#it was like a personal affront to me personally i m so mad

[dangerliesbeforeyou]

cant bleieve the beatles tribute band i went to didnt perform several of my favs but they DID perform oblabloodydi 1000 dead 30,000 injured

[azikarue]

MayBlade 2023 : Day 3 : Pets

Rick/Mariah | FFN Rating: M (for language) | FFN Link ❖ “No. Absolutely the fuck not.”

“Don’t be so heartless, Rick!” Mariah exclaimed. She had the nerve to sound affronted. Like it was downright blasphemy for Rick to refuse some critter she found in the gutter entry to his apartment. Her face screwed up into a glare that, somehow, came across as half pout, too. “It’s pouring down rain!”

Rick scowled. He could tell by the way Mariah and her new friend were dripping onto the hallway carpet.

The friend in question was the ugliest fucking cat Rick had ever seen. It was scrawny, with a rat-like tail swishing back and forth and one ear that looked like a bite had been taken out of it. Its giant, yellow eyes were glaring daggers at him from the comfort of Mariah’s arms.

“It’s been raining,” he pointed out, his grip on the door tightening in case she tried to force her way in. Her eyes – and the cat’s – narrowed. “Take that thing back outside. Put it in the parking garage or whatever, but it’s not coming in here.”

“But, Rick—”

“But, nothing! I’m not paying to keep it here just to have to flea bomb the apartment and treat myself for fucking rabies when it claws my eyes out in the middle of the night!”

Rick wasn’t a cat person. Maybe if he was, he’d have known not to make a grab for it when it looked like the only way it was gonna make it back downstairs was if he took it himself. His hands barely touched it before it yowled and sprung out of Mariah’s grasp, scrambled up and over Rick’s shoulder, and off into his apartment.

“Son of a bitch!”

“Hey!” Mariah rushed past him and fell to her hands and knees behind the couch. Rick could ear angry hissing and spitting coming from underneath as he slammed the door shut behind him.

“It clawed me!” Rick growled, pulling his sleeve aside to check the damage.

“You scared him!” Mariah scolded. There were scratches on her arm, too, but she was more concerned about the stupid cat under the couch. “He was only trying to get away.”

“Well now I’m gonna need a fucking tetanus shot.”

“Don’t be a baby!”

Rick glowered and stomped into the living area, fully intent on getting the cat out of the couch and out of his apartment by any means necessary. As he got closer, it started to growl and, when he knelt down and made to stick his arm under the couch, it took a swipe at him.

“Motherfucker,” he spat and flinched.

“Don’t!” Mariah warned, tugging at him until he acquiesced and sat back onto his heels. “He’s mad now!”

“That makes two of us!”

“Listen, Rick,” Mariah said in that annoying tone she got when she thought he was being difficult for no reason, but he was really being sensible with a slight temper. “We need to let him acclimate. Let’s have dinner and give him space – he’ll probably come out then.”

“I don’t want it to acclimate.” The sliver of space between the couch and the floor was taunting him. “I want that thing out of here!”

“Be patient!” she shot back and went to prepare dinner.

Rick wanted to tell her that he was actually being extremely fucking patient for someone who’d had a stray cat let loose in his apartment and was then told not to be a baby about it.

Instead, he helped Mariah put dinner together, keeping one eye on the couch at all times. He spent their entire meal ready to pounce if he saw even one paw pop out into the open, but the time never came. He thought the cat might have fallen asleep, until he made the mistake of sitting down to watch the news and the growling started again.

“Fuck this, I’m going to bed,” he grumbled. He stepped over Mariah – already on the floor shushing the cat – on his way to the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

Mariah never came to bed and he found himself waking up every two hours to strain his ears for trouble. He never heard a peep from her or the cat. Whether that meant it was still hiding or settled in and roaming, Rick didn’t approve.

The last thing he remembered was thinking about getting up and cracking the balcony door in hopes the cat would slip out into the night. The next morning came faster than he would have liked after a night spent tossing and turning.

Any delusions he held about things looking better in the daylight were scrapped the second he stumbled out of the bathroom. He’d spent ten minutes in the shower scrubbing any cat crud out of his scratches, only to find the offending animal on his kitchen counter, eating out of a tuna can.

Mariah stood nearby, absentmindedly stroking its fur with a tired smile on her face. Now that it was dry, the cat was extremely fluffy and, somehow, twice as mean-looking.

“I thought I told you to get that fucking thing out of here,” Rick said grumpily. Never mind that the shelters probably weren’t open at seven in the morning. He grabbed a water from the fridge, careful to give the cat a wide berth. “What’s it doing on the counter?”

“He only came out a little bit ago,” Mariah explained while stifling a yawn. She looked like she’d spent the night on the floor; there were dark circles under her eyes and blankets beside the coffee table. “I just finished brushing him. Doesn’t he look handsome?”

Rick looked at her like she had a second head. Then at the cat – it was glaring at him with tuna stuck in its crooked whiskers. And finally at the counter. Even though it was designed to hide crumbs, he could tell it was covered in a fine layer of cat hair and there was even more in the brush.

“Is that my fucking hairbrush?!” He slammed his water down on the counter and the stupid cat hissed and puffed up to the general size and shape of a rabid raccoon.

Mariah scooped it up into her arms and comforted it like a baby.

“What if it has fleas?!”

“You don’t even use that hairbrush!”

“My place is gonna be fucking infested!”

“Rick,” Mariah said firmly. If she didn’t have a cat in her arms, she’d probably have her hands on her hips. “You’re being dramatic. He’s a cat, not a sewer rat. All he needs is patience and a loving home. It wouldn’t kill you to have some companionship while I’m away.”

Rick’s jaw dropped. “I’m not keeping it!”

“Well, I can’t take him back with me.”

“Why do either of us need to have anything to do with it?!” Rick threw his hands in the air and the cat’s ears flattened back on its head. “Look!” he added, as it began trying to wriggle over Mariah’s shoulder, “it doesn’t even want to be here!”

“Stop shouting!” Mariah snapped, eyes blazing in a way that reminded Rick of the damn cat, of all things.

She heaved the cat off of her, not even flinching when its nails left holes in the t-shirt she was wearing (which Rick belatedly realized was his), and shoved it against his chest. She held it there, locked in a stare down with Rick, until he was forced to take hold of it in fear that it would scratch his nipples off if he didn’t angle its claws the other way.

“What the hell are you giving me this for?”

“Keep an eye on him while I get ready,” she ordered. “We’re going to the pet store.”

“Shelter,” Rick corrected firmly. Mariah might be able to invite herself into his apartment every time she was in town, but he wasn’t about to let her bring every animal in New York City in off the streets. Especially when she was just gonna piss off back to China and leave him with the fallout.

“It’s Sunday,” Mariah reminded him smugly. “He’s at least staying until tomorrow and he can’t stay without proper food and a litter box.”

Rick scowled and watched her turn on her heel. He considered double-checking if there was a shelter nearby open on Sundays, but he knew the universe wasn’t that kind to him. His train of thought was broken when he felt a sudden, sharp pain on the back of his hand.

He swore and dropped the cat to examine the bite marks it left behind.

“Oh, Rick?” Mariah poked her head out of the bathroom.

“What?” he grumbled, already on his way to the sink to wash his hand.

“Keep an eye on him – he hasn’t gone to the bathroom since I brought him in.”

With that revelation, Rick hurried to find his unwanted companion. Thankfully, when he did, it was slinking around behind the curtains instead of pissing on his carpet. It started and hissed when he picked it up by surprise, but he wasn’t about to leave it to wander around making a mess.

After careful deliberation, he sat gingerly on the couch with the cat in his lap. It growled in warning, but otherwise made less of a fuss than he was expecting. Good. He didn’t want scratched up thighs or a shredded leather sofa.

The cat gave one displeased meow and looked back at Rick with a grumpy expression he was beginning to suspect was permanent. It meowed again.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re saying,” Rick said, immediately feeling like an idiot for answering a cat.

It was probably his imagination when the next meow sounded a little forlorn.

In the bathroom, the shower kicked on. Rick slouched back into the sofa, tipping his head over the back with a huff. The cat sighed and laid down in his lap. Rick was too paranoid to let go of it, but it must have decided it didn’t give a shit, because it began to purr.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Rick scoffed, even as the sound of the shower, paired with the purring and his own lack of sleep, made him begin to nod off.

The next thing he knew, he was woken up by the sound of Mariah’s laughter.

“I thought you two didn’t get along?” She was leaning over the back of the couch, peering down at him.

Rick glared halfheartedly at her through the mass of fur obscuring his vision. Sometime after he dozed off, the cat had crawled up his chest and went to sleep on his collarbone. It’s tail was what was all over his face. Damn thing was still purring.

“We don’t.”

Mariah laughed and brushed some fur aside to kiss Rick’s forehead.

“Whatever you say, Rick.”

[taeyohonic]

stolen dances | chap. 18

summary: sometimes supporting the person you love is the hardest challenge you’ll ever face.

pairing: jeon jungkook x fem!reader

rating: m

warning: some (unintentional) touching (while sleeping)

additional tags: f2l, ceo!jungkook, bestfriend!jungkook, shrink!yoongi, my best friend’s wedding meets 27 dresses (if the boss/secretary couple had happened), angst-y

words: 1900

links: prev. |  next  [masterlist]

note: lower case letters intended

chapter summary: you join movie night again.

“i’m a victim of a hate crime,” seokjin says, looking at his food in disgust.

“that’s not what a hate crime is, hyung,” jimin snorts into his martini.

“well, i hate it, a lot, okay?” seokjin exclaims before stabbing the raw cauliflower.

you can’t help but laugh at the scene – your marathons of steve carell’s meme-worthy tv show with the eldest idol a not-so-distant memory. but seokjin’s murderous glare falls on you the second you start.

“you!” he shouts, now pointing the uncooked vegetable across the table. “only because you couldn’t just… control yourself for one – one – hour!”

it seems that you morphed into your six-year-old personality as you point your fork – filled with amaranth – at your best friend.

“he was the one driving and paying! why are you only mad at me?” you ask, affronted. jungkook just shakes his head while he chews on some – beet?

“i brought hyung a fishing boat as an apology,” your best friend says – mouth still red and full. your eyes widen at his words.

“kim seokjin! you are that easy to manipulate? that easy to buy?” you question with a heated face. you will never be able to buy your friends something like that; not even close. you know it’s silly, but it makes you feel excluded and… inadequate.

maybe the last weeks made you easier to read because jungkook’s eyes soften in milliseconds, the mirth leaving his irises.

“it’s a joke, honey. hyung scolded me already before you arrived,” he says softly next to you. it feels weird to sit here again.

but the tiramisu you brought was just as much welcomed as your presence today. though, their joyful attitude to you joining movie night again only lasted till after dessert. because park jimin never forgets. and now the whole group has to eat catered dinner from the vegan place you all missed out on last weekend due to your and jungkook’s unapproved starbucks visit.

“and i’ll scold you again!”, seokjin answers with gusto.

“you guys make it sound like the food is that bad. why can’t you all enjoy healthy things?” jimin asks, puffing his cheeks and looking around the dinner table. only yoongi nods in agreement.

this traitor, you think but bite your lip. you are not a back stabber. otherwise you’d have told jimin about the empty (but still warm) pizza hut carton in yoongi’s car on the way here. your ex-therapist pre-gamed on grease. and he didn’t even have the decency to spare you a slice (“there were peppers on it, _____. you’d have hated it.”)

“how about we stir fry some of the vegetable?” jungkook offers with a hopeful look at his colorful plate.

“how about you just eat what’s on your plate?” jimin answers far too sweetly. “we’ve had worse diets before comebacks.”

“and you got an eating disorder from that,” jungkook fires back. it’s meant as a joke, but you see yoongi flinch across from you nonetheless.

“shut up and eat up, jeon,” you say finally with a kick against his shin. you see him wince before he picks up his fork to start eating again. without a thought you move some of your pepper unto his plate as a silent reward. seokjin’s watchful eyes go unnoticed.

but you do notice his deleted instagram post the next day – proudly showing off a brand-new fishing boat.

**

it’s cold out on the terrasse and you’re glad jungkook’s housekeeper always keeps these ridiculously expensive thermo blankets here. they are soft against your skin as you look into the night. it’s silent and peaceful, the boisterous voices of your friends dulled background noises. you relax for a second as the tension from seeing all of them again – seeing your best friend again – tries to leave your alcohol clouded body.

the silence ends as the door to the balcony opens, making you look at your best friend.

“they are demolishing me, honey,” jungkook whines and sinks down next to you on the bench. his face is flushed from the heated mario cart race indoors and you smile at his childish claim.

“aww, i’m sorry jungkookie,” you say in your best teacher voice. “are the other kids mean to you?”

your best friend nods eagerly, before letting his forehead fall onto your shoulder. “so, so mean, noona.”

his speech is slurred, lips pressed against the fabric around your arms. but you still feel his heat against you. you try to shift further away from him, but you are both tipsy and the night is cold.

“you do know they are just trying to be your friends, right?” you say, still in your best mothering tone.

but jungkook ruins the banter as his arms wrap themselves around your waist. now his body is flushed against your side and you feel his biceps flex against your stomach. his hair is so close to your nose that you can smell him clearly. your heart raises in your chest against your wishes while you will yourself to stay calm. it’s just a friend hugging you. half an hour ago you were snuggling with jimin on the couch.

but you don’t love jimin. and jungkook knows that you love him. it’s… it’s mean. but he’s drunk, so you just nudge him softly.

“come on, big guy. don’t fall asleep on me,” you say half in jest. the physical closeness excites and terrifies you. to have him this close warms your heart. to have him this close makes your mind go crazy with silent screams. but jungkook doesn’t seem worried as his nose presses into your neck. you feel him inhale your skin, making your face burn in embarrassment.

“i cannot believe this child-man will be married in two weeks,” seokjin says with masked indifference from the terrasse door. his presence is unexpected; you flinch as if you just got caught – which you didn’t. still, seokjin looks at jungkook wrapped around you with worry. his eyes are the only indication of his silent struggle. you wonder what your eyes look like.

jungkook is not fazed by seokjin’s arrival. his only reaction is a low whine which vibrates against your skin.

“it’s about time that this child-man gets married,” you say. the different meanings of this sentence ghost around the terrasse while jungkook’s breathing ebbs to a soft snore.

“it’s been a journey, hasn’t it?” the oldest asks and sits down on a chair close to your bench. his words are as heavy as yours have been; still you’re unsure how to answer – so you don’t.

your best friend’s warm lips are now pressed to the skin of your neck unprotected by the blanket. the sensation is foreign, making you shiver at the kiss of his lips. the last mouth on your skin was taehyung’s – it’s a sobering thought.

“have you heard from tae?” you ask seokjin, only to see his wide shoulders shrug.

“italy seems to keep him busy.” you both know this isn’t true. if taehyung wants you to be up to date with his life, he finds a way. but he won’t be able to hide behind gelato next week.

“how can he just leave a month before his closest friend’s wedding?” you question. silently you add, how can he leave just days after sleeping with you.

“how can you be this close to the guy you love weeks before his wedding?” seokjin fires back. the accusation makes you flinch and for a moment you think you’ve woken jungkook. but the former idol still huffs in shallowed breaths against your neck.

you don’t answer seokjin and you don’t say a word when – after minutes of heavy silence – the oldest grabs your sleeping friend to pick him up and throw him over his shoulder. jungkook whines the second his arms fall from your waist. the half-asleep man gets carried to bed and you join the others on the couch – seokjin’s words still heavy on your mind.

**

“you do know you don’t have to be here, honey, right?” jungkook asks for the fifth time as the both of you stand in front of the tux. as the former brand ambassador of louis vuitton his wedding ensemble is a masterpiece of expensive elegance. originally taehyung should be here for the final fitting. but now you are filling in. the champagne flutes in your hands are still full as both of you just look at the off-white tuxedo. it looks like art. so much so that jungkook refuses to touch it. (“my eyes aren’t even clean enough to look at it, honey.”)

“i know – and i also know that we will be buried by those mannequins if we wait till we die for you to try on this tux.”

your best friend – dressed down in a grey jogging outfit from his own line – looks at you with big eyes.

“i’m afraid i’ll ruin it.”

“you’ve worn more expensive clothing during your idol days, jungkook,” you argue with a soft voice. you understand his reasoning. this isn’t an airport look or a music bank outfit. this is the outfit. and it’s oh so beautiful.

your best friend is now fully facing you with his back to the tuxedo.

“maybe we should reschedule,” he offers timidly and you have to chuckle at the sight of his bunny eyes.

“yeah, maybe it’ll be less white tomorrow,” you agree sarcastically making the man in front of you whine.

“why is this so difficult? how could she do this so easily?” jungkook whines and you see that he’s only a second away from bolting. but his second question makes you halt.

“oh, she’s already had her final fitting?” you ask as nonchalant as you can. originally you were tasked to accompany jungkook’s fiancée to her bridal appointment. as you have noticed, even the most progressive wedding planning has the slightest binary stereotyping.

“yeah, last wednesday. didn’t you see her reel? dior made her shoot a feature on bridal lace,” jungkook answers and drowns his champagne. no, you didn’t see her post about her dress.

“difficult to see when the person blocks you,” you say lightly. you don’t want to sound bitchy or hurt, but judging by jungkook’s scrunched shoulders, you do a poor job at masking your emotions.

you won’t deny that her blocking you is a big deal. not when she has too many followers and too much social media exposure. and it seems she isn’t only shutting you out virtually.

“i’ll talk to her, honey,” jungkook says while watching the bubbles of his champagne. it irks you – a lot.

“why would she block me, jungkook?” you ask with newfound emphasis. the sessions with hoseok showed you that you had to demand explanations instead of crafting your own ones. you see his eyes shift, as if he’s debating what truth he’ll tell.

“you… you didn’t tell her, right?” your question is spoken into the room, because your best friend won’t look at you. your fingers itch with his silence – did he really share your deepest secret with the person designed to hate you for it? after the tension is seconds away from burning your skin, he exhales.

“no, of course not, honey,” jungkook promises softly, still not making eye contact.

“then what is it?” you ask, slightly relieved by his answer. but then – why would she block you?

“she – you know…,” he starts. then your friend inhales and looks into your eyes. there is discomfort gleaming in his pupils. “i… i told her – i have doubts about the wedding.”

____

i’m sorry; i’m not doing well, so updates are a bit slower than anticipated. i’ll end this story in 2021 – just watch me. i hope you are all happy and healthy! love, dana

taglist: @livewittykid  @thequeen-kat @kagami-s-void @goldenclosethobi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @jinsalpaca @bishuthot @laabellaavitaa21 @baekstans @jalexad  @jinsearthh @kseokwu  @betysotelo18 @daydreambrliever @untouchabyeol-man @lesyeuxdeyifei @lachimolala-2l @moonchild1 @taejinvol6 @deliciousdetectivestranger @unchoosablename @httpfandxms​ @fangirl125reader @miniiimee

[laal-ishq-diaries]

black and white || satoru gojo

january 1, 2021

synopsis: in which strange feelings arise as the man you despise brings a date to your hangout spot and you do the very mature thing: serenade him. 1.5k words.

writer’s note: i've only watched like 6 episodes of jjk so i don't even know if my characterization of anyone is on point but i'm obsessed with this idea. the song that inspired this fic was “black and white” by nasty c and ari lennox (which i do not own). enjoy and pls leave some feedback. btw happy new year!!

warnings: allusions to sex. nothing strong but proceed with caution. swearing. alcohol usage. pettiness. 

you fucking hate him. you hate his stupid face and his stupid arrogance. who the fuck does satoru gojo think he is? people think your hatred of him is misplaced because he’s apparently “nice” and “civil” to you but it’s all for show! he is so rude and patronizing and petty. like tonight. when he brought a date to unofficial weekly drinks with colleagues. 

“well, why are you so mad he brought a date?” muses shoko, tapping her fingers on your shared wooden table.

“i’m not mad he brought a date, i’m mad that he’s flaunting her around,” you clarify, arms flailing and gesticulating wildly.

“flaunting? god, he hasn’t even introduced her to us.” “yet,” you seeth.

“well are you going to say anything to him?”

you shoot her an affronted look. “no. why would i?” shoko rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh. “you’re clueless,” she mutters. “excuse m—” “oh look, they're coming.” fuck.

through the dim, yet warm, lights of the bar, you see gojo walking over, arm in arm, with a relatively pretty woman clad in a short black dress. sandy brown hair, tucked behind her ears, cascade down her back and black heels accentuate her long legs. however, your eyes were drinking in the shaman dressed in a tucked in button-up (with the first few buttons unbuttoned, of course), casual black pants, and tan moccasins. his hair was let down from it’s usual gravity-defying updo and dark, round sunglasses replaced the blindfold.

“hey guys, this is sana,” gojo introduces. the aforementioned woman waves and smiles. you could feel shoko’s eyes on you, screaming be nice so you mutter out a greeting and introduction before she, begrudgingly, takes over socializing. 

you silently nurse your drink as your glare resumes. gojo, noting your expression, raises an eyebrow and questions, “what’s that look for?” 

taking a sip of your drink, you shoot back a fake smile and a “nothing. just wondering how your atrocious personality ensnared her.”

he lightly laughs and responds, “you know, lots of women find me attractive.” 

you lean in and whisper into his ear, “physical attractiveness doesn’t cancel out skyscraper levels of entitlement.”

