. He swallowed his treat and his ears pulled back. Caroline winked at the kitten and offered him an additional treat, as she put a finger on her lips. 

"Mum… Don't try and feed him behind my back."

"How did you know?" 

"Cause you used to do the same with me." Mundy said as he opened his eyes and stood up. "Right, I need to go now, Mum. I'll say bye to Dad on my way."

"You need to go?" Lucien raised surprised eyebrows and turned to his lover who was approaching him. 

"Yeah, but don't worry, we'll spend the evenin' together. There's somethin' I need to do first. And by the way…" Mundy crouched to whisper in Lucien's ear. "Dress up nice and come at 7pm at the crossroad between the High Street and King James Avenue."

Lucien's cheeks went pink. 

"Fine, I will."

"Be there on time and put on the nicest clothes you have. We'll spend the evenin' just you and me." Mundy turned to his mother who was playing with the kittens. "Mum, you'll watch over the cats tonight, right?"

"Yeah, we will, don't worry…!" Caroline answered. 

"Right, I'd better go then, I got stuff to prepare." Mundy winked at Lucien and the Frenchman felt like the most special man on Earth. "See you later, Lu'."

"See you, Mundy." 

Mundy went away and Lucien stayed with Caroline in her garden. The kittens seemed to love playing there. Soot went to Lucien and sat next to him while the Frenchman went on cleaning the plants area. 

And soon, the time came for Lucien to go and get ready himself.

"Don't worry, Lucien, I'll keep an eye on them." Caroline came to the living-room.

"Yeah, you go and find Micky. We'll take care of the kids." Mike answered from the sofa, brushing Perle, lying like a queen on his stomach and lap. 

Lucien went to Mike and sat down next to him for a moment.

"Are you sure about this? I would understand if you changed your mind. Looking after all these little ones is quite tiring."

"What are you on about? They're lovely!" Caroline said. "Besides, playin' in the garden got them all tired and they're sleeping now."

"Yeah, and look at this one. She likes watchin' the television with the old man, eh?" Mike looked at Perle on his lap.

"I think what she likes the most is the attention, the scratches and you feeding her treats…" 

"Maybe, but she likes me too! Eh, baby, tell yer dad you like your old Mike, yeah?"

"Meow!" Perle answered. 

"See? She does!"

Lucien got closer to the sofa. 

"Thank you very much, Mike, I really appreciate your efforts." 

Mike moved his eyes from the television screen to Lucien's light blue eyes. 

"Well, thank you too. Carrie was right."

"I heard that!" A feminine voice said from the kitchen and Mike rolled his eyes with a smile. 

"I mean," Mike went on. "Micky really found what he was lookin' for with you."

"I try my best." 

"Ya don't need to, son. Now you guys go and have yer fun. And whatever you do, you watch out for each other, yeah? And you be good to my Micky, eh?"

"I dream of nothing else." 

"Did he tell ya what's the plan?" 

"Mike…! It's their evening, not yours, get yer nose out of their business right now!" Caroline answered from the kitchen, surrounded by the mewling kittens. 

"Non, I do not know." Lucien answered, whispering.

"Lucien!" She added and both Mike and Lucien chuckled.

"Right, you go before she gets out the kitchen and tells us off, yeah?"

"I shall, thank you again for looking after the babies."

"Meow?" Perle raised her head and her paw to her Papa. Lucien took it and left a kiss on her white fluff.

"I shall see you tomorrow." 

"You have a good evenin', Lu'!" 

"Merci, Caroline, see you tomorrow!"

And Lucien left the house. Mundy had told him to go back home and get ready for an evening just with him. What for? Lucien didn't know, but if Mundy thought he could surprise Lucien, he had another thing coming! 

Lucien had hesitated quite a bit before deciding, but he shall do it. He headed straight for the bedroom when he arrived, he lost no time stripping naked and started the act. He had dressed as a woman before, oui, and had put on the whole elegant show. This time, it shall be different. This time, he shall play another card. 

He had talked to Richard about it and the taylor agreed to help, not without having a second of surprise however. It was a request for a dress, but not any odd one. 

"Cut?"

"Close to the skin, but comfortable and not compromising." 

"Length?"

"Down to half of the thighs."

"Colour?"

"Bright red."

"Dinner or social event?"

"Special occasion, something intimate." 

Richard blushed slightly and his moustache only seemed more white in contrast with his pinkish skin. He stopped taking notes for an instant to clear his throat, before going on.

"Fabric?"

"Enticing to the eye and the touch." 

"Any special requirements?"

"The cleavage." Richard raised an eyebrow. "Generous." Lucien added. 

The Frenchman had his eyes closed on the tailor's armchair, imagining the dress as he described it. The smoke of his cigarette wreathed and curled, rising in the air. 

"Anything to go with it?" 

"Do you happen to make lingerie?" 

Richard adjusted the glasses on his nose. 

"I do."

"Can you do it for men?" 

"I thought you had resigned." Richard answered. 

"What? Non, I am still a teacher, but what does it have to do with-?"

"No..." Richard took his eyes off of his notebook. "I thought you had resigned from your military duties." 

"Of course, I have. I am not a spy anymore…!"

"Then, why the disguise?" Richard asked.

"It is no disguise."

The tailor frowned.

"I will not act a part that isn't myself." Lucien made himself clearer. "If my demand cannot be met, I understand perfectly, Richard. But if I am asking you of all people, it is because I know the quality of your work, and I wouldn't want anyone else for this. I wouldn't be able to ask anyone else."

Richard raised his eyes to Lucien. 

"I shall do it. After your last request, I thought that it was for someone else…"

"Non, of course not." Lucien said. "It is for me." 

"I am relieved." Richard nodded. 

"What were you imagining?" Lucien asked. 

"Well… If you had come back to your military duties, then surely you wouldn't work for France, and as such, I should have to treat you with distrust, at least. And if, like last time, you asked me to use your measurements to fit the dress, then surely, with M…?"

"Oh, you thought my relationship with M ended and I was now seeing a woman?"

Richard nodded. 

"What else could I have understood?"

"And why would I train my walking with high heels here?" Lucien answered. 

"Ah, yes, that I do not know…" 

"I merely want to surprise Mundy." Lucien answered. "You should have seen his face last time when he finally understood that the woman flirting with him was me in fact." Lucien chuckled, thinking about it again. "But again, if you do not want to do it for any reason, I shall by no means force you."

"Non, please." Richard shook his head. "I must admit that your orders always push the limits of my knowledge and my craft. My apologies for judging, and badly so. I should take this as an opportunity to hone my skills and teach my sons with me." Richard nodded to himself. "You know, uhm…" He looked left and right before going on. "One of my sons, Paul, the eldest…"

"What about him?" Lucien asked. 

"He… I think you and M gave him the courage that he needed." Richard blushed and Lucien didn't understand where he was going. "He… He confessed to his mother and I that he… He prefers gentlemen." 

Lucien's eyebrows jumped in surprise. 

"Now, we did have our doubts but he just confirmed it and… We are actually delighted that he worked up the courage to tell us."

The Frenchman smiled. 

"He is fortunate enough to have a father who describes himself as 'delighted' about it." Lucien said. 

"Indeed. I imagine others are not so fortunate."

"Far from it."

Richard shook his head. 

"Anyway, now, to come back to the dress…" 

And Lucien described the vision he had, something that was enticing, revealing and inviting. The only thing the Frenchman wished he could buy was a few years of his life back. Ah, he wished he was closer to Mundy's age… 

In any case, he put on the lingerie, the stockings, the dress, and the assorted red high-heeled stilettos. Lucien then went to the bathroom and put on his make-up. Eyeliner, mascara and this time, a hint of red lipstick. He put on golden earrings, a long and thin golden necklace and looked at himself in the mirror. 

His hair. 

What should he do with it? Ponytail? Bun? Braid? 

Non, non, non. He needed something bold, something to go with the glamourous show he had been planning. 

"Fine then…" He grabbed his hair dryer and a brush, and got to work. 

-- Later -- 

"Gosh, he should be here…" Mundy looked at his watch and his eyebrows jumped. "Ah, yeah…" 

He had worn Lucien's watch for the night, the one he had broken on the day he had died. It was permanently 4.26pm. 

He smiled. 

Looking at that broken watch didn't pinch his heart anymore, and especially not today. It made him smile. That broken watch was an I love you in itself, it was something that Lucien had left before giving away one year of his remaining life. And for what? For the mad hope that somehow he would end up with Mundy. Somehow…

"C'mon…" Mundy wanted to wipe his sweaty hands on his trousers but refrained from doing so. "Mh." He grumbled and waited.

He had told Lucien to be there, at that crossroad, and on time. It wasn't too far from the house. But the Aussie started to be nervous. He thought back about what his mother and father had told him and kept on repeating to himself to breathe. 

Take a deep breath, take a deep breath, take a deep-

"Hey there, 'scuse me," Mundy turned to the feminine voice and the pat on the shoulder. "D'you know where I could find a wild man in a van?" 

Mundy's eyebrows jumped. In the night street, the Aussie couldn't see the woman clearly, but gosh, the curves, the shapes…! Mundy's eyes snapped back to her eyes, not without lingering at the wide cleavage and the golden necklace shimmering around her neck, diving down her shy chest. 

"Uh, what?" 

"Mundy, it is me." Lucien chuckled. "How many times can I fool you?" 

"What?! How the fuck?! Hold on…" Mundy put his hands on Lucien's shoulders and pulled him under a lamp post.

"Holy dooley…! What have you… Is it really you? I mean…"

"And look at you, mon amour. What is this suit? I have never seen it." 

Mundy looked down at himself. 

"Well, you aren't the only one who can go to Richard and ask for somethin' special, eh? Like it?" 

Lucien took a keen look. The cut was well adjusted, close to Mundy's body. It made him look even taller. The Frenchman let his fingers touch the fabric. 

"Soft, yet one can feel little asperities. Mixed fabrics, satin and cotton of India." 

"Gosh, you sound like Richard." Mundy chuckled. "Like the colour?" 

"Dark, Burgundy red. One of my favourites." Lucien said. 

"Guessed so." 

"How?" 

"The first time I met you, as a spook, you were dressed in dark red, the suit, the tie, the balala-thingy. Thought I might wear it this time, give it a try. Besides, Richard went about givin' me a lecture about how it would suit me cause of my skin tone or somethin'..."

"Ooh, paid attention we have, huh?" Lucien chuckled.

"Hard to ignore the tailor when he gets emotional, eh?" Mundy grinned. "But I uh… I mean I look at you and uh… Is that really you?"

"Look into my eyes." Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy and the Aussie raised a shy hand to his cheek, cupping it gently, while the other rested on Lucien's hip.

"Gosh, you're… You're even more than last time." 

"More what?" Lucien asked with a smile that made Mundy's heart flutter.

Mundy was devouring him with his eyes. The red, short dress, the black tights, the red high-heels and gosh the face… The face! The eyeliner, the dark yet subtle shadow on his eyelids. Mascara? Was that mascara? His eyelashes didn't need it, they naturally were long and thin, and gently flapped like the wings of a butterfly. 

"Is that… lipstick…?" Mundy squinted on Lucien's lips.

Lucien gently nodded. 

"You didn't have that last time." 

Lucien shook his head and lowered it. 

"Hey…" Mundy put an index finger under Lucien's chin and raised it. "You're beautiful, baby doll." He smiled and Lucien blushed. "And what's with the hair…? Curly and fluffed up? That's… bold. Reminds me of a certain spook I met back in the days, eh." 

"Is it too much?" Lucien asked, his eyes still evading Mundy's as the pink on his cheek deepened. 

"Nah. It's… It's amazin'." 

Lucien finally raised shy eyes to his lover. 

"Really?" He whispered. 

"Yeah, really. And look at you… Dress, purse and everythin'... A gorgeous doll you are." 

"Yours, please?" 

"Course, I'd never imagine that-"

"Hey!" A voice cut them. A group of men were passing by. "The doll busy for tonight?" 

"Yeah, come with us, baby…!" Another man from the group added. 

They were clearly past tipsy. Mundy frowned. 

"We're busy." He simply growled. 

"C'mon mate!" 

"Sharin' is carin'!"

"C'mere baby…!"

"Hands off!" Mundy clenched his jaw and pulled Lucien to himself. "Lay a finger on her and I'll make a necklace of yer teeth." 

"Wohow," One of the men went. "Possessive bloke in a suit. We're five, you're alone, what are you gonna do?" 

"Pop yer teeth," Mundy pointed at the first one. "Re-arrange yer ugly mug," He pointed at the second. "Break your leg." His finger moved again. "And you two, you'll get so scared, you'll shit yourselves and run away." 

The group of men laughed. 

"Well, then, come and get my teeth if ye like, mister suit and tie!" 

Mundy turned to Lucien. The Frenchman's heart was pounding so hard that the dress around the cleavage was shaking. The Aussie bent down to kiss Lucien's brow. "Stay here, baby doll, I'll take just a sec." 

"Mundy, you don't have to-"

"No. I said no one'd touch you and I mean it."

"Then please, go easy on them. The last thing we need is the police after us, especially me, in this attire." Lucien said. 

"Yeah, now stay right here." Mundy kissed Lucien's hand and turned to the group of drunken men. "C'mere then…" Mundy opened his suit jacket. One punch flew and the first man got unconscious before his body hit the ground. "Teeth out? Now, you c'mere…" Another punch flew and the second man hit the floor limply. "And you, yer leg…!" Mundy raised his heeled boot and that's when Lucien realised that those were brand new. They weren't brown, they were black, to better go with the suit. Mundy stomped his heel down the other man's tibia as he had wrapped an arm around his neck. Even Lucien heard the bone break and the Frenchman's thighs tensed. 

Non, non, non, non…! The Frenchman bit his lip and stepped on his own toe to prevent his body from showing the effect that Mundy's confidence had on him. 

"Now, both of you, d'you know who we are?" Mundy addressed the two remaining drunkards. Their knees had given up, they were on the floor, eyes wide and breath sort. As the Aussie didn't receive any response, he bent down and took one of them by his collar. "I said: d'you know who we are?" He spoke slowly, his nostrils flared and his eyes flashing fiercely. 

"N-no, w-we don't know! We swear! Just thought the sheila was for the takin'! We swear!" 

"Then take your mate to a hospital and if you mention my sheila'n me, believe me, I'll find you." Mundy said menacingly and didn't see that under the lamp post, Lucien bit his lip. The Aussie let go of the drunk man and dusted himself off before closing his jacket again and coming back to Lucien. He offered his hand and the Frenchman gladly held it as they started walking in the street. "Sorry about that, baby." 

"I… It… Ah…"

"You alright?" Mundy asked with a chuckle. 

"Oui… I think? This is quite an eventful way to start the evening." 

"And it's only the start, luv'. Now, can you climb on the bike with yer dress?" 

"Oui." 

"Then c'mere and hang on tight." 

Mundy straddled the motorcycle that he had parked a bit further away and invited Lucien to hop on behind him. He started the engine and drove through the streets. Lucien wondered what the Aussie had in mind for them but soon understood when the streets became familiar. 

Eventually, Mundy parked and turned to Lucien, whose dress shimmered under the golden lights of the establishment that both men knew very well. 

The Queen Victoria. 

"Remember this place?" Mundy asked, helping Lucien out of the motorcycle.

"Of course, I do." Lucien answered but he frowned. "Did you book a table there? I cannot go inside, for them, I am dead."

"Relax, I know. I didn't book anythin'. Just wanted to bring you here." 

Both stood side by side, about a dozen or so metres away from the entrance and Mundy laced an arm around Lucien's waist. 

"Brought you here cause this is where I saw you for the first time." Mundy said and Lucien smiled. 

"Are you feeling nostalgic?" 

"Not really. Just been thinkin' about it all, from the start till today. We've done some mad stuff, eh?"

"Quite the adventure indeed." Lucien agreed and leaned on Mundy's side. From where they were they could hardly hear anything but the muffled sound of the music playing in the restaurant. 

"When I saw you in there, you woke things up in me." Mundy said. "At first, I didn't really understand. But the more I came to your shows and listened to you, the more I understood that I just wanted to hold someone, I wanted to have someone to say the words you were singin' to. And then I realised that I wanted someone to sing those words to me… As pathetic as it sounds, I was on my seat there, and I just imagined you were singin' for me."

Lucien leaned his head on Mundy's shoulder. 

"I just… I didn't even want intimate stuff, I just wanted to touch someone, hold their hands, be touched by their hands… Feel like I exist and not just drag my feet from one day to the next." Mundy sighed. "You… You made me fall in love with an idea." 

Lucien raised his head to Mundy and smiled sweetly. 

"With your voice, I just… I felt like I was head over heels for someone who doesn't know I exist, and I didn't even know if they did too. But I felt it in my heart, the butterflies in my stomach, everythin'. I was in love, but with no one."

Lucien grabbed Mundy's arm between both of his and squeezed him gently. 

"I-I don't know if that makes sense." 

