#this text post is cs approved

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 9

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

The next morning, they had to sit next to each other.

me when i’m a high school junior and had a huge falling out with my best friend who i’m totally not in love with last night but we still have to coexist in ap english class

The joint thrones today were under a silk awning, raised to protect Laurent’s milkmaid skin from the sun.

BRUTAL

Lady Vannes murmuring into the ear of a new female pet

oooooh what happened to the old one? drama alert!!

A part of Damen acknowledged, a little guiltily, that Laurent probably hadn’t deserved to get thrown around the training arena as a result.

laurent would disagree

Nikandros said, without looking next to him, ‘Your uncle has wiped out half of our army with two hundred men.’ ‘And a belt,’ said Laurent.

nikandros private twitter vent #11. incoherent violent stick figure jpegs

Damen said, ‘At least someone else has a chance to win at javelin.’

i understand that people like sports and it’s a fun thing to add to a pretty serious story but i am the buzzkill here and ugh. sports

In the stands, slaves rhythmically raised and lowered fans and brought shallow cups of wine that everyone drank except Laurent.

me getting ginger beer at the bar yesterday while the dude i was with drank an espresso martini and two whiskeys

He came forward naked, as was the custom in Akielos.

i feel like violent dangerous sports are a really good occasion to wear MORE clothing, but go off i guess

The two men scooped oil from the receptacle brought to them by the stewards, anointed their bodies with it, then they slung their arms around one another’s shoulders, and, on the signal, heaved. The crowd cheered, the men grappled, their bodies straining against each other in slippery hold after slippery hold, until Pallas finally had Elon panting, on the grass, the sounds an eruption from the crowd.

this is like the not-evil twin of the veretian court wrestling

Damen rose from the throne, and put his hand to the gold brooch at his shoulder. His garment dropped and the crowd roared its approval.

you know, damen’s lack of freaking out about some of the indignities of the veretian court make more sense now

‘Good fight,’ he said, taking his place again on the throne beside Laurent. He waved over some wine. ‘What is it?’ ‘Nothing,’ said Laurent, and found somewhere else to put his eyes.

hang in there buddy

‘What can we expect next? I really feel,’ said Vannes, ‘it might be anything.’

i love the slight disdain here

‘Who did this to you?’ ‘I did,’ Laurent said. Damen turned. Laurent stood in the entryway of the tent. He was arranged with elegant grace and his lazy, blue-eyed attention was all on Nikandros. Laurent said, ‘I meant to kill him, but my uncle wouldn’t let me.’ Nikandros took an impotent step forward but Damen already had a restraining hand on his arm. Nikandros’s hand had gone to the hilt of his sword. His eyes were on Laurent furiously. Laurent said, ‘He sucked my cock too.’ Nikandros said, ‘Exalted, I beg permission to challenge the Prince of Vere to a duel of honour for the insult that he has done to you.’ ‘Denied,’ said Damen. ‘You see?’ said Laurent. ‘He has forgiven me for the small matter of the whip. I have forgiven him for the small matter of killing my brother. All praise the alliance.’ ‘You flayed the skin from his back.’ ‘Not personally. I just watched while I had my man do it.’ Laurent said it with a fronded, long-lashed gaze. Nikandros looked physically sick with the effort of repressing his anger. ‘How many lashes was it? Fifty? One hundred? He might have died!’ Laurent said, ‘Yes, that was the idea.’

LAMEN HR COMPLAINT #8

god i FUCKING love this little confrontation. i appreciate how we can start easing into some more comedy with these specific characters, because nobody here is like actively enslaved or abused. they’re all on even footing, so shots can be fired for fun, and can be read as such. the analysis here, in short, is that damen and laurent are both insane about each other and nikandros just has to deal with it. laurent thinks it’s amusing to mess with nikandros, and to a lesser degree damen. and damen tolerates it because he knows laurent behind his performative cruelty, but can’t possibly explain that to nikandros. regardless, laurent has immunity from damen, which means he also has immunity from nikandros.

this is also a good way to show how both damen and laurent have started “settling” the matters of damen killing auguste and laurent punishing him in vere, since the last scene where both subjects were heavily referenced.

Angry as he was, Nikandros wouldn’t disobey a direct order. His training was too deeply ingrained.

i like this subtle moment. damen grew up in the same culture, yet one of his main Things in this series has always been disobeying orders he disagrees with. built different!

‘Why would you do that? He’ll defect.’ ‘He’s not going to defect. He is your most loyal servant.’ ‘So you push him to breaking point?’ ‘Should I have told him I didn’t enjoy it?’ said Laurent. ‘But I did enjoy it. I liked it most near the end, when you broke down.’

laurent calculated and performative cruelty to protect himself from being vulnerable, you know the drill by now

‘You didn’t have to come here. You could have sent a messenger.’ In the pause that followed, Laurent’s gaze shifted involuntarily sideways. A strange prickling passing over his skin, Damen realised that Laurent was looking at the polished mirror behind him at the reflection of his scars. Their eyes met again. Laurent wasn’t often caught out, but a single glance had betrayed him. They both knew it. Damen felt the hard ache of it. ‘Admiring your handiwork?’

damen: i know you came here on purpose to spend time with me alone when you totally didn’t have to laurent: [very obviously checks out damen’s bare back, and not just for the symbolism reasons] damen: you want to look at me so bad (because you have an emotional attachment to the marks and you want to torture us both about it, and also because you think i’m hot. in both cases you’re the desperate one here, i win)

‘I’ll join you after I’ve dressed. Unless you want to step closer. You can help stick in the pin.’ ‘Do it yourself,’ said Laurent.

this sounds like their prince’s gambit-era antagonistic, vaguely horny, reluctantly fond banter. we’re getting somewhere!

The fever pitch of the crowd was bloodthirsty. The okton brought that out in them, the danger, the threat of maiming. The second of two targets was hammered onto its struts, and the attendants gave the all clear. In the heat of the day, anticipation was an insect buzz, rising to a commotion on the south-western side of the field.

this is such a fucking terrible idea you are in a WAR. damen you are going to be KING. why are you risking your life to play a sports right now. it would be like if the person about to cure a disease decided to play a game of bowling with a 80% survival rate right before they finished the vaccine

Damen heard the reaction of those around him. The Veretian Prince was, at a glance, Damen’s athletic inferior. Certainly, he avoided the training fields. No Akielon had ever seen him fight, or take exercise. He had not participated in any of today’s contests. He had done nothing more than sit, elegant and relaxed, as now. ‘Veretians do not train in the okton,’ said Damen. ‘In Akielos, the okton is known as the sport of kings,’ said Makedon. ‘Our own King will take the field. Does the Prince of Vere lack the courage to ride against him?’

makedon wants that twink obliterated

Damen waited for Laurent to sidestep, to evade, to find, somehow, the words to extricate himself from the situation. The flags fluttered loudly. The stands were silent, to a man. ‘Why not?’ said Laurent.

FSIUFHSDIUFHSDF i love laurent so much it’s unreal. this is the same response you’d give if a friend asked if you wanted to get takeout on a thursday night. “yeah, why not?” mr. “probably” laurent strikes again

Mounted, Damen faced the course, holding his horse ready at the starting line. His mount shifted, fractious, eager for the horn that would signal his start. Two horses down from his own, he could see Laurent’s bright head.

their horses who are canonically in love with each other get to do homoerotic sports too!!

But the true challenge of the okton was this: if you missed, your spear might kill your opponent. If your opponent missed, you were dead.

i was going to say “thankfully there are no real-life sports that sacrifice the physical well-being and possibly lives of eager-to-impress youths looking for glory and compensation” but then i remembered american college football exists

Laurent could also throw a spear. Probably.

probably.

But all of that meant nothing in the face of the okton. Men died during the okton. Men fell, men suffered permanent injury—from a spear; from hooves after a fall. Out of the corner of his eye, Damen could see the physicians, including Paschal, who waited on the sidelines, ready to patch and sew. There was a great deal at stake for the lives of the physicians, with royalty from two countries on the field. There was a great deal at stake for everyone.

not beating the american college football allegations

Damen could not aid Laurent in the contest.

he’ll kill one of his own people by throwing a sword across a clearing to save his captor in book 2, but he won’t use his kingly authority to say “hey guys maybe let’s not put both of the army’s leaders, one of whom is the love of my life and also my divorced husband, in the hunger games right now”

There was something intellectual in the way he assessed the field, and it set him apart from the other riders. For Laurent, physical pursuits were not instinctive, and for the first time it occurred to Damen to wonder if Laurent even enjoyed them. Laurent had been bookish as a boy, before he had re-formed himself.

“he should be at the (afterschool dungeons and dragons) club”

Laurent dealt with the danger of the okton by simply behaving as though it did not exist.

that tracks externally, but i also think that inside laurent’s brain he does acknowledge it, he just has a precise threshold of acceptable risk

Instinct reacted before thought. The spear was driving towards his chest; Damen caught it out of the air, his hand closing hard around the shaft, the momentum of it wrenching his shoulder back. He absorbed it, tightening his grip with his thighs to keep himself in the saddle.

this would be even more impressive if it was not the solution to a dangerous situation you ACTIVELY MADE HAPPEN

All his attention was on the other spear, flying towards Laurent. His heart jammed in his throat. On the other side of the course, Pallas was frozen. In that stricken moment of choice, Pallas could only decide whether to dodge and risk his cowardice killing a prince, or stand his ground and receive a spear to the throat. His fate was tied to Laurent’s, and unlike Damen, he had no recourse for what to do. Laurent knew it. Like Damen, Laurent had seen it early—had seen the strut collapse, had judged the outcome. In the handful of extra seconds that this afforded him, Laurent acted without hesitation. He released his reins—and as Damen watched, as the spear flew right for him—he jumped, not out of the way, but into the path of the spear, leaping from his horse to Pallas’s, dragging them both to the left. Pallas swayed, shocked, and Laurent bodily kept him down low in the saddle. The spear sailed past them and landed in the tufted grass like a javelin.

an akielion wouldn’t think to do THAT, would they!!

(also, love the little parallel to prince’s gambit, with damen ripping the grate out of the wall and laurent’s meticulous scheming. here it’s not as much a competition as it is a mutual/cooperative victory, with damen stopping the javelin mid-air and laurent intelligently evading the other one headed towards him)

The crowd went wild. Laurent ignored it. Laurent reached down and neatly filched Pallas’s last spear for himself. And, keeping Pallas’s horse at a gallop—as the sounds of the crowd swelled to a crescendo—he threw it, sending it flying right into the centre of the final target. Completing the okton one spear ahead of Pallas and of Damen, Laurent drew his horse up in a little circle, and met Damen’s gaze, his pale brows rising, as if to say, ‘Well?’ Damen grinned. He hefted the spear he had caught, and from where he was on the far side of the course, threw; let it go sailing over the full, impossible length of the field, to thunk into the target alongside Laurent’s spear, where it rested, quivering. Pandemonium.

they are both That Bitch. perfect for each other, and now everyone knows it (kinda) <3

After, they crowned each other with laurels.

cute

There was a warmth in his chest whenever he looked at Laurent. He didn’t look often for that reason.

Their men would ride out unified, and if there was a crack down the centre, no one knew about it. He and Laurent were good at pretending.

no they’re not. they’re just becoming more entertaining and endearing than annoying and frustrating, so people are more likely to listen to them

Laurent took his place on one of the lounging couches like he was born to it. Damen sat alongside him.

and all was right with the universe

The whole room went silent. Makedon and Laurent faced one another. The silence stretched out. ‘You have the mind of a snake,’ Makedon said. ‘You have the mind of an old bull,’ said Laurent. They stared at one another. After a long moment, Makedon waved at the slave, who came forward with a fat-bellied bottle of Akielon spirits and two shallow cups. ‘I will drink with you,’ said Makedon.

i love this unlikely friendship. laurent is being socialized like a feral kitten

Laurent glanced at the wine that the slave had poured, and Damen knew with absolute certainty that if it was wine, Laurent wasn’t going to drink. Damen braced himself for the moment when every scrap of goodwill that Laurent had garnered for himself was thrown away—as every tenet of Akielon hospitality was insulted, and Makedon swept forever out of the hall. Laurent picked up the cup in front of him, drained it, then returned it to the table. Makedon gave a slow nod of approval, lifted his own cup, downed it. And said, ‘Again.’

extremely loud airhorn goes off SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS

Later, when a great many overturned cups scattered the low table, Makedon leaned forward and told Laurent he must try griva, the drink from his own region, and Laurent downed it and said it tasted like swill, and Makedon said, ‘Ha, ha, true!’ Later, Makedon told the story of his first games, when Ephagin won the okton, and the bannermen grew misty-eyed, and everyone had another drink. Later, everyone roared when Laurent was able to balance three empty cups on top of each other, while Makedon’s cups fell over.

is this just what frat parties are like?

Laurent maintained a scrupulous posture until they were all gone, his eyes dilated, his cheeks slightly flushed. Damen spread his arm over the back of his own seat and waited. After a long moment, Laurent said, ‘I’m going to need some help standing up.’

i love that damen just Waited. he knew. he wanted laurent to admit it. they’re so funny

He wasn’t expecting to receive Laurent’s full weight, but he did, a warm arm slung around his neck, and he was suddenly breathless with the feeling of Laurent in his arms. His hands came up to steady Laurent’s waist, his heart behaving strangely. It was sweetly, impossibly illicit. He felt the ache in his chest. Damen said, ‘The Prince and I are retiring,’ and waved the lingering slaves out. ‘It’s this way,’ said Laurent. ‘Probably.’

‘Is today the first time you’ve been beaten in an okton?’ ‘Technically, it was a draw,’ said Damen. ‘Technically. I told you I was quite good at riding. I used to beat Auguste all the time when we raced at Chastillon. It took me until I was nine to realise he was letting me win. I just thought I had a very fast pony. You’re smiling.’ He was smiling.

drunk laurent happily telling damen about auguste :’) also the “you’re smiling” is so adorable, i love how we’re getting some dorky soft laurent finally. he contains multitudes. this, like, “suddenly aware that he’s being cute and appreciated for it, slightly indignant but also allowing it because it’s damen who thinks he’s cute” thing is wonderful and tbh i hope i can someday allow myself to be like that too :)

‘Am I talking too much? I can’t hold alcohol at all.’ ‘I can see that.’ ‘It’s my fault. I never drink. I should have realised I’d need to, with men like these, and made an effort to . . . build up some sort of tolerance . . .’ He was serious. ‘Is that how your mind works?’ said Damen. ‘And what do you mean, you never drink?

drunk laurent is so funny. and i love how damen is amused, endeared, and absolutely fascinated by the inner workings of this man. me too.

also, it's insane that laurent would ever ask if he's talking too much. taking too much is like his entire thing

side note: this is 100% how i am when i use any kind of mind-altering substances, like a sedative before a root canal. i remember detailing how i felt in my notes app at the time and then reading it later and being both impressed by the determination to remain incoherent and amused by the inserted notes of “why am i laughing” “why is everything funny”

You were drunk the first night I met you.’ ‘I made an exception,’ said Laurent, ‘that night. Two and a half bottles. I had to force myself to get it down. I thought it would be easier drunk.’ ‘You thought what would be easier?’ said Damen. ‘“What”?’ said Laurent. ‘You.’ Damen felt the hairs rise over his whole body. Laurent said it softly, and as though it was obvious, his blue eyes a little hazy, his arm still around Damen’s neck. They were gazing at one another, halted in the half-light of the passage. ‘My Akielon bed slave,’ said Laurent, ‘named for the man who killed my brother.’

“no shit, i got drunk”

It wasn’t unusual for two young men to wander the halls together, swaying, after a revel—even among princes—and Damen could pretend for a moment that they were what they seemed to be: brothers in arms. Friends.

you guys got publicly married-divorced and laurent told an entire army that you fucked each other multiple times. you wear matching arm cuffs. even your horses are in love. be so serious rn

The guards on either side of the entrance were too well trained to react to the presence of royalty leaning all over each other.

They Pretend They Do Not See It (not an HR complain bc they’re not really bothering anyone or breaking rules)

‘No one is to enter,’ Damen ordered the guards. He was aware of the implication—Damianos entering a bedchamber with a young man in his arms and ordering everyone out—and he ignored it. If Isander suddenly had a startling reason why the frigid Prince of Vere had foregone his services, so be it.

oh nooooo what a shame if isander backed off from your man, what an unintended and unfortunate consequence, oh nooooooo

Laurent, intensely private, would not want his household present while he dealt with the effects of a night’s worth of drinking.

just got a vision of laurent as heather chandler in the hangover/death scene. wearing that cunty little robe and talking shit

Laurent was going to wake with a blinding headache fuelling his corrosive tongue, and pity anyone who ran into him then. As for Damen, he was going to give Laurent a push in the small of his back and send him staggering the four steps to the bed. Damen unlooped Laurent’s arm from his neck, disengaged himself. Laurent took a step under his own power, and lifted a hand to his jacket, blinking. ‘Attend me,’ Laurent said, unthinkingly. ‘For old time’s sake?’ said Damen. It was a mistake to say that. He stepped forward and put his hands on the ties of Laurent’s jacket. He began to draw the ties from their moorings. He felt the curve of Laurent’s ribcage as the tie threaded through its eye. The jacket tangled at Laurent’s wrist. It took some effort to get it off, disordering Laurent’s shirt. Damen stopped, his hands still inside the jacket.

:)

Under the fine fabric of Laurent’s shirt, Paschal had bound Laurent’s shoulder to strengthen it. He saw it with a pang. It was something Laurent would not have let him see sober, a keen breach of privacy. He thought of sixteen spears thrown, with a constant effort of arm and shoulder, after rough exertion the day before.

fuck, that’s right. damn laurent

Damen took a step back, said: ‘Now you can say you were served by the King of Akielos.’ ‘I could say that anyway.’

he may be white girl wasted but he’s still our laurent

Lamp-lit, the room was filled with orange light, revealing its simple furnishings, the low chairs, the wall table with its bowl of fresh-picked fruit.

this time, the fruit basket guy just showed the kitchen staff a bunch of ao3 fics tagged “in vino veritas” and told them to make it work

Laurent was a different presence in his white undershirt.

makes him sound like a cryptid. blonde man jumpscare

They were gazing at each other.

we know.

‘I miss you,’ said Laurent. ‘I miss our conversations.’

he would not have admitted this under torture

(also, i really like how he misses their conversations first and foremost. laurent really does love damen for his mind and heart, more than anything else. damen is the same, but he's a lot more vocally into the other parts of laurent too)

It was too much. He remembered being strapped to the post and half killed; sober, Laurent had made the line very clear, and he was aware that he had crossed it, they both had.

damen is still afraid to potentially take advantage of laurent, especially because of what happened the first time laurent interpreted his advances in such a light (ow)

‘You’re drunk,’ said Damen. ‘You’re not yourself.’ He said, ‘I should take you to bed.’ ‘Then, take me,’ said Laurent.