“no, it just gets me a hot date. you wouldn’t be jealous, would you [nickname]?” gojo asks in mock concern. his index finger traverses your cheek before you knock his hand away and sneer, “go fuck yourself.” he exclaims, “don’t need to!” and then grabs sana’s hand and bids farewell to shoko.

“now that,” you point to their retreating bodies, “was flaunting.”  

“you’re paranoid,” she drawls.

“no, i’m fucking not,” you shoot back. “and frankly, i am offended you would think that!” 

“you’re always offended, [name]. especially when it comes to satoru.” you open your mouth to defend yourself but she raises an index finger to your lips and continues, “we’re here to relax. get another drink and watch the performance in peace.” shoko gestures to the stage where the same (surprisingly talented) guy has been singing for the past fifteen minutes, courtesy of the bar’s “Karaoke Night” every Friday. caught up with your inner thoughts, you failed to notice that she was still scolding you.

“… and i’d probably respect you more if you actually did something to prove your point rather than dish out petty insults.” silence dawns upon you two as shoko challenges you. that is, until widespread applause interrupts your interaction and reveals that the karaoke guy (named aki, apparently) finished performing another song. a surge of courage overcomes you, and you abruptly stand up and slam your hands onto the wooden table. “fine, you want me to do something?” shoko makes a noise of confirmation. “watch.”

you lose the leather jacket to reveal a sleeveless, flowy burgundy top and lace up your combat boots before marching towards the stage. truth be told, you didn’t know why you wanted to do this. and you didn’t know what you had to prove. but the whiskey in your blood and the uneasy feeling bubbling in your stomach whenever you saw gojo with his arms around his date pushes you onto the stage.

from across the bar, gojo sees you whisper something into aki’s ear before he announces, “alright, [name] will be joining me for the next song, which is”—he pauses as you whisper something else into his ear—“a surprise!” the applause and cheers drown out sana’s inquiries towards gojo of whether you were a good singer. not that he’d be able to respond, anyways, considering that his brain was swarmed with thoughts of why you were singing in the first place and how fucking hot you look.

up on the stage, aki asks, “is this your first time singing here.” “yeah,” you breathe out. “are you nervous?” one glance back to gojo, and then to shoko who gave whatever she could muster into an encouraging smile, you mutter “i need a drink after this.”

the music starts and your partner sings:

“… let me in your temple

show me what you into

it could be so simple

black and white, yeah …”

your right foot taps in tune with the beat against the floor in front of the microphone as you patiently awaited the female part. you mentally prep for both singing in front of everyone while being half-drunk and how ruined everything would be if this made things awkward with gojo. while the two of you may be at each other’s throats, at least it was smooth dynamic. if he found this uncomfortable, there goes your personal and professional life.

before you can contemplate running out of the bar, ari lennox’s part begins and you sing the chorus, along with aki. you mentally thank the bar patrons who lightly cheered, as if they could sense your apprehension. your solo verse soon begins and you look to aki for a boost of confidence before belting out:

“so call me, baby

'cause you be putting it down on me”

the adrenaline pumping through your veins emboldens you to make direct eye contact with gojo and run your left hand through your hair seductively while continuing with:

“in my bed, on your stairs

when we loving you know we don't care”

across the room, gojo’s eyebrows shoot up; he wasn’t expecting your lyrics to be directed to him. for all the resentment you throw in his direction, he assumed you despised him. a small part of him gathered that you possibly might have feelings for him but he thought they were repressed, at best. seeing you up on stage declaring that, at the very least, you lust for him makes gojo want to take you, right then and there.

on your side, there’s an inkling of doubt that you went too far, until you see him lick his lips and smirk. your expression mirrors his for a moment until you increase the seduction.

“all mine, like wine

say ain't no bitch that got your heart pumpin' like i

fall in love deeply when i look in your eye

fantasy the way you carry me, mariah …”

whistles and cheers from the audience nearly drown out the last line. confidence oozes out of your stage presence and want for gojo oozes out of your every pore, a want that is reciprocal. you see sana go red in the face (most likely because her own date is eye-fucking you). a small part of you feels awful for her but an even larger part feels victorious because, fuck, despite never getting along with him, the two of you have an unbreakable connection. the thought of another woman getting the time and attention he devotes to this connection, to you, drives you insane. god, it makes you want to rip that button-up off and stake your claim all over him.    

the rest of your performance continues with relative ease. once finished, you and aki say your goodbyes and compliments to each other (with him insisting that you have to sing with him again and you responding with a “some other time”) as you depart back to your table. locking eyes with shoko, you receive a look of approval and a nod towards the direction of a certain jujutsu sorcerer approaching you.

“nice singing,” gojo calls out.  

taking a moment to recover from your adrenaline rush, you exhale a simple “thanks.”

“although,” he drawls, “you didn’t need to get up on stage and sing it. you could've just told me that you wanted me.”

“i don't know what you’re talking about,” you say, feigning ignorance.

“oh really?” his fingers gently take hold of your chin and, in spite of his sunglasses, you know that his eyes are staring at your lips. “because i could make it worth your time”

“where’s your date?”

“she left. something about other women who are in love with me being ‘rude’ and ‘offensive.’”

“good,” you whisper, standing on your toes, “because you’re all mine.”

“am i?”—he leans down so your lips now hover over each other’s.

“want me to prove it?”

“let’s get out of here.”

[hesesols]

For Queen & Country

Day 17 of Ichiruki month 2020: Coronation

Summary: She knows her place. She is merely a pretender to a princess and marries the King in the former’s stead.

Rating: M

FF/ao3

.

"Father, what is marriage?"

Byakuya Kuchiki, Lord of Western Rukongai – father, duke, kingmaker; stilled.

Bright violet eyes stared back defiantly, wisps of midnight black hair teasing her nape; taking after his late wife in both temperament and appearance. She was tiny- barely reaching his knees and he easily picked her up, setting her on his lap.

"It is what happens when two people decide to live together forever," he told her.

Here, the child frowned. Forever, sounded far too long. A quarter-hour for lessons and a day for songs under the sun- those were reasonable terms of engagement. She couldn't even sit still for her lessons much less consider something that would mean longer than a day.

Still, she thought of the potential advantages to the arrangement. Miss Hinamori gave her sweets if she behaved during her lessons and sat very very still. Some days, when she was especially good, she would ask Miss Hinamori for chocolate.

The governess had laughed and called her a word- shrewd, she wondered what it meant.

Her eyes narrowed, if she could endure her lessons for sweets and desserts- surely that must mean that there are greater things to be gained from a long-suffering pact as this?

Folding her arms very solemnly, she asked her father to name the price.

"What would it mean for me?"

.

A bride- fine gossamer silk, bolts of colourful fabrics woven of every colour known to man, bone-china, her mother's pearls; blessed, cherished, happy, loved.

A wife- bearer of the world, the silent matriarch, keeper of secrets, manageress of a household and an empty bed; tried, dignified, wise, experienced.

.

But those are visions of a man old and weary of the world, she will learn of the Truth at her own pace. He gave her something less tangible- facts.

"When you marry, you take on your husband's last name and share your fortunes with him, take care of him, obey him, give him ch-"

He caught himself just in time. As fascinating as the conversation was, Lord Byakuya did not fancy a conversation with his daughter on the matter of baby-making and answer her queries on how children were made.

That would come much later and at the hands of an experienced governess, preferably.

He cleared his throat loudly and looked at his daughter who had the most thoughtful expression set on her face while chewing on the ends of her braids. The cogs in her brain turned.

.

Everything?

.

Her young mind was devastated- that meant her favourite cakes and sweets, even that sweet little rabbit that she had rescued, half of everything she had was some horrible boy's future property?

Boys- like Renji, were horrible and mean, they had no appreciation for fine, pretty things like her drawings, they liked to tug her hair and call her names. They were rough, rude and were more wont to destroy than build.

Her dolls- china, and straw-made, still bore scars as a testament to their ill-treatment at the hands of her unruly siblings.

"Must I?"

"Are you a good person?"

She nodded vigorously. She obeyed Miss Hinamori instructions and did what she was told (most of the time). There was also the time when she saved a rabbit from the cook's horrible dogs. The rabbit- she called him Chappy, now lives in a pretty cage and was served fresh carrots daily. Miss Hinamori had praised her and called her kind, so she must be.

"Then you should," he said.

The raven-haired noblewoman in-the-making made a face.

"That is absolutely mad, Father," she tugged on his sleeves and fixed him with her strongest gaze, "why would people do such things?"

"For duty, honour and sometimes, love, my dearest."

.

The girl frowned- 'duty' and 'honour'. She held both words in contempt with a vengeance unbecoming for a Lady of noble status, for it was used with relish when seven year-olds were made to do what they were told.

It was her 'duty' as a future Lady of noble birth to be in bed early, to share her toys with her visiting cousins, to find dancing and other leisurely activities like playing the piano-forte as natural as breathing. And much to her dismay, she would find that as the years passed, the list too grew. Now, her 'duties' even included making 'scintillating' and 'polite' conversations with even the rudest of her associates. The words did not gain any favour at the hands of her father- who was a far more eloquent speaker than Miss Hinamori and infinitely more superior in his knowledge of the world.

Rukia was made to feel stupid and insignificant when they come out to play.

Renji says 'love' with a tone that sealed it as the most despicable thing under the sky and she supposed she would agree with her adopted brother for once- it must be a dangerous and strange thing indeed for some people to willingly share half of everything they owned with another person, especially with icky boys and their grubby hands.

Furthermore, she was reminded of the cloying sweet smell of perfume that her older cousin favoured upon the arrival of her betrothed. The older girl with her sudden airy, breathless tone of voice and her betrothed with the oddest smile on his face that frankly made him look foolish. Miss Hinamori had claimed that it was because it was a love match between the young couple and it did not happen often in people of her circle.

She wrinkled her nose and prayed that she never succumbed to it.

.

"Father," she began solemnly, "I do not think I shall ever marry."

The normally stoic noble smiled at her. Children have such amusing ideas and thoughts. Keeping his face straight and trying very hard to remain stern, he told her.

"We shall see."'

.

.

.

Inevitably, she learns.

Love is tradition- Kuchiki Manor in all its daunting glory and untouched forest, family- her brothers, insufferably rude as they may be, warmth- her father, in his infinite wisdom and sagacity, companionship- Miss Hinamori, her surrogate mother and confidante.

It is like wine- aging well with the passage of time and a fruit of labour known only to those who have endured and triumphed together and then content in the arms of each other, have stayed. It is tender- kisses on the cheeks, bear hugs and booming laughter, and it grows out of the fondness of one's heart and intimate wishes.

Marriage on the other hand is sudden and tempestuous. It is the unsuspecting storm that came with all the fury known to God, the end to unspoken promises and ill-kept vows.

It comes when a Royal Princess flees the machinations of her own Father. It comes at the bidding of a Mad King with even wilder ambitions- thinly-veiled threats and open affronts. It comes with her dowry-horses laden with riches, ballads and tapestries, rolls of expensive furs and leather skins, a procession of servants, craftsmen, artisan- bearing coat of arms, her motherland's pride, the history and culture of her people- an entourage befitting of a Royal Princess; and ends with her hand offered on a golden pedestal.

It is duty and honour, the sealing of two nations bound now in kinship- it is momentous, sweeping and public.

It is anything but her wedding.

.

She knows her place. She is merely a pretender to a princess and marries the King in the former's stead.

.

.

She stood tall as she said goodbye to all that she has ever known to be home. Her brothers said very little and too much all at once. Her sacrifice burnt them and that mark singed the family tapestry. Hath they hung their heads down for shame or sorrow?

Her father appeared- stoic and wordlessly pressed her mother's pearls into her hands.

.

.

She ascends the steps to the throne room looming ahead- a sea of unknown faces and stunned silence. She is veiled and shrouded in white- made to stand next to a man she was to call husband for all eternity and become mother to his nation. She hears the words and murmurs of the clergyman, gives her consent when the holy man bids her to, bows when it is expected of her- but processes very little.

Her husband-she stares at the brown-eyed stranger with wild hair and watches with muted horror as he slides the golden band onto her finger.

.

.

"Play the game as you were taught to," he told her. Scarcely daring to meet her eyes, he gripped her hands tight. Yes of course, the charade must hold- should the truth be made public, the consequences will be severe. He laid another necklace- heavier in weight and heritage; around her neck and clasped it shut.

It felt like a sentence- a Deadman's noose hanging around her neck. He kissed her cheeks.

"For duty and honour- Lady Rukia Kuchiki."

.

.

"For as long as I live, I shall cherish you and it is my hope that our union shall beget a prosperous future for both kingdoms."

His words sound like a scripted play. She grips his hand perhaps a little tighter in response- a show; she must always let them see who they want to see- a bride, a happy, beautiful, willing bride who is elated at her marriage to a young King.

She smiles and he places the jewel-encrusted tiara upon her head- her crowning glory.

The heavy weight and the gravity of her decision sink into her. She will serve the Crown and her King- she will be a good wife, she will honour her vows, and she will be Queen.

"My kingdom is now your home and the fate of her people- her people shall honour you as their Queen."

.

.

"Remember your lessons," he whispered as she turned to leave. The Court across the sea may have different heralds and customs, may style and culture themselves differently, and favour soaring towers instead of domes, but all Courts are snake pits. Know one and you know them all.

She looked into his eyes and nodded.

She marched out of the centuries-old manor- head held high, shoulders squared for upon it laid the fate and honour of her household. She spared no further glances at the Manor as she climbed into the carriage- within her Kingdom at least, Lady Rukia Kuchiki has ceased to exist the moment it was decided that she would marry a King in the eloped princess's stead.

.

.

She keeps her gaze on her husband- high cheekbones, strong jawline, thin lips, deep set eyes of a curious shade between brown and gold. She sees a man in his prime, broad-shouldered and tall- shaped and molded as though he was one of those heathen Gods.

She is young but not naïve. Trepidation lines her thoughts.

What does he have in mind for her- Queen, envoy, impostor?

He bends down slightly to unveil her and kisses her on her lips chastely. When he draws away, he remains expressionless and she reads nothing from his eyes. The erupting cheers from the crowd distract her and she heaves a breath of relief.

How odd it is that a duke's daughter who has never even dreamt of seeing the blue sea, would someday find herself heralding a procession of her nation's finest to a Court so many leagues away, of taking part in a scandalous hoax for the better of two kingdoms.

First princess, now queen to a gilded nation of hyphenated names and odd houses, married to a man whose first name she doesn't even know.

Perhaps such is the strange way of life.

.

.

.

It is as expected, a politically-fuelled marriage between him and his foreign bride.

His ministers of course, waxed poetries of her beauty and grace. She is to bring with her the riches from the Court beyond the sea, skills and knowledge from another kingdom, books written and inventions made from the best amongst their contemporaries, spices and trade.

Her blood is old, the noblemen of his Court reminded him- a scion of a noble and powerful kingdom, steep in tradition and a well-known history of bearing prodigious sons. She will bear him strong heirs- sons to carry forth his name and legacy.

What more should a young king, still childless and only sisters for siblings, desire? It is no secret of course, should he die now, issueless- the throne will go to a viscount from another kingdom- a son of his great-grandaunt's bloodline, a man who has never even set foot on this land.

Yet as he regards his young wife, he frowns; she is not what he expected.

.

"Who are you?"

She stiffens but the smile on her face doesn't falter. If nothing else, he at least commends her on her acting and composure.

"What do you mean, my lord?"

He rolls his eyes, takes another sip of the wine as he keeps his hand on the small of her back, leaning in to whisper to her ears only.

"You're not the Princess."

He has seen the Princess Orihime once. Though from afar and hidden in the shadows, while he was passing through a neighbouring kingdom under the guise of a different name. A serendipitous affair that ends with a dance for the two of them, and a kiss on the back of her hand as is proper.

This woman in front of him, heralded by so many as beautiful, virtuous and kind, and a million other things associated with that of the paragon of queenliness, and for all intents and purposes, his wife and future mother of his unborn children; is not that woman.

The two are nothing alike.

Her smile quivers- it's the first crack in her defences.

"You are mistaken, my lord. I am the Princess Orihime."

They're surrounded by courtiers. Each one more devious and sycophantic than the other; Rukia is determined to clench her teeth and bear through the confrontation. To any and all onlookers, they must appear to be, at all times, unruffled and polished.

He says nothing more after that.

A lord so-and-so comes forward to present himself and Rukia contents herself by letting her mind wander while the portly man dawdles on about the festivity of the occasion, on what a grand wedding it was, repeats the word 'grandeur' and 'blessed' for at least three more times before the King sends him away and in parting, flourishes with a deep bow, murmuring how he wishes only the very best for the royal couple.

Neither of said couple deigns to utter a syllable more to each other as the festivities and merry-making continues.

.

.

The King's Bedchamber is where they retire for the first night to they consummate their marriage and mark their beginning as a pair- from henceforth, princess and daughter no more, but a Queen she will be- till Death spares them the misery.

Moonlight pours forth from the open window into the darkly lit room. Rukia is clad only in the sheerest of silk and bare underneath it. She feels vulnerable under his gaze, more so when his hands grab her by the wrist and tugs her towards him.

Alone with no interruptions from her ladies-in-waiting and his stewards, he continues with the unrelenting rounds of questions, fingers digging deep into her flesh.

He asks her again.

"Who are you?"

She sighs, lowering her gaze respectfully, recites it all with an even tone.

"I am Princess Orihime. I—"

He laughs- mirthless and cruel, cutting her short when the hold on her arm becomes tight enough to bruise. She hisses in response.

"No more lies. Or would you prefer me calling you by another woman's name even when we are in bed?"

She clamps her mouth shut.

"It's not that hard. I only need a name."

Silence still.

"Well if you are so unwilling. Perhaps a member of the entourage would be more forthcomi—"

"My name is Rukia."

The glare she shoots him is fierce and not at all like the simpering front she puts up.

"Who are you, Rukia?"

She bites her lips.

"A nobody."

"And why would they send me a nobody instead of the Princess, Rukia?"

Her breath hitches when his arm brushes against her side, glide across the rise of her breasts and leans in close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath on hers. Fingers busy themselves with the hemline of her nightdress, cut far shorter than she is used to.

"I don't know."

"Where is the Princess, Rukia?"

She keeps quiet, clenches her fists tight enough that her nails dig into her palm. She mustn't say a word or give away the unfortunate circumstances that brought her to him, to this country and Court. The Mad King is watching even now, his spies lurking among her entourage and numerous attendants.

Her family- her father and brothers are all under his mercy.

She can't.

The price of failing is much too steep for her to bear.

"I-I don't know."

She looks at the young King dead in the eyes and lies anyway, uncaring if he sees past her lies or takes them at face value.

"Oh, is that so?"

There is a rip in her gown. The flimsy material gives way with a rough tug and Rukia steels herself, looking into her husband's eyes- amber, dark, knowing; as she steps out of the puddle of ruined silk and kisses him.

He tastes of wine- the richness of it lingering on his lips; and secrets- many of which she will never be privy to, but that's fine too. She has no use of his heart. The stiffness in the set of his shoulders gives way when she winds her arms around his neck and cards her fingers through his hair.

Sex, she has been told, serves as a good distraction- if nothing else.

He doesn't fight her.

There's a growl of approval as sinewy arms snake around her slim waist and pulls her flush along his body and under him on the bed as he does away with his clothes. Underneath them, he is broad-chested and beautiful- the lines of his body carved and sculpted like a work of art with perfection in mind. A scar here, a mark there; a trail of wispy golden hair that marks the length of his torso, leading to the –

"My eyes are here," he teases.

A collision of lips, teeth and tongues as his lips find hers again. There is heat there, a fire that she stokes when her hand brushes against his arousal- intentional or artless, she doesn't know; not when his molten gaze strips her down to her very core of neediness.

The suppleness of her flesh and her tender sex is his to do as he sees fit. His fingers tease at her nipples, parting the folds of her dripping sex and she gasps as they slide knuckle-deep into her.

"Ichigo," he tells her in between heavy grunts.

"W-What?"

She is more than a little breathless under him and the way her sex clenches and tightens- she hisses. How meaningless words have become.

"My name. You should know. That's the name you should be screaming out when I make you come."

She doesn't remember much after.

The rest of the night is a blur and blend of heady emotions, the stickiness of his spent on her inner thighs- soft moans barely recognizable as hers while he sinks into her- heavy with want, and makes a home in her warmth. Oh quivering muscles, the tight coil of nerves unravelling, the snap of his hips and the gleam in his eyes- golden and wild.

She soars and peaks with him in tandem until dawn is but moments away and he withdraws with a soft murmur.

"Sleep."

.

.

In the morning when her ladies-in-waiting find her, she is covered in bruises and bites. The ruined silk- a weak excuse for a dress to begin with- is in tatters on the floor and the unmistakable stains on the sheets mark the sharing of sins and desires.

She is sore and aching over patches of black and blue. She doesn't want company.

But company stays.

The King's orders they crow and the smiling ladies titter, nervously ushering her into a warm bath with scented oils and rose petals. The nice-smelling blend they lather into her hair sooths her tired body, enough for her to regain thoughts and some use of her limbs.

The King is an ardent lover and thorough in his exploration of her. Even now, Rukia doesn't think she has the energy left within her to even crawl unless prompted.

"Is he everything you had imagined?"