"Oui, it does." Lucien said. "You had the same effect on me. I think what we felt was longing. We both had love to give but no one to give it to, no one was worthy enough of the pain and the sacrifices that one does when one is in love. Because when you are in love, then you do not count. Such sacrifices of your time, your space, your energy, your money, all those do not appear as sacrifices, they are investments. You are investing in something that you are building, as opposed to yielding to something that costs you more than what you gain from it." 

"Yeah… Yeah, that's the idea." Mundy nodded. 

Silence fell between them, only interrupted by the occasional passer-bys and cars. Lit by the yellow neon name of the place where they met, Lucien and Mundy shimmered in red, splitting the dark blue night. 

"Why did you bring me here?" Lucien asked. 

"Because that's where it all started. That's where you gave a point to my life that wasn't just kill a bloke to get revenge for my parents. That…" Mundy pointed at the restaurant. "That's the place you revived me, after ten years of draggin' my feet in the desert, walkin' around under the scorchin' sun like a dried lizard. So I wanted to come back and tell you all this before…"

"Before what?" Lucien looked up at his lover. 

Mundy looked away. 

"We need to go." He simply answered and walked towards the motorcycle. Lucien followed him, still hand in hand with him and at a loss as to what Mundy had in mind.

[lightsinthedistancee]

Fragmented Memories: Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader 

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: “He’d put up with the screaming, the crying, the depressive attitudes. He’d tolerated your initial hostility, the way you flinched when he touched you. He took care of you, made sure you ate, got you to sleep. Your love had stuck by you through all of it.”

Poe sticks by Reader through a traumatic event in her life.

Warnings: Implications of Past Sexual Assault, Smut, Profanity

If you wished to be tagged on future works, just leave a comment/reply below or do the form on my masterlist for specific preferences.

A/N (PLEASE READ): Hey guys, I don’t know exactly why I was compelled to write this piece, but I did my research. Tbh, I was hesitant on posting this due to the sensitivity of the subject. Belittling, devaluing, or misrepresenting the experience/struggle of a sexual assault survivor is something I absolutely do not want to do. I am fortunate enough to not have experienced any sexual assault/harassment in my life, meaning I don’t know this experience first hand. If you have any knowledge or find any inaccuracies, feel free to let me know in a comment, and I will fix it. If anyone finds this offensive or as a gross misrepresentation, I will take it down out of respect for that person without hesitation. Enjoy!

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You laid on top of him, your pilot, your love. Sometimes hovering, sometimes resting your whole weight on his form. The air was warm, firm, like a sheet of protectiveness conforming to you. His breath was hot on your skin as he let out soft, unashamed whimpers occasionally.

You peppered soft kisses along his neck and jaw, savoring the feeling of his hands roaming your body, caressing you, feeling you. His touch was gentle, like smooth silk and velvet on your nerves.

He moaned as you ground down on him, feeling his hardness that complemented the desire you felt. You hadn’t felt that desire in a long time—for a particular reason.

This was your first time.

But no, not like that. Not in the sense of what ‘first time’ generally meant.

This was the first time the two of you had made love upon your return from the captivity of the First Order. Your first time after you’d been violated, defiled, made to feel worthless. Like nothing. After having your body used without your permission.

You’d returned a shell of yourself, doing your job for the Resistance with a ruthless, cutthroat efficiency, for you’d blocked everything else in your head out. Locked it all up. But the damming of all your emotions had its side effects.

Poe had put up with the screaming, the crying, the depressive attitudes. He’d tolerated your initial hostility, the way you flinched when he touched you. He took care of you, made sure you ate, got you to sleep. Your love had stuck by you through all of it.

You’d treated him like dirt at first, like something you wanted to get rid of, but simply couldn’t shake. The memory still triggered a guilt in you over a year later. Still, he’d stayed, had held strong as the stability and anchor in your life.

Sex had been unfathomable for the first year, and he’d respected that. He never pushed you, and he never urged you to do things you didn’t want to. Before your capture, your time spent between sheets with him had been passionate, caring, all fiery desire.

And then, it’d faded to nothing upon your return.

Recovery started small at first. A few weeks for you to let him kiss you. A month to let him hug you. Four months for you to let him see you naked again. Six to let him sleep in the same bed as you. Thirteen to let him go down on you again.

And all that led to here, where you were pressed against him, fingers intertwined as his fingers worked their magic between your legs, coaxing out your wetness.

“Alright, baby girl?” he murmured, checking in on you.

You nodded. The two of you had talked of this for weeks before the present moment. What was off limits, what made you uncomfortable, what was absolutely forbidden. “Very alright.”

When you started to moan and move your hips back against his hand, he sat up, pulling you close to his chest. “Ready?” His soft brown eyes searched yours, looking for any signs of discomfort or uncertainty. His concern made you adore him all the more.

You nodded in response to his query, the pleasure at your core begging to be acted upon. He made you feel safe. He always did.

“If you need me to stop, just say something. You need to talk to me.”

“I know.” You said it with a resolute conviction, trusting him in every way. Despite your trauma, a part of your brain still recognized him as the man who had saved your life countless times, who had consoled you in your darkest moments, who had loved you when you felt unlovable.

And with your readiness, you slowly sank down onto him. The feeling was overwhelmingly familiar, in both a good and bad way. It reminded you of passionate nights nearly a year and a half ago. It also reminded you of cold prison cells that came with an impending dread of some guard of officer walking in to have their way with you.

You didn’t realize that you’d zoned out. You came back to reality at the sound of him saying your name. His hands were on your cheeks, gently grasping your face. “Do we need to stop?” he asked, his eyes worried.

You shook your head, both in response and as a way to rid yourself of the dark memories. “No. I’m fine.”

He frowned. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, offering up a small smile and rolling your hips slightly to prove your point. He gasped, gripping your hips, his face buried in your neck.

He let you determine the pace, giving you the control, letting you do things on your own terms. You were moaning, letting out soft whines every time your clit brushed his pelvis. Only when your hands began to claw at his back did he begin to experimentally thrust back, gauging your reactions. All you did was moan louder.

Soft mutters of your name escaped his lips as he breathed shakily. He hadn’t been with anyone else. He would never cheat on you. Needless to say, it’d been a long time since he’d been inside someone, and he wasn’t going to last long.

But you were closer. He’d already had you fairly close to your finish before he’d slid inside you, and each touch to your clit was bringing you nearer and nearer until you were gasping his name. “Fuck, Poe…I’m gonna….” You were unable to finish your sentence before you were going rigid, riding out the waves of your pleasure as he groaned at the feel of your walls clenching around him.

That was the last straw for him, and with one more thrust, he came, his hands knotted in your hair.

You breathed hard as you laid limp on his chest, still feeling the dull throb between your legs. He shifted, lying down and taking you with him, holding you close to him. It reminded you of how desperately you’d missed this: to feel close to someone after sharing such an intimate act.

But as the dopamine and oxytocin wore off, a feeling of horror and something slightly worse began to set in. Fragmented memories flashed through your mind, disconnected, incomplete, yet still enough to set you off.

And then, you were crying. Soft, silent tears, so small and undetectable and helpless that Poe did not even notice them till he felt the liquid on his chest.

You knew that he was, above all, panicked, due to his body language. He said your name like a question, a plea for you to assure him that he was not the reason for you tears.

He was, but only indirectly. At the core of the situation, was you. You and your trauma that made you despise yourself every day for not being able to get over. That you beat yourself up for. You knew that it was a normal reaction, that there was nothing wrong with it, but a part of you would always sum it up as your weakness.

Poe was talking to you, but you barely heard any of it. Only hid behind the veil of your tears.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured. His hold around you now seemed hesitant, unsure of his actions. You rolled out of his arms, settling on the other side of the mattress curled in a ball. The skin-on-skin contact, all of a sudden, felt less like a comfort and more like a threat. “Baby….”

You didn’t respond, once again locking him out.

There was a feeling coming over you, one you were all too familiar with, a feeling of isolation and desperation. It was a feeling that nothing else existed: that it was just you, your trauma, and your pain. Dear old abusers that would seemingly be with you till the very end.

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““Fragmented Memories” originally posted on AO3 on 12/24/20.

Taglist: @synical-paradox​ @dark-academics-and-florals​

[kirk-spock-in-the-impala]

Wanna write about Geralt thinking he’s ugly like in the books? Everybody else thinks he’s scary ugly but I want him to feel the softness of our love that says he’s a handsome lil baby boy. You don’t have to. I just love the way you write and bet you’d come up with an amazing story with his self deprecation as a theme

OMG YES I DO. the books are awesome, btw.

PROMPT FILL: GILDED LILIES (on AO3 here)

Summary: 

The world tells Geralt he’s a monster. Jaskier shows him he’s not.

CW: Geralt’s headspace; prejudice and xenophobia; deals heavily with finding oneself unattractive, so please read with care if you have issues with that.

Slightly canon divergent.

——————————

It wasn’t that Geralt wanted to be beautiful.  No, he understood that only sorcerers gained beauty along with their inhuman powers, but he wished that he could have remained unremarkable in his looks.  The distant memories of Geralt’s childhood told him he had once been perfectly average looking.  A dark haired, dark eyed boy of middling height and build.  Neither ugly nor handsome, he passed without comment wherever he had gone. 

 Among the boys at Kaer Morhen, looks were irrelevant to the training process, but even there, standing among boys ranging from Lambert’s strong, handsome features to the scarred visages of those struck by the pox in their youth, Geralt had felt neither confident nor insecure about his appearance.  He was so normal, so average, that the thought to consider his looks never cross his mind.

 The mutations changed that. 

 Not only was he one of the few boys to survive the Trial of the Grasses, but he was the only Witcher in history to receive additional mutations.  Because of that, not only did he have a Witcher’s characteristic, unnatural, cat-like eyes, but his hair had been bleached white, his teeth elongated, his features sharpened, his very bones thickened to accommodate the enhanced strength afforded by his mutated muscles.  The other Witchers had unnatural eyes that flashed in the darkness.  He was nearly as much of monster as those they hunted.

 Geralt understood the stark difference, the sheer hideousness of his appearance, the first time he left Kaer Morhen after completing his training.

 Before, where he had passed without notice, now villagers pointed, stared, and spat.  Gasps of shock, expressions of violent disgust, and whispers of “freak”, “mutant”, and “monster” dogged his steps.  On his first day, passing through the village at the base of the mountain below Kaer Morhen, he’d heard an elderly peasant woman whisper to her companion, “they’re making them uglier every year, ain’t they?  Those thrice damned mutant freaks.”

Compared to the havoc the mutations had wreaked on his body, the impact on his looks should have been insignificant.  But it still hurt.  Back then, he was young enough to still be idealistic.  To still dream of being a hero, a knight protecting the weak and vulnerable in the world. 

 But the decades that passed showed him that dreams were not for the likes of him.  The first time he saved a girl from bandits intent on stealing her virtue, he’d imagined she might be grateful.  And she had been.  Until she saw Geralt’s face.  Then, she’d screamed and thrown her shoes, rocks, dirt, whatever she could lay her hands on at him until he’d retreated. 

 Once could have been a fluke.  A terrified girl reacting to protect her life and her virtue from an unknown stranger.  But it happened again, and again, and again.  Travelers he saved on the road would chase him off once they got a look at who – at what – saved them.  Aldermen who contracted him would curl their lips and sneer when he showed up to accept the contract, giving him the barest of details before hurrying him back out of town to complete his task, the only purpose for which his existence was tolerated.  Villagers he’d saved from monsters would throw stones at him, chasing him out of town with vile words if he was lucky, and with pitchforks if he was not.

 Geralt knew from the other Witchers that prejudice was common, as was a certain lack of gratitude from those served, but none experienced the depth of vitriol that Geralt suffered.  Geralt had long since concluded that the difference was due to his appearance, his hideous, monstrous, inhuman appearance. 

 And so, he did his best to avoid human settlements.  He limited his interactions to the bare minimum required to complete his contracts.  He made sure to never raise his voice, to never show his anger.  He was unfailingly polite and soft spoken when he was forced to speak.  He kept his eyes averted and stayed in the shadows and corners of human settlements.  He entered villages only when absolutely required, and spoke to innkeepers and merchants only when his supplies were utterly exhausted.  He made sure to keep a supply of gold and precious gems on hand to compensate a healer in the rare event he couldn’t heal himself, knowing they would charge a premium for interacting with him, and even more of one if they were forced to touch him.

 After nearly a century living in the shadows because of his monstrous nature, Geralt was resigned to his lifestyle.  On occasion, in a quiet village that was more tolerant of him than most, he would take a chance and see if the tavern keeper would be willing to serve him.  Every once in a great while, they were, and he would sit in the farthest, darkest corner of the tavern to nurse his ale in silence, hood up and eyes down, trying his best to blend into the background.

 It worked well for him.  He’d get to enjoy his ale and he’d yet to have a problem with the other patrons, if they noticed him at all.

 But all good things must end.

 In Posada, on a bright, sunny day before heading out to complete a contract for a “devil” (it was not a devil, but Geralt suspected it might be a sylvan), Geralt sat in his usual dark corner, enjoying a surprisingly good ale.  The bard playing for the patrons crowded around the tavern’s large windows was as skilled with his lute playing as he was terrible with his lyrical composition, but Geralt let the words pass through his ears without listening to them, content to enjoy the music alone. 

 He was shocked to his core when the bard, having completed his set to a rain of bread and jeers, not only came up to him, but sat down.  Geralt immediately stood to leave, head down to hide his face in his hood, taking his half-full tankard with him, when the bard stopped him.  “I know who you are.”

 Geralt froze.  The tavern keeper knew, of course, but exposing his identity, his presence, could potentially cause a violent reaction amongst the tavern’s other patrons, who doubtless would want to clear him out of their space as soon as possible.

 “You’re Geralt of Rivia.”  The bard said, clearly pleased with his identification skills, and, fortunately, quietly.

 Geralt leveled a quelling glare at him before he could stop himself.  His face fully lit by the sunlight coming through the windows when he raised his head to do so.  He took a quick glance around the tavern, seeing they’d not been noticed yet, and stalked out the door, leaving his ale behind, his rare moment of peace shattered.  Luckily, he always paid in advance in case he needed to make a quick exit, so the tavern keeper let him go without comment. 

 Walking swiftly to Roach, he checked her tack before unhitching her from the post, leading her out to the road.  As he moved to mount, he heard light, quick steps behind him. 

 “Wait!”  The bard called out, lute banging on his back as he hastily stuffed bread into his shoulder bag, “I’m coming with you!”

 Geralt took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm, to remain soft, inoffensive.  “No, you’re not.”  He said, mounting Roach and turning his head away from the bard.

 “Yeah, no, I totally am.  Meeting you is the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me, and I’m not going to let this chance pass by!”  The bard said brightly, moving to stand at Geralt’s left stirrup. 

 Geralt heaved a sigh, looking down at the young man, and he was a young man, unsure whether he should be annoyed or pleased at his persistence in keeping Geralt’s company.

 The bard looked up, meeting his gaze fully for the first time.  “Wow, yeah, you’re gorgeous.” He said, staring up at Geralt with an expression Geralt didn’t recognize.  Gorgeous? Geralt didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. 

 He kicked Roach on, setting her off at a quiet walk toward the village gate.  Wouldn’t do to move any faster, no matter how much he wanted to leave this odd bard behind.  Faster meant more attention.  Faster was dangerous.

 The bard kept up, walking more swiftly in his fancy shoes than he had any right to, chattering away about anything and everything, from his latest doublet, to some character named Valdo Marx, to how pleasing Geralt’s hair was when the sun hit it just so.

 After a long hour of walking, followed closely by the young bard, Geralt arrived at the hill close to the site of the reported “devil”.  He stopped and dismounted Roach, securing her safely to a tree branch with ample room to graze. 

 The bard trotted right up next to him.  “So, where to next?  I’m Jaskier, by the way.”  He said, thrusting out a hand to shake.

 Geralt just looked at it.  No one had ever wanted to shake his hand before, but he wouldn’t play into whatever this bard – Jaskier – had planned by going off script. 

 He just moved on with his hunt, heading out to look for clues on his quarry’s location and identity, tossing a gruff, “stay with the horse” over his shoulder at the bard.  If he couldn’t get the bard to leave him, at least he could try and keep him safe.

 Jaskier didn’t listen.  Not then, not after they eventually escaped from Filavandrel, and not for the next several months he followed Geralt all about the Continent, sharing camp sites, meals, and the occasional room at an inn.  With Jaskier’s presence, one in every dozen innkeepers or so was willing to lend Geralt a room, with the understanding he was under the supervision and control of his human keeper.  When he was alone, asking for a room was a useless exercise.  Geralt wasn’t sure if Jaskier understood that or not, but he wouldn’t risk losing access to more frequent hot baths and comfortable beds by pointing it out. 

 The oddest thing about Jaskier though was not his persistence in following Geralt, but his persistence in complimenting him.  It was always “your hair is so soft” or “gods, your eyes are to die for” or “you’re so attractive, it’s not fair.”  More than that, more than those incomprehensible words, was the fact that Jaskier touched him.  Freely and often.  A pat on the shoulder, gentle hands combing through his hair while he bathed, a warm body leaning against his by the campfire.  People didn’t touch him.  Didn’t like to look at him.  And yet, Jaskier did.  Geralt didn’t understand it. 