Laurent lay where Damen put him, on his back in a half-open shirt, his hair tumbled, his expression unguarded. His knee was pushed out to the side, his breathing was slow as one in sleep, the thin fabric of his shirt lay against his skin, rising and falling with it. ‘You don’t like me like this?’

first thing, good for him. second thing, not good for him, because trauma, and the fact that he sees himself as a sexual object (i went a lot more into this during the chapter 7 re-analysis)

‘You’re really . . . not yourself.’ ‘Aren’t I?’

i do think damen means this as a “you could punish me for taking advantage,” but i also think there is the fact that damen doesn’t want a version of laurent who isn’t in his right mind (like slaves, who aren’t given the ability to have minds of their own). this calls back to the whole “you like it simple” thing in chapter 7, and it’s pretty satisfying to see damen prove laurent wrong!

‘I tried to kill you. I can’t seem to go through with it. You keep overturning all my plans.’

said with hearts in his eyes <3

Damen found a water pitcher and poured water into a shallow cup that he brought to the low table by Laurent’s bed. Then he emptied the fruit bowl of fruit and put it on the floor alongside, to be used as a drunk soldier might use an empty helmet.

THEY WORKED HARD ON THAT THEMATICALLY RELEVANT FRUIT BASKET >:( although perhaps this is its true thematic relevance? a means of damen helping laurent care for himself in recovery?

‘Laurent. Sleep it off. In the morning, you can punish us both. Or forget this ever happened. Or pretend to.’ He did all of this quite adeptly,

at least he’s getting more self-aware about his own blind spots, or at least his ability to have them

Laurent, falling through scattered thoughts into sleep, said, ‘Yes, uncle.’

i think this line honestly might have been a step too far. not necessarily because it’s a bad thing for laurent to say, i get that it makes sense for him to associate this kind of vulnerability with [redacted], and it’s even possible that laurent doesn’t drink now because the regent got him drunk before he [redacted].

why i think it miiiiiiight not work, is the fact that damen doesn’t oh fuck wait i JUST made note of a line where damen acknowledges how he can “quite adeptly” ignore things, literally a few sentences ago. i can’t even say he would have noticed, or made note of it, because that is his character. and the irony is like right there on the page. it’s frustrating to read, but it’s an intentional choice. well played as usual!

[freneticsir]

Hey, hi. Welcome to the hellsite(affectionate)!

I never made much of a foray into twitter cause like, the real life ness of people there (and visible followers/am following. like. i have many different faces and a brain too small for multiple twitter logins).

but! I think your alien ocs are super neat lookin!

Question about your intro post tho, cause, again, clueless about tweeter shorthand.

I dont know what the etiquette youre expecting for your "closed species" is. (specifically that this isnt a term ive really run into before)

also by fanart being a hard no, is that saying that you arent making fanart of xyz, or that youd rather we not make fanart of your ocs and such?

and again! Welcome!

Hi! Thank you so much! 🥹🫶❤️❤️❤️

Speaking about my Closed Specie: folks should get a permission to make one! Specifically: through MYO purchase in my Discord Server, and then submit their designed bby for approval to be officially approved & added in a public Masterlist as official design owner ~

Also, folks who purchased a MYO will get an access to all that juicy Siris lore 😎✨

I’m currently working on the improving & renovating my Server by creating an activity encourangement system + creating a proper trait list for Sirises + actually organising that public Masterlist + modifying the pricing system for different rarity levels + creating a ToyHouse Siris world in perspective.. because I used to be veeery uneducated and new in all this CS world since I hosted the Server in June, but I’m slowly learning, thank to beautiful experienced folks in my Mod team 🥹🫶🌸🌸🌸

You can find the Server in my linktree ✨ (below)

Speaking about fanart: it’s ‘no’ to me only in terms of me drawing it! xD (you can read more about it in my today’s text post)

But I’m always super SUPER happy to see fanart of my precious OCs! It’s a MASSIVE dopamine for me! 😭🫶❤️🌸❤️🌸❤️❤️✨

[captainswanapproved]

Book Sale!

Hi everyone. As some of you know, I have written and self-published two Pride & Prejudice variations. Mr. Darcy’s Ship: Pride & Prejudice Reimagined and Mr. Darcy’s Kiss (A Pride and Prejudice Variation). 

To celebrate the beginning of summer, both are on sale starting today through the end of the month. 

Today, (May 26th) they are only $0.99 each! 

The rest of the sale schedule is down below. It would be awesome if you checked out these books. Kick off your summer reading with a great deal. Reblog and spread the word. Enjoy, and have a wonderful summer :)

Mr. Darcy’s Ship: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07B8Y6ZKF

Mr. Darcy’s Kiss: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EFQV3F6

[surlifen]

i dont waste energy hating closed species And You Can Too!

alright you asked for it

Claim 1: “Closed species limit creativity in the art community by locking off certain concepts.”

No, they don’t. If you believe that, then you also must believe that copyrighting in general-- or just generally the fact that making a design exactly like someone else’s is viewed as kind of wack-- are stifling creativity. Why? It’s easy to accidentally make a concept that is similar to someone else’s, because there are literally just not that many Things That Exist. There will ALWAYS be repeats. Generally, if a design coincidentally looks like another, there will be a mixture of backlash from people who believe it was an intentional ripoff, and total acceptance from people who understand that it was an accident. Ultimately, the correct way to live is to understand that 1) these coincidences can happen and should not be punished, but 2) intentionally ripping off someone else’s work is wrong. It isn’t black and white, you must process 2 or more concepts at once.

Species owners understand this. I have never seen a species owner come after someone for accidentally making something similar or inspired. This is a myth. Species owners are busy as fuck, generally Normal People, and simply do not have the time or energy or desire to moderate things outside their community. Please talk to literally any of them for more than two minutes and you will discover this. Every species owner I have met is friendly and kind and I’ll go into detail on exactly how bullshit this stereotype of them chasing people down for similarities is later.

So, given that some randos will get upset and harass people over harmless inspiration/coincidence but most will not in ALL cases of accidental over-similarity: this is NOT a species-specific problem and happens just as often--if not MORE often, because of how much people fucking despise closed species-- with non-closed-species characters.

Secondly, species owners do not create a closed species with the goal of closing off a concept from use. They do it to create a community they can manage and share a concept they have created. 

Take the world of Nephfei, created by the artist Queijac. The closed species of Nephfei are called Spinxyn, and they are very much sphinxes. They are not a brand-new concept Jac is claiming to have come up with, they are intentional and very direct references to sphinxes. What sets them apart is their species LORE, WORLD, and COMMUNITY.

[image ID: a screenshot of the Spinxyn species guide on deviantart, created by queijac. Text reads “IMPORTANT NOTE: Spinxyn are a species OF sphinx. Yes, they are sphinx, and yes of course anyone can make sphinx characters and designs using similar appearances! I claim no ownership over design aspects! Spinxyn as a CS community, however, which offers social art related activities, world building, themed events, etc., to use the characters in, simply relates to my own PERSONAL WORK and how i want to enrich peoples experiences with it! Please understand this, thank you!!!”]

This species is not closed so that Jac can copyright the idea of a sphinx. It is closed so that Jac has some control over the world and lore they have created. Were anyone able to create a Spinxyn without an approval process, not only would the community become too large to manage too quickly, but all sorts of Spinxyn with aspects that don’t fit the lore would pop up. 

[Image ID: screenshot of a message from Queijac in the nephfei official public Discord server. Text reads: “theres just a total disconnect that 99% of ppl making closed species are making. a Group...... its about.... the community....... and building the community around One concept that someone makes and puts rules in place for so that they can actually. U kno. MANAGE THINGS... and make a cohesive group experience....... the reason CS have so much popularity is because they come with a community, not because theyre 100% unique never before seen or heard of concepts”]

Jac explicitly acknowledges that sphinxes do not belong to them and even says that borrowing some spinxyn-specific appearance details is okay!!! The ONLY thing off-limits here is a WORLD, COMMUNITY, and LORE.

Except it isn’t. Because Nephfei also hosts not one, not two, but THREE open species of intelligent beings, plus NINE official species of non-intelligent animals, so that anyone can participate.

Claim 2: Species owners harass and police people who make similar concepts.

I touched on this already re:species owners are busy as fuck & Jac openly encouraging people to make sphinx characters and even borrow spinxyn-specific traits, but this note from ground-lion/seel, the creator of Chimereons, really does it for me.

[Image ID: a DeviantArt note from ground-lion to me. Text reads “hello, thank you for showing me this! we don't actively do anything to police offbrands, since it causes more trouble than i think it's worth. i like to avoid drama wherever possible, and it seems like most people who participate in offbrands are just looking to press people's buttons so we can't/won't do anything to these people, i think it is best to just try and ignore it and move on.”]

Here you have the owner of one of the arguably most shit on and hated species saying outright “we don’t bother doing anything about intentional ripoffs”. For context, this WAS 100% intentional, I had noted ground-lion about a user I saw posting adoptables that were LABELED “offbrand chimereons” (so if anyone was hArAsSiNg PeOpLe oVeR SiMiLaR cOnCePtS here, it was me, calling attention to intentional and stated copying). 

Sidenote: I think it’s shitty to intentionally steal a concept. Ground-lion has also said there is no issue with making anthropomorphic chameleon characters, just that chimereons were inspired by a set of traits, a word, lore, a desire to create a community, and their own personal stylization of anthro chameleons. It’s fine to take inspiration from how someone else stylizes an animal, but the degree to which people do it-- just outright copying every aspect of Seel’s work-- rubs me the wrong way. Not enough to say anything because that is only my personal opinion and because I do not have time for that shit.

The Dainty mod team + owner (Pajuxi-Adopts) also have a section stating that to make a design no longer a Dainty, all that’s needed are the following changes: 

[image ID: screenshot of Dainty species ToS. Text reads “ Visual edits must be made for discontinuation, here is our standard discontinuation options: - remove the stockings completely and give them fur like an actual satyr - keep the stockings and give them human legs - make them an anthro - keep the stockings but they MUST start at least a quarter to halfway up the bottom portion of the deer leg with a clear divide between the stocking and leg with fur poking out underneath - you are free to suggest your own edits as well! “]

This may be speaking specifically about discontinuing a former Dainty due to the context we found it in, but this means that a design is not considered a dainty if, for example, its stockings show fur underneath and are not part of the body. That’s it. That’s all they ask. Pajuxi is not saying “this is my closed species of SATYRS WITH SOCKS and if you DARE make a satyr with socks i will COME FOR YOU!!!”, they clearly state that satyrs with socks are an acceptable Not A Dainty. I personally think the lore behind the stockings being physically part of the body and all the specific rules they entail is interesting and original and I do not think it’s such a wild ask to say “hey, please respect this and if you see it, don’t rip it off on purpose. You can take inspiration in all these valid ways but I want to have some control over the concept I came up with”.

Claim 3: Species owners are rich elitists making small artists suffer.

Species owners are small, independent artists. Artists being hated the instant they get even moderate success (that’s still usually BARELY A LIVING WAGE) is its own huge discussion and internalized issues + capitalist brainwashing you all have to deal with on your own damn time, but I want to emphasize that someone making a living or even comfortable wage from their art is Good, Actually, and is something we should all be happy to see and want to see more of. 

Furthermore, no one is being taken advantage of. CS characters are a luxury item. You do not NEED one. If you absolutely will die without a sock deer, make one where the sock isn’t part of their body. If you will die without a chimereon, make an anthro chameleon and use your own ideas. If you will die without a sphinx character, I’m overjoyed to inform you that fucking nobody ever asked you not to make one. CS involvement is voluntary. If you don’t like them, don’t participate in them, but keep in mind that someone saying “hey, please don’t blatantly copy this design concept I spent time creating” is The Same Thing as someone asking you not to copy their individual character designs. You could live without stealing character designs. You can live without making something exactly like an existing CS. 

Claim 4: CS put concepts behind a paywall and make them inaccessible.

Again, these are a luxury item. Most closed species MYO slots cost $10-$45. That is not a ridiculous amount to aspire to. Closed species owners WANT people to participate in their species, so there are a ton of ways.

- Chimereons hold First-Time Owner flatsale slot raffles every single month to ensure people who are new to the community have a greater chance of nabbing a slot than existing participants - Dainties have an art prompt every month, which rewards every participant regardless of skill level one prompt point (the art can be visual or written). Six prompt points can be used to buy an MYO slot for free. If you desperately need a dainty and are flat broke, you can get a free one by writing 150 words a month for six months or doing one drawing each month. Skill level doesn’t matter, ALL participants get a point if they follow the rules. - I joined a raffle for a free pre-made Spinxyn. I did not win the raffle. Jac randomly decided to give out 7 MYO slots too, one of which I won. I entered a raffle that DID NOT HAVE MYO SLOTS AS A PRIZE and got one for free anyway. CS owners want people to participate, I promise. - Dainties just had a 24-hour turn-in event (that they warned about a month in advance so folks could prepare designs), meaning every single person who submits a design in that 24hr time frame gets a slot. Normally slot sales are limited in number and sell out in seconds. - Jac sporadically draws quicker, messier Spinxyn designs which always cost $5 and raffle-flatsales them on Discord. $5 is not a gatekeepy price. - Tomoyokis recently had a free-for-all event where everyone could claim either a free common slot or a $10 uncommon slot. These are just specific examples I remember of easier or free ways to get CS. Non-specifically:

- art = reward systems are common, so again, just writing or drawing enough can equal a free MYO slot or entry into a raffle for a pre-made design - many many species that are relatively new have FREE turn-in events or giveaways to build a community - free FTO slot raffles - paid but discounted FTO slot raffles - random free design giveaways - trading art for a CS character or MYO slot (I’ve gotten a dainty and two dainty MYO slots this way, and I realize not everyone’s art gets accepted, which is why this is a whole list of ways that don’t require artistic skill whatsoever)

So getting your hands on one isn’t the worst thing in the world. You might need a little luck (as in, you have a completely fair chance that is equal to everyone else’s) or a little dedication (6 months of wanting one, or having to have a design ready within a limited time for a free turn-in event).

Also, there’s a reason CS prices cannot change much: this causes issues with the value of all existing CS characters. Dainties will ALWAYS be $35. The MYO slot price will NEVER increase. If it did, all previous dainties would be worth less, or would have to have their worth increased, which is logistics hell. Inflation doesn’t affect CS the same way it does everything else.

Claim 5: ok but legally nothing is stopping me from making one lmaoo

That is true. It’s also true that there’s not really any effective laws in place to protect artists when they say “Hey, please don’t quote retweet my art on Twitter” or “Hey, please don’t repost my art even with credit”. Sometimes, we just respect artists and do what they ask because we are Nice Fucking People, but apparently, species owners are a whole different thing, evil, and do not deserve the same basic respect.

IN CONCLUSION

Talk to a CS owner. They’re reasonable and kind people. There’s an exception to every rule, of course, but what I’ve found overwhelmingly is that they’re literally just people like you and I who were excited to make something cool and share it with people. The emphasis is HUGELY on community. I used to dislike the idea of CS too, but since participating in them and talking a ton with the owners (who are super down-to-earth and active in their servers-- Jac helped me with a confusing horse video game and gave me a Free Horse in there), I’ve realized that the caricature of CS owners as greedy and bitchy, laying claim to basic concepts like A Cat With Wings, is just bullshit. The stereotype that CS community members are an angry mob who will roast you over a fire if you draw a chameleon on two legs is bullshit. The idea that CS are impossible to get, are for the bourgeoisie, and cost thousands of dollars is bullshit (I bet you’re thinking about scarfoxes right now. Hot take: I think it’s great that an artist is selling their intellectual property for that much. I think we all should be able to. I think if someone chooses to spend that much on a design they think would make them happy, that is literally not a fucking problem, and since it was their choice and their money no one is being taken advantage of unfairly. Let people buy the shit they want to buy, I promise you will fucking survive).

I like CS, I think they are neat, I wish people would give the owners a break. They are just independent artists like me. They get lied about and stereotyped over this stupid drama bullshit and they’re so tired and saddened when the subject comes up. They literally do not police anyone-- they don’t have the time or the desire, and it wouldn’t work anyway.

I won’t post CS content here anymore. But I like participating voluntarily in these communities. I don’t understand why that’s something YOU get to have a problem with.

Stay out of my inbox. Thanks.

[let-it-raines]

Not Your (soul)Mate {10/15}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate.

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature

A/n: Will my posting schedule ever make sense? Probably not. Anyways, thanks for reading, my pals! You guys are the best, and I love love love you all for loving this story and these two crazy people💜

Thank you to @captainsjedi for her love and support and artwork!

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list:  @initiala @snowbellewells @karenfrommisthaven @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @xellewoods @thejollyroger-writer @galaxyzxstark @cssns

-/-

No part of her understands why their cable bill is mailed to her. They’re a cable company. They provide TV and internet and yet they’ve never heard of paperless online billing. It’s ridiculous. And yet the minute she’s late with her payment she gets an increasingly nasty series of emails that shows they obviously know how to use the internet. And since Storybrooke Cable is the only company that provides internet in a sixty-mile radius, it’s not like they don’t have the funds to set up a website. Hell, she’ll take a class and learn how to program the website for them if she has to.

Well, probably not. That’s all a little dramatic, but she really hates having to go down to the mailboxes in the basement to get her mail so that she can go upstairs and write a check and buy a stamp to mail the payment in. It’s not the biggest deal in the world, but she hates it.

She obviously would not have lasted in a world without internet.

The old stairs creak beneath her, a sound that she’s used to when she’s carrying her laundry downstairs (it’s how she knows when she’s on the unsteady step since usually she can’t see over the full height of her clothes which is what procrastination gets her), and she quickly descends downstairs to the row of mailboxes that rest against the wall in front of the washing machines and dryers that work at least ninety percent of the time.

She and Belle need to move to a nicer place. They can afford it, but then again, if Belle moves, it’ll probably be with Will. It’s a constant thought every time Emma thinks about it, so she never quite works up the courage to bring up moving somewhere else. This place is just fine, they’ve made it their home, and so what if she has to walk to a bit of a creepy place to get her mail to pay her cable bill. It’s not like anyone in this town is actually going to do something to her.

They’d have hell to pay.

The stairs could use a little work, though, maybe a few new light fixtures for the hallways too.

Pulling out her key, she twists it in her box, opening it and grabbing the few envelopes that lay flat against the metal. She closes the box, locking it back up, and as she walks up the stairs, she shuffles through the mail, tripping on a loose board as she sees neat black script inked across the white in the upper left corner.

Killian Jones.

What the hell?

What the hell is he doing sending her a letter? Even though her toe is still stinging from how she jammed it, the pain worse than some of her injuries she’s gotten on the job, she stops in the middle of the staircase and rips the letter open.