Rukia flashes back to her childhood memories. Of her at her father's lap- on the transactional nature of marriages and bridal price and dowries, and the meaning of duty, honour and love; she laughs—

And doesn't stop until tears stream down her face.

.

.

.

FF/ao3

Sneak peek for IR royalty AU dedicated to the lovely @animeokaachan​.

I couldn’t resist.

Review, like, comment, reblog or drop me an ask to send some love my way.

[bigowlenergy]

science

Daniel Phantom shoots out of the portal uncontrollably, skids directly into ectoproof concrete, and just lays there. Everything is frozen for a few seconds. Machines whir softly, something bubbles, the portal hums, the proximity alarm shuts off. Vlad raises his visor.

“Is there a reason you flew like a bat out of hell into my lab, little badger?”

A small sob is his only answer.

“I see,” Vlad says diplomatically. “As flattered as I am by your sudden emotional vulnerability, I do hope you aren’t expecting me to say something comforting.”

“Shut up,” Daniel rasps, pushing himself to sit up and wiping harshly at his eyes. They are already lined with dark green and puffy. Must be almost finished, then. No injuries, no farther retreating, no acrid smell of blaster fire following him like a cloud, no outright attack on Vlad’s person. Not an emergency, then - except to the overemotional college student crying on Vlad’s doorstep. Again.

“Oh, good.” Vlad lowers the visor and returns to welding.

As intriguing and drama ridden as Daniel’s life is these days, Vlad is not about to poke that monologing bear if he isn’t required to. One bout of tears per month is plenty, thank you.

Vlad does not quite begrudge their truce, but if he had known what playing mentor to Daniel had meant in terms of emotional labour some five years ago, well. He might never have expressed the interest at all. This is the fifth instance of Daniel using his portal to escape something trivial in as many months. Vlad is fully desensitized to it.

He leaves the gloves on as he hefts the modified cannon on his shoulder and lines up with the portal.

“Out of the way, Daniel. M-bot, begin recording and activate trackers. Ballistics test number four, with additional fire power.”

Daniel grumbles and dramatically flops over before floating to the back of the lab. The shot of energy collides with the open portal with quite the light show. It’s as bright as the welding torch, but arcs with eclectic discharge half the length of the lab. The kickback is impressive, but Vlad’s no amateur with high powered weaponry and can deadlift up to 850 pounds comfortably in human form besides.

M-bot pings brightly and the screen array behind the blast shield lights up, showing the damage to the targeted ruins some miles away in the ghost zone. The castle walls have already begun to rebuild themselves from the earlier testing, but the newest blast has eaten through the dense, ancient ectoplasm with a decent amount of promise. M-bot is timing the rate of decay, so Vlad should probably deal with Daniel before he gets bored and does something drastic to the lab. Or the fridge.

He sets the cannon back into its cradle and lifts the visor.

“Well? Out with it.”

“Val broke up with me. I think, I don’t know. She found out.” Daniel blurts out, looking half panicked, half resigned.

It takes Vlad a minute to parse that.

“What did you do? If you’ve alerted Miss Gray to us -”

“No! She just. Said she saw something on her ghost security system. You didn’t give her one, did you?”

“Of course not.” Says Vlad, honestly affronted. He’s not stupid enough to record in his own home labs above the second subbasement; why on earth would he ever give a hunter with routine access to his person any sort of recording device? Moreover, what did she see?

Actually, more pressing issue -

“You didn’t lead her here, did you? I swear I will end your entire afterlife if you did.”

“No,” Says Danny sullenly from where he’s drifted back down to the floor. “I took the lake portal.”

A relationship confrontation in the forest? At this time of night? That’s quite a distance from his portal’s location in the ghost zone. Must have been on the run for some time, then. Vlad is getting sucked in to the drama, but isn’t about to ask the first question.

“I did warn you about cultivating relationships with humans. You only have yourself to blame, little badger.” If you can’t function as a shining example then serve as a horrible warning, and all that. Vlad might have opted out of learning his own lesson the hard way, but only because he saw that trainwreck coming from a dimension away and deigned to acknowledge it about twenty years too early. Or three years too late, depending on the calendar. A ghost in a relationship with hunters will end poorly; it isn’t rocket science. But then again, Danny’s practically majoring in rocket science, so naturally the shoe will fall on the other end of the idiom.

It’s almost impressive, really.

Daniel frowns fiercely and crosses his arms over a loop of his tail, looking oddly small when he isn’t looming about a foot above Vlad, his favorite vantage point. He still looks like a wreck, but at least he isn’t using Vlad’s blasting chamber to contain a breakdown fueled Wail, a la midterms. Small blessings.

“Whatever.” Daniel mutters, staring hard at the scorched floor. “Don’t wanna hear about it from Mr. Attempted Homewrecker.”

Vlad shrugs. He knows what he’s about.

“I suppose you’ll be expecting me to allow you to hide out here? Unless you were looking for advice on disposing of a body. You never did make the ending of that confrontation clear.”

“No!” Daniel snaps, finally rising up. “I’m not you. She’s just - we’re just.” He deflates, uncrossing his arms and floating about in silence for a long moment. “I’m going to go pet Mad Cat. Whenever that thing you’re making works, I’ll be back to kick your ass for it.” And then he’s gone.

Wonderful. If he eats all of Vlad’s icecream again, there will be consequences.

He drops the shield over his face and retrieves the cannon. Ah, the stress relief of the predictable type of explosions.

“Looking forward to it, little badger. Ballistics test number five: repeated damaged before total re-adhesion. Begin recording.”

[lastsonlost]

I heard a story about a woman who knew her husband had left her when she came home from work and their Alexa was missing.

The woman put something in the oven and said, “Alexa! Set the timer.”

Alexa did not respond.

“Alexa?”

The woman searched her house. Her husband had packed his bags, moved out, and taken Alexa.

This will never happen to me because I am the kind of woman who will never have an Alexa, because I will never let another woman’s name be said more than my own, in my home. 

Or anywhere else.When my husband and I stayed at The Wynn Resort and Casino in Las Vegas, every room came with Alexa. Two robes, electric blackout drapes, HBO, and Alexa.Alexa was beige and sat on the beige desk and blended into the beige wallpaper. She looked like one of those toads that blends into a desert. You don’t see it until it blinks.

 And then it is all you see. Breathing and blinking and listening and looking at you. Blink.We overheard our hotel neighbor get his wife in the mood. “Alexa! Play Stevie Wonder!”Alexa said, “Playing Stevie Wonder on SiriusXM.”And then: “Alexa! Play ‘My Cherie Amour’!”Alexa said, “Playing ‘My Cheri Amour.’”And then, through muffled cries of passion: “Alexa! Play ‘Very Superstitious’!”Alexa said, “I’m having trouble understanding you. Would you repeat that?”“Play ‘Very Superstitious’!”“Do you mean, ‘Superstition’?”“Yes!”“Ok. Playing ‘Superstition’.”

Yes, during a game of Tune in Tokyo with his wife, our neighbor had a full-on conversation with another woman. Robot lady or not, that is an open marriage. And my marriage is as shuttered up as a beach house in a hurricane.I called housekeeping to have Alexa removed from our room.

No, I did not think my husband would fall in love with Alexa the same way some Japanese men marry their Nintendo virtual girlfriends. But you can never be too sure. These things happen. And Alexa knows all of your man’s things.Alexa is never impatient or sullen or moody or mad. She never gets her period, so she never gets PMS. Menopause and gravity are as hysterical as Chip and Dale. Alexa speaks only when spoken to. She sits at the ready, ready to serve.

You’d call me crazy if I let another woman sit in the corner of my bedroom, all day, every day; never sleeping, or in want of food, water, chitchat, or a toilet; able to summon my husband’s every whim from Amazon like a modern day Barbara Eden in a bottle.“Alexa! Order a cooling eye mask and a box of Nicorette.”“Yes, Master.” Blink.Nuh-uh, no way. I Dream of Jeanie genie, Jeff Bezos robot lady, or Playboy centerfold — they are all the same to me. I ain’t letting none of them in my house. Because it’s my house and my husband is mine. I’m not jealous, I’m territorial.

It’s not that I don’t trust my husband. I trust him.But, it’s like Mama used to say when I started to drive, “I trust you, Helen Michelle, I just don’t trust the rest of the world.” Mama taught me: “Before you get in a car, check the backseat for a crouched murderer; and then check under the car because that’s where murderers like to hide and slice your ankles.”Mama taught me: “Before you get in a car, check the backseat for a crouched murderer; and then check under the car because that’s where murderers like to hide and slice your ankles.”I’m such a defensive driver, I haven’t driven since I was 19. So when it comes to my marriage, I’m a defensive wife.

Im not going to let my husband and thereby my marriage be preyed upon. We’re all human and susceptible to temptation. Honestly, if fold-out Farrah Fawcett came to life in that red one-piece, she’d have my hall pass. Hall passes are imaginary Get Out of Jail Free cards that married people give each other to fantasize about cheating with celebrities or dead people, before they got old or died. But, a fantasy is cheating. 

That’s why you keep it to yourself. My husband and I do not have hall passes.If my husband cheats on me in my dreams, I wake up furious. Or I used to. A few years back, I made it a New Year’s resolution to stop chastising him as soon as he opened his chocolaty brown eyes because, as he has said: he didn’t DO anything.If my husband cheats on me in my dreams, I wake up furious.My husband never does anything. So, I trust him. I just don’t trust the rest of the world.When I went on book tour for three weeks, my husband lost seven pounds and I treated his healthy choices as a personal affront. In my absence, he’d ordered twenty-one lunches and twenty-one suppers from Chop’t Creative Salad Company. 

So, forty-two salads.To me, a salad bar is as foreboding as a sex dungeon: chilly, and laid out with objects that I would never dare handle. I mean, Beets? Jicama? How do you even even begin to peel and cook those things? I imagined a Chop’t lady salad-chopper, clad in a latex apron and stud collar, side-stepping along a smorgasbord of kink, asking in the desensitized tone of a 9–1–1 operator: “And what else?”“Ball gag.”“And what else?”“Anal beads.”“And what else?”“Avocado”“Avocado is $1.99 extra

.”“Ok.”“And what else?” Blink.Ifeed my husband pasta, potatoes, gluten, and carbs. I feed him these things because they make his eyes roll back in his head and he makes a little noise. I like to make him make that little noise, and Lipitor be damned, I will continue to make the food that makes him make that little noise until our hearts burst and we die.And I make spaghetti. My husband has loved and eaten my spaghetti for twenty-some years. He loves my spaghetti and I am quite sure it is one of the many reasons why he married me.

 My spaghetti started out as a jar of Ragu and a pound of ground round; but with age and experimentation, developed into hand-rolled lamb and pork meatballs simmered in a homemade marinara, topped with sautéed mushrooms. Same dish, new tricks. But it’s still my spaghetti. Or as I like to call it: The Usual, Enhanced.When my husband eats forty-two salads while I’m out of town, I get nervous because someone gave my husband something I could have, but didn’t.I asked him: “Do you want me to make salads?”My husband said, “Maybe sometimes.”I asked: “Do you want me to buy a cat-o’-nine-tails and walk you around the living room on a leash?”“What? No. Why would you ask me that?”“Just checking.”After all, we’ve spent half our lifetimes doing The Usual, Enhanced in bed. And for ages, I’ve worn pajamas with my married initials monogrammed on the pocket. Nothing says, Let’s get it on like embroidery. But you never know. 

So, every few years, it’s polite to ask.Because I respect my marriage.To people who are not respectful of my marriage, I am not polite.There are marital lines you should not cross. And as a defensive wife, it’s my place to point them out to you. Usually it takes one comment from me for you to learn where the lines are. Once you identify them, we’ll get along fine; and you can maneuver around those lines like Tom Cruise did in that roomful of lasers in Mission Impossible.A man at our home poker game had the habit of getting up from his seat to rub other men’s shoulders. I was the only woman at the table, and he knew better than to lay hands on me, but when he put his meat hooks onto the bare skin of my husband’s neck, I said, “Get your hands off my husband!”“What?” he laughed.All the men laughed.I said, “Would you massage another man’s wife?”Message received.

Other helpful hints include: Don’t call, text, or email my husband to make social plans, contact me. Don’t give my husband a gift, because I will construe whatever it is as too personal. Don’t talk about my husband’s butt, only I get to talk about his butt. Don’t post a picture of my husband with his shirt off on your Facebook page. No, it doesn’t matter that he was sitting on softball bleachers with six other men who had their shirts off on the hottest day in history. He is half-naked, and that glistening sun-kissed chest is mine, not yours to share.And I ain’t sharing.Those who don’t take my warnings seriously, fall off our Christmas card list. Sometimes, I let them live on in infamy with little nicknames like Baby Fish Mouth and The Drip. I can’t tell you what those nicknames stem from, or what those women did to offend me; because if they recognize themselves in print, won’t my face be red? So, let’s just say, they did something inappropriate in front of my husband. Like commando cartwheels. And then, after I expressly told them not to, cartwheeled again.Not everyone who bothers me is such a femme fatale.

 A femme fatale used to be a 1940’s black-and-white movie actress, who smoked Pall Malls with a cigarette holder and could seduce a walnut; nowadays it’s any woman who’s younger and has a waist cinched like a Go-Gurt. But I’m an equal-opportunity hand-slapper. And no one deserves to get her hand slapped more than a person who tries to bust the chops of my marriage.At a party, in front of me and a bunch of guests, a woman grabbed my husband’s left hand, and asked him where his wedding ring was. In truth, there have been three such women at three such parties. And the only reason any of these women would call attention to a missing wedding ring is to imply that my husband is in the market to cheat. My husband is Greek and thereby wears his ring on his right hand.

 He held up his right hand and showed this woman his ring.The woman said, “Oh.”And then I asked that woman in front of my husband and that very same bunch of guests: “Do you have many women friends?”The woman said, “No.”I said, “That kind of comment is why.”When I told my friend Hannah about this, she said, “I don’t remember what you did years ago, but I figured out real-quick that I wasn’t supposed to say nice things about his suits.”I said, “I probably dumped a bowl of spaghetti over your head.”Hannah said, “No it wasn’t that.”“Did I tell you flat out: don’t talk about my husband’s suits.”Hannah said, “I think you gave me a look.

”Yeah, I can give a rough look. There’s nothing scarier than a happy peppy woman going dark in an instant. It’s like a Raggedy Ann doll foaming at the mouth. You see that once, you don’t ever want to see it again.And Hannah hasn’t. A benefit of never again crossing one of my marital lines is that I am as fiercely appreciative of, loyal to, and protective of our friendship.My friend Ann says, “Your ferocity is how you show love.”I love my husband so much, I tell him: “If you cheat on me, I am going to jail. Because I will murder you. I have no fear of prison. I can be somebody’s bitch in two seconds.”My husband has never cheated on me.

 I trust him because he knows my rules apply to him too.He may compliment another woman’s intelligence, sense of humor, career, and accomplishments; but he may not compliment her appearance. He may hug a female friend hello (upon her initiation), but he may not otherwise touch her unless he’s administering the Heimlich maneuver, which out of respect for me, he has never bothered to learn. He doesn’t need to know the Heimlich maneuver, because I know the Heimlich maneuver, and the latest CPR method, and how to use an airport defibrillator. My husband knows how to dial 9–1–1.A dispatcher asks, “9–1–1, what’s your emergency?”“I’d like a serving platter for our twentieth wedding anniversary.”“And what else?”“Roses.”“And what else?”“Chocolates.”“Soft center or nuts?”“My wife isn’t nuts.”Blink.

[franklyshipping]

Marvin The Mischievous ~ A Septic Ego Series ~ Part 9 ~ The Finale

Whew.....here it is....the bonus finale to what has been a wonderful series to brainstorm, plan, write, post, and receive feedback on. Thank you all so much for reading and I hope this series has been as fun for you as it has been for me. LET'S GO!

TAGGING: @marvin-lee-magician and @anti-switch-glitch

Marvin the Magnificent smiled to himself.....not an evil, malignant, mischievous smile, just a really damn happy one. It had been a few days since The Great Tickle Revenge of 2018 had occurred, and honestly Marvin had never felt better within himself. It was strange. Everyone seemed to be spending so much more time together, people weren't split into pairs of people they were comfy with....everyone was close with EVERYONE. It was so lovely. Even Anti and Shawn, the recluses, had found themselves feeling safe and at ease when in everybody's company, and it meant that everyone was just so much happier. Marvin played with his cape as he stared into the distance, thinking of all the newest happy family moments they'd shared, feeling profound....until he was interrupted. I wonder if you can guess the one person guaranteed to cause a cheeky ruckus in this household?

'Sup kitty cat, been lookin' for ya!'

Marvin shut his eyes and let out an audible groan, which resulted in a delighted giggle from Anti as he plopped on the couch next to the magician.

'Why, so you can gloat again about my magnificent downfall?'

Marvin mumbled as he opened his eyes and looked to Anti, who dramatically gasped in the most affronted manner that you ever did see. He slung an arm around Marvin's shoulders, making the magician squirm and growl as he reverted back to a state of smirkiness in his reply.

'I meeean, ya can't really chastise people who tease ya since ya brought it o-'

'Brought it on myself YES I know!'

Anti giggled and flicked Marvin's nose playfully, making Marvin twitch and glare.

'Exactly! So, I can tease ALL I want!'

Marvin rubbed his nose and shoved Anti off him. Obviously he wasn't at all angry or annoyed with him, it was just their way of interacting. Playful fighting, banter, annoying one another, creating feuds over the dumbest things just because it was so much fun for both of them. Everyone's friendship with another person is different to how that person's other friends may interact with them, like Marvin had banter with Anti, Jamie meanwhile was constantly molly-coddled and babied and teased by the glitch; since Anti dubbed him 'a fucking human marshmallow'. Anti was sneering at Marvin, amused by his embarrassed blush and child-like stance of bad posture and folded arms on the couch.

'....friggin crimeny asshole poo-glitch....'

Anti raised an eyebrow.....before bursting into wild, happy cackles, which only made Marvin blush more. It was rare to hear Anti's real laughter when it was unforced, and to be fair Marvin still thought it was lovely....but he was oh so salty at how it was at HIS expense. Through his laughter and manic grin, Anti leant towards him and taunted.

'Whahat wahas that Mr ''P-Please I Can't Take Much M-More!''?'

Marvin hid his face in his hands, letting out a huge whine of despair as Anti managed to reign himself back to giggles, though his eyes had been glistening and threatening tears of mirth. He just found all of this ceaselessly hilarious.

'SHUT UP! YOU DIDN'T EVEN HAVE TO HELP THEM, I NEVER GOT YOU!!'

Marvin exclaimed as Anti smirked, and it was true, Anti could see how it was true. But he remembered so distinctly when he and the rest of them had rescued Jackie....he'd wanted nothing more than to tease the magician, to watch him be tickled, to help make that happen. To be part of a scheme like that had just been too enticing to pass up.

'Oh but I wouldn't have missed it for the world, the chance to watch you squirm and shriek in ticklish madness was just so much fun! Yeah ya never got me, and ya never will, but any chance te see ya knocked down a few pegs is fuckin' awesome!'

Marvin's face was a burning crimson now, it never ceased to fluster him to see how enthusiastic people were when it came to tickling him. However....there was a little something that gave Marvin a lifeline from his embarrassment. Something Anti had said. Something that, in Marvin's mind, very much sounded like a smug challenge. Marvin started to smile; how bold Anti was to assume he was immune.

'Never.....is that right?'

Anti tensed....what was with this new tone? The man was instantly on guard as he watched Marvin's curled up form, hoping to anything and everything that he hadn't accidently given Marvin confidence. His hopes were no use though. Anti gulped when Marvin's face emerged, and the magician was grinning ear to ear. There was silence, stillness....then a pounce.

'NODON'TYOUDARE MARVIN YOU LITTLE SHIT!'

Anti tried to scramble off the couch, but Marvin was on top of him in an instant and reaching for his wrists with a maniacal grin. They were practically wresting, Marvin smirking and focused whilst Anti growled with threatening intent. Anti was cursing himself, goddammit WHY did he have to keep teasing? He COULDN'T let Marvin get away with this, but Marvin as we know....is a determined bugger.

'One way, or another....I'm gonna getcha getcha getcha!'

Anti's cheeks warmed up and he let a smile slip out at Marvin's tease, noticing how he used some lyrics of a song Anti liked. Hearing the words in this context caused the first waves of embarrassment to quiver in Anti's tummy, and spurred him to glare and snarl.

'I SWEAR I will tickle torture you for this! Stop while I'm giving you the chance!'

Marvin knew Anti wouldn't go down without a fight, it was so admirable. Even though the magician did feel a quiver of fear at the threat....the threat itself was proof that Marvin had the upper hand. Marvin knew Anti well enough to know that when he started making threats, that's when he was the most nervous. Marvin snatched Anti's wrists and shoved them under his knees to pin them, and cracked his knuckles in response to Anti's growl.

'Well maybe YOU should have taken a deep breath while I gave you the chance!'

Anti was struggling and tugging with all his might, but nothing stopped that mighty shriek leaving him when Marvin's claw-shaped hands dug into his vulnerable tummy. He was encased in mad cackles instantly.

'AAAHH! NAHAHA GEHET OHOHOFF MEHEHEEE!'