 He knew he was monstrous; he knew he wasn’t fit for human companionship, and yet, Jaskier was seemingly unaware of that obvious fact.  At first, Geralt had thought the compliments and the touching were all a great, cruel joke to Jaskier, but months of exposure showed him that Jaskier was as genuine as he was foolhardy, and he held nothing back when he felt Geralt did something that deserve censure.  If Jaskier complimented him or touched him, it was because he wanted to, and that was beyond Geralt’s comprehension.

 Geralt’s confusion, his frustration with Jaskier not following the script, all came to head when they were preparing to attend a fancy banquet, hosted by one of Jaskier’s friends from Oxenfurt, which Jaskier had convinced Geralt to attend as his companion.  “I can’t just show up alone, Geralt!”  Jaskier had said.  “Besides, I can’t resist a chance to show off my lovely muse.”

 As Geralt bathed, scraping drowner blood out of his white hair, Jaskier flitted about the room, laying out finery for Geralt to wear, commenting how nice everything would look on him and how jealous his friends would be when they saw him on the arm of such a gorgeous companion

 Geralt couldn’t take it anymore.  “Stop it!” He growled, turning a frustrated glare on Jaskier.  “Stop saying things like that!”

 Jaskier froze.  He must have seen something in Geralt’s expression, because he immediately dropped the ribbon he was inspecting, one of his many choices to use on Geralt’s hair, and knelt at the side of the tub by Geralt’s left side. 

 He reached for Geralt’s cheek and Geralt flinched away, hiding his face behind a curtain of wet hair.  Tension thrummed through his frame and his posture was abjectly miserable, fists clenched around the edges of the bath, knuckles white.

 Jaskier frowned, uncertain where this upset was coming from, but knowing how reserved Geralt was, he knew the cause was substantial to create this strong a reaction in his normally stoic friend. 

 He reached out again and gently turned Geralt to face him.  Geralt flinched, but didn’t pull away. 

 Geralt’s eyes remained firmly down, brows drawn together, shame flooding him.  He’d shouted at Jaskier, growled at him like an animal, all over the little, innocuous lies Jaskier liked to tell himself about Geralt’s appearance.  If he was lucky, Jaskier would simply leave.  If he was unlucky, he’d be getting a visit from the guards.

 “Geralt?”  Jaskier prompted, concern clear in his voice.  “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

 Geralt’s jaw clenched, daring a glance up at Jaskier before averting his eyes again.  “Forgive me.  I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”  This time he did pull away.

 “No, you shouldn’t have, but I’m more concerned with why.  Have I upset you?  Hurt you?  Please, tell me.”  Jaskier waited, watching as Geralt’s eyes darted about, jaw clenching and unclenching.

 Geralt didn’t know what to say.  This wasn’t how things were supposed to be.  He had a role, a script, and Jaskier just came in and flipped the papers out of his hands, setting his own, improvised pattern instead.  Geralt didn’t know what to do.  What to think.  He just knew it hurt that Jaskier kept giving him glimpses of his childhood dream, a dream he knew was forever out of reach.

 But he had already behaved unforgivably, so he might as well get some information about Jaskier’s incomprehensible actions before he inevitably left.  Could serve him well in the future if he ever met anyone else willing to tolerate him for more than a few moments.

 Geralt drew in a breath and went for it, heart racing in his chest.  “Stop saying things that aren’t true.  I don’t understand why you do that.”  He spoke to the bathwater, unable to look at Jaskier.

 “Whatever do you mean?”  Jaskier asked, anxious to ease the pain he saw on his dear friend’s face.

 “You call me ‘gorgeous’, you compliment my hair, my looks.” Geralt shook his head, bewilderment evident in his tone.  “I know it’s not true, so why do you keep saying it?”  Geralt finally looked up, searching Jaskier’s expression, face lined with pained confusion.

 Jaskier’s heart clenched in his chest, aching for his friend, for the decades of suffering that simple ask revealed.

 He placed a hand gently over Geralt’s where it was clenched around the edge of the wooden tub, meeting Geralt’s eyes calmly.  Geralt’s hand jumped beneath his, but did not pull away.

 “Because it is true.  You’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met.  And one of the most noble, to keep fighting to protect people who will never appreciate all that you do and all that you sacrifice.”  Jaskier said, firmly and kindly.

 Geralt shook his head sharply, looking away.  He knew what he was.

 Jaskier leaned forward to keep Geralt’s face in sight, thumb rubbing gently over Geralt’s clenched fist.  “What do you think you look like?”  He asked.

 Geralt scoffed.  “Like a monster.”  He stated it like the indisputable fact he knew it to be.

 Jaskier closed his eyes briefly, devastated to hear confirmed what he always suspected.  Geralt had no idea of his own worth, his own beauty, having internalized for far too long the fear and hatred dumped on him by villagers unable to accept that something could be different and still be worthy.

 Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s fist, reaching out with his other hand to turn Geralt’s face to his again.  Holding his chin gently so he could not look away, Jaskier said firmly, “there is nothing monstrous about you.”  Geralt huffed in disbelief, trying to avert his eyes, but Jaskier held him in place.  “Your mutations made you unique, gave you the ability to do your job, to protect all of us from the real monsters.  Your hair, your eyes, hell, even your teeth, they show the sacrifices you’ve made to protect our Continent.  From a purely aesthetic perspective, you are stunning.  But as a person, you are beyond compare.”

 Geralt stared, unable to respond, unsure of what to say in the face of Jaskier’s firm belief that he was worthy, that he was not monstrous to behold.  When he was young, he knew he was unremarkable.  After his mutations, he knew he was a monster.  Yet, Jaskier seemed equally sure that Geralt was neither of those things. 

 Jaskier saw the conflict in his friend’s face.  He knew that one conversation would not change a lifetime of conviction.  He gently leaned his forehead against Geralt’s, closing his eyes.  “One day, you’ll believe me, and until then, I’ll remind you every day that you are worthy, that you are gorgeous, and that you mean the world to me.”

 Jaskier pulled back, keeping his eyes locked with Geralt’s.  Geralt saw nothing but calm assurance in Jaskier’s eyes.  No matter how remarkable, how unprecedented his words, Jaskier believed them to his core. 

 Geralt didn’t believe them.  He had nearly a century of evidence to the contrary.  But if this one remarkable man believed him worthy, believed him beautiful, then at least in Jaskier’s world, Geralt didn’t have to be a monster.

[gyakutengagotoku]

GS4 vs AJ:AA - Episode 2, Part 5

Here’s the last court segment of this episode! It’s also relatively shorter than the usual posts, but there’s a lot of dialogue I captured for context, so it doesn’t look shorter. There’s not too much deviation between the source and localized after we covered all the changes made to the Kitaki’s previously.

For once I started earlier today and got through it pretty quickly, but for the sake of a consistent posting schedule, I’ll stick with around midnight PST every other day or so. Seems like the best rhythm for me that I can keep up with.

--

> Court Lobby

６月１７日　午前　９時５２分 地方裁判所　被告人第２控え室 June 17, 9:52 AM District Court Defendant Lobby No. 2

<Trucy> いよいよ、ですね！ ゆうべはよく眠れましたか？ This is it, the big day! Did you get any sleep?

<Apollo> あ。うん。ゆうべ、 １時にはフトンに入ったから。 Yeah, I went to bed at 1:00 AM or so.

<Trucy> で？　今日は何時に 起きたんですか？ Oh? What time did you wake up?

<Apollo> 午前３時、かな。 ...3:00 AM.

<Trucy> ‥‥ゼンゼン眠れてませんね。 That's only two hours, Apollo...

でも、大丈夫。 みぬきがついてるし。 But, at least you have me!

<Trucy> ボウシくんだって、 いつも見てますよ。 ...And the Amazing Mr. Hat!

<Mr. Hat> いつも見てますよ、キミ。 Here's looking at you, kid.

Originally: "Yes, I'm always keeping an eye on you." (It's supposed to sound supportive, I swear.)

>

<Trucy> ね。パパ！　今日は、どんな証人を 用意してるの？　ガリュー検事！ Daddy! Do you know who Prosecutor Gavin's witness is today?

<Phoenix> さあね。当ててごらん。 Take a guess!

<Trucy> んーとね。 小梅さんとか！ Hmm... How about Little Plum?

<Phoenix> あっはっはっ。キモっ玉かあさんか。 ハズレだよ。 Ah ha ha! That Sherman tank of a mom? Nope, guess again.

<Trucy> うーん、ザンネン。 でも。みぬき、思うな。 That's too bad. You know, speaking of moms...

パパも、早く新しいママ、 見つけないと！ You need to find me a new mommy one of these days, Daddy!

<Phoenix> お。コイツは朝からイッポン 取られちまったな。 It's barely morning and you're at it already, Trucy!

あっはっはっはっは。 Ah ha ha ha ha ha!

<Apollo> （だから、ウソっぽいんだよなあ、 　この親子） (OK, see, this is why I don't buy their "father-daughter" relationship.)

I commented previously that Apollo questioned their father-daughter relationship and legitimately forgot that he also says this, and this time it does match what he originally said. So, my bad.

Also, Naruhodou describes her as "キモっ玉" (kimottama), meaning she got "guts" or "pluck" to her. I appreciate the "Sherman tank", though.

> Courtroom

<Judge> 少なくとも、 ハッキリわかったことは‥‥ We did find out one thing for certain.

事件が起こったとき。 やはり公園には、被告人と被害者、 There were three people in the park at the time of the murder:

‥‥そして目撃者の３人しか いなかった、というコトです。 The witness, the victim, and the defendant.

<Klavier> ‥‥そういうコト。 そこで、今日は‥‥ ...Correct, Herr Judge. And today, I'd like to do something a little new age.

あのザンネンな事件を、 外側から見てみようと思ってるんだ。 I'd like to look at this horrible crime... from the outside.

<Apollo> “ソトガワ”‥‥ですか？ The "outside"...?

<Klavier> “凶器の入手経路”‥‥ “犯行準備”‥‥ The acquisition of the murder weapon... The preparation for the act...

被告人クン。ウカツにも ゼンブ、しゃべっていたんだよ。 Our poor defendant told all, you see.

‥‥フィアンセにね。 ...To his betrothed.

<Judge> ふぃあんせ‥‥？ His... bee trove?

<Klavier> ‥‥婚約者さ。 人生の共犯者ってヤツかな。 ...His fiancée, Herr Judge. His partner for life... with no chance for parole.

<Judge> それでは、その‥‥ いいなずけを入廷させてください！ Very well, you may show the erm... "lucky" lady to the stand.

Once again, the judge struggles with words outside of his language, and Kyouya, being the resident English expert, has to explain. That being said, "bee trove" is suspiciously apt as a metaphor to describe her...

>

<Klavier> ‥‥それじゃ、キミ。 名前と、職業を。 ...Your name and occupation, Fräulein.

<Alita> 並奈　美波と申します。 今は、花嫁修行中というか‥‥ Alita Tiala. My occupation... is future wife.

<Judge> ふむう‥‥ いいココロがけです。 Ah, traditional values! I respect that.

最近は、温泉タマゴすら作れない ムスメさんも多いですからな。 Too many brides these days can't even weave baskets blindfolded... underwater.

しかし‥‥今日は、検察側の 証人として出廷したわけですな？ Yet you're here today as a witness for the prosecution?

<Alita> わたし‥‥最初は、 証言したくありませんでした。 To be honest, I didn't want to testify at first.

でも、やっぱり。 かくしておくことはできなくて。 But... I couldn't hide the truth.

<Judge> ふむう‥‥やはり、 リッパなココロがけです。 Hmm. Honesty! Another admirable trait.

Originally, his "underwater blindfolded basket weaving" standards were about soft-boiling eggs so that the yolk hardens while the white remains soft. They're called "onsen tamago" because these eggs were traditionally cooked in a hot spring, but can be cooked in any ol' pot between 70-80°C (158-176°F). It's one of those old-timey signs that a soon-to-be-wed would be a good wife because she could cook. Now, the only time I'd ever see these eggs is when I don't boil them hotly enough.

On that note, nowadays there are underwater basket weaving Olympics. Thanks, Rio 2016. Maybe Tokyo 2020 (2021?) could include a special event category for egg-boiling.

> 1st Witness Testimony, press 3rd statement

<Alita> ちゃんと管理されてるから、 フツウの組員じゃムリだと思います。 Not really, I think. There's a system in place to limit access.

でもね。滝太クンはトクベツ。 なんたって。アトトリ息子ですから。 But Wocky's a special case, being the next-in-line.

<Klavier> 少し、甘やかされていたところは あったんじゃないかな。 Perhaps his treatment was a bit too special, ja?

<Alita> たしかに、“おぼっちゃん”な トコロはあったかもしれません。 Well, maybe he is a bit spoiled...

誕生日に、スゴいプレゼントを もらったって話もきいてるし。 I hear he got amazing presents for his birthdays.

ガムでできた“ドス”とか、 チョコレートの“花札”とか。 Last year was a switchblade made out of chewing gum and a chocolate gravestone!

<Apollo> （アブナイものが好きなのか、 　アマいものが好きなのか‥‥） (Sounds like he has a taste for sweets... and danger.)

Originally, they were a rubber dosu and a chocolate hanafuda card. Danger AND gambling, but the kid-friendly kind!

Though, I can accept "chewing-gum switchblade" here because "ガム" (gamu) can also mean that kind of gum or the gum material of rubber.

> Press 5th statement, present Alita, present chart or sandals

<Judge> ちょっと待ちなさい！ Ms. Tiala!

あなたは“被害者とはなんの 関係もない”と証言しています！ You testified that you had no connection to the victim!

<Alita> なんの関係もないわよ。 ‥‥今となっては、もう。 And I don't. Now.

<Apollo> 今となっては‥‥？ "Now"...?

<Alita> だって。半年前に、やめたんだから。 もう、無関係でしょ。 I quit half a year ago, didn't I? So there's no connection.

‥‥アナタたち、もしかして。 Let me guess, you're the kind of guy...

コイビトのムカシのコト、ぜんぶ 聞かないと気がすまないタイプの、 ...who can't rest until he knows every last detail of his girlfriend's past.

ちっぽけなオトコ、なのかしら？ Am I right?

<Judge> そんなコトはないですぞ！ 私は、その。 Th-That's not true at all! Why, I...

愛しいヒトの、ちょっとした過去も まとめて抱きしめるタイプの、イキ I embrace the ones I love, past flaws and all, no matte--

<Objection!>

<Apollo> “今はもう”無関係‥‥ それは、通らないんですよ。 "There's no connection now" doesn't fly in a court of law.

<Alita> ‥‥どういうこと、かしら？ Doesn't... fly?

<Apollo> （さすが、キモっ玉が座っている） (She's one tough nut.)

（キタキツネ一家にヨメ入りしよう 　とするだけのコトはあるな） (She probably feels right at home with the Kitakis!)

Fyi, the judge responded here because she called them all out, not just the defense.

And yep, here it is again: "キモっ玉". So, a Sherman-tank mom and a tough-nut fiancée; no wonder she fits right in. (I still think "bee trove" is more apt, though.)

> Present more evidence to tie her in but present wrongly

<Judge> ‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥ そうですね。私としては ... Well, I suppose I could see--

<Objection!>

<Klavier> おデコくん。キミのたぐっている 糸は、真実につながってない‥‥ Herr Forehead. This trail you think you have found, it doesn't lead to the truth.

ついでに、キミの弁護士生命も 断ち切ってあげようか？ Nor to a long career in the legal profession, ja?

<Apollo> け、けっこうです。 Gee, thanks.

<Klavier> じゃあ、かわりに。 いつものヤツ、やらせてくれるかな。 Perhaps you will allow me to do the honors?

<Judge> ふむう‥‥ まあ。たまには、よいでしょう。 Hmm... Why not? It might be nice for a change.

<Klavier> ‥‥それじゃ。遠慮なく。 Ｌｅｔ’ｓ　Ｒｏｃｋ！ Most excellent... Let's rock!

<Apollo> （なんだか‥‥ 　いつもの何倍もクヤシイ） (I'll take the usual penalty next time, thanks.)

<Judge> それでは、弁護人！　もう一度 提示していただきましょう。 Very well, Mr. Justice. Try again.

Look, guys, the JP script does have English letters and it has them for a good reason. Kudos to the loc team for that most excellent reference too.

> 2nd Witness Testimony, present medical chart at 4th statement, Perceive at new (6th) statement, present wrong evidence about the "threat"

<Alita> ‥‥その証拠品が、どうかした？ ...Because of what?

<Apollo> え‥‥ Um...

<Alita> アナタ。目はいいかもしれないケド。 アタマはクモの巣が張ってるみたい。 The eyes of a hawk... and the brain of a toad.