Dear Emma Swan,

You’ll have to forgive me because it’s been awhile since I’ve written a letter that’s not an e-mail. I’ve been told by a rather reliable source that it’s a bit old-fashioned to write like this, but I do like a bit of a challenge. So, Swan, I’m sitting at my desk writing you a letter on stationary that Ariel found me and with my very favorite pen. And while I don’t expect you to write back, I have included several stamps to encourage you. You wouldn’t want me to waste money, now would you?

Anyways, I find myself wondering about you because you intrigue me. There are things I’d like to know. For instance, how long have you been a secret nerd watching the History Channel and National Geographic? I, for one, have been a fan for years. It’s fascinating to learn about things that have happened in the past. What other interests do you have? Do you enjoy sports? Read any good books lately? What is your ultimate favorite baked good? Do you like cooking them yourself? Are you one of those people who have a favorite flower? I am partial to sunflowers over roses, preferring the brightness of yellow, but then again, there are yellow roses.

I’m simply but a curious man who enjoys knowing the answers to my questions, and in return, you can feel free to ask me anything you want. I’d even tell you what kind of underwear I wear since you seem to be averse to answering that particular question.

Sincerely,

Killian A. Jones

“Oh my God,” she mumbles, scanning over the words one more time before opening up the envelope to see several stamps with pictures of sailboats on them.

A part of her absolutely cannot believe that he wrote her a freaking letter, but then again, she’s not really shocked. That’s exactly something that he would do just to annoy her, and the fact that he included stamps is really over the top. She’s not going to complain. She needs stamps, but damn, the man is persistent.

But she’s not going to write him back.

Absolutely not.

She folds his letter back up and puts it in the envelope before walking up the rest of the stairs and turning in the stairwell so she can get back to her floor, quickly moving into her apartment to write a check so she can send off the cable bill before she gets to work this morning. Belle is still sleeping, so she tries to stay quiet as she grabs her purse and walks right back out the door, all of her mail in the front pocket of her purse.

All day she ignores the letter that seems to be burning a hole through the leather material of her purse that’s hidden under her desk, but it’s more of an attempt at ignoring it than actually ignoring it, because when David leaves to go question a fight that broke out down by the pier, she grabs a piece of paper out of the printer and starts writing something back.

Damn it. Has she lost control of her limbs?

Jones,

You’re ridiculous. Seriously. I can’t believe you took our texts as a challenge, but then again, it is you. I have no idea why I’m writing you back, but you did say that I could ask you any question I want, and, well, I simply can’t pass up that opportunity.

So tell me, what is the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you? And spare no detail.

Sincerely,

Emma Swan.

PS: I am a mean ping pong player, and I agree with you about the roses. If you’re looking for a good book recommendation, though, I suggest Belle. She gives me all of mine.

Oh, and bear claws.

And I want to know what the A in your name stands for.

Quickly, she stuffs the paper in an envelope, seals it, writes his address on it, places a stamp in the corner, and puts it in the mailbox outside of the station so that she literally can’t take it back without tampering with federal law. She’ll bend a lot of rules, but she’s not going to break federal law over something as dumb as a letter.

Two days later, she gets a letter back. There’s no formal address this time, and she kind of likes that…not that she likes this.

Really went straight for the kill then, eh Swan? It took me a bit to remember what exactly my most embarrassing memory is, simply because I’m so suave that I don’t have many embarrassing moments.

However, when I was a young lad of twenty-three, I had the night off and left base to go out to a pub with a few of my mates. This was something we did often, something we’d done for our five years together, but on this particular night I indulged in a few too many glasses of rum. My tolerance wasn’t quite what it is now, even if I do wake up feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck now, and while I don’t remember the night but in a few glances (particularly me telling the lasses that I was the Captain when I was not), I do remember waking up in the flat of a woman I didn’t know without my clothes anywhere in sight. Either she stole them, my mates somehow stole them, or something else happened, but my options to get home were either walking in the streets of Birkenhead in the nude or wearing this lass’s mother’s nightgown. It was this billowing, flowery thing, and while I fully believe I can wear anything I want, let’s just say my actual Captain did not take too kindly to me walking back onto base in something that was not approved. I was written up three times for one incident, and I’d just like you to imagine me having to explain why to my superiors why I was wearing a nightgown when I had no idea myself.

I have to say, though, nightgowns are quite comfortable. Lots of air to breathe. It’s likely a good thing that my mates thought it would be funny to buy me a nightgown when I was promoted. It was much more my taste. Silk is wonderful, though I don’t think I ever wore it. I much prefer my briefs.

So, there’s a story of one of the brightest moments of my youth, and while I’m sure you’ll somehow use it to torture me, it’s yours to know.

My middle name is, Andrew, by the way, and the lovely Belle has recommended me to The Guest Book as reading material. It’s rather good. Feel free to borrow my copy if you’d like. Speaking of Belle, I hear Mr. French makes rather delectable bear claws, but he’s in a fierce rivalry with Mrs. Lucas over who makes the best. Personally, I think they’re using pastries as a bit of foreplay, but that’s simply a theory from an observer.

Now, Swan, I’ve metaphorically shown you mine, so you should show me yours.

Have a good week,

Killian Andrew Jones.

Emma doesn’t realize it, but by the time she’s finished reading the letter, she’s got tears streaming down her face, just a few of them, from laughing at the thought of Killian running around in a nightgown. That’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard, but for some reason, she has no issue imagining him walking into base in a flowery nightgown that hits at his knees and shows off all of the hair on his legs with the shoulders being a little tight. It’s ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, and she’s glad that Belle is still at the library so that she doesn’t ask what in the world Emma is laughing at.

It would be a little hard to explain.

Well, not really, but she doesn’t want to explain. Because her explaining any of this would make her have to explain other things, and since Belle already knows that Killian sent her the basket of baked goods months ago. So it would be too difficult to explain her...having to explain. This is kind of like some sort of bad inception.

But Belle’s not even here, so it definitely doesn’t matter.

While she’s still laughing, she gets up from the table and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a wine glass out of the cabinets and pouring her a glass of the wine that she and Belle didn’t finish drinking last night. If she’s going to spend her time writing letters to Killian, which is a ridiculous concept in and of itself, she should at least have some alcohol in her.

Not enough to make her have to wake up without clothes and have to borrow an ugly nightgown from the mother of the person she’d slept with but some alcohol all the same.

She doesn’t have any paper here, so she has to shuffle through some of the old notebooks Belle keeps on their bookshelves, and takes out a lined page from the back, settling down on the couch with her wine and paper and pin while Drain the Oceans plays on the TV.

Killian Andrew (Asshole) Jones,

I’ve added the “asshole” because I really did think that was your middle name. You did say you would respond to it, but I guess Andrew is okay. Is that a family name? Your father’s maybe? I don’t have a middle name, didn’t even have a last name, only my first, but I’ve always kind of thought it would be something classic since my first name is.

Shit. I just got wine on the paper. Oops.

So you and that rum, huh? You seem to be a fan of it. And also nightgowns. Are you sure you don’t sleep in one of those? Is that why you don’t have a girlfriend? You scare them all away with your nightgown. I imagine it makes easy access to...things, so really, they should like it better than the briefs. It’s just a great mystery that may never be solved.

Granny’s bear claws are better than Mr. French’s hands down, but Mr. French has better pastries overall. Plus, he’s like my dad, so you implying that they have a thing going on is really kind of freaking me out. I bet Granny wears a nightgown, though, which makes my earlier joke about easy access so much creepier.

Some things simply shouldn’t be imagined. But if you’re going to, make sure to tell Ruby to scar her for life.

I haven’t read that book, but if Belle recommends it, it must be good. I’ll have to check it out. I’ve been very into historical romances lately, which isn’t really on par for me, but there’s simply something about Jane Austen, you know?

Thanks for telling me your most embarrassing story. You’re right. I’m totally going to use that against you, and no, I will not tell you my most embarrassing story. It involves karaoke, though, so it’s a good one.

Emma

If she hadn’t had the wine, she probably would have realized that she revealed a bit too much in her letter, but after she seals it that night and sends it off in the morning, still using the sailboat stamps Killian provided, she doesn’t think about it.

Not at all.

What she does think about is the fact that eight days go by without a new letter. She didn’t even realize that she wanted another letter, that she got a weird sense of excitement over them, until she wasn’t receiving one in her mailbox.

Who has she turned into that she’s checking her mailbox daily?

What decade is this?

But her week has gone by as normal, spending her days at work, reveling in the hour break she gets to eat lunch with David or Ariel, and her evenings at home, sometimes with Belle, sometimes not. On Saturday she, Ruby, Belle, Mary Margaret, and Ariel all spent the day at the beach, waking up early enough to beat all of the tourists there, and settled down with blankets and umbrellas with bags full of food and a cooler full of drinks. They didn’t bother moving, not unless to dip into the ocean to cool themselves off or to run up to the pier to use the restroom, and even if her eyes constantly trailed down to the pier to look at the fleet of ships and boats and what not resting outside of the Jones’ office.

And if her eyes kept checking her texts even if most everyone she spoke to was already there, no one had to know. Though she does think that Ruby noticed.

She wasn’t very subtle in her desperation.

But she didn’t see him, not that she wanted to, and she tried to push it all to the back of her mind to enjoy the day as the sun beat down on her skin so that she got the slightest bit of a tan that she hopes stays with her until the fall.

Okay, so she thinks about the lack of a letter a lot.

However, she wasn’t thinking about it when she was driving home from work, but now that she’s standing next to the door of her apartment with Will holding a stack of their mail, it’s all she can think about.

Shit.

Why didn’t it occur to her that she and Belle share a mailbox and that Belle could see one of these letters? How could she have missed that?

“Hey,” she cautiously greets, placing her keys down, the clanging loud in her ears, on the table and stepping further into the room, “I didn’t know you were coming over tonight.”

“Belle and I are going to dinner. Why do you have a letter from Jones?”

“Huh?” she asks, trying to keep her voice steady even though her heart is beating wildly in her chest, the sound louder than it has been in a long time. She can feel it all the way down to her toes. “I have a letter?”

Will raises his eyebrow, obviously not believing her, and as casually as she can, she steps forward and takes the letter from Will, stuffing it away in the back pocket of her jeans.

“So where are you guys going for dinner?” Emma asks to change the subject.

“Eric’s place. He gives me a discount.”

“Ah, yes, because everyone wants discount fish.”

“Oi, it’s not like he’s giving us the old fish.”

“So you think. If you guys die in a few days, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“We’ll be dead, and you’ll be bragging about it.”

“Exactly.” She steps around Will and sits down on the couch, reaching down to unlace her boots and kick them off. “I guess I’ll miss you.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Emma,” Belle shouts, and Emma leans her head back to look down the hall to see Belle standing in the hallway, “can I borrow those teal heels that you wore last week?”

“Yeah, they’re in my bathroom.”

Belle doesn’t say anything back, but less than a minute she comes into their living room wearing the teal heels and a little black dress, fluffing out her hair over her shoulders while Will grabs his coat off the chair, stepping up to her and kissing her cheek, whispering something that Emma doesn’t pick up on, which is good. It’s private, and she doesn’t need to hear things about their private life.

Her hearing thing has been wonky lately anyways. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.

“We probably won’t be back until late,” Belle tells her, and Emma reaches her hand up over the couch to let Belle grab onto it. “Do you want me to bring you back anything?”

“Nah, you two go have fun. Don’t do anything that I’ll have to investigate.”

“Well, that just takes all of the fun away.”

After the two of them leave, she leans up on the couch and pulls the later out of her back pocket, hoping that Will forgets about it and doesn’t mention it to Belle, and quickly opens the sealed envelope, her nerves running over every inch of her skin and making her fingers shake the slightest bit as she straightens the creases out of the paper.

Emma,

I apologize for my late reply, but you seem to have caught me at a bad time. I had a client call and request a refurbishment on his seafaring vessel (his words, not mine), and I’ve been consumed with it. I love this job. It’s a way to keep me connected to the ocean, a place where I spent so much of my life, but this is different. And it certainly didn’t help that my wrist decided to act up a bit this week. It’s the weather and all.

Regardless, I do wish you would have told me your most embarrassing story. I feel like it’s a real ice breaker, and I love karaoke....if I’m drunk. But then again, bad things seem to happen when I’m drunk. So wine? That’s your vice? I always took you more as a tequila or whiskey type, but then again, I’m learning that I know very little about you, love. Though, I like that it’s changing a bit, if I may be so bold.

Jane Austen is bloody brilliant, and it’s nice to hear of someone else appreciating her. Mr. Darcy and I have a lot in common, you know? I, too, screw up with strong-willed women and then have to realize the error of my ways to have them allow me back into their lives. Or, at least, I hope. Tell me, if you’re a fan of historical romances, how are you not a fan of letter writing when that is such a core piece of the story? Is it simply that you don’t like modern day letter writing because it, for practical reasons, doesn’t make any sense? We could have had this entire conversation in ten minutes, but it’s taken eight days. Yet, this is a bit more fun, even though talking to you does incite other kinds of fun.

As to my middle name, it’s my mother’s maiden name. My father’s name is Brennan, and the only thing I carry from him is the Jones name, which is likely a good thing. He wasn’t a good man. He was a drunk, and he abandoned us when I was ten. I’m proud to be a Jones because of my brother and my mum, so like you, I suspect that my last name carries a weight that most don’t.  

Anyways, that’s much too much information about me. Tell me, Swan, there’s a Summer Regatta coming up in two weeks. Do you think you’ll be at the festival? I know someone who can get you a free ride on a boat.

Killian.

He’s got a screwed up family too.

That’s what she gets out of all of that. It’s not that he loves the same books that she does, not that he correctly guessed her drinking vices, not that he practically invited her to be his date to the regatta in over Labor Day weekend. It’s the fact that he has a screwed up family, a drunk deadbeat dad and a dead mom. She knew his family life wasn’t great, if only because Elsa never mentions having to take the kids to go see Liam’s parents.

Huh.

She can kind of see it now, can see that he is a bit of an orphan too, and even though he had parents, it breaks her heart. No one should ever have to grow up without having people love them, and she’s thankful that Killian had Liam and their mom. That’s a nice thing for them to have a family, even if it’s not what most people would call complete.

Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s the fact that she suddenly understands Killian in a way that she knows only a few people can, but she pulls out her phone and lets her fingers move without thinking about it too much.

Emma: So not a fan of karaoke then? Is your voice that bad?

The three dots pop up almost immediately after she presses send only for them to disappear, only coming back every few seconds. He’s either trying to think of what to say or realized that he’s texting back incredibly fast. It’s nice to know some things never change.

Killian: For someone who is incredibly attracted to my voice, that’s a bold thing for you to suggest.

Emma: Touché.

Emma: So it’s not bad then?

Killian: I’ve been told that it’s actually pretty good, but I find that karaoke does nothing but bring embarrassment unless you’ve been drinking all day.

Emma: Okay, but say you have…what’s your go-to song?

Kilian: Easy. Anything Elton John. He’s so easy to understand.

Emma: You’re kidding, right?

Killian: Nope.

He definitely has to be kidding.

Emma: I figured you’d be more of a Queen or Beatles guy. I’m pretty partial to Queen.

Killian: Well, I could do those too. Or pretty much anything from the eighties. I feel old, but I don’t know a lot of the new songs.

Emma: That’s because you are old.

Killian: Being older than you doesn’t make old. And as you can tell, I’ve retained my youthful glow.

Emma: Sure, we’ll call it that.

She takes another sip of her wine and turns the volume up a bit on the television so that she’s not simply staring at her phone waiting for him to text her back. That’d be pathetic. Then again, she’s sitting at home drinking wine and watching the History Channel while her roommate is out on a date. That could be considered pathetic. Or very, very smart depending on who is asked.

Killian: What are you up to tonight, love?

Emma: Watching Drain the Ocean, though I’ll be honest and say I have no idea what’s going on.

Emma: You?

Killian: The same, actually.

Emma: Creepy.

Killian: Believe it or not, I think we have similar taste in television shows.

Emma: Ugh, I know. I can’t believe I have so much in common with an old man.

Killian: If you keep flattering a man like this, he might get the impression that you like him.

Emma: Never.

Emma: At least we don’t like the same foods. Unless you secretly like junk food.

Killian: I enjoy certain kinds, but I don’t think I have the same propensity for grilled cheese, onion rings, and bear claws like you do.

Emma: I also like poptarts and brownies. Oooh and lots of icing.

Killian: You’re a child.

Emma: Oh, come on. You don’t like icing?

Killian: If there’s cake attached, yeah.

Emma: No, no. You’ve got this all wrong. Straight out of the can.

Killian: You also eat raw cookie dough, don’t you?

Emma: Duh.

Killian: I do like cookies, though. And mostly pastries that involve fruit. It makes it all feel a little healthier.

Emma: You’re in shape. I think you’ve got the healthy thing down.

Killian: I knew you liked staring at my ass.

Emma: I said nothing about your ass.

Killian: Just my general body then? The abs? The biceps? My collarbone? What about my left ankle? You’re into period romances. I bet the left ankle really does it for you.

“Oh my God,” she mutters to herself, putting her glass down on the coffee table and standing from the couch, smiling to herself as she reads the message and walks to the kitchen. He’s such an idiot.

Such an idiot.

And now she really wants something sweet to eat, so she presses up on her toes and gets a can of chocolate icing out of the pantry popping open the top and grabbing a spoon out of the drawer so she can at least be a little civilized about the whole thing. Without putting much thought into it, she holds the spoon full of icing up to her mouth and takes a quick picture, not checking to see what she looks like before sending it to Killian.

Emma: See? This is the way to eat sweets.

The three dots pop up before they disappear just like before, and she doesn’t really have time to think about it before the front door is swinging open and Belle is walking inside, an obviously bright red flush on her pale cheeks.

“I’m engaged,” she squeals, holding her left hand up as she walks into the apartment, a small diamond ring resting there.

“What?” Emma gasps, nearly choking on her icing before she puts the spoon and the container down, running her tongue over her teeth to wipe up all of the excess icing. “You’re engaged?”

“Yes! Will asked at dinner. Oh my gosh. You know, I always swore I wouldn’t be one of those girls, but I did the thing where I put my hands over my mouth when he got down on one knee.”

“Of course you did,” she laughs, reaching forward and wrapping Belle up in a hug, squeezing her as tightly as she can while she sees Will walk into the apartment, bags of takeout in his hands and a smile on his face that tells Emma he’s just as happy as Belle is. Good. They deserve all of the happiness. “I’m so damn happy for you. Both of you.”

“And you’ll be so much happier when you know that I brought you earplugs for tonight,” Will tells her when she hugs him.

“That is so gross.”

“I’m simply trying to be helpful.”

“Babe,” Belle laughs, walking over to the two of them and leaning into Will to press a kiss into his cheek, “stop grossing Emma out and give me five minutes to tell her what happened before we can let her put the earplugs into use.”

“Nope, nope, no,” she refuses, putting her hands in the air, “you guys just go. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Perfect.”