Marvin snickered as Anti writhed beneath him, the magician was always amused how Anti's reactions to tickling were THE most wild and sporadic out of everyone; not that it's surprising, given his wild character. As Marvin let his ''claws'' drag over Anti's stomach, and the thin t-shirt Anti wore offered no protection, he cooed teasingly.

'No can dooooo! Coochie coochie coooo!'

Anti's face lit up at the babyish teasing, and his arched his back whist wailing in ticklish agony; this was already evil and this was the first goddamn ticklish spot. Anti knew he was doomed.

'YOHOHOU BAHAHSTAHARD!! FAHAACK WHYTHEDAHAMNCLAWING?!'

Feeling Marvin's fingers just drag and scratch at the same time just made Anti flinch and quiver, it was quite the effective technique. Marvin kept it up as he crooned.

'Why it's my favourite tickly technique! After all, you're the one who called me a kitty cat! I'd have thought you'd be happy to feel my claws!'

Anti was shaking his head maniacally as the clawing reached his waist, making him buck and squeal as he babbled. He never knew something could tickle so much!

'NONONOHOHOHO IHIHAMNOTHAPPY NAHAHAT HAHAHAPPY!!'

Marvin pouted softly, but it was very exaggerated, as he removed his claws and put his fists on his hips.

'Awwww, well that won't do will it? I'll just have to try harder!'

Anti was making the most of his break, taking breath after breath as he tried to force his smile away, but for some reason his mouth just wasn't co-operating. He was grinning and shivering as he looked up at Marvin, still giggling from the atmosphere....almost like he WAS happy....ha! What a preposterous accusation, ahem moving on. Anti's voice had dimmed to a gentle, jittery form as he replied.

'N-Nohoho M-Maharvin, th-that w-wahas ahalready e-evil!'

Marvin cocked his head to the side as he giggled, eyes glinting.

'Oho Anti.....I think I need to help you redefine what TRUE evil is.'

Anti's blush was dark and prominent from embarrassment as he watched Marvin with eagle eyes, trying to anticipate something, anything. Marvin started lowering his head towards Anti's abdomen, making Anti squirm as his muscles tensed and twitched nervously. Then Anti shrieked. Marvin had definitely thrown build-ups out of the window today.

'NONONONO DOHOHON'T DOHOHO THAHAHAHAT!!'

Marvin giggled once more as he swiped his tongue back and forth along Anti's waistline, knowing how much this technique in this place drove him absolutely crazy. As he tormented Anti's soft, delicate skin, he growled playfully like a feasting beast.

'Mmmm, I never knew glitches could taste so good....'

Dammit dammit dammit, the animal trope AS WELL AS the lickling? Anti was in hell. Anti whimpered through his high pitched laughter as he squeezed his eyes shut to try and block out the wet, warm, tickly sensation; but if anything, it only became more amplified. It was like he was being sloppily painted, but the paint was warm and the brush was slick and immeasurably soft. Anti cried out.

'P-PLEHEHEASE YOHOU KNOHOW IHI CAN'T STAHAHAND THIHIHIS!!'

Anti squealed when Marvin wiggled the tip of his tongue over the skin playfully, then gazed at him amusedly as he purred.

'But you don't have to stand it, you're lying down!'

Anti let out a groan of despair at the pun, to think he thought things couldn't have gotten worse. Now Marvin had brought his detrimentally terrible humour into play. Marvin snickered at his own joke as he flicked his tongue under Anti's navel, making him squeal and buck adorably.

'YOHOHOU FUHUCKER!! YOHOHOU'LL REHEGREHET THIHIHIS!'

Marvin sighed.....more threats. Will he ever learn. He stopped and crawled on top of Anti, making the glitch gasp as Marvin glared at him; it was partly terrifying in all honesty. The magician looked fierce and fiery as he snarled down at Anti.

'And I'll make sure YOU regret it if you keep up those threats. I can make you submit to me.'

Anti's heart was pounding.....oh why oh why had he let his brain convince him that being cheeky to Marvin was a good idea? Anti KNEW how ruthless he could be. He KNEW that he wasn't to be underestimated or belittled. And yet, his subconscious convinced him to goad the magician anyway....and it was his subconscious that controlled his stammers now.

'I-I'll....s-still g-get you! Y-You can't TRULY defeat me!'

Except, this just proved that Marvin already HAD defeated him. Marvin smirked, now all he had to do was make Anti admit that he'd been bested.

'Still got that defiance....heh, I shouldn't really be surprised. If anything....this is just going to be so much more fun.'

Anti quivered as his gaze flicked over Marvin's excited expression, and he was already smiling as Marvin leant down and nestled his face into the crook of his neck. Anti was so tense. His mind was bubbling with questions. What was he going to do? Anti tried to stay quiet as he felt Marvin's warm breath move over his neck....dammit the suspense was actually killing him. This was, of course, something that Marvin was dragging out on purpose. The magician purred.

'Gotcha.'

Anti gasped and squeaked. No, he did not fall into hysteria, he simply was overcome by a stream of squeaky giggles as Marvin's sharp teeth started nipping and nibbling at his very sensitive, pale skin.

'F-Fuhuhuck.....M-Maharvihin......y-yohohou cahan't....'

Marvin snickered, which sent more chills through Anti's system, whilst dragging his teeth over his victim's vulnerable skin; he'd still managed to keep Anti's arms trapped beneath his legs too, he was pretty good at this tickle torture malarkey.

'But I already am....you might as well admit it Anti. You've lost.'

Anti flushed, filled with embarrassment since he knew deep down it was true, but before he could respond.....Marvin's fingertips came into play.

'AH! Th-thahat's n-nahat f-f-fahahair! P-Plehehease!'

Marvin's fingertips had joined the party and were drawing little shapes all over Anti's bared, sensitive sides; galaxies and nebulas and patterns and shapes, all of them sending jolts through Anti's nerves....making him crumble more and more every second. Marvin whispered in a wispy voice, that almost sounded tickly all by itself.

'Come now Anti, you know what I want to hear. It's just....a little confession.'

Anti weakly shook his head, even though he barely had an ounce of willpower left he was scrunching up his face as a way to distract himself from the evil feelings.

'I-Ihihi cahahan't Ihi c-cahahan't!'

Marvin was just....so happy. Hearing Anti become undone was sublime. To think earlier he was his vibrant bratty self was almost unbelievable, but it just goes to show how being ticklish can reveal every hidden part of you. In this instance, Anti's prickly exterior was a shield for his meek interior; he was a soft little turtle on the inside basically. Marvin was gonna tease that little turtle to death.

'Sure you can....otherwise, heh well, I don't have anything to do today, and this is quite a comfy position....'

Anti gulped as he squirmed and whined, but any energy for potential escape had long been used up, he was hardly even glitching too. His body was only exhibiting the odd crackle and shift by a millimetre, but other than that, Anti was just completely vulnerable. And he knew it.

'Y-Yohohou h-hahave toho h-have mehehercy ohon me!'

Marvin giggled softly, finding a soft spot behind Anti's ear that he latched onto with his teeth, all the while his blunt nails relentlessly teased the dips of his poor sides. He only had to utter two words....two words that made Anti realise, he'd honestly lost.

'Do I?'

It went on....Anti didn't know how long. Time didn't exist it seemed. It was just tickling, tracing, nibbling, tracing, nibbling, tracing, nibbling. Anti's eyes were watering just from his high-pitched giggle fits as he tried and tried to endure. However, with every passing moment, he just seemed to get more and more ticklish, and Marvin wasn't even using magic. It was just plain old tickling. Tickling, just in itself, is torture....classic tickling with deft fingertips....can never go wrong. Marvin was about to find this out, to his utter glee.

'OKAY! Y-Yohohou w-wihin yohou d-d-defeheated mehe pleasehavemehercypleasepleaseplease!'

Anti babbled, he honestly couldn't have handled any more, it was like he was being hypnotised via touch. His breathing was raspy and erratic, his gaze was glazed and focused on the ceiling, and his body was caught in a haze of jolts and shivers....but now....a calm had been reached. Anti sighed in relief when Marvin's fingers retracted and his arms were released from under his legs; Anti bent his arms, he'd almost forgotten he had these two limbs. As Anti regained his senses though....he realised that Marvin hadn't gotten off him. Oh no. Quite the opposite. The magician was cuddling him, and smiling at him.

'I win.'

Anti pursed his lips when Marvin giggled, snuggling into him....like a goddamn cat. Fuckin' affectionate piece of cute. Anti begrudgingly hugged him back, giving his back a little pack as he mumbled embarrassedly.

'Yeah...ya did.....'

He paused, which made Marvin look at him again curiously. What he said next though, meant Marvin was the one blushing.

'I'm proud of ya.'

Marvin couldn't stop smiling, and Anti felt a wave of satisfaction....even after all that, he'd gained an inch of the upper hand. He chuckled, then playfully shoved Marvin off him onto the carpet so his could stand up and brush down his clothes.

'HEY!'

Anti snickered as he looked down at Marvin, who was playfully glaring. However he soon grinned when Anti gave him a hand up, rolling his eyes. Marvin smiled as he watched Anti start to saunter from the room....oh if only he'd since the glitch's smirk as he spoke offhandedly.

'Ugh I was not prepped for sappiness today, to think i only came here to tell ya Jackie wants to go on a date with ya...'

Marvin's eyes bugged out of his sockets, whilst Anti cackled to himself. Marvin blushed, frozen in place. Jackie. Cute Superhero. Date. With him. Actual Jackie....smirky teasy pretty kind selfless Jackie-WHAT?!

'WHAT WAIT ANTI COME BACK?!'

Anti merely kept on sauntering, hands in his pockets and head held high as Marvin's flustered, jittery voice followed him. Ah, the sounds of someone yelling Anti's name in frustration or in vain...things were definitely back to normal.

DOOONNNEEE!!! Wow I can't believe it's done....genuinely though I'd love to know what you guys though of this finale AND the whole series! LUV YOUS XXX

[mischiefandspirits]

From the Start: Valiant

It was supposed to be a one time thing. Arthur let the sorcerer run off with his life in return for him saving Arthur’s. He had never expected to see the boy again, especially not only two days later in Gaius’s chambers.

“Seems you're a hero.”

Merlin glanced up to see Gaius coming into his room. “Hard to believe, isn't it?”

“No. I knew there was something special about you from the moment I met you.” The warlock flinched, though it went unnoticed by the physician, who was unwrapping a book. “Here, I borrowed this from the royal library for you. Be careful with it. There's no telling what Geoffrey would do to you for damaging one of his books.”

“This is a book on armor and tournaments,” Merlin said, flicking through the book once it was handed to him.

“Quite. Arthur will want your help with his armor, especially with the tournament coming up. And you’ll need to know about tournament etiquette before then. I’m sure you haven’t learned much of that in Ealdor.”

“Thanks,” Merlin said, setting the book aside before sighing. “How am I going to get through this? I don’t know the first thing about being a manservant or dealing with nobility, let alone royal prats.” Especially royal prats who want me dead.

“My first tip, don’t call the prince a prat,” Gaius deadpanned before his face softened and he set his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, things will work out.”

“You think so?”

“Arthur was the first person you met in Camelot, was he not?” Merlin nodded. “And now this? Something is definitely pushing you two together.”

“My destiny,” Merlin muttered, remembering the dragon.

“Indeed.”

A knock sounded from the door to the physician’s chambers. “Merlin, Prince Arthur wants you right away.”

“Your destiny's calling. You'd better find out what he wants,” Gaius chuckled, tilting his head towards the door.

“Prince Ar-” the guard cut off as Arthur threw open the door.

The prince glared at his new manservant and said, “About time.” He grabbed the boy and dragged him into his chambers. He waved off the guard and shut the door before turning to Merlin.

The warlock flinched and backed away. “So… Did you want to -”

“You really are a complete idiot, aren’t you Merlin. I tell you not to let me catch you using m-m-that and what do you do? You use it in front of not only me, but the rest of the court, including my father. You know, when I asked you if you wanted to be executed, I didn’t actually think you were actually suicidal.”

“Hey, I told you next time I’d just let you get impaled,” Merlin said, raising his hands in surrender.

“This isn’t a joke!”

“Who says I was joking?” Merlin muttered.

“If my father knew what you did -”

“Then why didn’t you tell him? I broke your rule, it would have been the perfect opportunity.” Merlin questioned. It had been bothering him since the events of the night before. He had been sure Arthur was going to turn him over the moment he could get a word in edgewise, even as Gaius had sent him away from the glaring prince. He had been up past midnight pretending to sleep until he finally realized the guards weren’t about to burst in to drag him away.

Arthur groaned and pushed passed Merlin to stand in front of a window. “I can’t accuse you without proof or else I’ll look ungrateful.”

“But… you saw me using magic.”

“Everyone in court saw what you did and none of them figured out you used it. Bloody hell, I know you used it and I can’t figure out how.”

“Well, I just -”

“Don’t.”

“Um, right. As you said, you know I used magic. You’ve seen me before. Isn’t that your proof?”

“And have to explain to my father that I knew you were a sorcerer and let you go?”

“You’re worried about making your father mad?” Merlin joked, moving towards the table.

“Even simply harboring a sorcerer is a crime punishable by death.”

The warlock froze. “Your father wouldn't have you executed, would he?”

“My father has made vows to uphold the laws of this kingdom, as have I,” he added the second part quietly, more to himself.

“But you're the prince! His heir and son! Surely he wouldn't -”

“If my father did nothing, it would make him look weak. He would sentence me to banishment. Temporary, of course, because I am heir, but still. If he's extremely lenient, I might only get time in the dungeons, but… well… my father's never been known to be lenient. Especially concerning that. And he did make a spectacle of making you my manservant. That would surely cause him embarrassment if you're discovered and that won't make either of our cases better. So no, he probably wouldn't execute me, but…” Arthur trailed off, back stiff.

“I-I don't know what to say. I didn't realize that -- When you let me go -”

“It was supposed to be one time. A repaid debt. We weren't ever supposed to see one another again. This wasn't supposed to happen, not unless I was taking you down for attacking Camelot.”

“I-I'm sorry.”

The prince snorted. “Everything's gone mad.”

Merlin shifted nervously, not knowing what to say.

Merlin was reading through his armor book in Arthur’s servant’s quarters when the door leading to Arthur’s room slammed open alongside the prince’s shout of, “Merlin!”

Merlin flinched, snapping the book shut as Arthur’s laundry, armor, shield, and sword clattered to the ground.

Arthur glared at him. “Were you using that again?”

“No.”

“What's all this, then?”

Merlin glanced at the fallen items and shrugged.

“I should hand you over to my father.”

“Maybe if you didn’t give me so much stuff to do, I wouldn’t need my magic’s help,” Merlin huffed.

“Maybe if you were doing your job instead of lying around then it wouldn’t be a problem,” Arthur shot back.

“I’m not just lying around. I’m studying.” Merlin gave the book a shake, letting it fall open to show the armor diagram.

“No amount of studying could make you any less of an idiot,” Arthur scoffed, earning himself a glare from the warlock. “Now come on, I need to leave for the reception. Help me with my cape.”

“Of course, sire,” Merlin snorted, tossing aside the book.

“And no more using… that.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Merlin.”

“That was much better. Not that it could have got any worse.”

“See, my studying paid off. So next time -”

“Next time, you’ll do the work the normal way or I’ll throw you in the stocks.”

Taking a bite of sausage, Arthur narrowed his eyes at the warlock nervously fidgeting with his clothes.

“What did you do?” he asked when he couldn’t stand it anymore.

Merlin jumped and turned to him. “What? Me? I didn’t do anything.”

Arthur stared at him until he started to squirm.

“I’m telling the truth. I didn’t do anything.”

“Then who did?”

Merlin glanced away.

“Merlin.”

“Valiantisusingmagic!”

Arthur blinked. “Was that supposed to make sense?”

Merlin flinched, then repeated himself, slower.

Arthur scoffed. “Valiant may be obnoxious -”

The warlock snorted.

“- but he’s a knight. He wouldn’t lower himself to that.”

“I saw him, Arthur,” Merlin started, before going into how he’d felt something was weird with the shield on the first day when he’d fetched Arthur’s armor, but had put it down to imagination until he and Gaius had been looking over Sir Ewan and realized he’d been bitten by a snake. Then he described what he’d seen in Valiant’s room when he’d went to investigate.

“And you didn’t feel the need to tell me this?” Arthur growled. Someone was putting his people in danger and this warlock was just going to keep quiet.

“Of course I did, but…”

“But?”

“Gaius said not to say anything,” he answered, shoulders up near his ears.

“You told Gaius?”

“About Valiant, not me. I thought it might help him heal Sir Ewan but he said he would need the venom from the snake.”

Arthur frowned and stood up. “Why would Gaius want to hide it from us?”

As he slipped behind the changing screen, he heard Merlin begin to clean up his mostly empty breakfast dishes and reply with, “He said it would be my word against Valiant’s and your father would never take the word of a servant over a knight. That I’d only get myself in trouble.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, but he conceded the point. He considered the problem as he changed. When he stepped out, he waved off Merlin’s attempt to help him with his armor and grabbed his sword. “Where was Ewan bitten?”

“On the neck.”

Arthur nodded and strode out of the room. “Bring my armor.”

“Hey, wait!” Merlin shouted, but Arthur continued on. A moment later the warlock appeared at his side, arms laden with armor and an affronted look on his face. “Where are you going?”

“I want to get some light practice in while the other knights are breaking fast with my father. You can dress me down at the field after.”

Merlin grumbled under his breath, but Arthur ignored him. They walked like this for a few moments before Merlin said, “This isn’t the way to the fields.”

“I’m aware, Merlin. We need to go to the armory. You forgot one of my gauntlets.”

“What? No I didn’t! I didn’t even take your armor to the armory last night!”

“I think I know more than you, Merlin.”

The warlock opened his mouth to object, but Arthur sent him a look that told him to shut up so he instead chose to glare at the floor with a pout and mutter traitorous things under his breath.

When they reached the knights quarters, Arthur kept an eye and ear out and was assured that the area was predictably empty. As such, Arthur didn’t break his stride at Valiant’s door, pushing through it with a hissed, “Keep watch.”

The boy gave a quiet yelp, but quickly hushed himself and didn’t follow Arthur.

Glancing around, Arthur spotted the shield leaning against a chair. He raised his sword and approached.

Nothing happened.

He got close enough to tap his sword against the intertwined serpents and still nothing. He glared at the shield for a moment before huffing and turning to confront his servant.

He made it two steps before a shadow rose up behind him. He spun around, his sword coming up on instinct.

The snake fell to the floor in two pieces.

Releasing a shaky breath and keeping the shield in his line of sight, he grabbed a used towel from next to the wash basin and wrapped the snake in it. He gave the shield one last look then slipped out the door, sheathing his sword as he went.

He dropped the towel onto Merlin’s load and gave him a glare. “Did you bring that salve I told you to get from Gaius?”

The warlock looked at him with bemusement.

Idiot.

“No, of course you didn’t,” Arthur said before he could respond. “We’ll have to go fetch it before we head down.”

He heard Merlin gasp as he started towards Gaius’s chambers.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

He glanced over his shoulder to see Merlin giving him a vapid smile that was just a little too proud and… something else to be genuine.

The towel had disappeared into the pile of armor.

Arthur led the way to Gaius’s, then pushed through the door without knocking.

He, unlike certain servants, was a prince and was allowed such privileges.

“Your Highness,” the court physician called, turning away from his patient. “How can I help you?”

“Merlin forgot to ask you for more muscle relaxing salve.”

Gaius gave the boy a look, but he was too busy glaring at Arthur to notice. “I’ll get it right away.”

“Before that,” Arthur started, holding his hand out to Merlin.

The warlock stared at it with a touch of annoyance, but no other recognition.

“The towel, Merlin.”

He frowned before giving Arthur another vapid smile, this one cloaking a smirk.

He then proceeded to dump the armor he was carrying to the floor.

“Merlin!” Arthur and Gaius shouted as one.

“Here you are, sire,” he said, blinking innocently as he passed Arthur the towel.

The prince gave him a look that promised punishment before turning back to Gaius. “Merlin said Sir Ewan ran afoul of a snake. I happened across this one in the knights quarters and thought to bring it along in case it was the same one and could help with his treatment.”

The physician looked between the two and sighed. “What trouble are you two up to?”

Merlin’s shoulders crept up to his ears, but Arthur puffed up. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Gaius hummed and took the towel from him.

He set it carefully on a table and pulled the head out. He looked it over with a curious eye before shuffling over to the cot and leaning over to hold it up to Ewan’s neck.

“The bite’s the right size,” he confirmed, straightening. “I’ll need to make the antivenom.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Merlin can pick up the salve later.” Arthur threw his arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “I think he’ll likely need some as well. I believe I’ll do a bit of shield practice before the tournament.” The prince laughed at the warlock’s scowl and turned to leave. “Grab my armor, Merlin. Hurry up, now.”

Arthur didn’t hear his response, but he did hear Gaius scoldingly call out Merlin’s name.

“Prince Arthur!”

Arthur looked up from watching Merlin adjust his chain mail to see a guard run up to him and drop into a bow. “What is it?”

“The court physician sent me. He said he went to check on Sir Ewan during the break and he has awoken. He is requesting your immediate presence.”

Prince and servant shared a look and Arthur nodded at the guard. “Thank you. Return to your post.” Once the guard had bowed and left, he turned to Merlin. “Inform my father that I had to see to something and that I will return in time for my match then meet me at Gaius’s.”