<Apollo> （‥‥ここで引っこむ 　ワケにはいかない！） (Ribbit! I mean, ack! I can't lose this now!)

（アタマのクモの巣を払え！ 　もう一度だッ！） (C'mon toad brain, one more try!)

Originally, the metaphor was "brain full of cobwebs". So Odoroki tries dusting his attic.

> Press newer (7th) statement

<Apollo> その証言の“ウソ”は、さっき 見抜いたじゃないですか！ We already know you're lying about having no reason!

<Alita> わかってるわよ！ エラそうに言わないで！ I know you know! Don't look at me like that!

<Apollo> え‥‥‥ Huh...?

<Alita> ヒトをトンでもない目つきで ニラんでくれちゃってさ。 Like I'm some two-bit washed up good-for-nothing...

コワかったじゃないの！ You scared me!

<Klavier> ‥‥たしかにね。 ...I concur.

ぼくですら、そこまでアツい目で 見つめられたことはないよ。 Even I am rarely treated to such a... hot gaze.

<Apollo> す。すみません‥‥ S-Sorry...

（‥‥そうとうスゴいカオを 　さらしているらしいな、オレ） (Maybe I need to do some face training, too...)

"Hot gaze"... Yeah, sounds about right.

Last line was simply: "(...I guess I made quite the face at her.)"

> Present bullet in safe

<Judge> まさか！　それでは、その財産を 狙って、その。婚約をしたと‥‥ Nefarious! So she planned to marry him just to get her hands on this fortune?

<Objection!>

<Wocky> イイカゲンなコトを 言い散らかしやがってェ‥‥ You keep talking trash about my Alita...

訴えてやるぞッ！ このクサレ弁護士がァッ！ ...and I'll sue you, lawyer-man!

<Apollo> ‥‥えッ！　お、オレですか！ ...Huh? Me!?

<Wocky> アンタ、今、言ったな‥‥ Yeah! You said...

オレのみなみちゃんに‥‥ オレのみなみちゃんに‥‥ You said you'd... You'd...

コクハクするとッ！ You'd abuse my Alita!

<Apollo> いやいやいや！ “コクハツ”ですよッ！ Um, I think you mean "accuse"...!

<Wocky> おんなじコトだッ！ みなみちゃんはわたさんぞッ！ Same difference! Well you can't have her! She's mine!

It was "kokuhaku" (confess, usu. love to someone) vs "kokuhatsu" (accuse).

>

<Alita> ‥‥滝太クンさあ。 ...Wocky.

イイカゲン、 現実と向かい合いなさいって。 Wake up and smell reality!

<Wocky> み‥‥ミナミちゃん‥‥？ A... Alita-baby?

<Alita> カルテのサイン‥‥ 退院を待って、婚約‥‥ The signature on the chart, the engagement...

わかるでしょ？　フツー。 I mean, come on! It's so obvious.

いくら、頭のカラッポな お坊ちゃんでも。 Even for a brainless, spoiled brat such as yourself.

<Wocky> みなみちゃん‥‥ Alita...

<Klavier> どうやら‥‥ホンネが 聞けそうだね。おじょうさん。 Your honesty is like a breath of foul air, Fräulein.

<Alita> まあ‥‥このぶんじゃ、ね。 無傷じゃア、済みそうもないし。 Hey, I wasn't getting out of this clean, anyway.

I think I'd prefer if Klavier here used a sound-based metaphor given how his entire character design is based on music. In the JP, he also used a sound metaphor: "It seems... we now hear your true voice, young lady."

Granted, "honne" also just means "true nature", but I like the hidden pun there.

> 3rd Witness Testimony, press 5th statement, point out "another place", point anywhere within the area of attention (double penalty)

<Apollo> 犯人が被害者を撃ったのは、 このポイントです！ This is where the killer shot from!

<Judge> そこから、被害者の右のコメカミが 撃てないのは、立証済みです。 But then the killer couldn't have shot his right temple.

<Klavier> ボケるには早すぎるよ。 おジイさんじゃないんだから。 So young, and already senile. How unfortunate...

<Judge> 私はボケておりませんぞ！ I'll have you know I'm not senile!

事件が起こった日の朝、何を 食べたか、ハッキリと‥‥ Why I remember exactly what I ate the morning of the crime!

‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥ ..............................

<Judge> とにかくッ！　 ペナルティを与えます！ Ahem! Penalty!

<Apollo> （‥‥ズルいや） (...No fair.)

<Klavier> それじゃあ。 もう一度指摘してもらおうかな。 You seem intent on digging your own grave. Here, have a shovel and try again.

Odoroki suddenly dropping in Kansai accent out of the blue caught me off-guard. (It's his last line here.) Man was so devastated by that double penalty he got sent out west.

10/21/20 edit: Whoops, my bad. That wasn’t Kansai accent and wouldn’t have made sense if it was. He’s just sighing to himself, really, and I mistook that last ‘ya’ as a copula.

> Point to noodle stand, present slippers & bowls

<Judge> わかっていると思いますが。 現在、この法廷で‥‥ I would like to remind the witness of her current status.

あなたを完全な“潔白”と 考えている人間は、おりません。 This court does not consider you entirely innocent.

<Alita> ‥‥完全にまっ白な人間は おとぎ話の中に住んでるものよ。 Show me an innocent... I'll show you a fairy tale.

<Judge> ‥‥とにかく。 ...In any case.

いつのまにか、弁護側は 提示してしまったようです。 The defense has, somehow, made its point.

この証人に、宇狩院長を殺害する 動機とチャンスがあったことを。 The witness had both a motive and an opportunity to kill Dr. Meraktis.

<Alita> そんな不条理な“逆転”‥‥ おとぎ話でもお目にかかれないわね。 More fairy tales! This whole trial is a fairy tale!

<Judge> 最後に、一度だけ。 あなたに説明のチャンスを与えます。 Then please, pull us back down to reality, Ms. Tiala.

証言をおねがいしましょう。 I'm giving you one last chance to explain yourself.

Her last line here: "An absurd 'turnabout' like that... wouldn't even be seen in fairy tales!"

> 4th Witness Testimony, Perceive at 5th statement, point wrongly

<Apollo> 美波さん。‥‥そこだッ！ ...Gotcha, Ms. Tiala!!!

<Alita> 聞こえてるわよ。 大きな声で２回も言わなくても。 I heard you just fine the first time.

なに？　ゴキブリでも出たの？ What, I wasn't aware we were playing paintball.

<Apollo> ‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥ ......

<Trucy> きわめて冷静ですね。 ‥‥みなみさん。 She's one cool cucumber, that Alita.

<Apollo> （‥‥どうやら、 　ややハズしたみたいだな） (...Hmm. Maybe I spotted the wrong spot.)

Originally, she suggested "Cockroach", which iirc is a playground game with a mix of "Hide'n'Seek" and "Tag". For some reason, I'm struggling to find a source online for this, but I swear I remember looking it up before...

10/21/20 edit: Welp, I guess I was overthinking it. She just asks him if he spotted something icky like a cockroach.

> Point correctly, present lamp

<Judge> それでは！　この証人に対する 尋問を終了いたします！ Very well! This finishes the cross-examination of this...

<Objection!>

<Klavier> クッ‥‥クックックッ‥‥ Heh. Heh heh heh.

何を言ってるのかな‥‥ アツいギグは、これからなのに。 Not so fast. This party's just getting started!

Ｌｅｔ’ｓ　ｒｏｃｋ， ｇｕｙｓ！ Now, we rock!

<Apollo> ど。どういうコトですかッ！ W-What!?

<Klavier> やはり‥‥ 弁護士というのは、ツメがアマい。 Those spikes on your head are softer than they look...

なぜ、最後までジジツを 追求しようとしないんだい？ Or do you not have the stomach to go all the way?

...Come on, loc team, you had one job and you were doing so well with it up to here. At least dress up that "Now, we rock!" a bit with some German or Eurorock flair.

> Present bowls in clinic again or noodle stand, point out the river

<Apollo> そ。そうか‥‥！ Th-That's right...!

事件の起こった、あの晩。 成歩堂さんをハネ飛ばしたのは‥‥ That night, the car that hit Mr. Wright...

宇狩　輝夫のクルマ、だった‥‥ ...was that green sports car!

<Judge> な‥‥なんですと！ Oh, yes! I-I'd nearly forgotten about it!

<Klavier> その後、ガレージに戻ったのだから、 クルマには、故障はなかったんだ。 Afterward, he drove it back to that garage. It ran fine.

<Alita> ‥‥そのとおり。 それなのに‥‥ ...That's right.

その、自慢のクルマを 使わないハズがないでしょ？ So why didn't he use his beloved sports car, hmm?

<Apollo> ぐ‥‥ッ！ Urk...!

<Klavier> このムジュンが、キレイに 説明できないかぎり‥‥ A glaring contradiction, to be sure.

きみのスイリは成立しないのさ。 ‥‥おデコくん！ More glaring than your forehead.

<Apollo> そ‥‥‥そんなあああああああッ！ No... Nooooooooooo!

The first time I played this part, I found it a lot funnier than I should have because I thought Apollo was screaming about how his forehead was so "glaring".

That's it. I just wanted to share. The JP lines are just the usual "With that contradiction gone, your conjecture won't stand... Odeko-kun!"

> Select "He couldn't use the car", present Magic Panties

<Apollo> そして、オレはきのう。そのときは 気がつかなかったケド‥‥ By the way, I learned something yesterday...

ものすごく重要な“情報”を 聞いていたんです。 ...A very important piece of information.

‥‥そう！ 牙琉検事。あなたからね！ ...And I learned it from you, Prosecutor Gavin!

<Trucy> あの！　捜査ですか？ Um, so you were here investigating?

<Klavier> まあね。帰ろうと思ったんだが‥‥ バイクがイカれちゃってね。 And I was on my way home... when my hog gave up the ghost.

<Apollo> バイクが‥‥？ Your hog...?

<Klavier> エンジンがかからないんだ。 排気パイプがつまっちゃって。 My motorcycle won't start. A clogged exhaust pipe...

<Trucy> へえ！ 高そうなオートバイなのに、 Too bad! It looks like such a nice bike, too.

そんなコトで こわれちゃうんですか？ Hard to believe that it could break just from that!

<Klavier> クルマもバイクもいっしょさ。 どんな理由であれ‥‥ Cars, motorbikes, they're all the same.

排気パイプをふさがれると、 エンジンがかからなくなる。 Clog the exhaust, and they won't run.

<Alita> エンジンが‥‥かからない‥‥ My, how interesting.

"My, how interesting", indeed. It sounds so out of place that I wonder if this was supposed to be a temporary line that they decided to keep in the final draft. For reference, it was just "The engine... was clogged...!?"

> Court Lobby

同日　午後　４時１２分 地方裁判所　被告人第２控え室 June 17, 4:12 PM District Court Defendant Lobby No. 2

<Trucy> やりましたね！　オドロキさん！ おめでとうございます！ Great job, Apollo! You did it!

<Apollo> ああ、やったな！ ‥‥なんとか、ね。 Yeah, we did, somehow...

<Trucy> 滝太さんも、無罪になって‥‥ Wocky's off the hook...

キレイな身体で極道の世界へ 羽ばたいていくんですねー。 ...free to become the gangster he's always wanted to be!

きっと、オドロキさんに カンシャして‥‥ And he has you to thank...

<???> テメエこのヤロウくそ弁護士がッ！ Hey! Attorney-man!

<Wocky> よくも！　よくもオレの！ よくもオレのミナミちゃんをッ！ You're gonna pay for what you did to my Alita, homes!

<Trucy> ‥‥まったく、カンシャ されてないみたいですね。 ...Or to blame, I guess.

<Wocky> テメエこのヤロウくそ弁護士がッ！ You give my Alita back!

返してくれよ！ オレのミナミちゃんをよおおおお！ Stupid pointy-head attorney with a death-wish!

Ahaha, the full list of punk swears. I wonder if the loc team had the choice to use even more colorful words here, what would they have come up with? I mean, sure, Wocky is super childish in a way, but he totes would be that one kid in CoD screaming expletives and something about Apollo's mom.

>

<???> コラッ！　滝太ッ！ Enough, Wocky!

<Apollo> あ！　常勝さん‥‥ Ah! Mr. Kitaki...

<BigWins> ‥‥滝太。いいかげんに、 目を覚ましたらどうなのだ。 ...It's high time you opened your eyes, Wocky.

<Wocky> テメエこのヤロウくそオヤジがッ！ What do you know, old man!

目を覚ますのは キサマの方だろうが！ I think it's 'bout time you opened yours!

極道のミチ踏みはずして、 カネ儲けに走りやがって！ Givin' up the life, tryin' to become some kinda businessman!

<BigWins> 滝太ッ！　オマエは なにもわかっとらんのだッ！ Don't talk about what you don't understand, Wocky!

<Trucy> ‥‥そのうち、つまみ出されますね。 この調子だと。 ...I'm afraid the guard is going to throw them both out.

<Apollo> めんどくさい親子だな、 マッタク。 ...If not in jail. Wouldn't that be a happy ending.

And then he'd throw the same kind of insults at his dad too, but with less about moms, I'd hope.

>

<BigWins> オマエをこんな目にあわせたのは、 極道という生き方のせいだ。 It was the gangster life that did this to you, Wocky.

‥‥オマエを助けたい。 キレイなカネで‥‥な。 ...I want to help you, and I want to do it clean.

わかってくれないか。 ‥‥滝太。 Please understand. Wocky...

<Wocky> オ、オヤジ‥‥ D-Dad...

ば。バカにしやがって‥‥ いつも‥‥いつも、こうだッ！ M-Man, I see how it is, old man! Always you looking out for... out for...

<Trucy> た。滝太さん‥‥？ Wocky...?

<Wocky> いいか、くそオヤジ！ オレだって。オレだってなあ！ Listen good, old man! One day... One day...

いつか、きっと！ キサマをケリオトしてやるんだ！ I'm gonna take you out! Then we'll see who's the O.G.!

どこの世界に逃げてもな！ クビを洗って待っておけッ！ You try to hide in your business suit, I'll find you!

テメエこのヤロウくそオヤジがッ！ Stupid ol' geezer!

<Trucy> あ！　‥‥滝太さん！ My! Wocky!

<BigWins> ‥‥コレでいいのです。 ...No, it's as it should be.

<Apollo> オヤジさん！ （その目で見つめないでほしいな） Mr. Kitaki! (I liked him more without the puppy dog eyes.)

...Wocky, ya big tsundere. I love this father-son relationship.

And it's contagious. Even Odoroki here is calling him "Oyaji-san" after all the times he was polite.

>

<BigWins> アンタたちに会えてよかった。 ‥‥ワシは、コトバがニガテです。 I'm glad... to have met you. I'm not so good with words...

やはり。プロに任せるものだね。 But I know a professional job when I see one. Thank you.

<Apollo> そ。そんな‥‥ Who? Me? I don't think...

<BigWins> ‥‥いつか‥‥ Someday...

新製品・《キタキツネもなか》を 持って、お礼にうかがうとしよう。 I'll bake you one of our latest... The Kitaki Lime Pie.

<Apollo> （‥‥お菓子屋さんにでも 　落ち着くつもりなのかな） (...He's opening a pie shop!?)

Not just a pie shop; all the sweets you could find, with their specialty "Kitakitsune Wafer"! Technically, it's monaka, which is a wafer cake usually filled with asuki bean jam. It's also among the things you can see in the credits (exclusive to the JP version, anyway) when we see this happy family again.

>

<Trucy> あ！　そうだ。 帰る前に、行かないと！ Oh, that's right! We have to go someplace first!

<Apollo> え？　‥‥どこに？ Huh? Where?

<Trucy> “報酬”ですよ！ ムギツラさんの！ Why, to claim our reward from Mr. Eldoon!

<Apollo> ‥‥ああ。しょっぱいラーメンか。 もう、屋台は戻ったのかな？ ...Ah, salty noodles. Right. He got his stand back already?

<Trucy> そのあとは、みぬきのステージも 見に来るんですからね！ Oh, and after that, you can come see my show!

ぼうしクンスペシャル。 みぬきからの“報酬”です！ With a special appearance by the Amazing Mr. Hat!

<Mr. Hat> じつはコレ、 めったにやりません。 Oh, it's special alright!

<Apollo> ‥‥だから、もういいよ。��れ‥‥ Please... anything but him.

Originally the gentleman said: "It is going to be a rare sight, indeed."

--

Next up, the most infamous episode of this game for its unintentional earworm... Though honestly, I never really found it all that bad. That said, thank goodness SoJ had a skip button for certain scenes, even if I didn’t mind watching them over and over anyway.

[sonofsallyjackson]

Heroes of Olympus should have been in first-person.

@jo-march-is-a-lesbian​ wrote a really wonderful post about how “Percy Jackson and the Olympians is better than Heroes of Olympus…because it understood simplicity and character development.”  It highlights some reasons I also found HoO less rewarding namely that it was an overcomplicated story with limited character growth, lacked a common thesis, and was super jarring when it switched perspectives.  