“Please ignore him.”

“I promise you I’m trying.”

Will and Belle go back to their room, and she takes the opportunity to grab her phone, her icing, and plant herself in front of the television, turning to volume up so that she doesn’t have to risk hearing anything else. Tonight will probably be the night that her weird hearing thing picks up again.

She is so damn happy for the two of them, a bit of a buzz of happiness spreading over her skin, but she can’t help the little voice in her head that wonders what’s next for her if the two of them are getting married.

She hates that she thinks that.

Her phone dings, and she looks down at it, forgetting that she was texting Killian before Belle and Will came home.

How long were they texting for her friends to get engaged during that time? That’s…a lot of time. Did it really all go by that quickly? She didn’t even notice.

Killian: I mean, there’s definitely something sweet in that picture that I’d like to eat.

Emma chuckles under her breath, unable to help herself, especially when accompanying the text is a picture of him holding a banana over half of his face, the scars on his wrist and the chain around his neck visible even in the dimness of his apartment. And damn it. This was not supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen.

She likes Killian Jones. 

[mattandsaraproductions]

Hey @riteofashkente sometime during the last ice age, you asked me to expand on my comments about CS Lewis and the Problem of Susan. Going through my drafts, I found a mostly written post, so here it (finally) is:

So, first, the sexism; and second, the dilemma resulting from Lewis’s careless writing.

First: The whole nylons, lipsticks, and parties thing. Now, it’s true that the text doesn’t say Susan is going to hell for this. But that’s hardly the criticism, though it’s a response you hear from people who think that’s the criticism. Lewis’s defenders always say something along the lines of “The issue isn’t stockings and lipsticks, it’s that Susan is shallow.” My reply to this is quite simple: Yes, Lewis assuredly did mean to write that Susan’s flaw is shallowness, in contrast to her siblings’ praying to Aslan or whatever. But that’s one hell of a backhanded compliment to him. The problem is that Lewis’s shorthand for being shallow is “things coded as feminine.” This is the man who treated women’s tan lines as a moral failing, so I think this matter is pretty well settled. Lewis’s intent means precisely jack when what we’re criticizing is his sexist attitudes. 

We also have the defense “He wasn't a misogynist” as if what we’re criticizing him for were misogyny rather than sexism. Not only is something like “The Shoddy Lands” (the aforementioned “eww tan lines, women’s bodies are gross when they aren't for men”) obviously misogynistic, in the case of Susan it’s sexism (as beliefs about women) rather than misogyny (as moralizing or policing the social order) that’s at issue. While, depending on how we interpret what’s going on, Susan’s fate might also be argued to be an instance of Lewis’s misogyny, it’s primarily the sexism that’s the issue. Lewis’s beliefs about women - in particular, their inferiority to men, the proper place of women in society, etc. - are what explains why his shorthand for “this character is shallow” is that she likes lipstick rather than, for example, literally any other thing someone might be obsessed with. After all, what Lewis needs is merely that Susan have some interest that takes precedence over Aslan. What he says is that she’s interested in stereotypically feminine things like makeup and parties, because to Lewis those things are inherently shallow (being that they’re feminine). CS Lewis was a right dick, is what I’m saying.

Now, part of the problem is that this all happens off-page. And since Lewis was never overly interested in the inner psychological life of his characters (more on that below), it jars with readers’ idea of who Susan is that now – in contrast to the character we read, and with none of this development happening on the page – Susan has become this shallow, flighty character. That’s bad writing.

In the absence of any A to B character-building that shows us how Susan has changed, all we have is this quick “She’s become silly and conceited.” It’s telling rather than showing, which is something the books are full of (again: Lewis is a bad fiction writer. His characters are chess pieces for his Platonism apologia (Lewis was a Platonist who mistook himself for a Christian), rather than being people in a story, and his hostility to consent in no way helps this. But those are several other topics). The problem, again, is not Lewis’s intent to write that Susan is shallow. It’s that Lewis, needing to get the point across quickly, reaches for things that are not gender-neutral. Done and dusted, as far as he’s concerned, because femininity is evidence of shallowness to him. That’s the problem.

But... I don’t think it’s the full problem. The above is the issues with Lewis’s sexist writing, but there’s another thing, which is less commented on, that I take to be the real Problem of Susan. It’s a dilemma, and it goes like this:

Either the Pevensie children remember everything that happened to them in Narnia, or they don’t. If they don’t (as in the beginning of Prince Caspian when they don't remember Narnia except as a kind of dream), then Susan cannot be faulted (as her siblings think) for treating Narnia as a game they played to amuse themselves during the Blitz. On this horn of the dilemma, if the Pevensies do not remember Narnia with the waking clarity of memory, Susan cannot be blamed for not remembering.

And if they do remember? If Susan does remember Narnia? Then the matter is so much worse. For remember, they all grew up in Narnia. Susan is a queen, with a court and official duties and suitors. She is an adult, thrust back into the body of a teenager, at an age and time when she will not be listened to. That’s horrifying. Nylons, and lipsticks, and parties, then, are not evidence of shallowness, but a way Susan can regain some measure of standing in a society that treats her as unimportant because of her age and gender (an analysis of femininity that Lewis would surely have hated, since he hated “New Women” for denying innate femininity (see, for example, the woman who’s head of Eustace and Jill’s school). That is, for Lewis, lipstick and nylons are bad because of women’s independence, not because sex. It’s not that sex bothered him; it’s that he didn’t like that women weren’t seeking men’s approval (Susan doesn't want your approval. She is a Queen of Narnia, after all). On this horn of the dilemma, Susan isn’t shallow, rather, she’s trying to regain what was lost in a world which is not her own anymore.

So if Susan can remember Narnia, then her siblings are being judgy, sexist assholes (and since this is Narnia, where characters have opinions by authorial fiat, Lewis is being a judgy, sexist asshole too). But suppose Susan cannot remember Narnia. I don’t see why we should blame Susan for liking nylons and lipstick and parties on this account either, unless you think no one who likes those things can be anything but vain and shallow. Time and again, in Narnia and other writings, Lewis judged his characters for not doing what he wanted and for not liking the same things he liked. Vegetarians (CS Lewis was against soy boys before it was cool), people of color, modernity, insufficiently masculine men (see: vegetarians), female clergy, outspoken women, butch women, young women, old women.

Luckily for all of us, modern children’s fantasy is a big place, and we can leave behind Christian apologetics masquerading as mediocre literature.

[phgq]

CSC issues hiring guidelines, including conduct of online interviews   

#PHinfo: CSC issues hiring guidelines, including conduct of online interviews   

PASIG CITY, July 13 (PIA)-- Government agencies may resume filling-up of vacant positions, issuance of appointments, among other human resource actions guided by the Interim Guidelines on Appointments and Other Human Resource Actions (IGAOHRA) for the Period of State of Calamity Due to COVID-19 Pandemic.

The announcement was made by the Civil Service Commission (CSC) through Resolution No. 2000659 promulgated on 8 July 2020 which laid down the parameters on hiring for first and second level positions, including second level executive/managerial positions in the career service, and those appointed to the non-career service who are non-presidential appointees during State of Calamity.  

The IGAOHRA takes effect retroactively or on 16 March 2020, the date of the declaration placing the entire country under State of Calamity. It shall remain in force until lifted.

In recruiting and selecting candidates, agencies shall adopt internal guidelines that will allow  online recruitment and selection processes such as online competency assessments, video conferencing for interviews and selection board deliberations. Agencies should provide CSC Regional Office and CSC Field Office concerned a copy of said guidelines.  

In addition, electronic signatures on copies of appointment are now allowed with the head of the agency ensuring authenticity, certifying its use, and submitting specimen signatures to the CSC RO concerned.

Appointees who will assume their duties during the effectivity of the ECQ/MECQ may be allowed to report through the alternative work arrangements adopted by the agency or within thirty (30) days from the lifting of the ECQ/MECQ.

The administration of oath of office may be done through virtual modes such as video conferencing provided that the appointee was furnished a copy of the appointment through e-mail and receipt is acknowledged with the electronic signature affixed.  Those who have taken the oath of office and assumed the duties of the position are entitled to receive salary without awaiting the approval/validation of the appointment by the CSC.

The imposition of the ECQ/MECQ and other general community quarantine does not extend the probationary period of appointees availing of the alternative work arrangements adopted by the agency. But, for those whose nature of work could only be performed onsite, the probationary period is extended for the duration of the quarantine period.

On the required publication and posting of vacant positions, the nine-month validity period of publication pursuant to Section 29 of the 2017 Omnibus Rules on Appointments and Other Human Resource Actions (ORAOHRA) is extended for the period equivalent to the duration of the enhanced community quarantine (ECQ) or modified enhanced community quarantine (MECQ) imposed in the area where the agency is located. Reckoning is based on the date of its lifting. Thus, the duration of the ECQ/MECQ is not included in the counting of the nine-month validity period of publication.

However, if the vacant position is not filled-up within the said extension, the agency is required to re-publish and post the vacancy as well as submit the electronic copy of the Request for Publication of Vacant Positions (CS Form No. 9, Revised 2018) to the CSC Field Office (CSC FO) concerned through e-mail.

Agencies are allowed to transmit appointments to CSC Field Offices via e-mail together with the Appointment Transmittal and Action Form (ATAF) for regulated agencies or Report on Appointments Issued (RAI) for accredited/deregulated agencies, including the requirements for regular appointments within 30 calendar. On the other hand, hard copies must be submitted within sixty (60) calendar days upon the lifting of the ECQ/MECQ.

Appointments submitted through e-mail may be approved/validated if the appointee meets the qualification standards of the position subject to revalidation upon submission of the original copies of the appointment, plantilla of position, and other supporting documents required under ORAOHRA, and verification of civil service eligibility of the candidate. In case of disapproval/invalidation of appointments, the 2017 Rules on Administrative Cases in the Civil Service (RACCS) will be followed.

For the full text of CSC Resolution No. 2000659 and CSC Memorandum Circular No. 14, log on to the CSC website at www.csc.gov.ph. (link) (PIA NCR)

***

References:

* Philippine Information Agency. "CSC issues hiring guidelines, including conduct of online interviews   ." Philippine Information Agency. https://pia.gov.ph/news/articles/1047432 (accessed July 13, 2020 at 01:37PM UTC+08).

* Philippine Infornation Agency. "CSC issues hiring guidelines, including conduct of online interviews   ." Archive Today. https://archive.ph/?run=1&url=https://pia.gov.ph/news/articles/1047432 (archived).

[lucky-clover-gazette]

kings rising highlights & annotations

chapter 10

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

The events of last night, endlessly complicated in the candlelit privacy of Laurent’s bedchamber, had resolved into a single, blissful fact this morning. Laurent missed him.

<3

He felt a flutter of illicit joy when he thought of it. He remembered Laurent gazing up at him. You keep overturning all my plans. Laurent was going to be furious when he arrived at the morning meeting.

he’s going to be in such a bad mood <3 i love their love

‘You’re in a good mood,’ Nikandros said, as he came into the hall. Damen clapped him on the shoulder, and took up his place at the long table. ‘We’re going to take Karthas,’ said Damen.

“also my divorce husband likes me again”

Straton arrived with Philoctus, arranging their skirts as they sat. Makedon was already present, along with Enguerran. Vannes arrived and took her seat, arranging her skirts similarly

i like how skirts are contextualized as authoritative here, and the female character who you’d expect based on traditional stereotypes to be the only one in the skirt, and whose dress skirt is nothing like the akielon battle skirts, is still seamlessly grouped in with the men

Laurent entered, an edge to his grace, like a leopard with a headache, around whom one must tread very, very carefully. ‘Good morning,’ said Damen. ‘Good morning,’ said Laurent. This was said after an infinitesimal pause, as if maybe for once in his life the leopard wasn’t quite certain what to do. Laurent sat on the throne-like seat of oak beside Damen, and kept his eyes carefully on the space in front of him.

screaming they’re so ridiculous. laurent is so out of his element with no idea what happened

‘Laurent!’ said Makedon, greeting Laurent warmly. ‘I am glad to take up your invitation to hunt with you in Acquitart when this campaign is over.’ He clapped Laurent on the shoulder. Laurent said, ‘My invitation.’ Damen wondered whether he had ever been clapped on the shoulder in his life.

laurent let his self-sim go on full autonomy for a night and is discovering that he’s now best friends with makedon

This provoked a wave of soldierly camaraderie. Laurent did not typically engage in soldierly camaraderie, and did not know what to do.

fucking nerd

‘You’ve sent riders to announce your plans?’ said Laurent. ‘This is the Akielon way,’ said Makedon, as he might to a favoured nephew a bit slow at learning. ‘An honourable victory will impress the kyroi and gain the favour that we need at the Kingsmeet.’ ‘I see, thank you,’ said Laurent.

laurent thinks war is brutal and fucked up and doesn’t approve of the “decency” of akielon customs. also he’s a passive aggressive bitch

Makedon was explaining the virtues of iron tea to Laurent, and when Laurent massaged his own temple with finely bred fingers, Makedon remarked, rising, ‘You should have your slave fetch you some.’ ‘Fetch me some,’ Laurent said. Damen rose. And stopped. Laurent had gone very still. Damen stood there, awkwardly. He could think of no other reason why he had stood up.

GUYS.

He looked up and his eyes met those of Nikandros, who was staring at him. Nikandros was with a small group to one side of the table, the last of the men in the hall. He was the only one to have seen and heard. Damen just stood there.

this would be an hr complaint if anyone else noticed, but only nik saw so private twitter vent #12 it is

The acidulous blue of Laurent’s gaze on him had nothing to do with the meeting. ‘Nothing happened,’ said Damen. ‘Something happened,’ said Laurent.

honestly i think part of laurent would have preferred if they fucked to just being vulnerable and affectionate and damen being decent

‘You were drunk,’ said Damen. ‘I took you back to your rooms. You asked me to attend you.’ ‘What else?’ said Laurent. ‘I did attend you,’ said Damen. ‘What else?’ said Laurent. He had thought having the upper hand over a hungover Laurent would be a rather enjoyable experience, except that Laurent was beginning to look like he was going to vomit. And not from the hangover. ‘Oh, stand down. You were too drunk to know your own name, let alone who you were with or what you were doing. Do you really think I’d take advantage of you in that condition?’ Laurent was staring at him. ‘No,’ he said awkwardly, as if, only now giving the question his full attention, he was coming to realise the answer. ‘I don’t think you would.’ His face was still white, his body in tension. Damen waited.

<3 i don’t have too much heavy analysis because this is so much payoff to previous analysis. laurent trauma intimacy issues, damen’s never-ending decency that laurent does not expect, damen being delighted/amused by laurent allowing himself to be vulnerable but also sensitive to the discomfort of that vulnerability

‘Did I,’ Laurent said. It took him a long time to push the words out. ‘Say anything.’ Laurent held himself taut, as if for flight. He lifted his eyes to meet Damen’s. ‘You said you missed me,’ said Damen. Laurent flushed, hard, the change in colour startling. ‘I see. Thank you for—’ He could see Laurent taste the edges of the statement. ‘—resisting my advances.’ In the silence, he could hear voices beyond the door that had nothing to do with the two of them, or the honesty of the moment that almost hurt, as if they stood again in Laurent’s chambers by the bed. ‘I miss you too,’ he said. ‘I’m jealous of Isander.’ ‘Isander’s a slave.’ ‘I was a slave.’ The moment ached. Laurent met his gaze, his eyes too clear. ‘You were never a slave, Damianos. You were born to rule, as I was.’

we are so fucking back. sooo bittersweet, with this little shutdown of “we can’t have each other and we never really could have” a kingdom or this etc, they’ll figure it out soon we are in the home stretch

It was a beautiful fort. He saw that, the ghost of its Veretian grace; of what it had been; of what it could be again, perhaps. For his part, this was farewell. He wouldn’t return here, or if he did, as a visiting King, it would be different, restored as it should be to Veretian hands. Marlas, so hard-won, he would simply give back.

or you could both be kings together. just a suggestion.

That was strange to think. Once a symbol of Akielon victory, it seemed now a symbol of all that had changed in him, the way that when he looked now, he saw with new eyes.

:)

Damen looked back at Genevot. Genevot was trembling. She wasn’t scared. She was furious. She was furious at him, at his presence here. ‘It wasn’t fair what happened to your village,’ Damen said to her. ‘No fight is fair. Someone’s always stronger. But I’ll give you justice. That I swear.’ ‘I wish Akielons had never come to Delfeur,’ said the girl. ‘I wish someone had been stronger than you.’ She turned her back on him after she said it. It was an act of bravery, a girl in front of a king. Then she went and picked up a coin from the floor. ‘It’s all right, Genevot,’ said the girl. ‘Look, I’ll teach you a trick. Watch my hand.’

she is/was laurent. laurent is/was her. so many poignant references to damen and laurent's "discussion" during the marlas rematch. this is a perfect moment, and the coin trick recognition is just the cherry on top

Damen’s skin prickled as he recognised it, the echo of another presence, the achingly familiar self-possession that the girl mimicked as she closed her hand over the coin, holding her fist out in front of her. He knew who had been here before him, who had sat with her, taught her. He had seen this trick before. And though her eight-year-old sleight of hand was a little clumsy, she managed to push the coin into her sleeve, so that when she opened her hand again, it was empty.

laurent’s resilience becomes vere’s resilience becomes becomes damen’s resilience. and damen had a large part in creating the circumstances that required laurent to become so resilient, which is a fascinating cycle. i don’t know if damen regrets what happened with auguste yet on a purely idealistic level (as opposed to feeling bad for laurent), or if he ever fully will, because his perception of akielon “decency” in war is still slowly evolving.

i’m guessing that the final straws for damen will be the realizations about the regent and kastor, and only then will he fully Get that it is all fucked, war can't be civil, and there could have been peace instead this entire time. there is no divine right of the “strongest” people simply deserving dominion over others, and the best way one can use authority is to show compassion to enemies and allies alike. it’s not just that the strong shouldn’t hurt the weak—they shouldn’t hurt the strong either, ideally. and while that can sometimes be unavoidable, it’s important to build a world where peace is the goal. which he can laurent can both do, together :)

He saw Laurent, also mounted, a frowning spicule with blond hair. Rigidly upright in the saddle, his polished armour gleamed, his eyes impersonal with command. With the head that Laurent had from griva, it was probably a good thing that he would soon be killing people.