The warlock sent the king’s box a nervous glance, but nodded.

As Merlin ran off, Arthur turned to head to the castle, only to catch sight of Valiant glancing away. He narrowed his eyes at the knight, but continued on.

Merlin caught up with him when he was halfway to the court physician’s chambers. “Your father said to hurry back. He didn’t look happy,” he panted.

“Neither did Valiant.”

“You think he’s onto us?”

“He at least knows something’s going on. Keep an eye on Ewan. He’s our only witness so we can’t risk Valiant silencing him.”

Merlin nodded then fell silent, staring at the ground. He broke the quiet a few moments later to mumble, “Thank you.”

“What?”

“For believing me, thank you. I know I’m not exactly your favorite person and you don’t really trust me.”

Arthur waved it off. “I would hope even you are not fool enough to lie about that given your circumstances.”

“Still, thank you.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Quit being a girl, Merlin, and get the door.”

“Prat,” the warlock muttered before jogging forwards to open the door. He gave an exaggerated bow. “Sire.”

The prince ignored his antics. “You wanted me?”

It wasn’t Gaius that answered, but Ewan.

“Arthur, it’s Valiant,” he said, attempting to sit up, only to be stopped by the physician.

“What about Valiant?”

“The snake on his shield, it came alive.”

Arthur frowned and straightened up, pushing down the victorious feeling. “You’re sure?”

“Aye. It was magic, no mistaking it. It was like the snake peeled right off the shield. And it struck me at his command.”

Arthur turned to Gaius. “Do you still have the head?”

The physician nodded and grabbed the snake’s head off a nearby table.

“Was this the snake that bit you?”

Ewan stiffened when Gaius held up the head for him to see. “Yes, sire.”

Arthur nodded. “I was near Valiant’s chambers when I found it. My father needs to be told.” Arthur turned to Gaius. “Will he be well enough to appear? My father will want to hear his account.”

“He should be fine for a short visit if he has help getting down, but he’ll need to rest right after.”

“I’ll be sure a guard is waiting to help him down.” He turned back to Ewan. “Rest up until you’re summoned. I won’t have you dying to Valiant’s treachery. I’ll leave Merlin here to help you clean up so you can appear in court with the dignity you deserve.”

“Thank you, sire.”

“Where is this witness?”

“On his way.”

“My Lord, this is -”

Valiant cut off as the doors opened to allow Ewan to enter, the guard Arthur had sent to help him and Gaius following just behind. Merlin trailed after, a dopey grin on his face and a basket in his arms.

Arthur sent the basket a look and Merlin shrugged. He rolled his eyes at the boy and turned back to his father and Valiant. The latter’s face was pinched as he stared at Ewan.

“Sir Ewan, my son claims Sir Valiant is using magic. What do you know of this?”

“I was the one to alert him, My Lord. During our bout, Sir Valiant called forth one of the snakes from his shield and ordered it to attack me. I have been in a haze since and would have died if it were not for your physician.”

“A haze?” Valiant said before Uther could speak. “Could your haze not have been the cause of such an idea? Perhaps your mind could not handle your loss.”

“Unlike some, I can handle a loss with honor,” Ewan said.

Valiant took a step forward, but paused when Gaius cleared his throat. “If I may, Your Majesty?” he asked Uther.

“Speak.”

“The reason we were delayed was because another serpent like the one Prince Arthur faced found its way into my chambers,” the old man said, gesturing Merlin forwards.

Arthur stiffened as he realized the boy’s basket was hissing softly.

“An infestation?” Valiant offered.

“I might have believed so, if the creature had not bypassed myself, Merlin, and Rodric here in a desperate attempt to attack Sir Ewan.” He nodded towards the guard. “Rodric saw most of it.”

The guard bowed when the king turned to him. “It is as Gaius said, Your Majesty. The serpent passed me without my realizing it, but I spotted it just as it passed where Gaius and his ward were working. I drew my sword and called out a warning, but the boy must have spotted it as well because he was already darting over to grab a basket to trap the thing in.”

“Thankfully it only just made it onto Sir Ewan’s bed before Merlin grabbed it,” Gaius continued. “He likely would not have survived another bite, antivenom or not.”

“Which would have been beneficial to Valiant, no doubt,” Arthur said.

“Sire -”

Valiant cut off as Uther raised his hand and approached Merlin. “Let me see the snake.”

Merlin bowed his head and shifted the basket in his arms so he could hold it in one and open it with the other. He carefully opened it just a crack so the king could peek inside.

Uther glared inside before pulling back and waving Merlin off.

The boy quickly shut it and backed away.

“I have to agree with my son. It is quite the coincidence,” the king said, turning to Valiant. “So given the evidence provided, I sentence you guilty of using magic.”

“My Lord -”

“Get him out of my sight.”

Valiant scowled and drew his blade as Arthur and the guards approached.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Arthur said, holding out his own blade.

Valiant met his eyes, then turned to the shield. “Kill -”

Arthur darted forwards before he could finish the command. Valiant swiped at him, but he dodged the blow and sunk his blade into the former knight’s gut.

“It’s good to see you actually doing your job for once.”

Merlin looked up from polishing Arthur’s gorget to see the prince in question closing the door to his room. “I figured I’d done enough illegal magic for the day and didn’t want to push you.”

Arthur frowned. “When did you use that?”

“How do you think I caught the snake?”

“Merlin! Both a guard and Gaius were right there! The guard was watching you! How could you!?”

Merlin shrugged and turned his gaze to the gorget, shoulders creeping up. “I guess when you freeze time, it makes more sense to people that you just have quick reflexes.”

“You-you can freeze time?”

“Sort of. I guess it’s more like slowing it. Everything just slows down around me, but I’m the only one who notices. It’s how I saved you from the dagger.”

“That…” Arthur couldn’t think of what that was. It certainly didn’t sound like something any old sorcerer could do. He couldn’t believe his father ever could have won against sorcerers if it was. Maybe it was a warlock thing?

Or maybe Merlin was just that powerful?

Arthur shook that thought away. Merlin was too much of an idiot to be powerful.

He tossed the book he was carrying onto Merlin’s lap, making the warlock jump. “Here.”

“What is it?” he asked, setting aside Arthur’s armor and pulling off the cloth Arthur had wrapped around it to keep it hidden from prying eyes.

“A book of spells, I think. At least that’s what the label said. Most of the books on that were burned during the purge, but my father stored a few deep in the vaults. No one will notice it missing. Only problem is it’s written in some weird language I don’t recognize. We’ll need to figure out some way to translate it.”

Merlin’s eyes had widened, flipping through the pages and clearly not listening. “You… This… Why… This is amazing!” He slowed down his flipping to read a few of the pages. “Fire spells, wind spells, unlocking spells, and it was just sitting down there?”

Arthur frowned and leaned over to see the book, but it still only showed the unknown runes. “You can read that?”

“Yes,” Merlin answered without a thought, still flipping through the book. Then he paused and tilted his head. “Yes,” he repeated slowly. “I don’t know. I don’t recognize it; it’s obviously not Brythonic or Latin. I can’t really read it, I just… know what it says. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Is it because of that maybe?” Arthur asked, frowning at the book. Did it have some sort of magic so that only people with it could read it? Hold on. “Wait, you can read? And you know Latin?”

Merlin hummed, squinting at the book. “Maybe. And yes, to both. My mother taught me.”

“You mother? I thought you were some farm boy from an outlying village. How would she know Latin or how to read?”

He finally looked up from the book to scowl at the prince. “For your information, we can also write and do math. Just because we’re not nobility doesn’t mean we can’t be learned. My grandfather was a scholar. He taught Gaius and Gaius taught my mother.”

“So that’s how Gaius and your mother know each other. He was her father’s student?” Arthur said.

“No. Well, yes, technically. But Gaius is actually my mother’s half-brother. They didn’t grow up together -- they’ve got quite a few years between them -- but after my grandparents died she lived with him for a short time and he taught her to read and write and some basic herbalism.”

“Gaius is your uncle! He hadn’t told me that.”

Merlin shrugged and turned back to the book. “My mother moved to Ealdor a few years before I was born and Gaius is too busy here to visit, so I’d never even met him until I came here. And as I said, he and my mother didn’t exactly grow up as siblings. It’s probably just easier not to explain.”

He supposed that made sense, though Arthur still felt like he was missing something.

“Well, I suppose that makes this easier than. I hadn’t known how we were going to translate the book.”

Merlin nodded, then looked back up to Arthur. “Why… Why are you giving me this? Don’t get me wrong, it’s amazing, but you aren’t exactly thrilled about my magic.”

Arthur frowned and turned to head over to his desk. “Don’t misunderstand, I still would rather you not do any of that, ever. But I also know telling you not to do anything isn’t going to work. So the least I can do is make sure you know enough about what you’re doing that you don’t accidentally burn the castle to the ground.”

“I’ll have you know that in fourteen years I’ve never set fire to anything accidentally so I doubt I’ll start now!”

Arthur paused and looked back at the warlock. “You’re fourteen?”

Merlin blushed and ducked his head. “Um, no. sixteen. But what two-year-old doesn’t cause trouble while in a tantrum.”

“Most two-year-olds can’t start fires with their minds.”

Merlin grew redder. “It was just a little fire that my mother was able to put out in a second. Everything was fine.”

“What did you set on fire in the first place?”

Merlin buried his face in the book and muttered something.

“What was that?”

“Oh look, I found a spell to -”

“Merlin!”

“I set my vegetables on fire because I didn’t want to eat them.”

Arthur stared at the tips of Merlin’s red ears for a moment after the warlock’s snapped comment before ducking over in laughter.

[cryptidofthekeys]

Rob

And here is Robin! or Robbie, or anything BUT Robert lmao- uhh i, I legit- they just fucking appeared to me? I like made a Red Army theme in animal crossing in my home’s basement and it inspired me, its weird t h i s thing came from that but uh here it is! yet another keep reading bc all these things are long

| Name: His real name is Robert but it prefers to be called Robin or Robbie though, whenever someone and it was usual Red Leader called him by Robert, it was always serious and usually meant he was in trouble

| Nicknames: Rob, Robster, Bin, or Bee

| Gender: He/They/It (not strictly in that order, it doesn’t care which ya call em, just don’t stick to o n e)

| Age: N/A

| Height: 7ft

| Hair Color: Yellow with Black streaks (their hair is EXTREMELY messy and curly, kinda neck length but it doesn’t get close to touching their shoulders if that makes sense)

| Eye Color: Slimy Green

| Species/Race: Human

| Occupation: Mad Scientist for the Red Army obviously

| Skin Color/Body Type: Pale and Lanky as all hell

| Appearance: As per the Red Leader’s request he did wear a red and blue outfit BUT… It was custom made so it’d quit its bitching about the fucking itchy uniform, he legit just got a half assed blue labcoat with a nametag on it (fuckin doctor’s handwriting, cant read that shit at ALL), they’ve placed a few pins on the labcoat here and there (one being the symbol, another being a typical ‘trust me, I’m a doctor’ and the final one is just ‘God created me and I’m making that everyone’s problem’) underneath it is a red turtleneck that says ‘Affront to God’ on it, wears red and blue pajama pants bc he literally just cannot be bothered with fashion, he does have on combat boots though! (he also wears a black Pleather Mask)

He has no beard, doesn’t have claws, or gauges, or pointed ears- now he DOES have fangs though! I can’t think of any scars that stand out, just a lotta burns here and there probs from chemicals they mess with, it has some cuts n shit like that, usually he just slaps some cutesy looking bandaids over them til they heal- He’ll slap a LOT of cutesy bandages over wounds p much-

| Personality: Rob is a VERY unhinged individual, they are sadistic, cruel, and absolutely merciless when it comes to being given a test subject or to enemies in general, its not stupid in the slightest, they are just literally fucking insane and socially awkward too-

Robbie doesn’t know how to deal with anyone, the most contact they’ve had in a very long time has been Paul, Pat, or Tord and they aren’t… Necessarily the best, it’s always business and never pleasantries or anything fun or good! While Robbie is definitely chaotic and violent and has caused mass destruction on their own base and to their own ‘’teammates’’ Rob does fear Tord to an extent, bc even tho Bee is insane and unhinged, like I said, its not stupid- Robin KNOWS when to stop what their doing and listen, even though they are considered very useful, he knows the boundaries… Rob has been in trouble MANY M A N Y times before, they got in pretty severe trouble on one particular day …but oh never you mind~! What good is bringing up the past, hmmm~?

Ahem- Rob has a thirst for blood, violence, and pure chaos for sure- When working on an experiment or inventing something new for the army, Bee is very methodical, this is the most careful and calculating you can see them be- in fact Bee looks calm and actually s a n e when working on stuff, Robin takes extremely great pride in their work, experiments, gadgets and all- And this is where its intelligence REALLY shines, you won’t hear a lot of coherent or sentences that make sense BUT when Bee is in his work, you’ll hear a string of coherent sentences that make sense and might even make your head hurt if your not scientific. Bin seems a lot calmer when working as well, not as erratic and moving around every which way, very careful and paying full attention to his work.

It’s unknown if Bee actually likes Tord or not (again, even if Bin DOES like Tord, it’d definitely be to a certain extent) or if he’s doing this SOLELY bc of his lust for blood, violence, and danger and figures this would be the best way possible!

| Side Facts: I don’t wanna put too much in personality- so uh, Bin has an entire HUGE ass basement to himself essentially, it’s the underground Laboratory for the Red Army, only people who TRULY know of the basement’s existence is Paul, Pat, and Tord- to the rest of the army it is nothing more than a rumor, a rumor that some do discuss amongst themselves, their curious about it but figures if they tried to investigate, their leader would not be happy at all…

Tord tries his damnedest to keep the basement just a rumor, to keep it all under wraps essentially, will literally make Bin make the most ridiculous things JUST to keep them down there in the basement- Bee figured that trick out though and while they WILL follow orders bc they kinda have to… After it’s finished it has tried several times to break outta the basement, Tord even went as far as to get a maze built that connects to the lab, which seems to have worked somewhat, but eventually Robbie tried once more to break out, and that resulted in the final straw… They basically have a futuristic-esque door, it has a special access code that needs to be said in order to unlock the door (Tord probs has it written down in his office somewhere)

Tord, Paul, and Pat DO still go down there for business purposes and to give Bin any new blueprints for devices (Paul and Pat fucking hate the maze but say nothing, Tord do be regretting it now but it is what it is…Too late to go back and reverse it now so yeah)

Also they give Bee test subjects to experiment on as well but other than that, they don’t stay long, like I said when Tord and Bee interact it is STRICTLY business, no friendship is detected on Tord, Paul, or Pat’s side at the very least if anything Tord seems hella annoyed by Bin’s p r e s e n c e …I do wonder, just w h a t would happen if Bin just wasn’t t h a t useful anymore … :) but that’s a completely different story to tell~

One interesting thing I could answer would be… Was Robin always insane or after being essentially forced to stay in this Laboratory did they just snap? Honestly? It’s genuinely a mixture of both, Bee always had insanity, it's part of the mad scientist package! It always had a lil- okay a LOT of insanity inside I feel as edgy as that sounds, I mean Bin was already as unethical as it got so would it REALLY be that surprising?

I think if Bee could get the materials it wanted, it would excel at making little puppets! …They would probs try to make a puppet with real human skin or some shit though, they be a freaky bitch like that- That would be Robin’s hobby essentially, making puppets in their spare time if they could!

Bee loves bugs IMMENSELY! Insects have always fascinated Robbie, occasionally some bugs will get into the Lab and he’ll capture them, put them in lil containment units, keep them safe and feed them (like, Robin DOES still get food, I know I said strictly business n shit but goddamn Tord is NOT gonna let them fucking starve to death or dehydrate ya know) Rob will share its food with the bugs, specifically beetles and spiders are his favorites- Bee loves rats as well! Hasn’t seen any yet but if they did they’d totally keep them …s-separate from the bugs of course-

This is mostly for when I post Robbie’s document (”if I do” yeah uh well me of yesterday? Ya did it, congrats or whatever lmao) not part of Reider’s story at all, Reider doesn’t even fucking know this basement exists (he might know the base like the back of his hand essentially but he doesn’t TRULY know e v e r y t h i n g…~) …But I can safely say Robin and Reider would never get along, Reider would think Bee’s annoying and just TOO MUCH, wouldn’t wanna be around him and Bin would think Reider’s boring, just like Tord is- Bin could tell though Reider is an important member of the army p much just like Paul and Pat so it wouldn’t dare try to experiment on him or ya know tear him apart.

[qqueenofhades]

The Rose and Thorn: Chapter VII

summary:  Sequel to The Dark Horizon. The New World, 1740: Killian and Emma Jones have lived in peace with their family for many years, their pirate past long behind them. But with English wars, Spanish plots, rumors of a second Jacobite rising, and the secret of the lost treasure of Skeleton Island, they and their son and daughter are in for a dangerous new adventure. OUAT/Black Sails. rating: M status: WIP available: FF.net and AO3 previous: chapter VI

“Well,” Jack said, after a long moment. “Someone else bought the collection, so if there was the map you needed in there, we don’t know. Splendid. Who the devil is B. Bones, anyway?”

“He’s dead.” Sam frowned. “So far as I know, at least. He and Grandpa didn’t, uh, didn’t like each other.”

“A number of people don’t seem to like your grandfather. Can’t reckon why.”

Sam decided to ignore that. “It could be another bloke with the same name, which I admit doesn’t help us very much, but it could at least mean that the other one is still dead. It is strange, though, and since we’ve established that Hamilton probably isn’t going to help us, we, er, we could. . . we could. . .”

Jack turned to look at him with an utterly exasperated expression. “You have absolutely no idea what to do next, do you?”

“That’s not true, I do too.” Sam straightened up to his full height, which wasn’t bad – almost six feet, if not matching Jack, who had that and then some. It was irksome, really, going head to head with someone who could always effortlessly out-loom you. “We. . . just have to find the inventory registers. There was probably a more detailed listing of the collection. So if we know the map was here, we can decide if it’s worth chasing up wherever Bones footled off with it, which may be a long way, yes, but – ”

“Let me ask you something.” Jack folded his arms and regarded Sam still more narrowly. “If you know approximately where the island is, why do we need a map at all?”

“I, ah.” Sam leaned on the alley wall, trying to look calm and collected, but one of the stones slid loose and made him whack his elbow. Naturally. “Everyone needs a refresher now and then, don’t they?”

Jack’s expression turned, if possible, still more dubious.

“I do, all right? I do know where it is. About. I just don’t know the exact coordinates, I don’t think anyone does. Not even Grandpa or Mum or any of them. It’s a tiny island, we could be sailing in circles forever trying to find it, and as you may recall, we don’t have that long. I’m asking for help instead of trying to be an arrogant prick who thinks he can do it entirely by himself, because as is probably bloody obvious, I can’t. So yes, I wanted to see if by some mad fluke of luck, the man here had a chart. Bite me.”

Jack, in that irritating habit of his, arched a dark eyebrow to nearly the full potential of his forehead. Almost pityingly, he said, “This is a disaster.”

“Fine then, Isaac Newton, let’s hear your ideas!”

“Not my responsibility, remember? I wasn’t the one strolling in and claiming to the Governor of Cuba that I could find the biggest pile of riches in the – ”

“No, you were just the one handing over the intelligence about Cartagena like a no-good sneak – what, torture it out of the English prisoners yourself – ”

“I had nothing to do with that. But yes, I took it because you’re not the only bloody person in the world who has someone they want to protect, and your spectacular incompetence is making that more difficult than I can – ”

“Yes, I know I’m the disappointment, for my family too, so it’s sad that you – ”

They were raising their voices, stalking toward each other with heated expressions and fists at the ready, but then – since it was still early, and likely in the name of doing their civic duty in breaking up a brawl between two blackguards in the alley, a wooden shutter banged open above them and a servant poured a bucket of used washwater directly on their heads (at least it was not a chamber pot, or that would have been simply unspeakable). Both young men snorted and spluttered, whirled around and glared evilly up at the servant, who yelled something uncouth-sounding and slammed the shutter, then back on each other, endeavoring valiantly to proceed as if there had been no affront to their dignity. Finally Jack muttered a curse of his own under his breath, scraped his long black hair out of his eyes, and redid the thong holding it back. Sam had been about to do the same thing, but instead he stood there mulishly dripping so it didn’t look as if he was copying. He still did want to have a go at punching Jack, but he also knew that Jack would wax the floor with him, and it would be counterproductive to inflame the closest thing to an ally (not that that was very close at all) further against him. Da Souza would definitely kill him if they could get to Skeleton Island without him. Jack only might.

After a moment, Jack glanced back at him, as Sam was surreptitiously trying to fix his own ponytail. “Why are you out here alone, anyway? What are you, fifteen?”

“I’m nineteen, you git.”

Jack raised the other eyebrow, but thankfully forbore to comment. “Well,” he said. “You said you knew roughly where Skeleton Island is. So, where?”

“Why do I have to tell you?”

“Maybe so I think I have any reason to stick around with you, rather than going off and finding it myself. I’m starting to think that would be faster.”