And with that my little brain went: I can fix this.  Which frankly is ridiculous.  I can’t come up with a compelling thesis like “The idea that we should place our hope in our loved ones, our friends and our family, and if we do that, we won’t be tempted to give up hope again.”   But I can imagine a simple change that would have solved some of the issues and also played to Rick’s strengths as a writer:  Each book should have been written in first person and narrated by a different character.

With so many people on the quest, I often felt like I was watching a bunch of one-dimensional characters fight for their right to be the main character.  I didn’t know who to focus on but I was also dissatisfied.  There were all these new wonderful characters in front of me who I wanted to love, but I didn’t feel like I actually knew them.  I mean I don’t feel like I know the Stoll Brothers either, but I’m not concerned about that fact because they are side characters.  When everyone is painted as the main character,  I have certain expectations for growth, personality, and voice.  The story would have been better served if the characters took turns narrating the action, allowing us to settle into their perspective, see their growth, and better understand their personality.

Plus Rick kills first-person.  While I’m not particularly a fan of Trials of Apollo, it’s not because I don’t know the characters.  Apollo is so very different than Percy. Their voices, even though they can both be jokesters at times, reflect their different life-experiences, thought processes and provide massive insight into their characters.   If the Seven (and Nico and Reyna) got the same treatment, I would be absolutely giddy.  

I recognize that rewriting the HoO series in first-person is something a talented fanfiction writer with a lot of time on their hands could actually do.  But I am not talented like that and I certainly don’t have the discipline to actually write that much fic, especially if I was trying to keep the events vaguely the same just with different narration and pacing.  So instead I’ve included who I think should have narrated each book below the cut.  I’d love to hear any opinions people have regarding this idea, especially who they would have wanted to see to narrate each book.

In addition to picking the narrator, I’ve highlighted what should be the “quest” so to speak of each story.  Personally, MoA, HoH and BoO are kind of a blur to me despite reading them all recently.  It’s hard to distinguish what happens in each book because it’s all one massive quest with a whole bunch of mini-quests.    While the different narrators would obviously make the books more distinctive, splitting the series into seven books would also help simplify each book’s individual goal.  Eight books would have allowed for better integration of the plot to find the physician’s cure, but with the prophecy of seven, it seemed like seven books was the best option, if I was going to be doing something as blasphemous as splitting books.   

As a note, I ran out of steam as I went so not all opinions are fully fleshed out. 

Book 1:  The Lost Hero The Quest: Rescue Hera/Juno Narrator:  Jason 

Why this would be cool: 

He is literally Juno’s chosen sent on a quest to rescue her.  It’s poetic enough to give him the book.

Jason’s journey is just as much about rediscovering himself as it is about saving Juno.   Of the new characters, I feel like I understand Jason the least. Mainly because I felt like I was missing the entire first half of his story.  Jason, like Percy and Annabeth, is a hero of the Titan War. I know some of his accomplishments, but I don’t have any bearing on what his life was like or how he felt about it.   He doesn’t seem like the type to relish Praetor-ship since he doesn’t have the same intense need to get back to his camp as Percy.  Was he just hoisted on his comrades’ shields after killing the Titan without any real choice in the matter? Give me Jason’s memories coming back slowly over the course of the quest (with potentially a fractured memory of a mistake he made in the Roman’s final Titan battle that makes him doubt their ability to both rescue Piper’s dad and save Hero but he makes the decision to anyway because he can’t just hurt his friend like that.   Let me understand how Jason is the person he is today.  Give me glances of the Roman Camp with emphasis on the heavy expectations that have always followed him as the son of Jupiter and foreshadow why he eventually chooses to design all the shrines for the minor gods so he can have his own place in the world as a figure between the two camps.

Let’s dive into those feelings of anger/guilt/resentment when people at camp are disappointed with him for not being Percy or in Chiron’s case are nervous about what his presence means. 

I want to dig deeper regarding Jason’s feelings about reconnecting with Thalia.  He knows that if the gods hadn’t been determined to keep the two camps completely separate, he could have grown up with his sister. 

What does telling the narrative like this sacrifice:  

We miss some of the internal turmoil regarding the fact that Piper’s Dad has been captured and she must betray her friends. 

We also don’t feel the tensions of Piper’s relationship with Aphrodite. I don’t see Piper bringing up the conversation with her mom saying that her mist memories were so strong because she automatically sensed the potential of a romantic relationship with Jason.  

We don’t have any of Leo’s conflicted feelings regarding rescuing Hera or his fear of being made an outcast for his fire abilities.  Jason has to go with Leo to discover Bunker 9 and Festus.  

Leo doesn’t actively save the day with the Cyclops. 

We don’t know how Piper feels about her charm-speak or see her defeat Madea (as the boys are in their weird trance thing). 

Knowledge about Gaea’s involvement in wrecking Leo’s life will come later.  

Book 2: The Son of Neptune The Quest: Free Thantos Narrator:  Hazel

Why this would be cool: 

The stakes are so incredibly high. Hazel is literally risking her second chance at life by agreeing to go on this chance.  She’s going to the place she died to fight the monster she created. She also has to deal with the trauma of knowing she may have bought the world time with her first sacrifice but it now means nothing if she can’t succeed again.  

We get to see Camp Jupiter from the view of someone who loves it but doesn’t really fit in.  Hazel joined Camp Jupiter just after the final battle.  She enters a community that has learned to fight as a well-oiled machine but that has lost people.  Dakota or the others may remark to her about how things were before or the people who are missing.  Hazel sees a community that she’s not quite a part of both because she didn’t fight in the war and because she’s in the fifth cohort with a feared godly parent.

It would explore her relationship with Nico more (because I love their dynamic and I want more).   She knows she can’t replace his real sister, but she feels comfortable and happy at the opportunity to have a brother, especially one who is out of time like she is.   

What does telling the narrative like this sacrifice:  

Frankly, the largest pushback would be from the fans who expected this to be Percy’s book since we just watched Jason rediscover who he is.

Percy’s phone call to his mom doesn’t have the same intensity.  

Frank’s relationship with Mars and how desperate he was to be claimed but now he doesn’t think he can live up to his father’s expectations.  

Frank and his grandmother.  We aren’t in Frank’s head as he changes shape till later.  

Book 3: Mark of Athena The Quest: Close the Divide Between The Two Camps by finding Athena’s statue and Rescue Nico Narrator(s):  Annabeth and Leo

Why Annabeth: 

So I can have all the emotions at the reunion with Percy.  

Annabeth’s relationship with her Mom has never been great, but imagine beginning the book with Annabeth being given the Mark of Athena. They haven’t left for New Rome yet and her nerves are already all over the place.  Then Athena/Minerva comes, gives her an impossible quest, and breaks her hat.   Annabeth wants to prove to her mother that she’s worthy because despite everything she still values her mother’s opinions.  Also her fatal flaw of hubris makes her believe she will succeed where everyone else failed.

Much of the book already follows her in third person limited so we just get things with a little extra emotion.  

Why Leo:  

Leo has to grapple with the fact he started this war by being the one to fire the cannon even if he didn’t have any control.  He is motivated to fix it

If we’re going to include the Sammy plot, we need to do it now.   Leo doesn’t like being the odd one out on the ship but he certainly doesn’t like the feeling of being notable because of his grandfather.  

We still need to get into those feelings of abandonment and anger at Gaea for killing his mom.  

Nemesis 

Leo comes into his own with the discovery of the Archimedes sphere and the decision to value people over objects.  

What does telling the narrative like this sacrifice:

The aquarium shenanigans 

The fight between Jason and Percy in Kansas needs to happen differently so that the others are present and try to stop it.  

Neither of them went ashore to meet Hercules.  

I think we might need to move up the Calypso meeting to this book, but that also kills some of the suspense since Frank will have the fireproof coating prior to his adventures in Venice when he gains faith in his abilities.  It also might mean Leo opens the fortune cookie from Nemesis unless for some odd reason he doesn’t have it.  There’s a lot more narrative weight for it coming later, but in order to get in as many book events as we can in, it might need to come earlier. 

Book 4:  House of Hades Pt. 1

The Quest: Survive Tartarus Narrator(s): Annabeth and Percy

The first time I read House of Hades, I read it out of order (reading all the Percy and Annabeth chapters until they were on the elevator out of Tartarus before going back and reading the others), because I couldn’t handle the back and forth.  I felt like the tension would build, I’d be invested in this plot and then we’d switch to the other plot. Plus I was very concerned for my children.  So I feel fully justified in saying that there is more than enough material to give the two of them their own book.

I just feel like all the feelings would be magnified.  

Percy’s commentary slowly losing its humor because he can’t anymore.

Annabeth’s guilt at having pulled him in being extra loud.  

Downsides beyond adding an entire book: Just imagine all the outrage at two cliffhangers in a row, because you know the book would end with them in the elevator remembering Bob’s words about the stars.   

Book 5:  House of Hades Pt. 2

The Quest:  Close the Doors of Death Narrator(s): Frank and Hazel

Frank and Hazel experience the most growth on the quest to close the doors so this book is all theirs.  Hazel learns to control the mist.  Frank experiments with his transformations.  I want nothing but them growing into themselves and their abilities.  

The good thing about turning the two warring storylines from House of Hades into separate books is that we lose very little plot.  

Book 6:  House of Hades Pt. 3/Blood of Olympus Pt 1 (Personally I would call this one Ambassador of Pluto)

The Quest:  Unite the Gods’ Personalities. Narrator: Nico

To clarify what I mean by HoH 3, I just mean anything done with the intention of trying to cross paths with Reyna, including the adventure with Cupid, in addition to the existing Nico&Reyna plotline in BoO.  

Nico dealing with all the emotions and his most recent near-death experience.

He kept the secret of the camps so the world wouldn’t end in chaos, but now that the world is in chaos he will be the one to fix it.  

In the short time he’s on the Argo 2, Nico realizes that even though this wasn’t his quest; this is his family and he needs to protect them.  

The reader has a pretty good idea Nico is gay, even if the word isn’t explicitly said from the descriptions (his guilty Percy thoughts - he let down the man he loves even if he won’t admit it.) This means that Cupid’s forceful outing is potentially less surprising so the reader can be properly outraged at Cupid.  

Downside: Reyna definitely has adventures when Nico is passed out, especially the whole waking up with the Hunters, but I think it’s excusable for a whole book from Nico’s perspective.  

Also, the battle between the camps and gifting of the statue needs to happen in this book, but we shouldn’t find out if the gods have regained control of their forms yet.  We alleviate some tensions because Camp Half-blood is likely to be overrun with Octavian’s monsters instead of the Roman armies and Gaea could awaken any second, but there’s an odd moment of calm and an uneasy truce.  (Octavian is potentially taken under custody to be held for trial only to escape in the next book.) 

Book 7:  Blood of Olympus Pt 2 (and the aftermath)

The Quest:  Like The Last Olympian, the final book’s focus is entirely on defeating the series’ big bad, in this case, Gaea.  Leo’s quest for the Physician’s cure parallels Percy’s River Styx visit.  

Narrator(s):  Leo and Piper

Leo has his death hanging over his head.  He has decided that he will be the one to die not any of his friends.  He got the cloth from Calypso so the “fire” portion of the prophecy applies to him and not Frank.  (Yes I know you can’t control prophecies, but do you think that’s going to stop Leo.)  

It’s the ultimate revenge for killing his mom.  We can have memories of both the happy times with Esperanza and the fear he felt for thinking he caused the fire. 

Piper’s perspective is necessary as we need to be with her during the fight with the giants.   

This series began with Piper, Leo, and Jason.  It ends that way too with the three of them killing Gaea and the two of them narrating.  

Downsides: 

The Percabeth I love you-the feud is over scene remains in Piper’s perspective.  

Since we’re not following Reyna’s delivery of the statue concurrently we don’t know when to anticipate the healed gods appearing in the battle with the giants.  

The book can still get away with not showing us Percy’s reunion with Sally or forcing Leo to tell the others he’s alive so they’re all grieving. 

[theonceoverthinker]

Comfortable (Fair Game)

Summary: Things worked out in Atlas and Mantle, better than anyone could have reasonably expected them to. Who’d have thought? Now, the extended group sets out after saving one day to save the next one and the one after that. And with a moment’s peace in between those days, Qrow and Clover finally let themselves get comfortable. 

AO3        Fanfiction.net

A/N: So like the summary warns (While a background element of the fic itself), this fic is almost certainly an AU for the 0% likelihood that everything is going to work out perfectly in the Atlas/Mantle arc -- the communication tower will be back up, everyone will be warned about Salem and then protected, and then everyone will then go to inform the rest of the world.

Tagging @merilinlokk and @lady-branwen!

Seriously, this thing is so sappy. I can't believe it. I am grossed out by this abomination of cuteness! 

Enjoy.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Atlas has a gorgeous line of aircrafts. Aircrafts are behemoths of steel most every other place in Remnant, but in Atlas, where they are an indispensable part of life, something about them is simply different from those in the regions below. Perhaps it’s a reflection of Atlas’ gilded lives -- or at least formerly gilded lives.

Things are changing. So many things have changed already. Atlas and Mantle exist under new leadership, and now are readying themselves to aid in the fight against Salem. The communication’s tower is up and running. There’s a new Winter Maiden.

And now, just as life changes, their extended group must change as well. There are other regions to visit, to warn about Salem, and to assist in facing off against the Grimm that will haunt them in the wake of that knowledge. Much assistance will be required -- enough to warrant the strongest assets of the Atlesian military to join the extended fight beyond Atlas’ borders.

Despite their higher spirits, everyone’s a little mixed at the idea of leaving Atlas. For the Ace Ops, Atlas is not just a workplace...it’s home. For the kids, it was somewhere stable. Clover can only imagine how much they’ve missed having someplace like that to stay. From what Qrow tells him, constant travel has been something of a norm for them since they faced the Fall of Beacon.

But at least this time, their accommodations are more comfortable. The plane they’re taking is about as nice as Atlesian arcrafts come. It’s no four-star hotel, but it’s close. 

Clover’s happy to see that the kids seem content with the accommodations as they board it. 

He’s also happy to see his team content with the accommodations as they board it.

But mostly, so strongly to him that it’s almost embarrassing, he’s happy to see Qrow content with the accommodations as he boards it.

Clover makes sure he’s right by Qrow’s side to get his reaction up close, and Qrow’s smile -- as always -- does not disappoint. It’s as warm as a fireplace after a snowstorm and more beautiful than a hyacinth in bloom.

And fortunately for Clover, he’s been seeing it more and more frequently over the past few months they’ve spent together.

Clover’s always known he’s been blessed with a personality that could win just about anyone over, but experiencing Qrow warming up to him, opening up to him, enjoying his presence and their partnership...it’s been something so different than he ever expected.

He’s unashamed to admit that he loves it with all that he is.

They board the plane together, and Clover gestures to Qrow two unoccupied seats towards the center of the plane.

There’s been no secret made about the length of this flight. The trip from here to Vacuo is sixteen hours.

That’s sixteen hours they’ll be side-by-side, and while this plane is luxurious, that luxury comes at the cost of seats. There’s just barely enough for all of them, and the plane’s available seats are filling up fast. 

Committing to a spot now means committing to spending a whole day by the side of whoever one ended up next to.

Clover knows Qrow knows this.

And he still chose to sit next to Clover without an ounce of hesitation.

A smile crosses Clover’s face, and he’s undeniably thrilled.

However, there’s more to it than that, and funnily enough, that more would seem like less to the naked eye -- comfort.

Comfort, yes. That just about describes everything about them, and it might just be the part of this thing they have that Clover loves more than anything else.

While the armrest between them offers a generous amount of space, his and Qrow’s shoulders touch as they get settled into their seats. Still, neither of them blush, nor look away. No, the touch is casual -- it’s comfortable.

‘Comfortable’ -- oh, how Clover’s grown to love that word. 

As the plane takes off, Clover relaxes at the thought of the next sixteen comfortable hours they’ll share together.

()()()()()()()()()()

In the unlikely event Qrow was ever forced to spend the rest of his days aboard an airplane -- not exactly his ideal retirement plan, mind you, but at least it doesn’t involve being digested by a Grimm -- he can think of a lot worse people to choose to sit next to for all of those remaining years than Clover Ebi.

So when the prospect of a mere sixteen hour flight by his side approaches them, Qrow has no qualms accepting the invitation. 

As a matter of fact, a qualm is just about the last thing Qrow Branwen has with anything having to do with Clover Ebi.

Clover is comfortable -- yes, ‘comfortable’ is the best word to describe him. For as serious as he is when it comes to his job, he is also as carefree as Harbinger is sharp. A lesser mind would attribute that quality to his semblance and the cockiness that it may cause, but Qrow takes pride in being the exact opposite of a lesser mind. He knows that carefreeness Clover has is more than just the result of luck -- it’s who Clover is -- plain and simple. Qrow sees it in Clover’s eyes, his brow, and his smile, a smile that isn’t innocent, but informed, yet still optimistic, and that makes its successes that much more interesting to witness.