‘You’ve been listening to slave gossip.’ ‘You spent the night in the Prince of Vere’s rooms.’ ‘I spent ten minutes in his rooms. If you think I fucked him in that time you underrate me.’

nik please we are at war

‘I see. You’re warning me again not to bed him?’ ‘No,’ said Nikandros. ‘I know you’re going to bed him. I’m saying that when he lets you, think about what he wants.’

nikandros you have no idea what the fuck is going on between those two, mind your business

She was beautiful. As ever with her, it was something you noticed initially and then forcefully discarded because it was the least dangerous aspect of her. It was her mind, deliberate, calculating, that was the threat, regarding him from behind a pair of cool blue eyes.

mhm yeah that sounds familiar

He made himself look at her. He made himself remember every part of her, the way she had smiled, the slow approach of her sandalled feet as he had hung in chains, the touch of her elegant fingers against his bruised face. Then he turned to the low-level foot soldier to his right, delegating a trivial task that was beneath him, and now meant nothing. ‘Take her away,’ he said. ‘We have the fort.’

okay very specific here but you know how in like 2000s and 2010s reality tv, finalists in competitions would have like "family/home visits" towards the end of the season, and you always got a ton of implied context about how they've become who they are on the show? the middle of king's rising kind of feels like that. like we met damen's bestie, and now we're meeting his ex. we get to basically see his hometown. i won't say the slight tone shift is bad, and there are definitely still intense moments (especially what we're building up to), but it's still just a... slightly odd feeling. does anyone else feel that way?

[educationalinstitutesindia]

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[captainswanapproved]

Today is so exciting. I am gonna finally be able to move out August first probably, and I’m gonna get purple hair too. YAY!

[i-want-my-iwtv]

Submission from @baroquebat: 

So while snooping around online, I managed to find a Japanese edition of The Vampire Armand and I have never seen anyone post the cover art, which is just gorgeous to me!

There seems to be an alternative cover as well:

I found them on Amazon.co.jp, here are the links in case anyone is eager to import!

First Cover

Second cover 

Also there seems to be other titles of Anne Rice’s work also in a similar retro shoujo style if you look at her author page on Amazon.jp. It’s a shame that it’s only for the covers, I’d love to read an Armand manga in this style, why does only IWTV to get one, you know?

^Above covers and text submitted by @baroquebat, thank you, much appreciated! I had never seen these before, they’re lovely <3

>I’d love to read an Armand manga in this style, why does only IWTV to get one, you know?

*nods* Me too! Of course we have our awful graphic novels of the 90′s but whatever…*

IWTV and TVL got the graphic novel treatment in the 90′s, I’m not sure how far up canon those went bc I didn’t really like them :P IWTV and TVL only, I think. It seems to me that the publishers are missing out on an incredible financial opportunity. I don’t know the backstory on how the IWTV graphic novel Claudia’s Story got made, but I would think that The Vampire Armand would have to go through a similar approval process.

We do have these, and CS is the best of them, IMO.

Claudia’s Story:

IWTV:

TVL:

[joylee56]

Have You Tried Turning It On and Off?

For Ifishouldvanish; Happy RCIJ!

for the prompt ‘Hey, you’re the jerk...’

Rating: Explicit; Also Lacey has a potty mouth.

“I’m pretty sure nurse maid isn’t part of my job description.”  Lacey said.  

“You’re the project manager.  Babysitting is pretty much what project managers do.”

(Part 1 of 3)

The data center was dark.

“Crap!”  Lacey flipped the light switch again.  Nothing.  Not a blinking light to be seen.    

Using her phone for light she crawled along the floor to locate the surge protector/uninterruptible power supply.  Which clearly had not lived up to it’s name.

Except everything had been unplugged from the uninterruptible power supply and there were now extension cords run from the mains.  “Fuck!”

This despite the half dozen signs she had posted specifically telling people not to do that.  Their equipment was flaky enough as it was.  It could not take power fluctuations.

They’d caught the edge of a hurricane starting Friday.  It had been storming like a bastard the whole weekend.  God only knew when the circuit breaker had gone out.  Except it was a certainty that it was after some idiot had disconnected the surge protector.  She pulled all the plugs. Making a complete sweep of the room to make sure she had gotten them all.

Then she headed for the main switch box.

“Circuit breaker out again?”  LeFou, their database administrator, commented.  “I already had to fix that once this weekend.  You really need to do something about that.  Gaston has enough on his plate without having to worry about unreliable hardware.”

“What did you do?” Lacey demanded.

“When I came in on Saturday morning the storm had tripped the circuit breaker.  So I turned it back on.”  LeFou looked very pleased with himself.  “When that didn’t get the system back up and running I figured out that the surge protector you had everything plugged wasn’t working.  So I found some extension cords, all with built in surge protectors as you can see, and plugged everything in to the wall sockets.  Once that was done the whole system booted up like a charm.”

Words failed her. As she headed back to the data center, LeFou called after her.  “You really make too big a deal out of your job, Lacey.  It’s mostly just common sense.”

Which was clearly in short supply around Megacorp if nobody had thought to stop that idiot from putting their entire rickety old system at risk.  But it was not like bitching about him to the head of IT would do any good.  LeFou was an old buddy of Gaston’s, which was how he had gotten his job.

It was also how she had gotten her job.  She had already been living with Gaston when he offered her the position as project manager, so it was not like the sex had been a quid pro quo, despite what the gossip said.  And she had worked damn hard since she got hired to learn how to do the job properly.  Hell, she was doing most of Gaston’s work these days.

But this was way beyond her ability to fix.  And Gaston’s fancy computer science degree that had been long on theory and short on the practical.  Not to mention she strongly suspected that his gentleman Cs had been earned more on the football field than in the classroom.  He would be even less use.  At least she had some self taught hardware knowledge.

Gaston was also halfway to Burlington to attend some regional company meeting.  She texted him, with a brief summary and telling him she would be calling in outside help.  

A Google search on her phone showed there was only one computer repair company within an hour’s drive that said they worked on servers.

Crossing her fingers, Lacey called them.

“Golden Hat, our work is as good as gold.”

Praying their tech guys were better than their marketing people, she quickly explained the problem.  “Can you get someone here to fix it now?”

“As it happens Mr. Gold is available.  What system are you running?”

“Windows Server 2003”

“You’ve got to be kid…, that is, let me check with Mr. Gold.”

He forgot to actually put her call on hold so she heard him call out,  “Rum, you think you remember how to work on WS 2003?”

Another voice came from farther away,  “I remember.  Why would ye want me to?”

The guy she had been talking to came back.  “He’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

She spent the time waiting for him sending out an email explaining what had happened. She also printed out actual paper notices which she posted in the coffee room as well as the data center.  

At least the guy who showed up was the right vintage to work on the equipment.  A tiny little guy, probably only a few inches taller than her in her heels, he had graying brown hair past his collar, but an old fashioned air which was not completely due to the dress slacks, tailored white shirt and dark tie, with a name tag on his blazer reading ‘Mr. Gold, Golden Hat Computing’.

Clearly he was an old school computer nerd.  But the laptop he carried was state of the art and his backpack of tools looked reassuringly full.  

Noticing he used a cane she asked,  “The data center is downstairs.  Is that going to be a problem.”

“Shouldn’t be.” He told her brusquely.  “Now what happened?  Storm knock out your system?”

“That’s the least of it.”  She sighed.

By the time she laid out the chain of events they were in the data center and he was taking a good look around.  “How often do you overwrite your back up tapes?”

“We got two that alternate every other night at midnight.”

He winced.  “You’re not even set up to use a RAID?”

Which was Lacey’s turn to wince.  “The company backs up it’s data to the Home Office every twenty four hours and so with the tape back up on site my boss didn’t think we needed to spend the money to upgrade.”

“That’s not the only reason to use a RAID.”  He shook his head.  “Let me run some diagnostics and see how much of this is salvageable.  These aren’t hot swapable so pulling the drives is going to be slow.”

“So I need to tell everyone they’re not going to be able to access their data this morning?”  This was not going to be a fun morning.”

“If you get lucky it will take a couple of days to get things up and running.  Uhm, don’t expect to get lucky.  This stuff is old enough I’m no hopeful.”  Looking around he added.  “I could build you a new system in less time than that if you’re not dead set on Windows.”

“It has to talk to the Home Office.”

He shrugged and started opening up the first server.

She left him to it.

Despite her email and signs half of the office came up to her and demanded why the system was down and what was she doing to fix it.  

Mr. Gold appeared shortly before lunch.  He had a clip board out and was making a lot of notes on it.

That was fast.  “You fixed it?”  

“Uhm, no.  You’ve got several disk drives that are dead, but all of them are reading as threshold exceeded and are on the verge of failure.  I’m amazed the whole system didn’t die on you years ago.  I’ll need to order new drives and you might as well replace them all.

“After we get you new drives, we’ll need to run a complete set of diagnostics on both the hardware and the data.  I’m not optimistic about your backups, so you probably should see if your headquarters can get you the data you need.”

He finished writing something and tore the top sheet off the form he had been writing on. He glanced up briefly to meet her eyes as he handed it to her then looked away.  “That’s my proposal and cost estimate.  I’ll need it signed, uhm by someone authorized to approve that large an expenditure.

“And, uhm...” His voice got softer,  “We’ll need half down before I do the work.”

“Half?” Squeezing half of this cost estimate out of corporate was going to take a lot longer than they could afford to have the data center down.  She smiled her sexiest smile at the guy.  “Can’t you get started right away?  It’s not like Megacorp isn’t good for it. And I’d be ever so appreciative.”

She figured she would not have to go further in her ‘appreciation’ than having drinks with this guy.  After almost a year at Megacorp she could read a nerd at twenty meters and this was one of the shy ones.  He probably would not even try for a good night kiss.  

“No.”  He glanced up briefly to meet her eyes and then back down to fidget with his pen.  “Megacorp takes 90 days to pay their invoices.  And that’s if they don’t try to dispute the bill.  We’re a small company.  We can’t carry accounts receivables that long.  Half down.”

A shy one with a back bone it seemed.  And he knew just how cheeseparing corporate Accounts Payable was.  She sighed and pulled up the spreadsheet where she recorded the petty cash account.  “How much can I get done for 1497 bucks?”

“I can get you new hard drives installed and a proper uninterruptible power source hooked up.”  He shook his head.  “What you’ve got down there is a piece a… that is, it’s completely inadequate for what you’re running.  By rights you need a stand by generator as a back up.”

“So, I keep telling them.”  In detail.  She had a whole proposal written up about what they needed to upgrade and how a new system would pay for itself in costs savings.  She had gone over Gaston’s head and forwarded it to corporate.  Where she strongly suspected it was sitting unread in somebody’s inbox.

Gaston never did make it back to the office from Burlington.  Leaving her to take the flak from everyone else about the system being down.  She was nursing the bottom half of a bottle of wine when he made it home.

From what had apparently been a golf game with the Regional VP in charge of tech. She came close to heaving the bottle of wine at him when he asked what was for dinner.

“Whatever you can find in the fridge.  And while you’re fixing it we need to talk about how we’re going to get the data center running again.”

At least he had apparently read her texts so was up to date on the issues.  He read through Golden Hat’s proposal and cost estimate while he ate his sandwich.  He was frowning by the time he finished them.  

“We don’t have the money for this, Lacey.”  Gaston shook his head.  “Corporate is breathing down our necks.  They’re going to be combining divisions to cut costs.  We need to show a higher profit or we’ll end up merged with Vermont.  And they’ll only need one IT department.”

“We don’t have a choice, Gaston.  The thing’s not going to fix itself.”  She nibbled the sandwich he had the grace to make for her while he was making his own.

“Maybe you could, you know, flirt with him a little?”  

“You’re so desperate you’re willing to pimp me out?”  Clearly the time had come to re-evaluate her relationship with Gaston.  She let him sputter about how it was not like that for a minute before she told him.  “I tried.  He’s a hard headed Scotsman.  Not the ‘Capt, the engines canna take it’ kind,   although since he fixes computers I guess he’s that kind too.  But a full on Trainspotting gives no fucks kind.”

Mr. Gold came back the next day to replace the drives and set up a new uninterruptible power supply.  When he was done Gaston cornered him and in his best buddy to buddy manner tried to talk him into completing the job.  “… it’s the bureaucracy, you see.  It’s not that you won’t get paid.”

Out of petty cash over the next two years if Gaston was not going to send the bill on to corporate Lacey figured.

But Mr. Gold was having none of it.  “As I told your… Assistant?”

“Project manager.” Lacey corrected him.

“Uhm, right.” He sounded dubious.  “You could upgrade to a Linux system at a lot less than it will take you to fix this one.  And you’d have something that was actually being supported with updates.”  

At that point Gaston gave up on friendly and tried for intimidation.  “Look if you don’t fix this you’ll never work for Megacorp again and I’ll let everybody in the industry now how lousy your service was.  It’ll ruin you.

Mr. Gold was staring at his shoes and the fingers of his right hand were rubbing together in a circular motion.  His voice was quiet, but firm.  “Not working for a company that’s no going to pay me and makes impossible demands will be no great loss.”

He glance up at Gaston looming over him and backed up a step before continuing.  “And I’ve been in the business since before you could read.  Besides being the only service and repair company this side of Bangor.  I’m thinkin’ you’re over-estimating your influence a bit.”

Probably a by a lot, Lacey had to agree.

Gaston fell back on what was plan C.  “At least reinstall the back up for us.  That won’t take you long and we can pay you for it today.”

With what?  Lacey wondered.  They had already used all the petty cash.

“You can’t just reload your backups.”  Mr. Gold told him.  “You need to review the data to see how much has been corrupted.  There’s a strong likelihood that your backups got overwritten after the first crash and if so they’re almost certainly corrupted.  Reconstructing your data is about half of my bid.”

“But you don’t know for certain the tapes are corrupted?”  Gaston insisted.

“I’m sure enough of it that I’m not willing to reload that backup onto a clean system without a thorough review.”  Mr. Gold told him.

“If you won’t do it we’ll get someone else.”  Gaston threatened.

“You’ll have to because I’ll no do it.”  Gold started to pack up his gear.  “I’d recommend going with the Nerd Herd at the Buy More over in Bangor. They’re competent and I’m pretty sure at least one of them is old enough to drink and so may have worked on WS 2003 at least once.”    

They did not get the Nerd Herder who was old enough to drink.  But despite Gaston pulling the same intimidation on him as he had on Gold, even he was not willing to reload the backup data.  Although he was not as certain as Gold had seemed that the data was corrupted.  Instead he fell back on squeaking out,  “It’s Buy More policy to check the back up data first,” before running for his little car.  

Lacey spent several hours trying to convince Gaston to bring back Gold.  “The guy clearly knows how our system works, Gaston.  I mean he probably was working on servers back when it was introduced.”

Gaston was still maintaining they could not afford to do that when she finally left in a huff.

Gaston did not come home that night.  Which was probably just as well because Lacey was completely out of patience with the guy.  She did bring him a smoothie by way of a peace offering the next morning.

“The system’s down again.”  LeFou greeted Lacey with before she got her jacket off.

“Damn it!  He said he’d fixed the drives.”  Lacey turned toward the data center.

“It’s not the drives.”  LeFou told her.  “Something happened to the Home Office’s system.  The entire company’s down.”

Lacey had a sinking feeling.  Instead of going to the data center, she headed into Gaston’s office.  He was on the phone with someone, who by the tone of Gaston’s voice was way further up the food chain than he was.

She waited for him to get off the phone and asked,  “What did you do?”

“Don’t you start, Lace.  I just had corporate IT crawling up my butt.”

“You reloaded the backups without having them checked, didn’t you?”  They were in serious shit.

“The guy from the Nerd Herd said they were okay.”

“The guy from the Nerd Herd was maybe all of twenty and you brow beat him into saying they might be okay.” Lacey pointed out.

“Yeah, well, don’t say that to anybody else and we might come out of this with our jobs.”

“Gaston, there is no way in Hell that kid did not go back and tell his boss what you wanted him to do.  And you can be damn sure the boss wrote up a report to cover their asses.  They’re sure to tell corporate as soon as our crash hits the news.”  She checked her phone.  “Which happened about two hours ago.”  

The hit squad they sent from corporate to investigate the ‘incident’ came armed not only with the Nerd Herd’s version of events, but with Golden Hat’s ever so meticulous proposal and cost estimate which she, like a good little corporate shill, had forwarded for approval.  So it did not take them long to figure out where the screw up had been.

It really hit the fan when the hit squad dug up her old proposal pointing out the inadequacies in the system along with how to fix it.  She had worked her butt off preparing that thing and now they were going to screw her with it.

Gaston got axed in the first wave.  They did not outright say it was for incompetence, but anyone with half a brain could read between the lines and figure it out.

They announced the merger of the Maine office with the Vermont one a week later. Everything was going to move to Burlington.  Keeping her job would mean being hours away from Dad which would make taking care of him a problem.  Not moving meant she would be out of work.  Again.

It turned out they did not give her a choice.  “Why am I being fired?”  Lacey demanded of the HR people.

The woman sighed. “You’re not being fired, Ms. French.  We are merging the Maine office with the one in Vermont.  With this merger there will be a downsizing of the IT departments.  Positions within the department will be determined by seniority and qualifications and I’m afraid you are the lowest ranked in both areas.”

“But I’m the one who discovered the cause of the problem and put together the proposal for how to fix it.  Before it happened.”  

“Which has been duly noted in your personnel file.”  The HR woman continued.  “You are welcome, in fact encouraged, to apply for other positions within the company.  But Megacorp has guidelines for these matters and frankly you should never have been hired for the position you held.”

So Lacey took her severance check, a crappy one month’s salary, and checked the company Positions Available page.

The only ones she actually had the qualification for all sounded suspiciously like file clerks and gofers.  She filled out the applications anyway.  She needed the money.  

To put the icing on the cake, she tripped over Gaston’s packed suitcases when she got home that night.  “What’s this?”

“Dad got me an interview at Blizzard.”

“Were you planning on telling me about that or just have me come home and find you’d left?”  Lacey demanded.  

“Now don’t be like that, Lace.”  Gaston tried to placate her.  “It wasn’t like either of us thought this was a long term thing.  We had our fun, but I need to go where I can find work.  Tell you what, once I get settled I’ll see if they have a job opening for you.”

“I can’t move to California, Gaston.”  Lacey pointed out.  “Dad can’t leave Maine and I have look out for him.  I wasn’t sure I could move as far away as Burlington.”

Gaston shrugged. “Well, then I guess I’ll be going.  Hey, I don’t suppose you could drive me to the airport?”

She did not.

“It’s not like I’m gonna miss his sorry ass.  The sex was nothing to write home about.  But he covered the rent.”  Lacey complained to Ruby the next day at the diner.  “I couldn’t pay the rent on that place even with my old job and you know Megacorp is going to contest my unemployment.”

“That sucks.” Ruby agreed.  “We can give you three or four shifts a week here and any you can pick up from the other waitresses.  That’ll get you by while you look for another job.”

“Thanks.”  Lacey tried to be grateful.  But she had so hoped to have put waiting table behind her.  

And it wasn’t like there were a whole lot of tech companies in coastal Maine.  She was probably going to have to move south to find work.  Which meant the headache of looking after her Dad from out of town.  

She had been working at Granny’s for about a week when late in the lunch shift two men came in.  One of them was about medium height, fairly good looking in a broody poet sort of way and dressed like he was in a period drama complete with a weird top hat thing.