Sam hesitated. As he had already noted, there was no way he could do this himself, and he needed Jack to stay – if nothing else, to vouch for him to the Spaniards, though that was looking like an increasingly fool idea. “It’s east of Nassau,” he said. “In the Atlantic. No more than about two days’ hard sail, since Grandpa and Mum were able to reach it in about that amount of time. So I suppose we could just wander around in the general vicinity, but even if we stumbled on it, we’d still need to recover the treasure, and I don’t think we can do that with just the S.”

“The what?”

“The S. Da Souza’s ship.”

“The Senaita?”

“Yes, that.”

“Did you forget that too?”

“I did not. I just won’t say it if it’s a crude word for lady parts. I don’t believe in disrespecting women like that.”

Caught off guard, Jack stared at him – then broke out into the first actual smile that Sam had ever seen from him. It completely transformed his face, usually so wary and dark and guarded, into something that shone like a tower beacon, bright and beautiful. He shut it off at once, though not before it had time to do something peculiar to Sam’s insides, and shook his head. “At least you’ll have good manners while you’re making a dog’s breakfast of this. I’m sure your mum’s very proud.”

“Mum, and Granny, and my sister. Dad and Grandpa too. I’d have my hide tanned if I was ever that foul, and I’d deserve it.”

“Charlotte would like you.” Jack looked as if he wanted to bite his tongue for having said it. “We should go.”

“Go where? Who’s Charlotte?”

“She’s my – never mind. It’s complicated.”

“I think I can handle complicated.”

“Never mind, I said. If we’re not standing here arguing in an alley, and if you don’t have the chart, either you have somewhere else we should look or we should be on our way. If Da Souza is back yet, that is. Either way, if you don’t have anything else useful to offer – ”

“I suppose we can go, yes.” Sam strove to sound offhand. As they started to walk, he added, “Is Charlotte your sister?”

“No.”

“Why would she like me?”

“Why on bloody earth is that any of your business?”

“Maybe I’m just curious about you. You know an unavoidable lot about me and my family, but I don’t know anything about you or yours. You said you are protecting someone too. Who’s Charlotte then, your gerbil?”

“You’re very obnoxious.”

“Why’s it obnoxious to make friendly conversation?”

“We’re not friends, and you’re an idiot. Just because you toddle around telling your life story to all and sundry doesn’t mean that I’m obliged to do the same, especially when it’s what has you presently bent over a barrel. You want some advice, stop expecting the world to be some kind and happy place where everyone secretly just longs to hold hands and drink tea. It will fuck you squarely up the arse if you do.”

Sam opened and shut his mouth, feeling slapped, as seemed to be his general state of being when conversing, or rather attempting to, with Jack Bellamy. Finally he said, “I’m not so naïve as you think I am. I know I’m in trouble and that bloody nobody means me well. But there’s a difference between that and – whatever you imagine I am, I’m not sure.”

“I have my reasons.” Jack did not break stride. “You just – need a few more walls. You give too much of yourself away to everyone, no matter what. You let them see straight into you, everything you want, and let them tell you what to do to get it. You’ll never survive this unless you learn how to tell a decent lie.”

“And I suppose you think you could teach me?”

“I don’t intend to teach you anything. As I said. This isn’t my responsibility, and neither are you.”

“So who is? Charlotte?”

“Yes,” Jack said, very shortly. “Her and the girls.”

Sam was conscious of a faint, uncomfortable prickling sensation in his chest. “Your daughters?”

“No.”

“Stepdaughters?”

“No. No more questions.”

“Right. Walls. Be mysterious and also a total knob, suit yourself. For the record, I’m not asking in the service of some nefarious scheme. We both also know that between us, you’re – well, you’re you, and I’m me. I want to help my family, you want to help yours. Don’t you think that we should at least – ”

“I don’t want to know about your family.” Jack’s voice was quiet and very fierce. “So don’t expect me to tell you about mine.”

“Why not?” Sam exploded, coming to a smart halt in the middle of the street. “Because it’s easier to hold a grudge against us, for whatever wrong you think we’ve done you, if you don’t know us as people, but whatever abstractions you can craft to suit yourself? Your uncle was my godfather, I know you probably think he was a filthy pirate, but maybe it’s more than just that. I never knew him, but I wish I did – it’s his name I have to carry on every day, and at least if I had some of my own memories, I wouldn’t have to see everything through old stories told by other people! I’d give everything to know the truth of a man, this man, so if you aren’t willing to do the same, you can call me the incompetent one all you like, but you’re the real coward.”

Jack stared at him again, completely floored. He raised a hand to his face, then dropped it. “Bloody hell,” he said at last. “You are nineteen, aye.”

“Don’t patronize me, you twit.” Sam was not mollified. “You’re the same age as my sister – twenty-three, twenty-four? And frankly, no matter what you think of yourself, she’d kick your arse. So don’t act as if you have the secrets of the world figured out, because I’m guessing that deep down, you’re just as scared as I am. I never said I was a perfect person, I’ve never pretended to be anything I’m not. I know too well what a lie that is.”

“Sam.” It was the first time he could recall that Jack had used his name, and it caught him short. “Just take a breath, why don’t you?”

Sam snapped his mouth shut with a click. As it was, he really had not meant to be quite that forthcoming, but he had finally put his finger on what bothered him so much about his apparent complete inability to make any headway with Jack. Sam was the name of a ghost that his entire family had loved, and Sam himself was just. . . him. Not nearly, in his mind, whatever they thought he would be, perpetually falling short of the honor. Jack Bellamy was the incarnation of what Sam had always feared his elder namesake would be, if he ever actually met him: more than free with his opinion that Sam was an incurable numbskull far more suited for a career selling flowers or heckling men on soapboxes than anything resembling what the rest of his family did. It was stupid, it was irrational, but Sam had found that such things rarely made a difference when your head was busily convincing you that you were the worst human alive. He compensated for this insecurity by getting people to like him, to have tangible proof to the contrary, and that was exactly why his hereunto failure to do so with Jack was throwing him so much. If he could not get this person of all people to like him, perhaps all the whispering doubts were right. He did not deserve to be Sam, and never had.

They continued to stare at each other for a moment more. Sam almost wished that Jack would go ahead and actually punch him, just to get it over with, and that at least was no more than he either expected or merited. He tried to brace himself, though he was shamefully afraid that he would cry if Jack did, and that would surely destroy whatever tattered bit of tolerance the other young man could ever be persuaded to hold for him. But instead Jack sighed. “Come on,” he said. “I’d rather not draw too much attention.”

As clocking him in the nose on a public thoroughfare would certainly count under that heading, Sam supposed that the punching had, at least for now, been postponed. After a pause, he started to trot after Jack again, unable to repress a demented vision of what might happen if he turned up at home at some point in his theoretically still-alive future and announced that he had Sam Bellamy’s nephew in tow. His sister had brought a few gentleman friends home before, which generally turned excruciating as Grandpa and Dad interrogated them over supper, and which then resulted in the gentlemen friends never being heard from again, much to Geneva’s irritation. This was different, as Jack was obviously not a gentleman friend (and possibly neither a gentleman nor a friend), and the fact of his kinship to Captain Bellamy might throw even Grandpa for a loop, but Sam supposed it would go terribly anyway. Though Jack and Geneva would probably like each other. They had a lot in common. It would bloody figure.

They descended the city streets back toward their boat in what Sam would very much hesitate to term an amiable silence, as it wasn’t amiable so much as it was a brief lull in their thus far ever-present need to get the last word on each other. At the quay, they climbed in, slid the oars into the locks, and started to row. They would likely have a while to wait on the ship, as Da Souza was off accomplishing villainy somewhere, and Sam felt another prickle in his chest, this one of something close to anger, at the thought of just sitting on their hands and letting him do it. Whatever could happen to these people, it was because he had brought the wolf here. Maybe we can steal the S, and give it a better name while we’re at it.

It was going on midday by the time they made it back to the Narrows and the Portuguese vessel’s concealed position among the wooded bluffs of St. Kitts. It was clear and hot and blue, the distant green mountains of Nevis ringed in puffy white clouds; one of them, the tallest, was rumored to be a volcano, though it had never erupted any time in living memory. Since it was the only place on the island impossible to farm, it was where any Maroons hiding from the inexorable maw of the sugarcane plantations would have fled, and Sam felt another stab of anger over all the slave ships in the harbor, not that he thought two men could do anything about those. Maybe the people deserved whatever Da Souza might do to them after all. Maybe they didn’t. It was all so bloody confusing.

They had the ship all to themselves except for a few crewmen who had been left behind (in theory to keep watch, in reality to snore in their hammocks) and Sam sat in the prow, squinting against the glare off the water and trying to think what to say to Da Souza when the bastard asked for a progress report. They had, after all, acquired no chart as a result of their detour here, and he had a feeling that the captain would take less than kindly to a vague directive to set sail in a thataway direction. Sam could possibly spin this trip as an accomplishment somehow, but he would need Jack’s collaboration to do it. Otherwise, Jack could just pipe up and blow a hole in the entire flimsy fable, and then, well. . .

Having failed to think of anything else over several hours of cogitation, Sam finally sighed deeply, got up, and went to find Jack, who had taken up a spot in the stern and appeared to likewise be in deep thought – it was better not to ask over what. “Hey,” he said, low-voiced. “So before Da Souza gets back, the hell are we going to tell him?”

“The truth, I thought.” Jack’s eyes were mostly brown, but they had a lighter hazel-gold rim around the edge that gave Sam the unpleasant sensation of staring down a jungle cat. “As you assured me earlier, you know about where the place is. Don’t you.”

“I. . .” Sam chewed his lip. “I just think it’s better if he’s under as many impressions as possible about how valuable I am.”

This was as close as even he dared to come to admitting that he wasn’t, and by the way Jack’s lip twisted, Sam had a furtherly unpleasant feeling that he had already guessed. Jack leaned back, hands clasped over a knee. Then he said, “We did find out that someone named B. Bones bought the charts. Could see if that rings any bells. Does sound familiar, outside of whatever feud you said he had with your grandfather, but I can’t think why.”

“That could have been because he – ” Sam stopped. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“I just thought. Billy Bones – he was my mother’s friend, he served on the Walrus, but he and Grandpa ended up increasingly at odds, as I said. Billy was the one who sold them out to the Navy, in exchange for a chance at revenge. Woodes Rogers followed them to Skeleton Island on Billy’s information, and Billy and Grandpa fought there. Everyone thought he’d died there. But if he didn’t, if he’s also still alive – ”

Jack’s eyes widened as he caught Sam’s drift. “Then he also knows where it is. And if he’s buying charts from the same place we wanted to, may also be presently trying to get back there. There’s no way he’s still hanging around Nevis, though. That was weeks ago, or longer.”

“Aye.” Sam considered. “There’s an outside chance that he passed through Nassau at some point, as he used to live there during the pirates’ republic, but if he was treasure hunting I doubt he’d want word getting out about it. We could go there and ask. Da Souza would probably fit right in. Though now that it’s an English colony again, he’d have to avoid tipping off who he works for. Not that he cares.”

“Nassau.” Jack’s mouth went thin. “That’s where you’d send us?”

“What, the dread pirate haunt? Whatever you’re imagining, it’s not like that, these days. My uncle Charlie works there. And besides, Skeleton Island is somewhere near it, remember? At least we’d be in the neighborhood.”

This was true enough that Jack could not mount an objection, though he still looked anything but keen on the idea. When he still didn’t answer, Sam challenged, “Scared to see where your family comes from?”

Jack gave him a searing look. “My family comes from Devonshire. Wherever my uncle gallivanted off to, it doesn’t change that.”

“You hate England, you’ve said it at least twenty times. So why does it matter?”

Jack made a convulsive movement as if to stand up, and Sam flinched, but he caught himself, offered a rather teeth-bared smile, and sat down. “You’d have more friends, and be generally better at this whole thing, if you had any idea whatsoever when to shut the fuck up.”

“We’ve already established that I don’t.” Sam was not – in this, at least – backing down. “Will you support me when I tell Da Souza to go to Nassau, or not?”

Jack kept looking at him. The afternoon sunlight turned his eyes to chips of amber, sharp and glittering. At last he said, “Very well.”

Sam held out his hand, as if expecting them to shake on it, but Jack didn’t take it. One corner of his mouth turned up again. “You’ll be in more trouble there than I will, anyway.”

This was most likely true, even if Sam bridled at it being pointed out. Half of him wanted to ask again about this mysterious Charlotte, even if he knew he’d just run into a brick wall, and the rest of him felt as if he had had more than enough of Jack Bellamy’s company just now. He returned to his observation post on the bow and waited until the afternoon ended, dusk began to fall, and Da Souza and his men returned from their felony – they looked to be in a good mood, so it had clearly gone well. “Ah, Samuel,” the captain said, spotting him. “What do you have to say for yourself, then?”

“Right.” Sam cleared his throat. “We – ” he eyed Jack pointedly, as if to reinforce that it was indeed a we – “we’ve had a few ideas, yes.”

With that, he filled Da Souza in (more or less) on their activities and conclusions for the day, making them sound considerably more promising than they actually were. “So,” he finished, as stoutly as possible. “That’s what it is. Nassau.”

“Nassau.” Da Souza considered that, tapping his grimy fingers on his arm. If it was from gunpowder, which it smelled like, Sam didn’t particularly want to know. “Old friends of your grandfather’s, then? Or old enemies?”

“Something like that. I don’t know that Bones is actually there.” Sam rather hoped not, since even if so, Billy almost certainly did not intend to peaceably ponder on pleasant days gone by. If they did cross paths, he would have to pray that Billy had some ancestral soft spot for Emma Swan’s son. “He’s our man, though. Catch up to him, and we’re there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”

“I see.” Da Souza considered again, then nodded. “You’ve done quite well, young Jones. I must say, I did not think you had it in you.”

Backhanded as this compliment was, Sam nonetheless could not help taking some pride in it. Da Souza was clearly an experienced scurvy rascal and hell-raising bastard of the first order, so his endorsement, however grudging, was still rather satisfying. Indeed, the captain’s manner toward him became almost friendly as they raised anchor, checked that they were unobserved, and prepared to set sail. Clearly there was no point in shilly-shallying, with Bones some unknown distance ahead of them, Jack’s propensity for punching scriveners, and whatever Da Souza and his horrible friends had achieved on shore. It was a lengthy northwestern haul to Nassau from here, close to a thousand miles, and that meant at least another week in close quarters, including that of the ship’s bloody dog. Sam still had not discerned the reason for the presence of this animal on the vessel, except for the sole fact that Da Souza seemed fond of it. Even hardened, double-dealing, throat-cutting rogues had pets, apparently.

The trades carried them swiftly through the Narrows and out into the open sea west of the islands, receding into dark shadows on the horizon behind them. Sam was feeling almost, however unwarrantedly, optimistic – this was more how things usually went for him, when he succeeded through sheer persistence and dumb luck, or some combination thereof. He wondered about the fortunes of Nathaniel, back in Havana. Hopefully he was doing all right, or at least was not bored out of his mind or hung up by his thumbs or otherwise maltreated by the bloody Spaniards. In fact, Sam thought that this was the longest they had gone without seeing each other since they first met, and it still felt odd to be undertaking an adventure without his partner in crime. Especially when said partner had been replaced by one who probably wanted to –

A tap on his shoulder startled him considerably, and he turned to see Jack, hair out of its ponytail and blowing freely, which gave him a look like the brooding hero of some Novel doubtless unsuitable for consumption by impressionable young ladies (at least according to idiots, as Sam thought ladies should read whatever they pleased). Likewise, he seemed – at least for the moment – something less than in utter scorn and disbelief over Sam’s entire existence, which was a refreshing change. “Ah,” he said, and coughed. “Here, I brought you a bit of bread.”

Sam was about to say that he wasn’t hungry, but of course he was hungry, and he hadn’t gone to supper because he didn’t want Da Souza to try to pry more details out of him. So he nodded in thanks, took it, and devoured it in about one gulp, at which Jack looked arch. “Could be you won’t starve if you take a breath, you think?”

“Eh,” Sam said, through a mouthful of crumbs. “Can’tbesho.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but smiled slightly, despite himself. He started to go, then stopped. “You’re – well, you’re not quite what I expected. Even if you still have no idea what you’re doing.”

“I think that was your version of a compliment,” Sam said. “So don’t break anything rushing over here to hug me, since we’re such mates now.”

“You’re a pillock.” Jack’s tone left it unclear if this was a lighthearted bit of banter, or still his genuine opinion (though Sam guessed the latter). “But I suppose it would be a shame if you died – soon, that is, since you’re clearly going to die anyway. Good night.”

With that, he turned on his heel and vanished below, leaving Sam still hungry and wondering if it was worth hunting down the scraps in the galley, or if he should just go to bed and try to forget about it (though when he got home, if he did, he was eating the entire pantry and buttery). But before he could do either, the ladder creaked again, and Da Souza emerged into the deepening dusk. “Young Jones. You were not at supper?”

“No.” Sam shrugged. “Glad we’re on our way, though, and I was just about to turn in. So if you’ll excuse me – ”

The captain held out an arm. “Wait. Everything you discovered today, you told me?”

“Of course,” Sam said, somewhat shortly. “But even if not, I don’t see you rushing to tell me what you did today.”

Da Souza grinned, conceding the point. “It is difficult when we cannot quite trust each other, is it not? But as you and I both know, we do share the goal of reaching Skeleton Island. So if there was anything else, anything you kept back. . . I have been speaking with Jack Bell, and he says that he can confirm everything you have said thus far, but you do not trust him altogether either. So between friends, or at least men with common purpose. . . anything else?”

Sam felt a brief surprise that Jack would stand up for him – though if it was merely a matter of providing yes-or-no answers to questions about already offered information, Jack was clearly playing enough of his own game, different from the Spaniards, to be savvy enough to venture that but no more. “I’ve told you everything useful. No good to prevent us from getting to Skeleton Island when I have more than enough to lose if we don’t, aye?”

“Indeed,” Da Souza acknowledged, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “And for which I must say, young Jones, I am truly sorry.”

“Sorry?” Sam was startled. “What the devil for?”

“Well,” Da Souza said. “This.” And with one quick, strong, headlong heave, threw him overboard.

------------------

It was still early, but clearly nobody was going back to sleep. Someone went to wake David and Mary Margaret and inform them of the situation, servants were dispatched with lanterns and truncheons to search the house and grounds for any sign of forced entry or site of a struggle, and Flint and Emma went to hitch up the Nolans’ cabriolet and drive it at high speed through the just-stirring streets to the docks. Neither of them could quite say why they went there, other than following an instinct that if Killian had been abducted, his captors might have wanted to transport him out of town as quickly as possible. There was theoretically a chance that they had traveled overland, but as Charlestown was a port city and the roads both south and north were muddy, marshy, and wild, a boat, rather than a wagon, would have been the best option for any quick getaway. Flint and Emma jumped down and ran from quay to quay, but if there had been mischief here earlier in the night, there was no sign of it now. I shouldn’t have waited so long. I should have gone to look as soon as he wasn’t back in an hour, not tried to sleep and forget about it. I lost time, and now I’ve lost him.

Emma was unable to ignore the thought that of course this was what she would get, returning to such a transparently hexed a place as Charlestown, that it would not count itself content in its damages until it had also taken her husband from her. She did her best to ignore the gnawing terror in her insides until they had finished the search, with no trace of him, and she stood motionless in the dawn wind, still in her nightgown tucked into a pair of breeches and boots, hair whipping in her face. “He isn’t here. He’s gone.”

“He has to be somewhere.” Flint’s mouth was grim as granite. “Anyone you can think of, who knows what goes on around here?”

“I – yes.” Not that there was any guarantee that a blind woman would have anything useful to report, since it wasn’t as if she could have seen the perpetrators, but that one was uncanny anyway. “This way.”

Within a quarter-hour, they were standing in front of the shuttered-up pot shop as Flint banged mercilessly on the door, until there was finally the sound of several curses of a considerably potent nature, the bolt slid open, and the witch demanded, “What has your britches in a bunch, laddie-me-lad? Decent folk are abed at this hour, you know.”

“I very much doubt you’re any sort of decent folk. You s – hear anything on the docks earlier? Round about midnight, most likely.”

“Answers cost, you know.”

“Your reward is that I won’t kill you.”

“Och. No manners at all.” The witch tutted. “Well, if that’s all you can offer, you can be on your way directly, unless – ”

“Wait,” Emma interrupted. “It’s me. From earlier. I was asking about – ”

“You?” The witch’s voice swiveled in her direction. “What’s such a nice lassie as you doing with a frightful grump like him?”

“Never mind. Do you know about anything? We can pay.”

The witch’s hand shot out through the door, and Flint – with a look of deep disapproval – put a silver penny into it, which vanished in a twinkling. Then she said, “Did hear a to-do in the wee hours. Sounded like those scalawags that Lord Murray keeps about to do some of his errands of a. . . less than savory nature. Them boys and their prancing peacock of a leader, Rufio. Had someone with them, by the sound, someone unconscious. They were hauling him, they were, down to a ship. Suppose it was Rufio’s. I’m a poor helpless old woman, ‘tis all I know.”

Flint and Emma exchanged a very sharp look. “Lord Murray’s scalawags?”

“Aye. A gang of them. The Lost Boys, they’re called, and I’d not fancy getting on the wrong side of them. That’s all. All, I said.”