Qrow spends a lot of time looking at that smile, and even more time thinking about it. 

And now, he has that smile all to himself for sixteen hours.

Not to mention, if there’s one thing Atlas can be counted on, it’s that it has amazing planes. Their seats feel like they’re made of the very clouds they’re flying through, the craft is fully stocked with seemingly every snack under the sun as well as a nice variety of sodas, and they have screens to project their scrolls onto for a handsfree experience.

So not only will he have access to Clover’s smile, he and Clover will also be given plenty of good reasons TO smile.

It’s going to be a great flight.

()()()()()()()()()()

Clover swears that at some point, the plane flew up beyond the limits of the very sky itself and is now gliding straight across heaven.

Sure, that theory is rather hyperbolic, but with how nice of a time he’s having, he wouldn’t be surprised if it proved to be the case.

Rays of light amber shine inside the plane. Qrow, while not directly in its way, is bathed in it all the same. 

The sun makes everything about him pop -- as if he didn’t already do that well enough on his own. His smile is so much brighter, the speckles in his eyes are clearer, and his teeth almost sparkle in the light. Even the crumbs from the pretzels he ate earlier are illuminated, and Clover -- ever the neat freak his team well knows him to be -- finds too endearing for words.

The setting sun gives Clover little time to take it in, so he does fully under the guise of simple conversation.

He can be quite the clever devil when he wants to be.

That would probably be a bad thing if he didn’t care for the topic, but he does. Clover considers himself a caring guy, but Qrow manages to make even the most seemingly boring, annoying, or weird topics come alive. While Clover’s not at all into video games, if Qrow’s talking about them, suddenly, he doesn’t mind thinking about them for a half hour or so.

The past few hours have passed in a relaxed state of bliss. Conversations tend to flow between them as naturally as a river, and the long flight together hasn’t changed that. There’s plenty of moments of silence too, or just moments that pass where they do things on their own, but it never feels out of place. It’s just them...being who they are. 

Clover likes who they are.

It’s not long before the sun completely sets. The dark sky is contrasted by the warm lights from within the plane, and it feels as if they’re safely put in a nice, cozy cabin on a harsh winter’s night.

However, before long, that changes too.

Their arrival in Vacuo will be early. Everyone aboard the craft knows that, and as yawns start to surface after their early wake up to prepare for their initial departure, it starts to sink in that calling it a night sooner rather than later is in all of their best interests.

Clover can already see people settling in for some sleep. He gets a peek at his teammates, and he can just barely hold back a chuckle. 

Harriet’s lounging in her seat with her left arm spread out over the armrest and her eyes shut, with Vine holed up in the corner beside the window and his seatmate, halfway to slumber town himself. Marrow meanwhile has contorted himself so that his tail is curving over his body while Elm pushes his back against her own as to sleep more cozily.

Of all the descriptors Clover as ever used or considered using in regards to his team, the term ‘adorable’ has never once come to mind. However, those brief glances at his fellow fighters changes that perspective in an instant.

He has a sneaking suspicion that a certain group of kids from Beacon have a hand to play in the change. 

Honestly, the Ace Ops as a whole have become so much closer over the weeks that unorthodox group has been in their presence.

Those kids...and Qrow...who knew they would be what the world needed the most right about now?

And more importantly, who knows what they’ll do next? Clover believes that whatever it is will be something good, and he’s happy to be along for the ride.

Well, whatever the case, he does agree nonetheless that it’s just about time to turn it in for the night.

()()()()()()()()()()

Sixteen hours never seemed too big of a number for Qrow, and passing that time with Clover has made it seem even more paltry than that. 

Things are always easy like that for Qrow and Clover -- at least when they’re together, that is. Clover has this aura about him -- not a luck-based aura, but...a different kind of aura, separate from the pressures of semblances and more of a resemblance of his core personality. That aura makes the air feel just a bit sweeter and the urge to keep his guard up seem so much more distant than it should be.

Being around Clover...it makes Qrow just feel safe.

He knows it’s unwise. After all, they have a relic in their possession. It’s just a matter of time until a flying Grimm attacks them, or Hazel will show up on a hot air balloon or something or both at the same time, ready, willing, and able to blow them out of the sky.

Well, at least Tyrian’s not among their enemies’ numbers anymore.

Still, despite the danger that lurks behind each and every one of Remnant’s four corners, Clover’s sheer presence somehow wills his relaxation into existence. It’s nice having someone around like that, and it’s even nicer that that person is Clover.

Qrow’s never been much of a talker -- in truth, he’s not even that much of a talker with Clover -- but Clover and he are able to ebb and flow through the balance of conversation and alone time with such ease. There always seems to be something new for the two of them to discuss, and at the same time, they can exchange a comfortable silence with not a single bit of awkwardness, and no time has made that more apparent than today. 

Most of the conversation’s been surrounding Vacuo. Qrow wants Clover to know what he’s in for once they hit the harsh sands below it. Clover seems so assured that he can handle the rough climate, but he’s never been there before. Nonetheless, Clover’s confidence -- as it is often one to do -- leaves Qrow believing he can weather whatever Vacuo has in store for him.

...That said, is it bad that Qrow also wants to see the look on Clover’s face when he realizes they need to regularly traverse the desert on foot?

Probably, but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a hilarious mental image to have dance around in his head.

Still, even if he has a hard time at first, Qrow knows Clover will get it in no time. 

And he looks forward to that smile of triumph when even the cruelest of wastelands falls prey to Clover Ebi’s relentless optimism.

The shattered moon is the only light the outside world provides them that remains in the wake of the deceased day. And just like that very outside world, it’s not long after the sun abandons it that the occupants of their aircraft abandon their overhead lights.

It makes sense. After all, they’re supposed to be landing early tomorrow, and they left Atlas Academy pretty early this morning just to make their flight. Everyone could use a little shut eye.

Some arrive sooner to that proverbial party than others.

Qrow hears Ruby and Nora snoring from both the front and back of the aircraft, respectively. 

He’s traveled with them for months, but it never ceases to amaze him just how loudly those two brats in particular seem to -- not even just sleep, but just do...everything.

Other snores -- less loud than his niece and her friend’s -- speckle the night with bits of sound, as the plane lets itself darken. 

He and Clover lock eyes just before turning to see their comrades as they fall to the lull of sleep. 

Diagonal from their seats, they spot something that almost makes Qrow’s heart skip a beat.

‘Cute’ really isn’t Qrow’s scene. He may hang around with people considered to be cute by both others and admittedly himself, but Qrow doesn’t go looking for cute things, nor pay them any more attention than anything else that only mildly interests him with few exceptions.

But seeing Yang and Blake, cuddling up against each other with a shared blanket that continues melding forms that are already bound by touched foreheads, yeah, that’s cute. 

Nah, not cute. Downright ‘precious’ would be the better way to describe the sight before him. 

Clover seems to think so too. He can feel the tension in Clover’s forearm release from up against him, but also not pull back.

Qrow can’t even blame him. He’s halfway tempted to take a picture and send it to Ruby because he knows she’d kill him if she found out he held something like this back from her.

But he doesn’t. This is Yang and Blake’s moment, not theirs, even if it is cute.

They’re good kids. They deserve some happiness like that.

He and Clover take a final look at the lovebirds before turning back to each other, softly smiling. 

Clover hums his agreement to their silent conversation in a relaxed, yet still jovial tone. 

Then...Clover does something unexpected. He leans down briefly, rifling around the bottom of his seat. Moments later, he surfaces, but with a dark blue plush, cylindrical bundle in his hands. The name of the aircraft is embroidered onto the cloth exterior. 

Well, it wouldn’t be an airplane ride without a complimentary blanket, now would it?

Clover pops open a button and holds the blanket between them, his offer obvious despite that offer being given no voice.

There’s a hidden implication to the gesture, especially given what they just saw between his niece and Blake.

A sudden case of convenient amnesia overtakes Qrow -- or rather, Qrow takes on -- regarding the fact that he has also been provided with his own blanket, one that rests right beside where Clover found his, and that he’d be able to access just as easily as Clover was.

Oops. How silly of him.

Qrow, with a shrug and a chuckle nods his acceptance. 

Without a word needing to be exchanged between them, Clover and Qrow spread the blanket over themselves and get comfortable. 

Clover positively radiates warmth. It would make for a sweltering scenario if the shared body heat was balmy rather than cozy.

Qrow and Clover are sharing a blanket.

No, Qrow is not completely beside himself with a delight he never thought it was possible for him to house.

...That’s the veneer he aims to put on, at least.

In truth though, for as happy as he is with the arrangement, it’s not enough to hitch his breath, nor make his heartbeat race. Things may have been like that at some point between them, but right now, Qrow can’t remember -- he doesn’t want to.

What they have now, it’s comfortable -- literally, at this second, just as much as it is figuratively -- and Qrow wouldn’t trade it for the world.

As the final minutes of their day slink by, they watch something on each of their TV’s. Still, Qrow isn’t paying attention to anything except how nice this all feels and just how alluring the prospect of a nap is right now. He suspects Clover feels the same. Their eyelids begin to grow heavy, and that weight only gets increases more and more by the second. Hardly ten minutes pass after the blanket is spread before Clover and Qrow quietly fall asleep.

()()()()()()()()()()

Yang’s uncle, whether he’ll ever admit it or not -- something Yang thinks is about as likely as Salem deciding to sprout confetti all across Remnant instead of Grimm -- is too cute for words.

She’s seen plenty of instances of his cuteness throughout her childhood -- mostly through funny faces and even funnier stories made to entertain while simultaneously distracting her and Ruby. In her adolescence, instances were less prevalent, coming out only through the occasional glimpse of awkwardness, goofiness, or unashamed bouts of affection.

But any absence of signs that she’s ever experienced in her life of her uncle Qrow’s cuteness are more than made up for by the sheer sight of Qrow cuddling underneath a blanket with Clover Ebi.

It’s an adorable sight to wake up to -- not quite as adorable as the sleeping Blake that first greets Yang’s eyes when she wakes from their nap, but still more than enough to make her smile nonetheless. 

Yang doesn’t stay awake for long. At times like this, Blake’s presence soothes her like nothing else, and the pull of sleep is a mighty one to ward off under such circumstances. However, upon prying her eyes away from Blake to stretch, she gets to see a bit of her uncle’s snuggly nap, and it does a good job holding its own in the battle of cuteness.

All is calm, but all the same, while the nightmares that Yang knows make her uncle Qrow reel in his sleep are clearly not present, Qrow’s head ends up shifting all the same, eventually leaning onto Clover’s shoulder where it at last is calmed. And Clover’s head, taken off its balance, gently sandwiches Qrow’s head into the crook of his neck. Yang sees Qrow’s left arm slip towards the bottom of the small of Clover’s back, and Clover’s hand is visible through the indent it makes, falling to Qrow’s right thigh, practically on his waist. Both sport easy smiles.

Despite the fact that there are so many fights left unresolved and so many monsters that will likely soon come for all of them, Cover and Qrow both look as though they’ve never been as safe as they are whilst held in each other’s arms.

And in the entire time Yang’s known both of them, they’ve never looked this comfortable before. 

Well, perhaps she’s wrong about that. Everything about them is comfortable from the outside looking in, and has been since the day they were first partnered up. It’s something that goes beyond their complementary semblances, too. Actually, yeah -- if Yang were to put it into words, she’d say that they just fit so...comfortably together. There’s no better way to describe them than that, but all the same, it’s the right word for them.

Yang’s not a betting girl, but she’ll say that if Qrow or Clover were each allowed to pick a single moment could be made to last forever, there’s a good chance at least one of them would pick this one.

She’s happy for them. Clover’s a good guy -- cool-headed, but cocky, spunky, but earnest, and strong willed, but not incapable of change to help the world improve. Yang likes him and as a plus, he and Qrow fight well together. 

They’re good men. They deserve some happiness like that.

And speaking of some due happiness, a slight stir from Blake settles Yang back into their prior pose, and moments later, she falls asleep again.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Clover’s woken up in aircrafts before. 

If he had to call one thing about them his favorite, it would be the pale sunset that shine through the windows. Just like the sunset from the previous day, it creates a gorgeous glow over the plane’s occupants that makes for a wonderful way to start the day.

And with both that sunset and Qrow Branwen by his side, Clover wouldn’t be surprised if this turned out to be the best day ever.

As if he and Qrow didn’t match each other perfectly enough already, they wake up at practically the same time, too. Less than a minute after Clover eyes open, Qrow’s eyes meet his gaze. It’s so serene -- Clover feels as though he could meet it forever. 

In a move that honestly surprises Clover, Qrow doesn’t do anything to move away from him. They’re so close -- there’s no way that hasn’t resonated with Qrow the same way it has for Clover.

As a matter of fact, he doesn’t even rush to create the small excuse for distance they had prior to their rest either. The touch lingers in the warmth of the blanket and their shared body heat. 

No one else is awake yet. Neither he nor Qrow are looking around, but he gets the sense that they can both just feel it.

A certain moment from the night before rings a bell, of two people nestled under a blanket together, holding each other tightly.

It’s just them -- resting together, resting comfortably.

Clover’s pretty sure there’s not one tangible thing in all of Remnant or beyond that he wants more.

()()()()()()()()()()()()

Qrow hasn’t slept as well as he has over the past few hours in a long, long time. His usual bout of nightmares let him be, and because of that, not once did his consciousness stir out of its state of slumber all evening.

It’s a good feeling -- it’s a really good feeling.

He has to strain himself to will the strength needed to open his eyes into existence -- a Herculean task that he feels should grant him a round of applause for its completion.

And when he does, he’s rewarded for his efforts by one hell of a sight. 

Clover’s eyes have always stuck out to Qrow as bold -- then again, so do his own -- but two inches at most from his face, despite their singular color, they’re as vibrant as a rainbow.

Neither of them speak, as if their proximity to each other leaves them speechless.

But no -- this isn’t them being speechless. Qrow knows what that’s like, but he can tell that if he ever gains a desire to end this, he could whenever he wants to.

And he doesn’t.

Instead, tender smiles are exchanged, acting in place of any verbal language as a wish for a good morning.

Verbal or not, the wish feels well granted right about now. 

They’re both so close together right now, with much of their bodies already pressed against the other about as snugly as the situation can allow.

With that thought, another slams into him, one that should leave him agape and shocked, but doesn’t.

So Qrow let’s the thought exist, entertaining it like silly putty in his hands.

If they were so inclined to kiss, such a thing would be almost too easy to pass up right now.

And neither of them are running away. They’ve both fought their demons -- emotional and literal -- and won.

Some easiness is definitely called for.

So Qrow leans in, and Clover follows him as if their minds and thoughts were one.

It’s little more than a shift for them as their lips touch for the first time.

The kiss between them feels...weightless. Yeah, that’s how Qrow would best put it. With that weightlessness comes a sense of finally and fully letting go. It’s a letting go of his inhibitions, a letting go of his guard, and a letting go of anything that he hasn’t already readily offered Clover.

There’s not much of the latter...but that’s what makes the kiss as good as it is.

Qrow’s hand moves from the small of Clover’s back up to the space between his shoulders. Clover’s moves from Qrow’s thigh around the corner of his form, fully ensnaring his waist. 

It’s a quiet kiss, at least to the outside world. But between them, a fondness in the form of a question that had been upfront about its presence, but never ultimately asked is at last not only asked, but answered. That answer turns out to be better than Qrow could’ve ever imagined.

They breathe each other in more and more for every moment the kiss goes on, and that leaves them both with a lot of the other’s scents dancing through their noses.

The kiss comes to an end as a flight attendant passes by, offering them coffee. Even as they softly break apart though to tell them their drink preferences, one of each of their hands find their way to the other’s. 

Another kiss is not exchanged that morning, but those hands stay casually bound until the plane lands in a small mushroom cloud of sand. 

Vacuo is for certain going to be a challenge for the group, one that will not be gentle with its trials and tribulations as the weather, Grimm, and Salem’s goons alike put their patience, strength, and sanity through the absolute tightest wringer.

However, Qrow’s not worried, or at least not as worried as he would be alone. As long as Clover stands beside him, no matter the pain that may follow, a part of him will always be allowed to be comfortable.

[demonboidies]

𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓵𝔂 - 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀

pt. 3

word count: 1, 802

●WARNING: mention of several mental illnesses (eating disorders, depression, anxiety, psychotic disorders, OCD, alcohol abuse, and more) I do not go into deep detail of each, more so simply mentioning the names, but if you are easily triggered please don't read. the reason I am mentioning these illnesses is because the boys(in my ff) suffer from several of them. all the mental illnesses mentioned in this chapter and their corresponding member are not based on true facts or actual evidence. this is fictional.●

"ah, well i graduated from college a while ago. majored in world language, i had this crazy dream of being a translator. but i obviously don't do that, although i've recently applied to several companies, i haven't heard from any." you ended with a neutral smile, making eye contact with the oldest who was nodding in understanding. "but i asked Jungkook which classes he took, since he still is a youngling."

you chuckle at your wording, along with the others. Hoseok even ruffling the man's hair teasingly.