The other was Mr. Gold.  

They sat down at one of Ruby’s tables, but Lacey marched over to them anyway.  “Hey, You’re the jerk who got me fired!”

Gold reared back and blinked at her.  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, that’s good.  I was at Megacorp and you came to fix our data center, remember?  Only you wouldn’t do it.”

“Well, I remember her.”  The other man put in.  “You talked about her and the ghastly server system they had for about an hour when you got back.”

“I remember the job.”  Gold told him testily.  “I no remember anything about anyone bein’ fired.”

“When you wouldn’t do it...”

He interrupted. “You weren’t goin’ to pay me.  Of course I wouldn’t do it.”

She ignored him. “My idiot boss reinstalled the corrupted backups and managed to take down the entire company’s system.”

The guy in the top hat whistled.  “Now that takes talent.”

“So corporate closed the office here and I got fired.”  She finished.  “And there aren’t any other tech companies hiring in the entire state. I’ve looked everywhere.”

“None of which is my fault.”  Gold denied.

“What do you do?” Top hat asked.

“What?”  Lacey asked.

“What did you do at this job Rum so inconsiderately got you fired from?”  Hat guy was smirking a bit.

“I dinna’...” Gold sputtered.

“Well, not directly, but it does seem like you were in the chain of causation. You’re the one who’s always lecturing on how actions have consequences.”  

Hat guy turned back to Lacey.  Grinning broadly now.  “So we should help the lovely lady...”

Gold snorted at the description.  Lacey glared at him.  Hat guy continued.  “...Find another position.”

“I’m a project manager.”  When Gold raised an eyebrow at that, she declared.  “I’m certified and everything.”

Granted the certification came from an on-line course and she had fibbed a little about having a college degree.  

“Perfect.”  Hat guy clapped.  “As it happened we need a good manager.”

“We do?”  Gold asked.  

“You’re the one who’s also always complaining about all the time you spend on paperwork.”  Hat guy’s smile had changed to a smirk.  He clearly was pulling something on his… partner, Lacey guessed.  “You were bitching only yesterday about having to waste half the day on the Google advertising.”

He turned to Lacey, “How are you with Google ad words, Ms…?”

“French.  Lacey French.”  Gold smirked slightly at that.  She glared at him some more.  “Sure I can do website maintenance.”

They had covered it in the on-line course when she got her certification.  It had looked easy enough.  

“How about bookkeeping?”  Hat guy leaned forward conspiratorially.  “Rum spends a couple of days a month just on bookkeeping.”

Here she was on certain ground.  “I’ve done the books and taxes for my Dad’s florist shop from the time I was twelve.  What program are you using?”

“Just a spreadsheet.”  Mr. Gold, who was apparently named Rum, muttered.

“No wonder it takes a couple of days.��    

“It’s an excellent spreadsheet.  I wrote it myself.”  He was indignant.

“So it sounds like she’d be perfect.”  Hat guy clapped his hands.  “Come on, Rum. It’ll be fun to have someone else around to play with.”

She did not like the sound of that and looked at Hat guy suspiciously.

“Jeff designs games.”  Gold quickly explained.  He sighed, “I suppose we could use someone to help with testing.

“You’ll meed to be flexible.  We’re a small family business.”  Gold told her. “And it would be temporary.”

“To start anyway.” Jeff put in.  

“And we probably can’t match what you were making at Megacorp.”  Gold frowned at his partner.  “Say eighteen an hour?”

That was actually more than she was making at Megacorp.  “I can live with that.”

“Come by tomorrow at 9:00.”  Gold handed her a card.  “Now can we get some lunch?”  

  The address on the card looked like somebody’s house.  Somebody rich.  It was a three story pink Victorian which was really nicely kept up.

Gold answered the door and showed her around.  “You’ll be answering the phone along with the paperwork.  I’ve prepared a script for you.  There’s a database of customers.  The ones who have service contracts with us get first priority.

“Your station will be there.”  He pointed to a standard cubicle set up in what had once been the parlor of the old house.  There were a couple of others which looked like they were primarily used for storage.  Behind them an old oak table was stacked with paper.  

“This is Jeff’s office.”  He led her through into what she guessed had been the dining room.  Solid mahogany desk and credenza held computer gear, stacks of papers and a strange collection of toys and gimcracks. Another matching desk held a lot of organizers.  Which did not look very organized.  “For God’s sake don’t touch anything in here unless Jeff has put it on this desk.  Incoming materials go here as well.

“The toilet is off the main hallway.  Kitchen is through there.”  He waved at a set of sliding doors.  “You can get to it from the hallway as well.  Help yourself, but make a note if we’re running out of anything.

“I’ll be downstairs if you have any questions.”  He paused.  “Uhm, Jeff can be a bit… whimsical.  If he asks you to do anything that seems… odd, you might want to check with me.”

“We talking strip to my knickers odd or pick shit up from his dealer odd?”  When Gold blinked at her she added.  “I can handle him either way.  I just want to know what to expect.”

“More like do a census of the fairies at the bottom of the garden odd.”  Gold’s mouth quirked.  “Jeff has a head injury from a car accident.  He’s functional, well most of the time, but sometimes he has a little trouble distinguishing reality from fantasy.”

“Is that when you hurt your leg?”  Great.  She was working for a nut job and a gimp. First thing she was going to do was check their bank account and make sure her paychecks were not going to bounce.

“No.”  His lips thinned.  “Not the same accident.  Mine was courtesy of the Taliban.”

“You’re a vet?” He was only a couple of inches taller than she was.

“Aye.”  His voice became sardonic.  “The army’s physical standards aren’t nearly as high for their techs.  Especially not ones who speak Urdu.”

“Where’d you learn Urdu?”

“Glasgow.  Lot of our neighbors were from Pakistan.  And the Mother of a mate of mine didn’t speak any English.”  He led her back to the cubicles.

“That’s should get you started.”  He looked her up and down.  “Uhm, about your clothes...”

“What’s wrong with my clothes?”  She demanded.  She looked good today. Her best pair of nude heels showed off her legs like nobody’s business.  Granted the little blue pleated skirt was short, but so was she.  Anything longer looked dowdy and she was damned if she was going to dress like some librarian just cause her boss was a prude. She had enough of that from her Dad growing up.

Gold sighed.  “Never mind.  It’ll probably be good for him to have to practice minding his manners and not staring.”

With that baffling statement he turned toward the stairs.  She called out to stop him. “You want to see my Green Card now?”  She pulled it out of her purse.

Gold blinked at her. “Not particularly.  Why would I?”

“So you can fill out the form showing I’m not illegal?”  She held out the documents.

“Undocumented.” Gold corrected her.  “There’s a form?”

“Yeah.”  She said.  “You never hire anybody before?”

“Not really.” He admitted.  “Leroy does the occasional odd job for us, but we just pay him as a contractor.

“But since you clearly know more about it than I do that can be your first task.” He waved in the general direction of the computer.  “Find it.  Fill it out.  I’ll be downstairs in the workshop trying to catch up on the work I should have been doing while doing your orientation.  You can bring the form down for me to sign when you finish it.”

He headed toward a door under the stairs.  She called after him.  “I suppose you expect me to bring you a cuppa while I’m about it?”

“Thank you, yes. Lemon, one sugar.”  He called back over his shoulder.

Lemon her ass.  She tossed her purse under the table.  She would show him she was no tea lady.

Her good friend Google had no trouble finding the forms she needed.  The only problem she had in getting them filled out was figuring out how to turn on the stupid printer which appeared to be nearly as old as she was.  

Because she was going to be the best damn manager in the whole damn state and show that nerd what for, she actually made a pot of tea while she was waiting for the print job to finish.  And fixed him a cup just as he asked, using a nice china tea cup and saucer from the hutch.  

“I have your tea and the forms ready for you to sign, Mr. Gold.”  She called our sweetly as she descended the stairs.

She set the tea down on a clear spot at the U shaped desk he was working at and handed him the papers as she described them.  “W-4 for the IRS, I-9 for immigration, whatever this thing for the Maine Income Tax people is called, and a standard non-disclosure agreement.”

Gold blinked at the stack.  And started to read the non-disclosure agreement.  “That’s very… efficient of you.”

“You really should have had me sign that before you gave me your log in codes.” She kept her voice sweet.  “Why I could be up there stealing all your secrets.”

“I dinna figured you’d be around long enough to learn any.”  Gold muttered as he read.

He absentmindedly picked up the cup of tea and took a sip.  Then he looked at her suspiciously.  “This is perfect.  You didn’t spit in it did you?”

“I’m too good an Aussie to mess with a cuppa.”  She smirked.  “Otherwise you’d of gotten salt instead of sugar.”

“Uhm, in that case, thank you.”  

She looked around the basement as he read through the forms.  At first glance it looked chaotic, but looking closer it sort out into sections.  New parts sorted into bins.  Old machines in various states of disembowelment set out on tables around the edge of the room, which looked like it took up about half of the house’s footprint.  She spotted a door that probably led to the rest of the basement.

Half the U shaped desk was actually a workbench along the wall under one of the windows.  Tools neatly hung from the rack on the wall under the window.  What looked like several projects with pieces and wires each confined to it’s own section.  Computer keyboards and monitors took up the other side of the U with papers covering the joining section. A couple of comfortable chairs sat facing him from the other side.

It was actually a nicely set up workroom.  Orderly without being anal about it.  It must be connected to the HVAC system because it was a comfortable temperature and did not have any of the musty smell you usually got in the basements of old houses.  

One thing did stand out.  “Is that a spinning wheel?”

Gold looked up from the paperwork.  “Aye.  I use it when I’m waiting around for things to cool or code to compile.” 

“I’ve never run across a programmer who spun.  Juggle, play guitar or other odd stuff, but not spinning.”

“Me Aunts ran a yarn shop.  They taught me when I was a lad.”  

He glanced at the copy of her green card she had attached to the I-9 and smirked.  “Your name really is Lacey French?”

“Yes, it’s my real name.  No, I did not pick it because I was getting a job as a stripper.”  She huffed.  “And I’m not sure you’re in a position to comment, Ragnor.”

She had found his name on the company tax forms.

“Touche.” He agreed.  “It was the sixties.  I blame the drugs.”

“There were some of those going around in the 80s too.”  She took back the forms.  “What do you want done next?”

“That stacks of stuff on the table needs to be filed.”  Gold told her.  “And remind Jeff when he comes in that we’ve got a conference call with the artist for his game at two.  Then remind him again every hour until then.”

She finished the filing before Jeff showed up at 11:30.  Wearing the top hat, a different frock coat and a yellow ascot with burgundy polka  dots.  And Gold had the nerve to comment on her clothes.  

Before she got the chance Gold came upstairs to remind him about the conference call.  And to ask,  “Did you take your meds this morning?”

“Yes, mother.  And I ate my breakfast and brushed my teeth.”  

Jeff was less demanding than Gold.  He did give her a bunch more filing to do.

When lunch time rolled around Jeff made a couple of sandwiches and took them downstairs.  “I’m going to go over the specs for the graphics we’re going to be talking about this afternoon.  The artists always want to use way too much memory. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge.”

There turned out to be a really nice cheese and fruit plate in the fridge. Lacey had it for lunch.

Gold and Jeff had been on the conference call for over an hour when Lacey noticed a couple of kids running up the front walk.  At the last minute they veered around the edge of the house toward the back. Lacey headed down the hall and almost made it to the kitchen before she heard the back door open and a little girl’s voice call out. “Daddy, we’re home.”

She found the girl, (grade school age?  Lacey was not good with kids’ ages) and an older boy hanging up jackets and stowing backpacks on a shelf clearly set up for just that,  

They both looked up as she came into the room.  “Uhm, hey.”  Said the boy, who despite dark curly air had to be Gold’s son.  The genetics were obvious.

“Are you the new project manager?”  He asked.  “Dad said you were going to start today.”

Nice that somebody got briefed.  “Yeah, I’m Lacey.  And you are?”

“He’s Neal and I’m Grace.”  The girl put in.  “What’s a project manager?”

“I’m suppose to help your Dads,”  That left it nicely vague as to whether Gold and Jeff were together or not.  “Get their work done on time and not forget stuff.”

“That will be good.”  Grace said solemnly.  “Because Daddy forgets things and Uncle Rum is sometimes too busy to remind him.”

At least that clarified the genetics.

Neal made a bee-line for the refrigerator.  “Looks like Dad forgot our snack.”

Oh, Hell.  She had eaten his kid’s after school snack.  She had never managed to get herself fired on her first day before.

Quickly she joined the boy at the refrigerator.  “How about I make you a proper Tea?  You like scones?”

The scones were coming out out the oven when Gold and Jeff emerged from the conference call.  Grace ran to hug Jeff.  “Daddy, Lacey taught me how to make real scones.  Just like the Queen eats.”

“Excellent, dormouse.  We’ll be all set when she comes to call.”  Jeff told her.

Neal was just finishing setting the table with the nice china from the hutch that Lacey had used earlier for Gold’s tea.  He had insisted that, “Aunt Flora would rise out of the grave if we served a ‘proper’ tea with the every day mugs.”

“So you’ve all become acquainted then?”  Gold took the seat at the head of the table.

“We have.”  Lacey set the tea pot in front of him.  “Such a pleasant surprise when they arrived home.”

“I did say it was a family business.”  Gold smirked.

A test passed apparently.  “If you’ll be mother, I’ll serve the scones.”

“How do you like your tea?”  He asked starting to pour.

It was actually a nice afternoon break.  Grace informed them in detail about the latest chapter of Charlotte’s Web her teacher had read to the class.

Neal’s responses to Gold’s questions about his day were more monosyllabic. Lacey upped her estimate of his age by a couple of years.  From the amount of food he was putting away he had to be a teenager despite his small size.

When he finished his fourth scone he got more talkative.  “Can the team come over Friday?  We need more practice.”

“I’ve got a repair call in Ellsworth.” Then glancing her way, he smirked.  “But if Jeff and Lacey can supervise you I don’t see why not.”

Neal, glanced Jeff’s way then turned to her.  “Would that be okay, Lacey?  If we’re going to get anywhere in the competition we really need more practice and Dr. Jekyll, our coach, won’t work later than 4:00.”

And from what she had seen of Jeff so far, nobody was going to trust their kid to his supervision alone.  She had to wonder how he was looking after Grace.  Great.  Tea lady and babysitter.  This was clearly another test on Gold’s part.  To see how far he could push her.  “What kind of competition is it?”

“The STEMletics.  It’s like the Mathletics but covers science, technology and engineering as well.  Teams compete against each other like in the old College Bowl.  We really need to get faster at coming up with answers to have a shot at winning.”  

Clearly Gold had majored to sire a baby nerd.  She had no idea what the College Bowl was but it did not sound like it would be all that hard to ride herd on a few teenagers.  After all she knew what sort of mischief they were likely to get up to from experience.  “Sure I’ll bring refreshments.”

After tea was done, Jeff took Grace off to his office to do her homework and Neal disappear to where ever boys his age disappeared to.  Gold told her.  “Leave the dishes. I’ll do them tonight when I do the washing up from dinner.”

At least she was not expected to be the maid as well.

[blessed-but-distressed]

#FindEmmaSwanAFriend

Feeling left behind by her more successful, settled friends, Emma Swan moves to Scotland on a whim. Sure, she’s winning at Instagram, but something is still missing from her new life. Fortunately, her friends back home are on it. #FindEmmaSwanAFriend goes viral. Enter Killian Jones, reluctant columnist, who is on the hunt for his newest subject, and may just have found her. CS AU.

also on ff.net

Tagging: @katie-dub , @wholockgal, @kat2609, @whovianlunatic, @optomisticgirl, @ladyciaramiggles, @the-lady-of-misthaven, @emmaswanchoosesyou, @ilovemesomekillianjones, @biancaros3, @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky, @ms-babs-gordon  and whoever else asks me.

Thanks always to the cool-as-fuck @lenfaz, for her tireless efforts in keeping me motivated.

Killian

He could feel it, the regret, welling up in his chest, his vision blurring as he scrolled through page after page of poorly punctuated text.

14,202 responses.

14,202 people who were up for being Emma Swan's friend, and for some reason Killian Jones had appointed himself their gatekeeper.

14,202 reasons to wish he'd never even heard the name Emma Swan.

The task itself was burdensome enough, a time suck if ever there was one. But it was the sexually aggressive come ons he encountered that really propelled it towards torture. There was no other way of saying it: Men were pigs.

Barely three hundred messages in, and he was already half prepared to hand back his testicles and start writing long-winded notes of apology to every woman he'd ever met. Yes, Emma Swan was gorgeous. Yes, the #FindEmmaSwanAFriend campaign had made it clear there was an existing vacancy in her social life. But why hundreds of men had taken that to mean she would suddenly welcome obscene pick up lines and unsolicited dick pics was beyond him.

At least he wasn't entirely alone in this second circle of hell. It hadn't taken much inducement to get the boy to forego his cartoons in favour of helping out. The vague promise of a zoo excursion at some unspecified point in the near future, and the lad was putty in his hands. Which was how Killian found himself scouring through responses at the dining room table, with his eldest nephew, Callum, sitting opposite.

Even at eight years old, Callum was already the more steady influence of the two Jones boys, quiet and bookish, and far less prone to the feats of daring which tended to land Lachie in A&E every other month. His enthusiasm for penguins notwithstanding, history had a way of repeating itself in the most interesting of ways.

Killian had originally set the boy up to go through the pre-approved responses he'd already printed out, and asking him to choose people he felt good about. Children, Killian had found, were a bit like dogs; they were often better judges of character than most fully fledged adults. But the task must have grown wearisome at some point, because there came a small voice from somewhere behind his left shoulder.

"Uncle Killian, what's an orgasm?"

Killian snapped the lid of the laptop shut in a hurry, turning to the boy with a painted on smile. He hadn't even seen him move. "You know what, lad? Perhaps you'd be better off helping your father with dinner. You know how he likes to burn things."

As if his words had summoned him, Liam suddenly appeared in the doorway, surveying the scene with cool suspicion. "What fresh hell have you dragged my eldest into now?"

"Research," Killian replied, affecting a casual shrug. "I thought you'd be pleased. I'm 'making an effort'."

"Hmmm," his brother replied, still unconvinced. "And yet, one has to wonder if the reason for this sudden work ethic has anything to do with the fact that Emma Swan looks like that," he said, pointing to a stray copy of the original #FindEmmaSwanAFriend advertisement laying open on the counter, Emma's unrestrained smile spilling out from the page in a way that Killian had yet to see from her in real life.

Killian opened his mouth to protest, but it was his nephew who spoke first. "Dad," Callum interrupted, tugging at his father's sleeve. "What does orgasm mean?"

Liam's eyes widened comically, caught unawares, but it took only a moment before his gaze shifted back to his brother, his expression darkening as realisation took hold. Killian held arms aloft in an unconvincing display of innocence, but if looks could kill, he'd already be as charred as yesterday's Beef Wellington.