Flint looked as if he was about to throttle the witch into more answers, but Emma put a hand on his arm. They had something more important to follow up now, and while it would be quite delicate to burst uninvited and with unfriendly intentions into the governor’s mansion at the crack of dawn, it was nonetheless what Emma was perfectly willing to do if necessary. Nobody was in any haste to replay their family’s last confrontation in that building, but she was not about to let any potential lead on Killian’s whereabouts slip through their fingers. Still, knowing that it would be exceptionally unwise to bring Flint along, especially if Lord Murray meant to do them ill, she said, “You should go back to the Nolans. I’ll go to the governor and – ”

“And what, demand answers? By yourself?”

“You can’t come with me, and if Murray did order Killian kidnapped, I need to know. He’s not going to get away with this, he – ”

“You go in there alone, you’re more than likely never coming out! Fucking hell, Emma, you can’t – ”

At that moment, distracting them from their argument, they heard the sound of clopping hooves, and when they looked up, they saw David Nolan riding toward them, old Navy captain’s jacket thrown over his nightshirt, saber buckled on, and lantern in hand. “Any sign of him?” he called, as he came nearer. “Killian?”

“We think he might have been snatched,” Emma said. “By some local gang of ne’er-do-wells, apparently in the pay of Lord Murray. The Lost Boys.”

David got a dark look, as this was evidently a familiar species of Charlestown riffraff, but he also appeared somewhat baffled. “They’re a bit of a problem around here, aye, but as far as I know, they’re not being paid by Murray. He promised to eradicate such undesirable – ”

“Well,” Flint said. “That old hag says they are. And on this accord, I am more inclined to believe her than you. It seems Lord Murray is lying about nearly everything, doesn’t it?”

“I’m going,” Emma said tightly. “I need to know what he did to Killian.”

“You still can’t – ”

“I’ll go,” David interrupted. “With her. As before. Captain, you take my horse and go back to the house.”

Flint eyed David with deep suspicion. At last he said, “I’m her father, not you.”

“Aye, but we all know that you can’t walk into the governor’s mansion, in Charlestown, demanding vengeance yet again. Besides, if he takes you prisoner, Murray can demand whatever he wants, whether from your family or the English authorities alike. I swear, I will look after her. But either way, we are wasting time.”

“I trust him,” Emma said to Flint, low-voiced. “Go back and tell the others.”

Flint still did not look happy with this arrangement, but at last he inclined his head a grudging half-inch, waited until David dismounted, then took the reins and swung up onto the horse. He spun it around, set his heels to its sides, and with half a glance back, cantered off up the street.

David and Emma started to walk, neither of them having expected to make a return visit to the governor’s mansion so soon, but needs must. It was full light by the time they strode up the lawn, passed under the handsome portico, and knocked insistently on the door until finally a servant answered, aghast at their dishabille and flagrant disregard of protocol. “You simply cannot expect to call on the governor at this hour, in such estate and without an appearance, so please be off before we have to – ”

Emma stepped up and pushed past him, clearing the way for David to follow, as – completely ignoring the servant’s continued strident protestations – they crossed the hall, shoved open the dining-room doors, and marched in to where Lord Gideon Murray, in an embroidered silk dressing gown, was taking his breakfast. He had just been scooping an egg into an eggcup and flipping through a pile of official dispatches, but he looked up, caught sight of them, and started to his feet, rocking the table. “Captain Nolan, Mrs. Jones. What is the reason for this most unexpected visit at such an – ”

“Where’s my husband?”

Murray blinked. “Mrs. Jones?”

“Where is my husband? Killian. What did you and your little gang of miscreants do to him?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the remotest notion what you’re talking about.”

Murray was a good liar – one of the best Emma had met, in fact – but she usually had a sense for these things, and she was now convinced beyond all doubt that he was, in fact, lying. She took a step closer, fists clenched, fighting the urge to hit him in the face. “Bring him back. Whatever you did. You took Killian away from me.”

“If your husband has come to grief, that is very sad, but I cannot be held responsible for – ”

“NOW!”

If Murray flinched, it was difficult to tell. But when he glanced up at her, his eyes had changed, flat and shrewd. He considered her a moment longer, then said abruptly, “Very well. Let us drop the courtesies. If I was to remark that I might indeed know something about the whereabouts of your husband, and that by cooperating with me, you might acquire them, what would your answer to that be?”

“Wh – so yesterday, everything you said – ”

“I said I did not intend to persecute you for your past, and indeed I do not. I said nothing about not profiting from you in the future.”

“Jesus,” Emma said. “You’re just like your uncle.”

At that, Murray did actually flinch. “I beg your pardon? My uncle?”

“Aye. Yesterday – I asked around, I found out who you are. Lord Robert Gold’s nephew.”

“His nephew? That’s who you think I am?”

“Well – ” Emma faltered. “Aren’t you?”

“No.” Murray laughed, without humor. “I’m his son.”

“His s – ”

“You were just remarking on the family resemblance you thought you glimpsed, weren’t you? My mother was his second wife, and I was born late in his life. I was only a very small child when he met his downfall in Nassau. After which, I was taken in by my aunt, Lady Fiona, and my origins concealed from society.” Murray continued to stare at Emma, with that hard, cold, calculating look so ill-fitting on his boyishly handsome face. “Does that surprise you, madam?”

Emma had to admit that it did, though she wasn’t sure why. During the pirates’ war against Gold, and considering Killian’s experiences with him, she had almost thought of him as some shadowy, faceless entity, with no origin and no end and no human life, rather than a mortal man who might have had any such mundane thing as a wife and young child back in England. Not that it made her care for him any more, but still. “What happened to your mother?”

Something flickered in Gideon Murray’s eyes long enough for her to tell that this was perilous ground to tread. After a pause, he said, “Not that it is your business, but in any event, I don’t know. Didn’t care enough to keep me, I suppose, or simply wanted to be rid of the scandal now attaching to the Gold name, run off and see the world without the burden of my existence. Are you interested in what I have to tell you, Mrs. Jones, or not?”

Emma thought it was a mark of just how much he did not care for the subject that he was willing to steer the conversation back to Killian. Despite herself, she felt a brief, poignant sympathy for him. Wanted to tell him that a mother did not always part from her children for not loving them, that she had sent Henry and Geneva away to Paris many years ago to protect them and it remained the most painful thing she had ever done, but given as Gideon had likewise abducted a member of her family, that was rather more sympathy (and information) than she felt he was presently entitled to. She didn’t know the reasoning of the presumable Mrs. Gold, but complicated as it likely was, it was still not her main concern. “Where’s Killian?”

“As I noted, that is something you can learn in due course, if you cooperate with me. First – ”

“Indeed,” Emma said. “Gold’s son. I see it.”

“I am not like him!” Gideon whirled around and hurled a salver of scrambled eggs hard enough to bounce off the sideboard. “Do you think I’m doing this for some sort of revenge on my father’s behalf? I’m not. He was a bad man, and the world is well rid of him. Now. As I said earlier. I’ll tell you what happened to your husband if you work with me. You and your father, to speak of family examples – you know where Skeleton Island is. And this time, I will not miss my chance.”

“This time – ?” Emma was momentarily baffled, until it hit. “You’re the person that Billy contacted in Charlestown. Aren’t you. Did you send the assassins after us too? Since that seems to be your style.”

“No.” Gideon’s eyes flashed. “I have no idea about those. But yes, I spoke to Billy Bones. I know where he’s going too, in fact, and why. And yet, I’d rather that his progress was not allowed to continue without interruption. So if you and Flint lead me to Skeleton Island, I’ll tell you where your husband is. Refuse, and you’ll never see him again.”

“This – so all this was to get us to help you?” Emma stared at him in patent disbelief. “You couldn’t get the information from Billy?”

“No,” Gideon said coolly. “I did try. But he would only reveal it to Mother.”

“Meaning Lady Fiona? So the two of you are in this together?”

Gideon snorted. His opinion of his adoptive mother did not seem particularly high either, until Emma supposed that if he wanted Fiona and Billy to achieve their aims in peace, he would not presently be conspiring to thwart them with her and Flint. It made her head hurt to contemplate how many different aims and games were swirling in a maelstrom of intrigue, how many angles that absolutely everyone was playing for their own benefit, and it summoned a grim smile to her lips, as it reminded her of the good old days on Nassau. She didn’t think that Gideon was lying about not sending the assassins, which raised the unhappy possibility that there was yet another enemy out there, lurking in the shadows and waiting another chance to strike. Emma wasn’t even sure whose side Gideon was on – certainly not theirs, not clearly Billy’s either, seemingly eager to separate himself from the shadow of his father, plotting against his aunt who had raised him, until it wound more and more of an inextricably tangled skein. Emma could guess that he wanted to find Skeleton Island for the same reason everyone did – vast hordes of lost riches – but less sure for what. As calmly as she could, she said, “And if we don’t help you?”

“As I said. Then you can search for your husband as long as you like, but I won’t say where. As well, I suspect that all of Charlestown might be bloody pleased to finally get their hands on the authentic Captain Flint, wouldn’t they?”

“You bastard.”

“You were the one to bring him back here. Not me.” Gideon looked at her flatly. “Do you somehow require time to think it over, or have I made myself clear?”

“You’ve made yourself clear, all right.” David Nolan spoke up for the first time, eyeing the younger man just as coolly. “I had high hopes when you were appointed governor, you know. But I also knew your father. No matter what you want to say, you’re much more like him than you ever want to admit.”

“Nobody asked you, Captain.”

“Indeed,” David agreed. “They did not. But so you know, I will be siding with Mrs. Jones and her family in this affair, Governor. Whatever assistance I can offer to her, I will – and I don’t think that you control the courts and the magistrates quite enough to push through a show trial and conviction for Captain Flint without any challenge at all, no matter what happened twenty-five years ago. And since you may not know, having only held this post for a few months, I was appointed lord sheriff of the city last year. I would, I assure you, have more than a thing or two to say if you tried.”

Gideon glared at him, while Emma put a quiet, grateful hand on David’s shoulder. Then the young governor wheeled back to her. “Well?”

Emma hesitated. She didn’t want to help Gideon, she didn’t want to drag the world back to Skeleton Island (though it seemed that the world was more than on its way already), and she did not want anything about this situation in general – but however twisted his methods and rationale in abducting Killian, they were undoubtedly and regretfully effective. She could not run the risk of permanently losing him, she simply could not. She knew that he would be fighting like the devil to get back to her, but she could not do any less, could not sit back and think that his efforts alone would be enough, or live with herself if she did. Cooperate with Gideon, at least for the time being. Keep her family safe. Find the love of her life. That was all that mattered.

“Fine,” she said, very quietly and very coldly. “What do you want me to do?”

It was almost an hour later when they finally left the governor’s mansion. They walked back to the Nolan estate, where they received an anxious and relieved welcome – for obvious reasons, the rest of the family had been more than half convinced that their next call would be from Lord Murray’s henchmen arriving to chuck them into the same dungeon. Upon hearing of the turn of events, Flint reamed Gideon up one side and down the other (which was enjoyable even if ultimately ineffective in terms of changing anything) but he did not tell Emma that she should have chosen differently, that she should have valued Killian’s life less than she had – Flint of all people knew something about doing drastic things for lost loved ones. “So what does the little shitstain think we’re going to do?” he growled at last. “Sail straight to Skeleton Island and stuff gold coins into his greedy paws?”

“No,” Emma said. “At least not at once. He wants us to go to Philadelphia. There’s something there we’re supposed to pick up for him.”

“What, the black magic rod of Beelzebub?” Flint continued to look thunderous. “As soon as we get Killian back, I am tearing that bastard into tiny little – ”

“Listen,” Emma interrupted, appreciating his bloodlust but feeling the need to keep them focused. “Philadelphia. Henry was planning to move there, remember? He and Violet and their children could be there already. He was going to work for Mr. Franklin, the printer and publisher. Everyone in the Colonies, more or less, reads one of his newspapers or almanacs. So if we could get him to put a notice in one of them – ”

“We wouldn’t have to rely solely on Gideon fucking Murray’s word to find Killian.” As usual, Flint was two steps ahead of her. “Get all of the Americas on the lookout for him. Be better in that case that they didn’t know he was Hook, or they’ll lynch him themselves and spare Murray’s gang of pustulant guttersnipes the trouble.”

“Of course not. But if they know to look for a Mr. Jones of his description, we can tell them to report here.” Emma looked at David. “If that’s all right?”

“Aye,” David said. “Though I also thought, if you allow, that I’d come with you. I do not doubt your ability to handle whatever you must, but it is also true that Captain Flint and Captain Swan do not have, shall we say, much protection from the world. I retired from the Royal Navy with full honors, I am a wealthy and respected member of the community, owner of business interests on Nassau, and the lord sheriff of Charlestown. They can’t treat me the same way they might feel justified in treating you.”

Surprised and deeply touched, even if only one of them was liable to admit it, Emma and Flint blinked in unison, then nodded. After a pause, Mary Margaret said, “Would Mrs. McGraw be staying here, then? I’d be happy to host her, of course.”

“You are very kind,” Miranda said. “It is true that I am not in much condition to be running hither and yon across the Americas, and your home is lovely. But I – I could not endure to be in Charlestown for long, especially by myself. I will accompany James and Emma to Philadelphia, and if Henry and Violet are there and amenable, I will stay with them. Safer, I think, than returning to Savannah alone.”

Flint did not look pleased at the prospect of leaving her at all, especially with Thomas already gone on a risky and unplanned adventure, and he and his wife had not spent a single night apart since their reunion almost twenty years ago. But he knew it would be cruel to expect Miranda to face the same physical exigencies when she was already fragile, and he likewise could not risk that. Finally he said, “Add that to Murray’s butcher’s bill, then. I suppose, objectively speaking, that it’s the best course of action. But if anything happens to you or Thomas, so help me God – ”

“James.” Miranda slid her fingers through his, squeezing hard, as Emma was left to consider that indeed, God help the individual who still thought it was a wise idea to come between James Flint and the Hamiltons. “We’ve been through worse.”

Flint clearly did not find that particularly reassuring, but nodded nonetheless, extremely shortly. They sat in silence a few moments more, all of them doubtless wondering how their happy, settled lives had gone in the span of barely a month into such a dangerous mess and muddle, so many balls in the air and so many wagers raised. Emma had no idea where either Geneva or Sam were, felt serious reservations at the idea of drawing Henry and his family into this as well, and there was of course the fact that her heart would not be whole again until they found Killian. They would, one way or another, she had no doubt of that. But that did not mean that she would not count every week, every day, every hour, every minute until they were together again. Flint was not the only one who could not bear the idea of being parted from a spouse (or in his case, spouses) an instant longer than terribly necessary. We will do this. We have to.

“Fine,” Emma said again, at last. “It’s time to get ready.”

As everyone was getting up and preparing to pack and dress, David promising that he could find them a ship, Emma stepped up and quietly caught at Flint’s sleeve. He turned with a brusque expression, but managed to answer her politely. “Aye?”

“Do you remember our first Christmas together in Savannah? After Killian and I moved from Boston with the children?”

One of Flint’s gingery eyebrows flicked in surprise, as neither of them were ordinarily given to sentimental reminisce, but he nodded. “Aye. Of course.”

“It was then that. . .” Emma tried to find the right words. How Flint, Miranda, and Thomas had bought rather too many presents for Geneva and Sam and then denied all culpability, how the thoroughly overexcited children had dragged the adults out of bed at some ungodly hour, how – after all the years apart, the darkness, the separation, the pain and fear, the struggle and war – it had been as simple as being together for Christmas, and being so happy that they were. How they could not help but recall the Christmas spent together on Nassau with Sam Bellamy, many years ago, before it had gone sour that afternoon. Emma lifted her eyes to Flint, who was still watching her curiously, and said only, “I think it was then that I knew we all would work. As a family.”

“Aye.” For once, Flint did not bother to deny it or deflect it, the hint of the softer side that, after years living as James McGraw with his husband and wife, away from the madness and the sea, he was finally more able to express. “What you and Killian have given us, with Jenny and Sam – it’s a gift I bloody well don’t take for granted, you can have my word on that. And we’ll put that family back together, Emma. Whatever it takes.”

Emma nodded wordlessly. It occurred to her that while she at least had a rough idea of Geneva’s whereabouts, trapped into this delicate voyage to England with John Silver, she still had none whatsoever of Sam’s, and she was now forced into the very situation she had been so relieved to avoid, of worrying about him and Killian both. Sam was too good, too sweet, too open, too selfless – too much like the elder namesake he resembled in haunting ways, and Emma’s heart was worn raw with running over all the possible trouble he could have gotten himself into. She knew that he struggled with the idea of whether he was good enough as a pirate, if he had not faced the same things as his parents and grandparents and even his elder sister, and with her and Killian for a mother and father, the lad was unfortunately bound to struggle with his self-esteem. But they had fought and bled and sacrificed precisely so Henry, Geneva, and Sam did not have to do the same, so they could have that happy childhood and that bountiful Christmas without the shadow of death and destruction looming over their heads, and she did not want Sam to have to live the way she and Killian had, more than anything. Yet she feared that for a young man of nineteen, he saw only the adventure he had not had, and the shame he felt for it. “I want Sam home,” she said convulsively. “I want my baby home. Him and Killian. I need them home.”

“We’ll find them,” Flint said again. “And then I’ll dismantle Gideon Murray, mark my words. Come on, Emma. The tide’s going out soon, and I intend to be on it.”

“Aye.” Emma allowed herself one more moment of weakness, of grief, of fear, and then shut it away, squaring her shoulders, preparing to face up to the fight. “So do I.”

[actualsunshinejunghoseok]

Vhope - cos I barely see any Vhope. If I may request, I would like it to be set in their daily life and not an AU. Oh look you stan Youngjae too. :-)

FINALLY. (Ｔ▽Ｔ) Jesus Christ on a bike, this took a lot longer to write for some reason. Sorry about that sweetie. o(；△；)o  Anywho, I hope you like it @sindyswonderland! And Youngjae deserves the world, dammit! *slams fist onto table* (┛ಠДಠ)┛彡┻━┻

“Tae…”

“Hm?”

“You’re sulking again.”

“…no ‘m not.”

Hoseok sighed, looking down at the ball curled underneathhis sheets with a fond exasperation. Whenever Taehyung had an off day, Hoseokcould always find the younger cuddled up in his bed. If a dance practice hadgone particularly sour or he and Jimin had one of their sporadic fights, allHoseok had to do was lie down on his bed and wait for Taehyung to slip inbeside him without a word.

“It’s just…nice.” Taehyung explained one night, whisperingquietly to Hoseok as they laid together in the dark room. “Like, somethingabout the fact that it’s your bed makes me feel safe.” He mumbled into Hoseok’schest, determinedly refusing to meet the other’s gaze (looking back, Hoseokwonders how this didn’t immediately click in his head as “I have a huge gaycrush on you”, but alas, his romantic insight was never his strong point).

Now that they were dating, Taehyung practically lived inHoseok’s bed. He had made it his personal daily mission to flop down onto themattress (usually while Hoseok was still lying on it) and whine until Hoseok paidattention to him. And each time it was for a different reason: sometimes he wasbored, sometimes he was hungry, sometimes he was horny, sometimes he was tired.

And of course, sometimes he was sulking.

Straddling the lump on his bed, Hoseok pulled down thesheets until he came face to face with his pouting boyfriend. “Hello there.”

The corners of Taehyung’s mouth twitched upwards. “Hi.”

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

Taehyung sighed, looking away. “It’s just…” He trailed off,biting his bottom lip.

Hoseok readjusted himself, slipping under the covers andpulling Taehyung towards him. Instantly Taehyung clung onto him, cold noseburrowing into his neck and legs tangling with his own. “It’s just what?”Hoseok prompted softly, hand tangled in the other’s hair.

Taehyung remained silent, obviously considering whether ornot to actually say what was bothering him. He was surprisingly much moreprivate than what Hoseok had originally thought when they had first met. WhileTaehyung was eager to share his happiness with the world, when it came to hisown problems and worries, he was much more closed-off. And even though at thispoint in their relationship it was rare for Taehyung to keep something a secretfor long, it did still occasionally happen. Hoseok never pushed him to share,perfectly content to just pamper his boyfriend until he was smiling again.

“We’ve been dating for a year, right?”

Hoseok furrowed his eyebrows, slightly concerned with wherethis train of thought was headed. “Yeah…”

Taehyung chewed on his bottom lip. “…sometimes it just doesn’tfeel like we’re actually dating.” He mumbled into his chest.

Hoseok frowned, tightening his hold on the other. “What doyou mean Tae?”

“I…” Taehyung sighed. “Like there’s so much I want to dowith you that I just…can’t. I want to go on cheesy coffee shop dates, and Iwant to hold hands while we’re walking down the street. I want to wear stupidcouple items and pretend to get mad at you when you kiss me in public. I want totell people that I’m taken and that I haven’t even thought about my ‘ideal type’since the day I met you. I want to do so many things with you but I can’t andit sucks.”

Hoseok listened quietly, surprised by the things Taehyungwas saying. He had honestly thought that the younger was the type to avoid PDAat all costs, but apparently, it wasn’t a matter of Taehyung not wanting it butTaehyung not thinking he could have it.

“Tae, do you love me?”

Taehyung’s head shot up, an affronted look on his face thatmade Hoseok smile. “Of course I do!” He cried indignantly.

“And you know I love you, right?”

Hoseok watched with a grin as Taehyung bit back a smile,ears turning red as he nodded slightly. It was adorable, really, how even afterall this time he still got so easily flustered.