"uhm, i do programming, computer stuff...yeah, it's nothing interesting like the arts b-but it's what i d-do best." a weak smile was on his lips and you chuckle softly.

"no, that sounds cute. you seem to be like a tech nerd, please take no offense. i mean to compliment you." you said, saving your mistake last second. even if they were younger than you, the level of respect and professionalism still had to be present between all of you.

red was painted across jungkook's face...he was cute to you? taehyung and jimin clenched the utensils on their hands, annoyed with how jungkook unknowingly one upped them. yoongi and hoseok sent glares to jungkook. namjoon and jin simply smiled, although they were fuming internally.

"oh, thank you..."

you nodded, biting into the food present in front of you. the taste was extravagant, even if it was a simple dish.

"my gosh, who made this? it is delicious." you moaned out, wiping your mouth. "this is so good, and home made?"

"that would be me, darling. and of course, home made. i like being able to overlook the food the boys eat, make sure they get their nutrients and stuff. i try to limit the amount of time they eat out,but sometimes i can't control it. especially if i'm in another country." you nodded impressed with the subtle fact he dropped, whether he did it on purpose or not.

"what do you guys do? i'm intrigued now with your professions." you said, resting your heaad on your hand.

"well, i graduated already...but i run my own dance studio. you should stop by sometime! we've won a couple awards, i'm very proud of my students!" hoseok smiles wide, and you could easily tell how much dance meant to him.

"i'm taking online classes for psychology. going to college is such a hassle, online is so much easier." namjoon says with a heavy sigh which you jokingly cheers to. making the males laugh at your humor.

"we, my friend, are on the same page!" you said and he laughed, making you smile widely.

"i produce music. i post my works on soundcloud...i promise i'm not like every other soundcloud rapper. i actually care about what i make, rather than the views it'll give me. i also have interest in photography, but tae is much better than me." yoongi was quiet and fidgeting when he saw the gaze of you on him. but at his last statement, you pouted a bit.

"i'm sure you two have your own styles and qualities in your work. also i've never met a producer before, i look forward to listening to your work as your career prgresses." you smiled kindly at him and he ducked his down to hide his blush. you chuckle before moving your gaze to the eldest at the table.

"oh, my turn. about time~" the boys scoffed and his attitude when you chuckled, at ease in his presence. "i mainly stay at home and do work in my office, but when push comes to shove i do have to leave the country. i'm heir to my father's company, so i have to take responsibility sometimes...and you must be wondering. so i'll answer the question now. the reason why i'm in this wheelchair is because i was in a bad accident when i was young." he nodded solemnly, although he was smiling weakly. there was a silence as you took the words in. "thank God my face was spared though."

he cupped his cheek, initiating a innocent look as everyone broke into a smile, looking over to the man with a wonder.

how could someone be so positive after such a horrific event? which was what you were thinking.

but the rest of the boys simply sighed in relief at their hyung. he was always a good liar. and they were lucky you were completely politely innocent and oblivious to their hyung's lie. he had lied more than once to you already, cheeky person he was

"yes, your face was surely spared." you said joining in with the joke.

the rest of the dinner consisted of you bonding over little things. your love for all kinds of games (including pranks) was shared with jungkook, love for animal life with namjoon, sleep with yoongi, culinary with jin, free expression with hoseok, puppies and dogs with taehyung, and family and friends with jimin. the general direction of every conversation was satisfying as it ended with everyone having a smile on their faces.

you had helped clean up, already beginning your new task as a house maid/nurse. "so what would like me to focus on as my first days?" you asked after everything was cleaned. the youngest had to go to their rooms, to begin getting ready for bed since they had school tomorrow. all their classes were in the morning which was fortunate for you since you would be driving them there from now on...and it didn't seem like fun to constantly drive back to the house and then to the university.

namjoon, who was standing in front of you, moved to the study table in the living room, and took a Manila folders into his hands. it seemed like a thick stack of papers and as you looked closer, there were a total of 7.

"no formal work, but all 7 of us saw it appropriate to give you an introduction to our needs. what exactly is wrong with us, y'know? we trust you're experience enough for this so we are confident you'll do just fine."

you took the stack of papers and thanked him. you walked through the house to find your room, which hoseok had shown you right after dinner was finished, and you still marveled at the sight.

it was a grand gray and white minimalistic bedroom with a huge bed in the center. there was also a large ledge with a window that you could sit on to see the night sky. you maneuvered your way over to the study table, turning the lap on to begin "studying" the males.

●𝖐𝖎𝖒 𝖘𝖊𝖔𝖐𝖏𝖎𝖓 / kim seokjin

disabilities/disorders: unable to move bottom half of body, a light case of schizophrenia, requires special attention on getting ready in the morning (may include dressing and showering)

meds: need daily dose for schizophrenia

your brows furrowed. that existed? you knew schizophrenia existed, but meaning a light case would specifically show what? you just shrugged and decided to what the papers were saying.

●𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖎 / min yoongi

disabilities/disorders: OCD, severe depression, social anxiety, prone to panic and anxiety attacks in a crowd of many people, values his personal space-do not enter his personal bubble unless asked

meds: needs dose for OCD, depression

you nodded slowly, understanding the conditions and seeing the familiar names once again. you've had patients like him before, but everyone is different, so you will still be careful.

●𝖏𝖚𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖔𝖐 / jung hoseok

disabilities/disorders: bipolar disorder, ADHD, OCD, fits of anger are dangerous, act hostile in any case and alert one of the other tenants immediately

meds: dose for ADHD & OCD

sudden shortness of his list made you a bit hopeful that taking care of 7 males wouldn't be as hard as it seemed. then again, you willingly signed up for this so you shouldn't be complaining in any way.

●𝖐𝖎𝖒 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖏𝖔𝖔𝖓 / kim namjoon

disabilities/disorders: depression, OCD, past with alcohol abuse (currently in rehab)

meds: dose for depression and OCD

you pouted slightly, only being able to imagine how hard it must be to recover from alcoholism. and it was saddening to see such an intellectual and kind person such as Namjoon suffer from the mental illness, although that could be said about everyone you had previously read.

●𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖏𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖓 / park jimin

disabilities/disorders: ARFID, anxiety, prone to panic and anxiety attacks

meds: none

reading the single line you let yourself think of the moment he introduced himself. he was enthusiastic about meeting you, it made you smile at the memory. you were suddenly thankful for getting such a sweet and honey-like expression out of the man.

●𝖐𝖎𝖒 𝖙𝖆𝖊𝖍𝖞𝖚𝖓𝖌 / kim taehyung

disabilities/disorders: OCD, ADD, brief psychotic disorder - periods are short and caused by stress, not dangerous unless triggered by something you do or say

meds: dose for OCD, ADD, and best if given sleep meds during pyschotic episodes

you nodded slowly, understanding and keeping the directions in the back of your mind.

●𝖏𝖊𝖔𝖓 𝖏𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖐𝖔𝖔𝖐 / jeon jungkook

disabilities/disorders: DID, psychotic, anxiety

meds: dose to limit psychotic episodes

the 3 things on the list made your eyebrows furrow. the 3 seemed to make a terrible combination and you began thinking of how calm Jungkook was before. You hoped you wouldn't encounter any bad alters of Jungkook, if he had any bad ones. and, honestly, you were a bit uneducated in the DID field, so you were determined to learn more tonight with the help of the internet.

and the last sheet in each file were filed letters to make sure you caught it :

THEY SHOULD NEVER BE KEPT UNSUPERVISED FOR A LONG TIME. MEDICATION IS IN THE CABINET IN YOUR ROOM WITH PADLOCK TO AVOID OVERDOSES. THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING AND COMPLIANCE.

you took the words seriously, seeing the urgency in the message. shutting the folders, you stacked all of them in one pile and moved to freshen up. a shower was needed as you climbed into the steaming bathroom. after washing yourself, you climbed into bed and soon you were falling asleep. you fell asleep thinking about how tomorrow would be your first day of your new job.

a/n- thank you so much for the support of this book!!! I hope you guys stay tuned and enjoy the rest of the journey with yabdere!bts

oooh, curious question

》what other times do you think jin lied to you? hmmm?

♡♡♡♡♡SEND ME UR ASK ON WHAT U THINK ABT THATTTTT♡♡♡♡♡

[dungeons-and-hermits]

Victorious Return

Genre: Angst/Fluff Characters: Doc, Beef, BDubs, Etho Summary: The nHo are gone, but never forgotten... and not quite gone Word Count: 4178 (yeah. I might have gone ham) Author: Mod Lori

In time, Doc came to refer to the event as the Incident.

The Incident that had taken the lives of his closest companions, the Incident that had left him alone and lost, the Incident that had sent him into a life of isolation. It had been a year since the Incident—in fact tomorrow would be the exact anniversary. They were dead, and to the world, he was dead along with them.

He wished that were true.

In the back corner of a dingy, dank tavern, he sat at a table with a mug of ale in his hand and three empty chairs before him. It was far later than he should have been staying out, so late that he was one of only three remaining patrons.

Hee downed his drink and then rose to his feet, body heavy. He wanted nothing more than to stay here and continue to drown his sorrows, but, if he remained in one place for too long, he risked being recognized. So, he lifted his hood and exited the dim light of the tavern, stepping into the night and keeping his head down—though that did little to hide just how much space his half-orc body took up.

He couldn’t be recognized. If he was, he didn’t have it in him to explain, hadn’t had it in him since his friends had been killed, and he thought that maybe he would never have it in him to do anything ever again except carry on as he had been, wandering from town to town.

His friends were dead, and yet, he was still here. Why? Why was he still here when the others were gone, wrenched from his life unceremoniously like they were nothing?

They weren’t nothing, and they never had been. They were his companions, his best friends, his family, and for the longest time he couldn’t have imagined his life without them.

He wished that were still true.

He was out of the town and along the beaten forest path within minutes. A lesser man might be nervous walking through a forest at night with all that he owned on his back, but it was a rare and impressive feat to find someone who could pose him any true threat.

Besides, even if he stumbled across someone like that, it wasn’t as if he had much to live for.

Now that he wished wasn’t true.

It was a dangerous thing to be alone with his thoughts, but he couldn’t stay anywhere for very long, and especially not in such a small town that would immediately know about a half-orc stranger come morning.

Because of that, he had to leave. Maybe someday he would build himself a house in the middle of a thick forest and live there, where nobody would find him. The hermit life sounded good. It was alone, unbothered.

He walked for the entire night, not bothering to stop to rest. By the time dawn broke, he was in the middle of the forest, still trekking along the winding path. He’d seen a few people as morning approached, mostly lone riders or merchants with carts.

He’d paid them little mind until he came upon an upturned wagon. It was blocking the path entirely, and a good ten or so people were surrounding it. Once, he would have stopped to help. Even now, had he been in a better mood, he might have still done it.

Instead, his heart hung heavy within his chest, and the last thing that he wanted to do today was help turn a cart right-side up. Ignoring them, he turned, venturing off the path and into the forest proper before any of them saw him.

He’d only just lost sight of the cart when his foot slipped.

It was stupid, really; a misstep on a loose stone, but sure enough, the stone fell out from under him, and then he was slipping uncontrolably down a hill that started gentle but, as he soon found out, eventually became steep and then dropped off to a vertical cliff.

He scrambled for purchase, mind blank with panic and limbs flailing wildly for a branch or a root or something to stop his fall. Unfortunately, he found nothing, and then he was free-falling off a cliff so high that he couldn’t see the bottom. It would come eventually, though, and so he closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate and bracing for impact.

But, before he hit the ground, his arm—the one made of wood, not flesh—was yanked upward. A hand grasped it and lifted.

There was light; searing, blinding, brilliant light that burned into his mind even through his closed eyes, and as the light surged and then faded, he was surrounded by a familiar feeling.

He’d recognize Beef’s spell to reduce fall damage anywhere. Even a year later, even in the last place and time he would expect it, even with Beef dead and gone. The magic coated him like a warm hug, undeniably Beef; it was the immense, overwhelming power of a fireball and the soft, reassuring touch of a heal. It felt like companionship and inside jokes, cozy and safe and there to catch you when you fall.

As his feet slammed into the ground below he felt tears spring to his eyes not from pain—no, the spell negated any pain—but from sheer, unbridled emotion, emotion that increased infinitely as Doc looked up. Beef was there, right before him, face awash in terror and confusion and excitement all wrapped up in one, hand still grasping Doc’s wooden wrist.

“How-“

“You’re dead,” Doc said.

Beef blinked. It was at that moment that Doc realized he wasn’t… whole. Beef was a ghost; there was no other way to put it. He was translucent and pale, with the slightest tinge of washed-out blue. His torso could be seen but his legs faded into nothing, and he was just hovering there, dressed in the very clothes Doc had witnessed him die in.

“I don’t think I am.”

“Well, you’re not alive.”

“That’s true,” Beef conceded.

Doc’s heart was pounding in his chest, his ears ringing and mind whirling with a cocktail of emotions that dashed through his conscious far too fast for him to grasp or comprehend.

Impossible. It was impossible. Beef couldn’t be here, and yet, and yet, the feeling of the spell that had saved Doc’s life was fresh and full in his memory. There was no way of faking that; it was uniquely Beef, his magic a fingerprint that left no room for doubt. It was him, there was no way around it.

But it was impossible.

Doc told him as much. Before him, Beef shrugged transparent shoulders. The smile that the human gave was some odd conglomeration of sheepishness, confusion, and relief.

“I can’t tell you anything except that I am very glad to be back here. Well,” he glanced down at his body, briefly inspecting it, “mostly here, anyway.”

It hit him then, so sudden and elating; it was no wonder that it took so long to sink in. Beef was here, with him, somehow, by the hand of some benevolent god or fortunate magic. The realization forced tears to his eyes once again, and he named a few of the emotions that eddied within him: elation, sheer joy, overwhelming relief and excitement because Beef, his friend and longtime companion, a man he thought dead and long gone, was back, returned to him from beyond the grave.

Beef didn’t leave, mostly because--as they soon found out--he couldn’t; he was present, but he wasn’t corporeal, and he was unable to go much further than Doc could see. Doc was also the only person who could see or hear him, a fact they learned quickly when they came across a town, and one which Beef just as quickly used to his advantage, loudly interrupting Doc or talking smack about the people they interacted with at every opportunity. They fell into an easy dynamic within days; they’d spent too much time together for that to be difficult.

Beef couldn’t touch anything, either, save for Doc’s wooden arm. They weren’t sure why that was, exactly, but Beef had a few theories. Strangest of all, though, through some connection they shared, Beef could somehow cast spells through Doc. They were limited, of course, and immensely draining, but the power that rushed through him was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

The month following Beef’s return was filled with experimentation. They tested the limits of his capabilities together, and Doc was happy beyond belief that, not only had his friend returned, but that he had a purpose once more.

Most troubling of all, though, was that they still didn’t know where Beef had been.

Beef’s running theory was that the artifact a year earlier had banished him to another plane. He didn’t like talking about it; whenever Doc mentioned it, even in passing, the man grew distant and quiet. On the rare occasions when Beef mentioned it, Doc got the feeling that it wasn’t entirely in the past tense.

There were times when Beef faded, times when he wasn’t quite there. It was terrifying. Every time it happened, Doc could only watch as the man’s form grew thinner, as his eyes began to focus on things unseen, as he ceased responding to Doc as if he weren’t really there. And every time it happened, Doc was convinced that that was it—that Beef would fade away entirely, and that this strange sort of being had been temporary, fated to be whisked off within months.

But Beef would return, and all would be well, and Doc didn’t ask where he’d gone. Maybe they would get to that point some time in the future, but he didn’t want to push anything. He was all Beef had at the moment; he didn’t want to make the man uncomfortable.

So they settled into a routine, and it wasn’t long before it felt like it had a year prior, even though they were still missing half of their group.

It was about three months after Beef’s appearance that that changed.

Doc was well used to getting in trouble. He was half-orc; there were few races that faced more vitriol than him, and he was well used to the prejudice that came along with it. Because of this, he wasn’t particularly surprised when he found himself arrested one day.

It was a small town, the kind which tended to be insular and not particularly welcoming to outsiders. Beef had been particularly brutal in his commentary that afternoon, and that hadn’t helped Doc with any attempts to remain inconspicuous.

They hadn’t intended to remain very long, but they did stop by the tavern for a drink (one drink, for Doc, seated at an empty table because Beef could sit but could not drink with his friend). He’d been getting up to leave when he had passed by another table and had overheard a human man saying something downright foul to the (extremely uncomfortable) tavern maid giving him his ale.

He’d grabbed the man by the shirt, lifting him from his seat and then throwing him to the ground. Beef had cheered him on, but he would have done it even if he hadn’t had someone encouraging him to.

The fight that ensued was completely one-sided. The man had three friends, but all four were dispatched and running off with their tails between their legs within minutes.

Doc had stayed longer than he should have, making sure that the woman was okay and apologizing for reacting on impulse (he should have made sure she wanted his help from the start, but Beef had egged him on and the man’s actions had left him in such a rage that he hadn’t thought that part through). She was fine, fairly thankful, and the owner of the tavern had come out to assure Doc that the men wouldn’t be welcome back.