"Ahm, that's a question for your Mum, I think," Liam said, grabbing the boy about the shoulders and steering him out into the hallway. "In about five years or so," he added wryly, giving the boy a little push back towards the living room, and the distractions of the television.

"I can-" Killian began, as his brother turned back to glare at him.

"I really don't want to know," Liam sighed, cutting him off with a weary shake of his head. "Just clean this mess up before Elsa gets home, alright?"

He looked stressed, Killian realised, and not just about Callum's naive question. Though Liam had adopted his usual post-work uniform of loosened tie and rolled up shirtsleeves, there was little else in his posture to suggested he was at leisure. If that wasn't damning enough, his hair seemed to be sticking up more than normal, as if he'd been running his hands through it for the better part of the day. Killian was willing to bet if he got a little closer he'd even be able to see the purple vein on his brother's forehead visibly throbbing.

"Everything alright?" Killian asked, unable to mask his growing concern. "Your meeting with Ingrid?"

But if he had been expecting a confidential chat, as equals, perhaps Killian had been reading from the wrong script.

"Everything's fine," Liam snapped, with the kind of brusqueness that highly suggested otherwise. "Just get this cleared away, and stop corrupting my children. Elsa will be home any minute."

Killian was tempted to press the point, but they were both of them interrupted by the intrusive blaring of the smoke detector in the next room. Followed immediately by the tell-tale whiff of burnt rice.

"Bloody hell," Liam swore, tearing from the room. "Not again."

Killian moved instead towards the windows, welcoming the icy blast of fresh air with a shiver. It looked like takeaway was on the menu. Again.

How do you feel about athletic types? KJ

…

You mean in general, or is this about your list? ES

I mean, do you have a particular aversion to people whose Instagram feed consists entirely of gym selfies using the hashtag #demgains and pictures of salads? KJ

I think exercise is the devil, CrossFit is a cult, and bagels are life. ES

So that's a hard pass, then. Good to know. KJ

It was Friday night, and the streets of the Old Town appeared as they always did come the weekend, rife with roving gangs of stag parties and hen dos straight out of Chester or Newcastle, resplendent in their matching commemorative T-shirts and sashes. Killian watched them as they struggled down Victoria Street in impractical shoes, and took turns throwing up into the West Bow Well.

"Five points to kiss a man in a kilt!" one of the women slurred as he passed, having grown bold under the influence of what seemed to be one too many margaritas, by the stain down her dress. Killian settled for turning his collar up against the wind, and searching out a quiet corner from where he could check his phone.

Why she had agreed to meet him in the Grassmarket of all places, in the midst of all this calculated debauchery, puzzled him. Aye, it was populated. Aye, it was well-lit, all the better to see the tourist hordes slowly sinking into extreme inebriation. But it was hardly the right venue for getting one's measure, he thought.

But Killian wasn't one to turn down a drinks invitation from a pretty lass. Not least from the pretty lass he'd somehow roped into being a willing participant in his little sociological experiment.

So he waited. And he waited some more.

It was a quarter past the hour when he finally spotted her, long red curls billowing behind her as she hurried up from Candlemaker Row wrapped in a fluffy green coat, three young men following in her wake.

"Killian Jones?" she asked, approaching him warily.

"Aye," he said, stepping forward to shake her hand. "Glad you could make it."

Merida, as he planned to name her in his article, was what Killian might call Proper Scottish. She had the red hair. The clan name. The distinctive burr that seemed to come right out of some remote Highland glen. She was the living, breathing stereotype of a milk-fed country lassie, and he could think of no more qualified candidate to introduce Emma to the wonders of Scottish hospitality. If for no other reason than she was the only one on his shortlist who'd actually responded to his email.

The trio that trailed after her were her brothers, as it transpired, rather than her bodyguards. Though it would be easy enough to make that mistake, what with each giving Killian a bruising handshake and some whispered threat or other over the course of one too many drinks at the Beehive Inn. Drinks Killian was apparently expected to pay for.

"You shouldn't encourage 'em," she chided over her barely touched pint of Guinness. "They'll take advantage."

Too late for that.

"So what brought you to Edinburgh, lass?" Killian ventured, figuring they'd wasted enough time making idle chitchat.

"A job," she shrugged. "There's no' exactly a lo' of work goin' back in Dun Broch."

A familiar enough tale. As pretty as the Highlands were, there wasn't much in the way of industry these days unless you were willing to waste your life away behind a counter, selling keyrings and commemorative shot glasses to passing tourists. Young people tended to get out early, and stay gone.

"And your brothers followed you?" he asked. "Must be nice, having family close by."

The lass snorted, her Guinness threatening to spill out of her nose. "Sorry," she said, wiping her face with her sleeve. "Do you have any brothers?"

"Two."

"The' you ken. You love 'em, but the' can also be…"

"A lot to manage," Killian finished for her.

"Exactly," Merida smiled. "So wha's she like, then? Emma?" Merida asked, curiosity finally getting the better of her.

Killian leaned back in his chair, considering the question properly. Aye, he'd already described her to his readers, but even then he'd felt his descriptions had been lacking, a poorly drawn caricature of who Emma Swan really was.

"She's complicated," Killian admitted. "Quick-witted. Stubborn. Strong. A rather developed sense of irony for an American."

"Nice?" Merida ventured, her uncertainty showing.

"Perhaps. With time. She's funny. Even without meaning to be. But I'm not going to lie to you, lass, she isn't the easiest person to get to know. At first she's a little brisk. Prickly, even. I get the impression she's been let down before, because she tends to automatically assume the worst of people, rather than wait around to be disappointed."

He knew he'd said too much when Merida leaned back in her chair, gaze subtly shifting over to the bar where her brothers stood, unsuccessfully trying to chat up a cohort of young women in matching pink tiaras and feather boas.

"I'm not doing a very good job at selling this, am I?" Killian said with a groan.

"You coul' be doin' better," she offered.

And yet, in that moment, he saw it. The flash of familiarity. Perhaps he wasn't entirely crazy for thinking these two might hit it off.

"Look, Emma doesn't make friends easily. That much is blatantly clear. But the ones she has made? It's clear they mean the world to her. And she to them. After all, they were the ones to instigate all of this, simply because they couldn't stand the thought of her being lonely out here."

"If my friends did tha' to me…" Merida shuddered.

"Agreed. But I'd like to think it takes a special kind of person to inspire that level of stupidity in others."

"Like decidin' to write abou' an American lassie finding friends for a whole year?"

"Like that," Killian conceded, with a smile.

"So you mus' think she's worth the effort, then?"

That pulled him up short. "I think…" he said, best trying to arrange his thoughts. " I think Emma deserves a real chance at happiness here. As much as anyone. And if my column can help with that, then all the better. So tell me, what made you respond to Emma's ad in the first place?"

I think I found a promising candidate for you. KJ

Oh? ES

Aye. I think you have plenty in common. Are you free tonight to discuss? KJ

It's Valentine's Day. ES

…

You have alternate plans? KJ

Of course not. But don't you? ES

After a fashion. But you're more than welcome to join. KJ

If that is a poncy British way of initiating a ménage à trois… ES

I'm babysitting. My brother is the one with the Valentine's plans. With his wife. I, on the other hand, am on nephew-wrangling duty, because apparently children can be a real mood killer. But as I said, you are welcome to come by. We're making tacos. KJ

Yeah, I'm not good with kids. ES.

Me neither. And yet, somehow, the little cretins haven't died on my watch yet. KJ

I don't know… ES

Aren't you curious who your new best friend is going to be? KJ

Not the gym bunny? ES

Perish the thought. KJ

And there will be tacos? ES

There will indeed be tacos. KJ

Hard shell or soft? ES

Both. KJ

Well played, Jones. ES

See you at 7 then, Swan? KJ

For only the twentieth time that day, Killian Jones wondered where exactly he got all of his bright ideas from.

Aye, he needed to convince Emma to give a meeting with Merida a shot. And he needed to extract some sliver of personal information out of her. He couldn't hope to sustain his column with his witticisms forever. At some point, Emma had to step forward and become a character in her own right, if he had any hope of appealing to his subscription base. And to do that, he had to get to know her.

So he did need to see her. And he was going out of town for a few days, so there wasn't a lot of flexibility in his schedule. But inviting her to help babysit his nephews? What had he been thinking?

It was a disaster waiting to happen. Not least because it required the permission of at least one of their parents. Neither of which was looking like an attractive option, considering the amount of grief he was likely to get over it.

He still hadn't made his mind up which one to approach when his decision was made for him, his sister-in-law calling his name from down the hall.

"Killian?"

Well, at least she was the more sympathetic of the two.

"You beckoned?" he asked, popping his head around the door frame.

Elsa stood in front of a full length mirror, fretting with the sleeve of her pale blue dress. As per usual, she looked ethereally lovely, a state which was at odds with the frown she wore in her reflection.

Killian whistled in appreciation. "You do realise it's not too late? You could always ditch Liam and run off with the younger, more dashing brother?" he offered sardonically.

She turned to him, her eye roll still managing to be affectionate somehow. "Thank you, I think. Can you zip me up?" She asked, gesturing to the back of her dress.

"As the lady insists," he said with an exaggerated bow, stepping closer to assess the task at hand. When he went out he tended to wear his prosthetic, but at home he often went without, switching it over for the more versatile, but slightly more discomfiting hook. The last thing Elsa needed was for him to tear a hole right through her shiny new dress.

"I appreciate this, you know," Elsa said suddenly, startling Killian as he reached out to take the zipper. "You taking care of the boys. I know there are probably other things you'd rather be doing. It's just, I know Liam's been stressing himself out with Ingrid in town. I want him to have fun tonight. Let it go for a few hours."

"I'm happy to help," Killian replied, pulling the zip up the rest of the way. And then sensing he wasn't going to get any better opening than that, he ripped off that plaster. "Having said that, perhaps there is something you can do for me?"

"Oh?" she asked, turning around to face him with an amused smile curving her lips.

"Do you remember Emma?"

"Emma?" she repeated, her eyebrows furrowing together. "You mean #FindEmmaSwanAFriend, Emma?"

"Aye," Killian said, reaching up to scratch behind one ear. "I've been meaning to touch base with her, but I'm off to Glasgow tomorrow for the film festival. I was sort of hoping I could invite her here."

She looked puzzled by his request. "This is your house too, Killian. You know you don't need my permission to invite someone over."

Killian took a deep breath. "Only, I might have mentioned I was babysitting tonight, and invited her to eat with me and the boys?"

"You invited her to babysit with you?" Elsa clarified, in such a way he couldn't be sure of her feelings on the matter.

"If you're not comfortable with that-" Killian began.

"Just to be clear," Elsa interrupted him. "You invited Emma Swan, the woman you agreed to write about all this year, home to eat tacos and watch Pixar movies with you and my sons. On Valentine's Day?"

This was exactly what he'd been afraid of. "Bloody hell, Elsa. It's not a date."

"But it's not exactly work either, is it?"

"It's a… it's a friendly gesture," Killian admitted. "But you don't understand. Emma is... she's guarded, alright? If I want people to really connect with her, if I want her story to truly resonate, then I need to know a little more about her. And there's no way she'll ever be comfortable enough to give me that, unless I'm prepared to do the same."

"So this is a case of 'I show you mine, you show me yours'?" Elsa asked, her tone still far too amused for Killian's liking.

"You make it sound crass, love."

"No, I think I understand. I do," she emphasised, when Killian shot her a look. "It shows you've really thought about it. About how you're going to sustain that relationship over the year. It's kind of impressive, actually."

"So you're okay with her coming by?" Killian clarified.

"Of course. I trust you to do the right thing."

"Thank you, love," he said, releasing a long held breath and leaning forward to brush a brotherly kiss to her temple. "I appreciate that."

"But Killian?" she said, stopping him dead in the doorway before he could make himself scarce. "It's okay if you just want to get to know her for the sake of it, you know?"

He paused for a moment, biting back a retort. "Have fun tonight, Elsa. And keep my brother out of trouble," he said, before leaving to her to get ready alone.

Emma

Okay, so Killian Jones was rich.

When Google Maps had led her directly in front of a two-storey Victorian in Merchiston, with honest-to-god ivy growing on the walls, Emma figured she had the wrong address. But after double-checking Killian's text, she couldn't see how she could've screwed up.

And as she walked down the paved drive, the impressive facade of the house looming over her, she wondered if she really had Killian Jones quite as figured out as she thought she did.

The entranceway was ridiculous. A church's worth of stained glass framing an imposing black door, a solid brass knocker in the center. Feeling a little bit foolish, she lifted the handle, bringing it down three times.

Why couldn't they just have a doorbell?

She heard a shuffle of movement from inside, and then Killian Jones appeared in front of her. He was minus the leather jacket she had come to expect from him. A waistcoat, it turned out, was what lay underneath, and he managed to make it work. His prosthetic, she noticed, had been replaced with some kind of metal attachment. But not wishing for him to catch her staring, she instead drew her eyes to her immediate surroundings.

"You neglected to mention you were loaded," Emma said, by way of greeting, stepping past him into the front hall and out of the cold. "This house is…" she trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Opulent?" Killian suggested, closing the door after her. "And I'm not loaded." Killian added with a smirk, taking her jacket from her. "My sister-in-law however… Let's just say, if anyone is the reacher in that relationship, it's my brother."

"Your brother, the editor?"

"That's the one. So," he said, rubbing his hands together, so much as he could. "Ready to meet the gremlins?"

"When you put it like that…" She grimaced, but allowed herself to be led down the hallway anyway, emboldened by the promise of tacos.

The living room itself was like something right out of a furniture catalogue, and not one from IKEA, either. The furniture all matched, the art on the walls was tasteful and there was a real marble fireplace, with an actual fire burning in the grate. The whole tableau wouldn't have looked out of place in a Burt Reynolds photoshoot, if it weren't for the two small boys clad in superhero pajamas sat around a small coffee table, fit to bursting with taco fixings.

They looked up as they entered, tiny faces lit with excitement and smeared with excess salsa.

"Lachie, Callum," Killian said, pointing to each boy in turn. "This is Emma. She's a friend from work. I've invited her to eat with us. And you're going to be on your very best behaviour for our guest, aye?"

Both boys nodded solemnly, before the oldest emitted a sudden and overloud burp, the two of them bursting into peals of laughter.

Ah, children.

"Hi," Emma said, her opening gambit as pathetic as her wave. "Thanks for letting me join you."

"They won't bite, Swan," Killian whispered from her side, suddenly much closer than she remembered. "Well, Lachie might. But you've had all your jabs, correct?"

And then before she could figure out if he was kidding or not, he pushed her into the open space beside the youngest, the aforementioned Lachie. Who may or may not bite.

"Hi," she said again, settling down on a cushion beside him. "Would you be able to pass me a plate?"

"You talk funny," the boy said, reaching over the extract a plastic plate from the stack piled high on the table.

Killian shot the boy a sharp look, but Emma waved him off. "Yeah, that's because I'm from America. Do you know where that is?"

"That's where Aunty Anna lives," came the voice of the eldest, Callum, from the other side of the table. "She lives in New York City with Uncle Kristoff. And they have a dog. His name is Sven and he's a Norwegian Elkhound. Uncle Kristoff says he can talk, but only to him. Aunty Anna thinks Uncle Kristoff is very silly."

The kid was clearly precocious, but not such a big fan of pausing between his sentences, making the entire spiel seem like one long run-on sentence.

"Oh," said Emma, not expecting this wealth of new information. "And have you ever gone to visit Aunty Anna?"

"We were in her wedding," Callum continued. "It was my job to carry the flowers. And I started sneezing all the time. Mummy said it was hayfever. And I remember the penguins at the zoo. And the big buildings. And the park. I remember, but Lachie was just a baby, so he doesn't remember it at all."

"I do so!" came the vehement reply of his younger brother, unhappy with being left out of the narrative.

"Do not!"

"Do so!"

"Boys!" Killian cried, causing both of them to abandon their mounting argument. "Remember what I said about best behaviour?"

The two boys fell into a sullen silence, but Killian on the other hand, merely looked amused. "Cheer up, lass," he said, as he leaned forward to snag a bowl of chopped tomatoes out from under her nose. "What would you rather be doing with your evening? Watching Netflix?"

Okay, so the tacos were pretty good. And when they weren't getting into arguments over inane details, the two Jones boys were kind of cute. Sort of. Emma wasn't really a kids person. Even when she was a kid, she hadn't been a big fan.

Fortunately, bedtime came around soon enough, Killian disappearing upstairs to tuck them in while Emma did a great job of pretending she wasn't snooping. It wasn't snooping if they had the pictures on display in the common areas, right?

Emma didn't recognize the couple in the wedding photo that took pride of place on the mantelpiece, but she recognized the best man easily enough. Killian Jones. He'd been younger then, his hair longer and shaggier, but it was undeniably him. Mugging for the camera with his arm around his brother's shoulders. One hand clutching a beer bottle, the other holding a bunch of flowers. Two hands. Not a prosthetic, back then.

So the missing hand hadn't always been missing, then. And it was a fairly recent development. She heard footsteps on the stairs and she turned away from the photograph, pretending to admire the Jones' not inconsiderable record collection. John Lee Hooker and Muddy Waters seemed to come up a lot. She idly wondered if they belonged to the brother, or his wife. Or if it was an interest they both shared.

"Warm beverage?" came a voice near her elbow, startling her out of her thoughts.

"I think we should get you a collar with a bell on it," Emma said, clutching her chest, turning around to find Killian already holding out a mug, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "You didn't think two hot chocolates were enough already?" Emma asked, taking the cup from his hand.

"Third time's the charm," he shrugged. "Also I spiked this one."

Emma, who already had her mug halfway to her lips took an experimental sip, causing her to cough out loud. "Wow," she said with a little laugh, lowering the mug. "Yeah, you did. Do I look that terrified?" She asked, moving to take a seat on the designer looking couch. She was almost afraid to bring her mug with her, in case she spilled something on it.

"Only a little," Killian said, taking a seat on the opposite end, clutching a beverage of his own. How exactly he'd managed to carry both in from the kitchen in one trip, Emma couldn't say. "You put up a good front. Kids can smell fear, but I think you had them fooled."

"But not you, huh?" Emma said, curling her feet underneath her.

"Well, I'm quite perceptive lass," he said, with a smirk.

"And modest, too," Emma remarked, earning a chuckle in response.

"You're good with them," she said suddenly. "Your nephews, I mean. You seem really close. Do you babysit a lot?"

"Well…" This smile faltered a little, and Emma wondered if she'd made an accidental faux pas. Had she misread the situation? "Actually," he began again, looking visibly uncomfortable. "The truth is that I live here. In the guest room. It was supposed to be a temporary situation, but I suppose we're now entering the stage where it's hard to kid myself on that score any longer. So at this point I think they just consider me part of the furniture."