“So I know you love me, and you know I love you. As far as I’mconcerned, everyone that needs to know seems to already know quite well.”

Taehyung rolled his eyes with a snort. “And maybe we can’t go all out on PDA, but we can have coffee dates on thecouch while watching crappy TV, and we can wear matching underwear and socks. Imean, that’s much more intimate than a t-shirt, right? And I can most certainlymake it my daily mission to kiss you until you get super annoyed with me.”

Taehyung laughed and Hoseok looked on with a fond smile,placing a hand on his cheek.

“We can’t do everything a regular couple can do, and I’msorry about that. But, I think we can make it work somehow.”

Taehyung stared at the man below him, taking in theheart-shaped smile and tousled hair with a warm sensation spreading through hischest.

“Yeah. I think so too.”

[kalira]

Tagged by @xmenthefanficseries

Name: Kalira (Serena)

Star Sign: Taurus

Height: 5′7.5″

Put your music on shuffle. What are the first 6 songs to show up?

Wait - Sweeney Todd Motion Picture Soundtrack

Loveless - Lc5

Tricked the Machine - Abney Park

The Mystic’s Dream - Loreena McKennitt

Cheri Cheri - Acid Black Cherry

Matsupoiyo (English Version) - Mogamigawa Tsukasa

Grab the book nearest to you and turn to page 23. What’s line 17?

Out of doors, the sun still feels like a personal affront. (The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue, by Mackenzi Lee - I haven’t actually started reading it yet, but I feel this line on a personal level. Also I’ve been looking forward to this book.)

Ever had a song or poem written about you?

Actually yes! My best friend is a poet, and a couple of years ago she wrote a poem about me. (She sent it to me later, when I was feeling particularly low about myself, and it made me cry, which is stunning, for me.)

What was the last time you played the air guitar?

I honestly have no idea. I don’t tend to play air guitar. Air drums, sometimes, and the last time I did that was to a song in my head sometime in the last couple of weeks.

Who is your celebrity crush?

I’m not and never have been very prone to these. (Seriously, I was 22 before I had one at all.) And, well, same first one I had is still the strongest. Yasu.

What’s a sound you hate and a sound you love?

Crickets. I hate that they’re stereotyped as a ‘relaxing night sound’ they stress me the fuck out.

The adorable tiny sound my mama’s girl cat makes when she lets out her teeniest baby-talk mew while purring in my lap.

Do you drive? if so, have you ever crashed?

Yes, it’s almost impossible to get around where I live if you don’t. And no - not while I was behind the wheel, anyway.

Last book you read?

I’m currently reading Righteous Fury by Markus Heitz, which is . . . eh. The last book I finished was Wool and Water, by Isabelle Melançon and Megan Lavey-Heaton.

Do you like the smell of petrol?

Not really. It’s not really pleasant or unpleasant.

What was the last movie you saw?

Rise of the Guardians, for the . . . third time I think?

The worst injury you’ve ever had?

I honestly don’t really know. Hm. I’ve concussed myself several times over the years. I was shoved into a wooden piano bench so hard I broke a corner off it with my face when I was a kid - the corner healed inside my badly busted lip. I was in a car accident that damaged my neck and left my shoulders permanently dislocated when I was three.

Extracting a cat from where she was caught with her entire body dangling from one hind ankle trapped in a wire wall I had slashes up and down my arms to the degree that there was a puddle of blood at my feet when I finished getting her loose. She actually severed one of the veins or arteries in my wrist. (Hooked a claw under it in her flailing and sliced clear through it as she ripped her claws out of my arm again.) I was dizzy and sick from blood loss after that.

Do you have any obsessions right now?

Shall I direct you to the number of stories I’ve written for three new fandoms this year? (Or the collection of physical objects relating to them accumulated on a shelf nearby?)

Do you tend to hold grudges against anybody?

Ah, yes. Either I get cross fairly quickly, but it eases quickly - especially if I vent it, either at said person or by railing about them - or it takes a while to get me really angry but it’s not going away. Pretty much ever.

In a relationship?

Only with my Muse. :P

Tagging IDK, @mad-madam-m? As usual, if you follow me and you want to play, I tagged you. ;)

[xottzot]

2017-11(NOV)-24th---Friday afternoon (LOCAL NEWS).

2017-11(NOV)-24th---Friday afternoon (LOCAL NEWS).

I got the (physical) local "Echo" newpaper a short while ago.

http://echonewspaper.com.au/

And in it there's some NEWS items of interest that I'd like to share.....along here with my own personal comments.....

---------------------------------------

LOCAL NEWS:---- Police, (and) residents fuming over vacant homes

http://echonewspaper.com.au/police-residents-fuming-vacant-homes/

(my excerpts below)

SIGNIFICANT numbers of vacant properties right across the Midland area are driving crime and anti-social behaviour, according to residents, real estate experts and Midland Police.

The rental market right across Midland has taken a dive, driven by the end of the mining boom, leaving many rental properties empty.

These empty properties are prime targets for squatters and hot-spots for anti-social behaviour, according to LJ Hooker Midland principal Richard Lowenhoff.

Mr Lowenhoff said the current vacancy rate across the Midland area was more than three times the rate he would normally expect.

“Under normal market conditions the vacancy rate would be sitting at three per cent and currently, it’s sitting at 12 per cent,” he said.

“It’s supply and demand and at the moment, with a lot of people heading to the eastern states looking for work, that demand just isn’t there.” “There are dirty needles, packets of needles…we clean it up and the very next day we find more.

Midland Police OIC, Senior Sergeant Jason Longhorn, said the crash of the rental market had put a significant drain on police resources, with local officers forced to check on empty properties.

“We’ve got a list of 15, 20 houses we go around and check every day – Housing Authority houses as well as private rentals,” he said.

“There’s a number of people at this time of year squatting and we’ve had a number of successful prosecutions, but we’re also having issues with private rentals in terms of getting victims details and with people actually wanting to follow through with charges.

“What that does is it draws undesirable people into the area and we have that flow-on crime effect from that area.

“It’s a drain on our resources.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Gee......and of course nobody mentions the criminal abo's, and the criminals around THIS hellhole that I have stated about time and time again for so long now in this blog that I can't rememeber for how long now.

And people keep trying to dismiss them all as 'oh, those poor dear people'...when they are in fact CRIMINALS, always have been and always will be, and they encourage and create even more criminals....even within their own 'families'......

---------------------------------------

BUSHFIRE REPORT

In the physical newspaper (but not on the website?), there was a short article (about the recent huge bushfire that I wrote about in this blog on Tuesday), but there was only (an almost generic) photo displayed in the newspaper that could have been anywhere. And there was next to no mention of the number of fire-fighting helicopters only mentioning there was 3 of them (there WAS more, and I was watching them). However in the newspaper article it stated that IN ADDITION it stated that the fire was extinguished on Wednesday morning (the next day) "thanks to the work of almost every fire brigade in the hills region". -- (THAT is an indication of how how BIG the fire was). - The article stated that the fire took until the next day to extinguish. (hence all the smoke about at this hellhole).

---------------------------------------

"MAD DOG"

I REALLY would have liked to have pointed you to the newspaper article online to read about "Mad Dog", but it does not seem to exist online, only in the printed newspaper form.

Fliss encountered "Mad Dog" many times when she lived here. She had no fear about him but was wary.

He's not a violent man, but is decidedly 'whacko'. He rides his pushbike about and is CONSTANTLY cursing and SWEARING and carrying on ALL THE TIME. He does this even when in grocery shops shopping and so on.

The local "Midland Echo" newpaper article went on to say that the local Police certainly know about Mad Dog but they too consider him harmless.

But the article went on to say that poor Mad Dog has also become a victm of this hellhole area. - I think he lives right next to the local Koongamia school. But that's just a guess and means nothing.

I used to see him A LOT riding his pushbike barefooted about, but he has been absent for a great many months from sight. After reading the article, its easy to understand why.

He has/is actually being persecuted. A website has been set up (even selling t-shirts at a huge markup price with his likeness upon it), and profitting from his misery. - I keep telling you this area is HELL.

Midland Police have openly warned the public that they WILL be prosecuting anyone who is making this guys life hell. (and they HAVE BEEN MAKING HIS LIFE HELL)

BTW, not long in late 2015, perhaps early 2016, when dear Fliss had her breakdown and left me here to die, I desperately needed food and so was in a food store in Midland (I think I've written about this incident before in this blog) and there was a pleasant young woman, a new checkout cashier (perhaps part of the extra temporary staff put on for the seasonal increase in shoppers), and she was manning the checkout when Mad Dog went through it with his stuff just ahead of me. - Mad Dog was LOUDLY yelling & carrying on & cursing & swearing & LOUDLY muttering to himself and the poor young woman (and EVERYONE ELSE) was quite affronted and fearful. I knew what he was like though. (so did dear Fliss when here). The young woman processed his purchases and he left. When it came to me, (and because she still looked so shocked) I myself apologised for what she had just gone through and tried to reasure HER that it was nothing she had done and that Mad Dog was always like this ALL THE TIME. She very gratefully took solace at what I'd said to reasure her. - I think it was before Xmas in 2015. -- I never saw her ever again at that store nor anywhere else. I'm glad I did some small part in reassuring her that day.

---------------------------------------

THIS is only just some of the level of shit in this hellhole. AND IT'S ALL BECOME MUCH WORSE SINCE DEAR FLISS LEFT IN LATE 2015...MUCH WORSE.

The criminal abo's and criminals don't give a shit about anyone or anything.

All they are is to be constantly drugged-up, drunk, violent, and lawless.

ALL THIS FLISS COULD HERSELF SEE RISING BUT SHE HAS NEVER EXPERIENCED ALL THIS BECAUSE IN LATE 2015 SHE ABANDONED ME (and poor Sam and poor Max) AND LEFT ME IN THIS FUCKING HELLHOLE AFTER SHE HAD A BREAKDOWN AND FLED TO TAMWORTH, NEW SOUTH WALES, AUSTRALIA.

---------------------------------------

from that local news website......

http://echonewspaper.com.au/midland-cbd-team-wins-plaudits/

Midland CBD team wins plaudits

The online local NEWS article descibes (in some small part) how BAD everything has become here, but how it has been in some way attempted to be rectified by the efforts of Police.

It has NOT been a panacea by any means.

But the article states how bad things are here in Midland, the town location which there were/are place(s) where dear Fliss worked.

---------------------------------------

I love you dear Fliss, I've alwasy loved you, especially when NOBODY else did and when EVERYONE derided you and destroyed you. - I love you dear Fliss and want to be with you.

[visualnoveldiscourse]

Amnesia: Memories- Kent Route Day 10

We pick up on Day 10 at Kent’s house after we tell him about our scary encounter with the mysterious possible murderer.  

We are off to a great start.  No memories, spirits in our heads, friends that think we’re out to get the targets of their affection, an emotionally constipated boyfriend, and now we might have a serial killer after us.  Good deal. 

 Heeey, if there’s a serial killer aspect to this story, are we going to be rescued by big, scary Kent?  Yes, please~ I have always been a slut for a damsel in distress story.  But what would make me even happier is us rescuing Kent!  0v0

Kent is suspicious of the fact that we say we don’t know the guy that apparently knows both of us.  

Orion suspects that we might have known the scary guy before he lost our memories for us.  I agree that it’s unlikely that we have never seen or met him before.  Kent, ever the diligent man, notes our paleness and asks if we know of any reason anyone would want to hurt us.  Unfortunately, we have no memories and we’ve been hiding that, so we can’t tell him any form of helpful answer.  My answer choice here is “I can’t think of anything,” since we literally know of no reason that anyone would wish us harm.  

I dunno, man.  Maybe I’m pale because a scary guy I don’t know knows my name and your name and was talking about killing me and then you’re like “maybe he’s a serial killer.”  You tell me, would that not elicit at least some concern?  

Of course, Kent immediately follows that up with “He must have been really scary!”  And I’m like no fucking shit.  Before any further conversation can be had, Kent comes closer and looks really freaked out.  

Awh, was he going to hug us and then he realized he was about to touch us and was like “holy shit, better not frighten girlfriend”? Like, I could probably use a hug right about now, maybe chill, Kent.  

“I wasn’t going to do anything outrageous...”  Kent, you’re blushing because you wanted to give us a hug?  Precious.  Or... not.  

Well, I suppose hand holding can also be comforting.  But personally, I’d rather have a hug.  But he doesn’t stop there.  

Kent really worries too much.  We’re dating.  Hand holding and hugs and even sometimes kisses are typical things to expect from romantic relationships.  Having you come closer to me and hold my hand to comfort me is a plus, not scary. This must be because of our rocky relationship and the rocky foundation of it.  

“So you don’t need to be so guarded.”  Is the final part of Kent’s next lines.  Were we making a face?  Like.  Kent is the least threatening person we’ve met the entire game.  I’m pretty sure I could put him up against a kitten and the kitten would be scarier.  

Fortunately, Kent takes our concerns seriously.  He offers to walk with us after dark to make sure we’re safe.  I also love how Kent doesn’t put forth a bunch of blustering bravado to impress us.  He could just as easily have said “I’ll walk you home every night to make sure you’re safe.  I’ll beat him up if he bothers you.” or anything else involving typical macho man bravado.  But instead, he says he might be able to help deal with that man.  Help deal with that man.  Not swoop in as a hero in a cape to save the day.  Not fix the problem for us.  Not to reduce us to a prize in some macho man fight about who gets the girl.  He says he might be able to help us deal with him.  

Another significant choice of words is saying that he might be able to help.  Kent makes no guarantees that he would be able to protect us from any threat.  He humbly acknowledges here that he might not be able to deal with this guy if he seriously is dangerous, but he will do what he can to help us if it came to that.  There is nothing I like more than a guy that is honest with me and himself about his capabilities and the situations we are in.  

We are going to die.  I know I was just harping about how nice it is that Kent is honest with me and that he will help me deal with this scary man, but if the scary man is here right fucking now, I need more than like two seconds to mentally prepare myself for the fight or flight reflex.  If I’m hiding, are you going to shove a shelf against the door or are you gonna be dumb as fuck and open the door for the serial killer?  

Kent, I don’t want to watch your bespectacled ass die in front of me while I hide under your desk and hope I’m not discovered-

Son of a fucking bitch.  Kent.  Ikki.  I’m over here having a panic attack because serial killer and you two have to play your fucking math nerd assassin games?  That’s it.  I’m done.  Play your games like the overgrown children you are.  I’m going h o m e  and there is nothing you can do to stop me.  

Oh.  I can’t leave yet?  Not cool, game.  I’m mad.  Can’t we just leaaave?  No?  Fine.  

Kent apologizes for the interruption that Ikki caused in our discussion. As if that is what merits an apology.  How about giving me a heart attack and knocking twenty years off my life?  

Ikki changes the subject to math puzzles that Kent likes to make and when he discovers that Kent already gave us some of said puzzles, he has the most hilarious reaction.  You fool.  You didn’t even suspect that I love math puzzles.  Maybe soon, I’ll join your stupid play pretend math assassin games.  

Okay.  So I can’t really fault him much for this one.  Although, I am personally offended.  We already know that we met Kent through a basic/beginner’s math course thing, so it’s natural he would consider our math skills elementary at best.  But still to come out an say it in front of your bro and in front of me.  Rude. (This is another rare occasion where Orion and I agree).  

Immediately following Kent’s statement, Ikki takes to his defense... Or so it seems.  “I’m sure he’s a ton of trouble.  He’s not a bad guy though, so try to be patient with him.”  

Kent is suddenly affronted by something Ikki says or does and one thing that I don’t like about this scene is how we don’t know what Ikki is doing until Ikki and Kent describe it.  Would it have been that much more difficult to draw Ikki’s hand reaching over the camera to rub our head?  

Kent is, understandably, upset by this development.  Ikki is taking some liberties here, what with rubbing the head of his best friend’s girlfriend.  

Wow, Ikki.  You’re not even hiding the fact that you’re doing this to make Kent jealous. The tone of voice the actor uses here cements that fact, which I cannot portray to you through text and screenshots.  To Kent’s credit, he keeps his cool, calmly telling Ikki that he has no morals.  

Of course, Kent is getting prety worked up about Ikki touching us.  It’s probably because Kent can’t even bring himself to hold our hand without dramatically working up to it.  Ikki is being pretty insensitive to his best friend.  And Ikki isn’t content to leave it at that, either.  

Before, it could be excused as a little lighthearted teasing, but now Ikki is just being an asshole.  Like, dude, maybe leave Kent and his insecurities alone?  Also, maybe stop rubbing my head, cause like, I don’t remember you asking permission to touch me and I’m sensitive about things like that.  But alas, being a silent protagonist with a spirit running our show, we don’t have the option to punch Ikki for being too familiar and touching us without permission.  

Ikki, seriously?  With friends like you, who needs enemies?  Openly flirting with your best friend’s girlfriend and pushing our boundaries by touching us and making open advances without permission.  Kent is having no more of this.  

He’s clearly getting pissed.  Ikki should call it quits, since it’s obvious that his playful teasing isn’t being well received.  But he doesn’t.  He casts another jab at Kent by brazenly asking for our number right in front of Kent.  

Look, there is nothing wrong with a guy and a girl who are not romantically involved exchanging phone numbers.  Men and women can be friends, after all.  But Ikki’s timing here is awful.  He’s flirted with Kent and insinuated that he would give us more intimate contact and Kent is already suspicious that Ikki intends to seduce us.  It’s just a dick move. 

We, the MC, could definitely do more to discourage Ikki’s advances, but we’re a blank paper bag with little real input into the story.  So, we exchange numbers and Ikki backs off and heads out. 

Alone, Kent approaches us, with a deep blush on his cheeks.  Is he going to ask us for reassurance?  Is he going to attempt to reaffirm that we have feelings for each other?  Is he going to do something sweet? Oh, Kent-

This sets off so many alarm bells in my head.  He’s got his hand balled up in our hair and his expression is the scariest I’ve seen on him.  Kent is so insecure that he would hurt us to prove to himself that he is manly enough to touch us in an intimate way.  

Personally, in real life, this would be a straight up deal breaker for me.  I don’t give a flying fuck how cute you are, how smart you are, how much I like you and am interested in you romantically, the minute you cause me physical harm is the minute your ass is on the curb.  No one, no man and no woman and no one of any gender on the spectrum will be allowed to cause me physical harm of any kind and stay in my life.  Unless it’s completely accidental, like, we ran into each other face first and now we’re laying in the floor groaning about how much our heads hurt.  

You have disappointed me, Kent.  You have disappointed me.  

But you are still, by far, the best boyfriend this game has to offer.  You heard me correctly: there are boyfriends in this game who treat us much worse than this.  Much worse.  I will miss you and your insecure hair pulling when we move on from your route to another.  

Fortunately, we get a chance to talk to Kent about how this hair pulling, rubbing thing feels.  I choose “I don’t dislike it, but it hurts.”  In this scenario, alone with a man bigger than me, who is already holding me by the hair, I wouldn’t want to antagonize him.  Best to pacify him and when I’m no longer in immediate danger, run for the hills.  

I don’t forgive you.  First of all, your hand is still balled up in my hair.  You’re pulling my hair as you apologize to me for pulling my hair and hurting me.  Second of all, you lost control and you hurt me.  You hurt me because you wer insecure and you are intelligent enough to know better.  Not laying a harmful hand on someone you profess to love isn’t difficult.  It’s being a decent human being. 

Well, first of all, he wasn’t pulling my hair and hurting my head.  Second of all, I don’t have a good answer for that, because the protagonist is a blank, passive page and Orion calls almost all of the shots. But we’re hiding this from Kent, so we don’t have a good explanation for him.  But!  Regardless!  You have no right!  To harm me!  No matter if you think someone else was allowed to do it!  

Can we go home yet?  No?  Kent has to angst about how Ikki will make advances on us? You don’t trust me to love you and to choose you over Ikki?  Just what is our shitty relationship based around, anyway?  Why are we even still trying at this point? 

Then get your hand out of my hair, shit fuck.  

“While I hesitate to even hold your hand, your heart could turn towards him...” Hand.  In my hair.  Fuck you.  Also, before this fiasco, I would have said “of course not.  You are being paranoid.  “I’m afraid that he could take you away from me.”  Dude, I don’t even want to see your face right now.  

“It takes all I have just to touch your hair.”  Then stop touching it. It’s not like I’m forcing you.  

Oh, well, since you put it that way- you are not forgiven.  Not that quickly, you asshole.  Prove to me you aren’t gonna abuse me and that that sort of thing will never happen again.  Oh, wait, things like that usually have repeat performances.  

“Could you go home for today?  ...I’ll walk you back.”  

Oh, thank God.  Just the words I was waiting for.  I don’t especially want you to walk me home, but better for you to walk me home than me be axe murdered in the street, I guess.  

Back at our apartment, Orion says “That was a surprise.”  and I’m like, which part?  Kent going crazy and pulling our hair or Ikki violating our personal space or maybe the way that Kent excused his behavior like an abuser would do?  

Which is a major warning sign in my book.  Danger, danger.  That’s not something to be happy about, Orion.  “He might like you more than we expected.”  Bro.  This is a bad thing, not a good thing.  Instead of getting more onto Ikki about this, he let all of his anger out on us.  That’s not cool.  

What a crappy note to end day 10 on.  And our romance was finally starting to get better.