He left the tavern and intended to go on his way, Beef floating along beside him pantomiming the fight and describing it in hilariously excited detail. He was met by guards before he even neared the edge of the city.

As it turned out, one of the disgusting men had been the brother of the captain of the guard, and so, with little ceremony, Doc was thrown into a small cell and abandoned to await his punishment

Beef found the whole thing hilarious, and if Doc could float through walls and didn’t have to touch anything in the cell, he’d probably have found it amusing too. As it was, he was less than enthused. Still, he had no regrets. He was just waiting for the right moment to activate his barbarian rage and get out.

The sun was beginning to set when the captain of the guard came up to his cell.

“I don’t suppose you know what you did wrong.”

“Enlighten me,” Doc drawled.

The man huffed, speaking slowly as if Doc didn’t speak Common. “You assaulted four men completely unwarranted in a tavern.”

“Wouldn’t call it unwarranted.” Doc rose to his feet. “They were harassing a tavern maid.”

“It wasn’t your place to intervene.”

Doc’s hand clenched into a fist. He was beyond tired of this. “Man, I don’t know who raised you, but I was raised to respect women, which includes not making lewd comments at them when they’re just doing their jobs.”

“She was a tavern maid, they’re there for-“

Doc’s fist was already in the man’s face. The noise that resulted was undoubtedly the sound of his nose breaking, and he toppled to the floor, blood gushing down his face and completely unconscious.

“Damn,” Beef said, drawing out the word as he hovered over the body. “One hit. What a punch!”

Doc stepped out from his cell, over the man’s body and into the hallway. Then he heard a gasp.

His head snapped towards the source. At the end of the hallway, a young woman stood with wide eyes and a hand over her mouth.

“Uh.” Doc looked down at the unconscious man next to him, then at the cell behind him, and then finally at the blood on the floor and his fist, which certainly didn’t look good. He returned his gaze to the woman, lifting his hands immediately and opening them to show that he held nothing in them. “It was self defense?”

The words had just left his mouth before a luminous light shone through the room. It was white-hot and familiar, and he recognized it as the very same that had heralded Beef’s return.

The magic that flowed through him this time was boisterous and jovial. It was the smell of a summer rainfall and the sound of a wild wind through trees; the feeling of family, of home, of belonging.

When it faded, the woman made no acknowledgement that it had occurred. She blinked once, eyes glazed over, and then murmured “self defense” before nodding absentmindedly and then turning around to walk off.

Doc’s jaw was on the floor. “That worked?”

“Not at all!”

Doc whipped about to see the source of the voice. He’d recognize it anywhere. BDubs. There he was, floating next to a wide-eyed and grinning Beef, with an endearingly arrogant half-smile plastered on his face and hands raised in a fashion that resembled a performer having done some impressive trick.

“I, however, worked beautifully.” A charisma buff. The kind that BDubs would give back when they were alive and getting into the same shenanigans Doc had gotten into now.

Beef, suddenly free of his shock, let out a whoop of excitement. He was laughing, all but manic, joy and surprise evident on his face and in his laughter.

BDubs was grinning, more genuine and relieved this time. He was laughing with Beef and his eyes were shining with tears and it wasn’t long before translucent drops were falling to the floor, dissipating rather than remaining.

Doc ran out of town with his companions flying behind him, the duo even louder and more chaotic than Beef was on his own.

The routine they’d fallen into picked BDubs up without issue, and now even more experimentation could be done thanks to the inclusion of another ghostly planar-stuck mage.

BDubs’ presence brought the group’s morale up even higher. He’d always had a way of doing that, as if his simply being there lifted spirits and created happiness. Doc had thought he’d never feel it again, and yet here they were, Doc and Beef and BDubs adventuring again.

But there was one part missing.

He felt guilty for it, selfish, as if two friends miraculously returning from the dead (or whatever plane they had been imprisoned) wasn’t enough for him. Why couldn’t that be enough? Why couldn’t he be happy with that?

But it was impossible to deny the palpable hole in their group. They were three-fourths of a quartet, not a trio. It felt wrong. They all missed Etho, he knew it. There was a part of him holding out hope that Etho would show up, just as Beef and BDubs had.

Days had gone by; days which became weeks, weeks which became months. Still no Etho. Still some glimmer of hope remaining in Doc’s chest, every breeze and odd occurrence sending him into a bittersweet whirlwind of emotion.

It was times like these when the disparity was most felt: Doc was in the middle of a battle to enter an ancient temple, one which he, Beef, and BDubs had hoped might help them on their quest to return to their home plane. It was the kind of fight Etho would have reveled in, but despite Beef and BDubs at his side, Doc was not winning.

His chest heaved with the heavy breaths he was taking, and he was practically using his battle axe as a crutch. Blood was gushing from wounds all over his body. His energy was giving out, he could feel it.

BDubs and Beef were doing their best, and Doc was eternally thankful for it; the magic that flowed through him could never replace what it had been like to fight with them by his side, but their familiar and combined presence made him feel more calm and capable.

Before him, two frost giants approached. He’d used his battle rage to take down their three companions, and he’d thought he could finish them off.

He’d gotten far too comfortable. Back before the Incident, he and the nHo could have taken these buffoons without any trouble, but BDubs and Beef weren’t really there, not physically, anyway, and Etho was still…

There was no time to think about that now. The frost giants were fast approaching, and Doc knew that he wouldn’t survive the encounter.

He looked up, and saw Beef and BDubs hovering above him, watching over him with magic at the ready. He couldn’t bring it in himself to say anything—he wanted to apologize, to thank them, to say something, and yet nothing came.

His heart ached. After everything, after all that they had done, this would be the end. At least, he thought, he’d been able to spend these last few months with Beef and BDubs.

He only wished Etho had been there, too.

He hefted his axe and strode forward to meet his enemies. The familiar, comforting feeling of Beef and BDubs’ magic surged through him, and he turned and faced the giants head-on.

The first swing of his axe hit home in a giant’s ankle; frost began to creep outward from the connection, spreading quickly towards the handle and Doc’s hands. He pulled it out before the cold reached leather, leaping backward and ignoring the screaming pain in his knee as he narrowly avoiding the swing of a huge club.

He wasn’t so lucky with the second one. A wooden cudgel the size of a large tree met its mark in the middle of his chest, sending him flying. One of Beef’s spells cushioned the resulting collision he had with a pillar behind him, but the sickening crack of his head slamming into it wasn’t dampened, and he fell to the ground in an unshakable daze.

Still, he scrambled to his feet, determined to fight for as long as possible, and ducked blindly downwards and to his left with his vision still blurry. The deafening sound of one of the giants’ clubs smashing the enormous pillar to dust made him immediately thankful that he did so.

In his peripheral vision, he could see BDubs’ spectral form beginning to materialize and brighten. Beneath Doc’s feet, the grass became greener; the trees around the clearing rustled in nonexistent wind. Knowing that it was the work of his friend, Doc allowed his wooden arm to raise and point, palm open, towards the giants approaching.

There was a scorching heat; fire erupted from the very air around him, surrounding the giant that had thrown Doc into the pillar and closing in, whipping about in enormous flames to envelop the creature. It was gone within moments, reduced to steaming ash.

Doc had no sympathy, and unfortunately, he also had no strength. The spell, cast by BDubs and channeled through the arm Doc had been gifted by all three of his friends, had drained what little energy that had remained in the half-orc.

He fell to his knees, grasping his battle axe desperately, only barely able to keep himself from collapsing to the ground entirely. The sole remaining frost giant advanced. Beef and BDubs hovered above him.

Doc blinked once, twice, eyes burning with tears that would never fall. He’d shed them all months ago, anyway.

I’m sorry. He didn’t even have the strength to say it; could only mouth it. He’d failed. They wouldn’t come back. They wouldn’t even know if it had been possible.

If there were one consolation, at least they would be together again, really together, at last.

Doc wondered what he would say to Etho.

He dropped his head, unwilling to watch as the giant lifted its club to drop upon his weak, broken body. He could feel the air displaced as it swung.

What happened afterwards was a confusing blur of broken memory and pain. He knew that the club met its mark; he remembered feeling it, remembered hearing the sound, but he couldn’t recall what it had actually felt or sounded like, even if he wanted to. The gap in his memory was a small gift for which he would always be thankful.

He hadn’t died, that much he knew, though he had been well on the way. There had been mere seconds of time between life and death, moving quickly closer to the wrong direction; he was fleeting and unconscious, but he saw the light.

There was a white light, warm and radiant, the kind he’d seen only twice before, only this time it was brighter and stronger and accompanied by an unknown and otherworldly but comforting feeling that sank into his very bones. He felt his body heal, felt wounds seal up, felt a spectral hand pull him firmly and briskly—though not without affection—from his place between life and death. He was back within his body, which was whole and strong once again, healthy like he hadn’t been in years; even scars as old as his time as an adventurer were smooth and clean.

He opened his eyes, still kneeling, to find a hand in his face.

“Stand up, Sir Doc.”

Doc looked up into Etho’s phantasmal face, the scar over his eye stretched white as his eyes crinkled in a grin that was covered by his mask, and took his hand.

His hand, Etho’s hand, there and outstretched for Doc’s wooden one to grasp, covered in the gloves he always wore but firm on his prosthetic despite the fact that he could see through it. After all these months of hoping, after two years of mourning, his best friend had returned.

He should have known. The magic was the rattling of glass bottles, the ring of dulcet laughter, the sight of mischief dancing in mismatched eyes. It was soft and proud, a quiet kind of power that left ripples of enchantment in its wake—it was Etho.

He didn’t even care about the dig. Etho was back, they were all back, everyone was together again and they were here and he wasn’t alone—and Doc was alive, he realized at the end of it all, alive and healed despite best efforts otherwise.

“Etho!” Beef shouted, voice positively jubilant. He sped over to the man only to fly straight through him, and Etho began laughing, and BDubs shouted something of a celebratory expletive. The three had already fallen into boisterous conversation, and Doc had no choice but to join in loud, raucous chortling, eyes filling up with tears of pure joy.

They were together again; not realized, not safe, not nearly whole, but together, and he had them back. He’d bring them back for real, he swore. He wouldn’t stop until he managed it.

[caffeinated-yearning]

The Start of Something Awful

@werewolfpine said I should post my writing and I’m doing it because I will literally never post unless someone forces me to, here’s a snippet of the lore of How Doc Ock Comes To Be, featuring my/Ock’s actual mind thought mannerisms. Technically this has only my S/I Oliver and Doctor Octavius a little at the front end, because I do my best work when it’s one character who thinks too much.

Word Count: ~1.4k Warnings: Self-harm (minor), queasiness (minor), astonishingly sarcastic narrator voice

“Hoshino.”

Oliver looks up from the box; as much as people focused on biorobotics, he rather preferred the metal things he’d been working on. None of that confusion of the ‘bio’ aspect. Cold techne and cold metal, a perfect compliment to his frozen heart. Looked up at his teacher- professor, Otto Octavius, and said nothing.

“The test results..?”

Of course! How could he possibly forget the mind-crippling endeavor of writing up a lab report for the sake of his dear professor? It would never pass off as science if he didn’t suffer the hideous toil of turning his experiment into a report; let it be known that the gods themselves would forbid anyone to simply look at the raw data and draw their own conclusions- no, he has to bring their attention to that all himself.

Ability to self-replicate- [Y] Hive mind program- [Y] Formation of simple and complex shapes- [Y] Link to human minds- concept phase. Mobile complex shapes- concept only. Modify macro chemicals within human body- tested in organic slurry, dubious results. Anything else that could be interesting- hasn’t been conceptualized yet.

“Would you call it a success?”

“If it teaches something new, it is a success.”

“Then have you been taught anything?”

Oh, doctor, do not pretend! This is all just a reinvention of the wheel at this point. Smaller and still programmable they may be, but these are all things that have been done before. They were done decades ago, before everyone found biological machinery to hold more promise. What then is there to learn? Humans disagree with metal, that has been the lesson. Oliver answers in so dry a tone; “discussion section: page three. Sir.”

“So I read.” Oliver returns his attention to his robots, still attentive to the good doctor’s words; “you sound irritated- both in the paper and at present.”

It is proper to smile and shake his head, to set the doctor’s concerns to rest. He fails this task, and in the same dry tone; “I’m not. I have concerns that this research is dated at best.”

“Then you are-.”

Interrupting, and how uncharacteristic that was- “I don’t have the time to be emotional, in any event.” The professor seemed off-put by that. Indeed, it was rude of Oliver to interrupt; he makes note of that, and fails to realize that describing himself as necessarily emotionless might instead be the reason for the doctor’s discomfort. Even the good Doctor Octavius had room to be emotional when good or ill fortune struck.

There was a pause, a little too long, before the doctor spoke- he’d turned back only to give a half-question; “I trust that you can be left alone in the lab, Oliver?”

“Yes, Dr. Octavius.” Really, this was such a dumb question. Could Oliver be trusted? Of course not; every faculty member would agree, if they only knew the contents of his mind. Which made it a rather good thing, how very skilled in keeping his thoughts under lock and key he was. Not with his friends of course. With friends you were expected to share a certain amount of information, and in turn they shared meaningless data points that helped one curry good favor if one kept it all in mind. What a fun game that was, sifting through all that data and hoping you came across anything of interest.

Ah. And he was alone. The professor had left without him noticing.

“And if I am consumed by the plague I now set loose upon the earth, thus was my fate since the moment I was born; not God nor Man could stop me or my creations; Pandora, I call upon thee.” He was alone, could he not be dramatic? The box was opened, and the robots did... Absolutely nothing.

Oh good, they hadn’t developed sentience while he acted out his drama.

A scalpel he’d pilfered from his sibling on a recent trip home; it was perhaps not the cleanest, but it would serve to sever, given he’d sharpened it against bricks and stones when he’d had a moment to do so. The only issue now was to shut down his self-preservation instincts, which barely allowed a scratch to be made against himself. But not seeing the place he would cut made easier the act, and he cut into the skin that made up the hair line just behind and below his right ear.

The incision was easier than he’d expected, perhaps because it was so much closer to his dreams’ completion than anything else had been before. He pretends to be surprised by the blood, but to what end? No one is around.

He starts his computer up, watches the robots come to life, and opens up the file “Concept_Phase.chk”. Checkpoint reached, your game will now auto-save, he hums; for the first time he feels the striking chill of fear. He thinks perhaps it is the first time in his life, but knows instinctively this cannot be the case. Either way, one error at this point would be so much more devastating.

They were crawling into that bloodied cut now. He should have worn a different shirt, but at least the black on this one might spare the rest from carrying a stain. They were a horrible itching sensation in his skin- he forces his hand stationary, to meddle now is more threatening. It is most threatening; he does not understand the limits of the human body, but he does understand the delicacy of the brain.

And they are in his brain.

That is the most terrifying part of it all, and he suppresses the urge to vomit. Brains are such delicate things and he has put so many bits of metal into his. He suppresses the urge to stand and run from this horrible thing that he has done. He stays stock still, and feels fear in every muscle and every nerve ending of his body.

And they are in his brain.

He woke up, cold, and pushed himself off the floor. Linoleum or plastic tile- didn’t matter, it was cold. He almost felt annoyance- hadn’t he been doing something? It was awfully uncharacteristic of him to sleep in the lab. The computer lab, maybe, but this wasn’t that.

Oh fuck the robots and the cut- he grasps at his neck, drawing his hand away with the full expectation to pull away half-scabbed gunk, or blood still running. Nothing. He sighed. Maybe it was another dream- maybe he was still dreaming. Dreaming of being something worthy of pride and love, instead of the falsehood he’d built himself into. Of being a worthwhile investment on the part of his parents and friends. Of being something better than this, whatever this was.

Log onto his computer- and how very strange! He’d never run the checkpoint file before, if it was a dream, so why was there a .log version now? It was suddenly beginning to feel very much not like a dream. Uneasiness, like so many maggots in his stomach, seemed to eat at him. He reached up and closed the box that had once been the house of his pride, and scanned over the .log file.

Program terminated successfully.

Oh thank the gods and devils both. It was successful.

But they were in his brain, now. Theoretically, he should be able to interact with them, if all had gone according to plan. He tried not to think about how unsanitary last night’s actions were, or rather to think about that instead of the presence of so much non-biological material now swarming around in his skull. He could feel the crawling- the sensation of parasites under his skin, but how much of that was simply psychological? He couldn’t say.

“Not nearly enough time to run any sort of experiment on them,” he sighed; class would begin soon. Sure, he was already in the building, but still. “How disappointing. How many are left in there?” He finally bothered to stand up and check the box; maybe if he… tried to input commands to those ones? There were still plenty in there; doesn’t take that much metal to make a computer chip inside one’s head then.

They stirred, sluggish and confused. They had never moved of their own accord before... Responsive? Again, move again- and they did. They swayed with little ripples, ocean waves almost.

Link to human minds- [Y].