He seemed almost ashamed somehow. As if there was something wrong with wanting to live in a beautiful house, surrounded by your own flesh and blood.

"Neighborhood too bourgeois for you?" Emma asked, before she could stop herself.

She was rewarded with another laugh, the furrow between his brows disappearing. "Well, there is that," he smiled. "I don't know. Don't get me wrong, I realise this is a palace. Compared to the places my brother and I grew up?" He shook his head. "I suppose I just miss the independence. Miss having my brother's disapproving looks at more than an arm's length."

"It must be hard," Emma mused. "Your boss being your brother. Your brother being your boss."

"I think bossing me around comes quite naturally to him, actually. Only, I'm not quite as good at taking orders as I used to be. Sometimes for so large a house it can be suffocatingly small."

It wasn't really a confession you could build on. Emma didn't have any sibling stories to share, and she doubted he wanted to hear about her crappy childhood anyway. She settled for taking another sip from her mug, letting the amaretto warm her from the inside out.

"You're not really one for sharing, are you?" Killian noted, regarding her with more scrutiny than she was really comfortable with.

"Don't have much to share," Emma shrugged.

"I doubt that very much. You seem like many things, Emma Swan. But boring? I doubt it. Take this, for instance. How does a lass like you end up on the wrong side of the Atlantic anyhow, teaching American history to a bunch of kids who couldn't quite scrape into Cambridge?"

"I applied?"

"Oh, please," he scoffed. "No one leaves all their friends and family behind and starts a new life three thousand miles away without a reason. So what was it? Bad break-up?"

"No." Walsh's face flashed in her mind for an instant. "Well, yes. But no, I mean, that's not why I came here."

He looked unconvinced. "No?"

"No."

"Then might I inquire…?"

"So you can write it all down in your little article? I don't think so, Buddy."

"Off the record, then," he said, pushing his phone across the table towards her in a show of good faith. "Why Scotland? Why now? And I swear, if you say anything about Outlander, we're done here."

She poked her tongue out at him for that. Sure, Jamie Fraser was one fine slice of Highland prime beef, but he hadn't really figured much into her decision. Her own decision hadn’t been half so simple. But hell, he’d asked for it, right?

"The break-up wasn't the reason, exactly. But it made it easier. Less to leave, I guess. And then I lost my job. Voluntary redundancy, or whatever. But at least I got a payout. And my friends, well they've all got their own stuff going on. Mary Margaret's trying for a baby. Ruby and Victor are moving in together. August has his book. And I had this money, burning a hole in my pocket. I guess I figured I had nothing to lose."

"You do realise this is the most you've ever spoken about yourself since I met you?" Killian pointed out, setting his mug down on the coffee table.

"And you say you do this for a living?" Emma asked in disbelief.

"Well, I think I also implied I'm a bit of a problem employee. So I'm guessing you were the dumper, rather than the dumpee?"

"What, with Walsh? Why would you assume that?" Emma asked, feeling her hackles raise.

"Well, you're something of an open book, lass. For one thing, you don't seem all that cut up about it. And for another, I think if you were properly distraught you would have sought out the company of your friends, rather than choosing to isolate yourself in some far off place."

He was right, damn him. Why did he have to be right?

"Fine. I'm the one who broke it off, happy? He proposed, and instead of saying yes, like a normal person, I decided I'd rather break his heart into little itty bitty pieces."

"You were in love with him?"

What was with the men in her life, and their fixation with Emma's feelings about Walsh?

"Sure, I guess. He's a good guy. We just weren't… endgame."

"Hmmm," said Killian thoughtfully.

"What?" Emma asked, wondering if she was really ready for another one of his theories.

"He didn't really get it, did he? The orphan thing?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. "How the fuck did you know that?"

"Well I didn't, for sure. But I suspected. I've been around my share of orphans. There's a certain look, when you've been left on your own too long. And you, Swan, have the look."

Emma knew the look he meant. One part neglect to two parts chip on one's shoulder. It never entirely left you, no matter how many birthdays you had, or paychecks you cashed. An orphan was always an orphan.

"You're one to talk. Your brother raised you, didn't he?" Emma hadn't needed to meet Liam Jones to realize why he loomed so large in his brother's imagination. Not a case of sibling rivalry at all, but a lingering fear of not living up to his brother's expectations.

"He did," Killian confirmed. "But our father isn't dead. He just left, not too long after our mother passed. He turned up about ten years ago, out of the blue with a whole new family. A brother we never even knew existed."

"Ouch."

"Liam didn't take it very well. Not that I can blame him. They're still not on speaking terms."

"And you?"

"It's not our brother's fault his father is a coward. He's in his first year of university now, down in Exeter. We email sometimes. I can't quite bring myself to write to my father. I doubt anything I wanted to say could be expressed via email anyway."

For a man who might have been just about one of the most articulate people Emma had ever met, that might've been hard to swallow. But she thought she understood what he meant. Sometimes it wasn't about words. But sometimes they were all you had.

"I'm from Maine, originally," Emma blurted out. "You asked me once. That's where I was found on the side of the road, as a baby." She didn't want to play this game. This 'whose childhood was worse' game. But she felt compelled to give him something. "So, you were right about me. I grew up bouncing from foster home to foster home until I aged out of the system. Had a near-miss with the law and decided I didn't want to be a statistic. So I got my GED, applied to a bunch of colleges and took out a mountain of student loans. Somehow I ended up back in a small town in Maine about fifty miles from where I started, studying history, and I liked it there, so I stayed for a while. And now I'm here?"

"Here you are," Killian said, raising his mug to clink against her own. "Nice to meet you at last, Emma Swan," he said, piercing blue eyes meeting hers.

It would have been easy to lower her gaze, but she didn't, even as she drained the last of her cup. "Likewise, Killian Jones."

"So," Emma said, fingers tracing the rim of her empty mug. "You mentioned you found me a new best friend?"

Her name was Merida.

Or at least, that was what Killian was going to call her in his column. Anonymity apparently only an option for people who hadn't already had their real name splashed all over the internet.

"I can't decide if you're going to get along like a house on fire, or try to kill each other," he'd said, as if that was in any way a solid recommendation.

And then he'd suggested archery, of all activities. Because this Merida was apparently something of an expert. At archery.

"You really think it's wise sending me out into the hinterland with a complete stranger, armed with deadly weapons?" Emma had asked.

"You'll have deadly weapons too, Swan," he reminded her, in an overly cheerful way. As if that made it any better. It's wasn't like she knew how to use them.

The archery range was a long cab ride out of the city, set among farmland dotted with harassed looking cows and unsightly power lines. And just as Killian had promised, there was a young woman waiting by the front gate, immediately recognizable by her tangle of red curls.

"You're Emma?" the girl asked with a sideways smile, stepping forward to shake Emma's hand.

"I am," she said, grasping her hand in a firm handshake. "And I guess you're the person who was crazy enough to answer Killian's email?"

"Aye. Seems like. You ever shoot an arrow before, Emma?" Her accent was astronomical. Emma liked to think she had grown accustomed to the soft burr of the natives, but this was something else altogether.

"Uh, no. A friend of mine, um... back home. She went through an archery phase in college. I was much more into the spectating side of things."

"Well, there's no time like th' present," the girl said, leading the way to what seemed to be a storage shed.

"You're not worried it might rain?" Emma called out, pointing out the gunmetal grey of the clouds that were fast gathering on the horizon.

The girl shrugged, not even bothering to turn around. "It'll pass. Weather changes fast here."

With that apparently cleared up, Emma had no choice but to follow after her.

The weather did change fast. One minute Emma was being lectured to about her terrible stance in relative sunshine, the next the rain was coming in sideways.

Merida, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned, still focused intently on her target.

"This doesn't bother you?" Emma called, having to shout to make herself heard over the roar of the tempest beating down on them.

"It's Scotland!" the girl shouted back in answer, not moving a millimeter.

"It's freezing!"

Apparently having realized the shine had rather worn off for Emma, the girl gave a huff of annoyance, and let her bow drop back to her side. It was only when she turned around and saw Emma huddled there, shivering, that her face softened a little.

"Alrigh' fine," she said, holding her hands up in defeat. "We'll getcha warmed up."

They ended up taking refuge in Merida's car, a battered green Ford probably about as old as Merida herself. Emma felt a momentary pang of longing for her own ancient Volkswagen, probably still sitting under a dusty tarp in Mary Margaret's garage.

Emma wouldn't have minded a bit of heating to help with the whole drying process, but Merida never moved to switch on the ignition, and she felt she should be grateful she'd even gotten this far. Instead they sat in awkward silence, watching the first flurries of snow begin to fall.

"It'll pass?" Emma repeated. She couldn't help it.

Merida didn't say a fucking word.

So? KJ

How'd it go? KJ

...

Swan? KJ

Emma? Are you alright? KJ

Emma, answer your bloody phone! KJ

I have a class. I'll call you later. ES

Are you alright, lass? KJ

I'll tell you later. ES

There was that sliver of a moment, right after someone picked up the phone. That tiny breath of silence, when your heart leapt into your throat, and your nerve endings were shot. Where anticipation and fear started duking it out in your lower belly.

Emma wanted to live in that moment forever. Anything to delay the inevitable. But that was the thing about time. It didn't care what you wanted.

"Emma?" She sounded breathless, like she'd been running to grab the phone.

"Mary Margaret?" Emma said, not quite managing to keep the wobble out of her voice.

"Sweetie?"

That was all it took. One word. The confirmation that someone, somewhere, out there, gave a shit. She felt the tears gathering even before she spoke.

"You were right. I'm not okay."

[norman-reedus-gossip]

bulk

--mod--

You know how it goes 

------

Anon: 
Am i the only one that actually dont believe that they are dating? There is none proof that they are dating or in a relationship , in fact i think Diane is behind this , im sure there have been " ilove you" text around those 2. And dont you think she will be seen at all the events he went in 2016? Steve's wedding , the concerts , and traveling with him (ofcourse except the Paris thing) . Like Mod said and what i also believe , they prob just friends with benefits 😉



Anon: 
Sorry to bother you but is NR and DK "dating thing" official or not? This situation is such a mess that I can't understand anything 😂😂😂 --mod-- Right now it's still just rumor and speculation

 


Anon: 
OMG MOD! So it was all about publicity wasn't it??? She did that to get her name out there for Oscar weekend. I feel so much better now. They can't state a denial and then be caught again or it would look HELLA bad

Anon: 
i think that i'm just sad because he isn't single anymore ahahahah is that bad? --mod-- Not at all



Anon: 
I don't understand how they could be together. She embodies everything he hates (glitz glamour hollywood) She also screws with his fans worse than CS. Are they really going to go walking around holding hands like she did with JJ? He doesn't do that shit. And what about attending award shows? Are we gonna have to see her stupid face every time he goes somewhere? I think I quit. If he's with HER, he's exactly the person he said he wasn't. I so hope it's not true

. 


Anon: 
Holy Heck, at this point I don't think a denial would even do much. Consider that when that old EK story broke in TMZ and People he denied it by then, but there are still fans who believe they were (or are!) together even though she hasn't been in GA in two yes and has a long term bf. On NR's newest post are some comments to "pls clear up the DK rumor and admit you're still with EK". Like...what? More ppl follow tabloid gossip than follow NR's IG I guess. 



Anon: 
Do you think Norman even knows or cares about disappointed and sad maybe even disgusted fans? Seems like the majority of them don't care when you read through the comments on his ig picture. i kinda wish he'd get more backlash. -- mod-- He is filming right now and being down or whatever doesn't make for a good show



Anon: 
I think as fans we put Norman on a pedestal and expect more from him than a non celebrity. Yes he spoke of his dislike of cheating but no one likes to be cheated on. If the rumors are true he was on the other side of the fence this time and might have felt different. But he ain't no saint! He's just a dude. I'm not condoning his actions either way and DK has a history of being vile, but that doesn't seem to matter until it does. If ur taking this personally, take a breather. Its not gonna last

. 

Anon: 
nurseyanon: I don't care/never have about Norm and DK. It's not like we're engaged or anything...I do have a date every Sunday night (when I'm not working and saving lives that is!) to watch him and my beloved Crazy Rick kick ass. I don't know what Norm is like in real life, I DO NOT plan to attend a con or a cruise to meet him, I certainly am not going out of my way. I confess an attraction to Negan, or JDM, or sorta kinda both???

 
 

Anon: 
With all the kindness and consideration he's shown over the years he deserves better fans than this. Choosing between the actor who's Skyped with dying kids or people being cruel on the internet I'm going to stick with NR being the person I continue to prefer. No one is speaking for me when they say he's let fans down or owes us explanations. I'm not upset whether its true or not and he owes me exactly nothing. I'm ashamed by some of the behavior I'm seeing directed at him. 



Anon: 
That Norman or his reps didn't come out as of yet tells EVERYTHING. He denied the Emily rumors years back immediately. The rumors with DK are going on since almost a year now and he still didn't say anything. Disgusting, gross and ridiculous! Makes him look like he's got no balls and is such a wimp if he can't even admit it. I hope he gets backlash, I get why fans are hella disgusted and disappointed in him. Seems like he's definitely not the man he claims to be. And that is disappointing.


Anon: 
Honestly: that neither Norman nor his reps said anything or denied the DK thing yet says it all. He denied the EK rumors within 2 hours and even made fun of it. He went all silent now and doesn't say anything at all. Actions are sometimes more proof than words. They are dating if you want to admit it or not. I for me lost all my respect for the man and it's not about being jealous. It's because he claimed to love honesty yet he looks like a big liar and fool. 



Always-hopeful:
Mod I know I'm late to the party but I just woke up, checked the news, and I have to say I'm stoked that it looks like Norman might be finding love again! And who really knows what he and DK are like, they might be very good for one another, who knows! And as for people who are upset because he "lied?" How'd he do that exactly? I'd want to tell those people to not judge unless they've walked a mile in his (or her) shoes. That's all I want for him (and told him so at WS ATL), peace & happiness.

 

Anon: 
My God.I don't know what the hell to think.I have always adored Norman and the way he brings Daryl to life.He seems to be such a captivating,interesting person.I want to be on his side still,but the rumours leave a bad taste in my mouth,I can't help.There is so much confusion,nothing fits together.For all we know he could have simply driven her home because she had all these bags.But the rumours just won't die. And he should be smart enough by now to avoid her.Why does he allow her to do this?

--mod--why do any of us keep the company we do. It's all rumors at this point so maybe wait and see what happens in the coming days and weeks.





Anon: 
Also notice how Norman stopped liking DK's pics on IG. Probably because he was with her all the time. He also didn't go back to NYC THAT often before in between filming last year. He did it to see her, come on. It grosses the hell out of me to just think about it. He's such a good actor, making himself look like he's an honest man yet he's the opposite.




Anon: 
Hey Mod, I just saw all the talk, is it true or just another rumor? How come these pics always come out right when there's something she's doing that she wants attention for? --mod-- Right now just rumors. No ideas why they dropped on Friday when they were taken days before.




Anon:
Do you know if Norman is currently getting a lot of hate for the shit he did or not? I don't follow Norman blogs on Twitter or Tumblr/IG so I don't see anything. Would like to know if people are more disgusted or happy for him. I can't believe one could be happy with what he did, lying and probably cheating like how can one support his behavior? Nothing to be proud of. So anyone knows what the majority of his fans think? --mod-- He's getting both. I think he's fans are divided into like 3 groups those that hate it, those that approve and those that don't care.




Anon: 
Nothing makes sense Mod. If this was supposed to be him coming out w/ her, (since the pics were obvs set up), then why didn't he do it on Valentine's Day instead of leaving a day early /ignoring it? &why did he go out w/ Jarah to bury the rumor if he was still gonna come out w/ DK a month later? If it's true it looks SO much worse now b/c he went out of his way to hide it again even after ppl were talking about Paris. So it looks like he lied twice. Either it's not true or he's REALLY stupid.


--mod--

No those were pap shots. Those aren't they type of shots you get for "coming out"

. 


Anon: 
One question: were the pictures taken in Norman's NYC garage or upstate. If it was upstate she might've helped him with stuff since he's going to move there. I don't believe it myself but it could be just helping a friend. If it was in his NYC garage it's kinda weird. They unloaded a whole lot of stuff, even cartons. Looks even a bit as if it might be her stuff and she moved to his appartment? Can someone help me out, I'm lost. Because to me it doesn't look like just stuff from a shopping trip? -- mod-- It was taken somewhere in NYC, so not upstate. His place in NYC doesn't have a garage. Side note he's not moving permanently upstate. That home is already set up.

 


Anon: 
Total speculation but I can't help but think that when NR was with HC over the holidays maybe she warned him about DK's..love of tabloids and to steer clear if they were just friends, fwb or exes? Now, even if she set it up, he was physically in her parking garage just last weekend. Its not like it was a random super old pic her people gave to DM/TMZ. It's new. So as crappy as it is for him to be set up I can't be sympathetic because, how could he not see this coming?




Anon: 
I guess for me I am just really having a hard time understanding why someone would want to keep their relationship so secretive. If they are dating. Unless the cheating rumors are true and they don't want anyone to know. I would think if you love someone you would want everyone to know. The possible cheating is the worst part for me. I guess if the cheating rumors wind up being true then it will make me see him in a different light. I am definitely still a fan of his movies and TV shows. --mod-- Again at this point it's speculation at minimum they are friends. So we just have to wait and see how things go from here 




Anon: 
So people are just going to ignore all the good things Norman has done? He's seen with another female and doing things what friends do and now he's the devil. People need to stay the fuck out of his personal life and stop acting like 13 year olds. He isn't some band member. Chill out.




Anon: 
It used to be DK deleted every comment about Norman on her IG posts but now she is only deleting the negative ones. She's keeping the comments that say they make a good couple and all that. I'm taking that as a confirmation to be honest.



Anon: 
Is it official that norman and diane are dating or in relation? --mod-- Nope





Anon: 
Do you think it's all true Mod? I was so excited for RIDE now I don't even care. It's like he's not the same as we thought he was.


--mod-- I don't think it's true. Even if it was it doesn't really bother me.

 



Anon: 
So I'm annoyed with Norman's "choices" like others and totally see this TMZ "photo scandal" as an attempt by the untalented DK to "stay relevant," the timing / Oscar weekend is so convenient. However, my main gripe is...why does Norman look so greasy and in character 24/7? Others in the ZA have bathed and cut their hair, and in that Georgia heat it might feel better while slaying zombies. His gross factor is turning up. --mod-- Feral Daryl makes the world go BOOM 💥. I have no idea where that come from.

.


Anon: 
Did you see what they all unloaded from his car? It looks like it's someone's whole household stuff, bags but also bigger cartons. I wonder if it's her stuff and she moved to Norman's house? That's not just stuff from a usual shopping trip 😷 Or can someone help me out?
--mod-- Just stuff from a normal shopping trip. She isn't moving in.





Anon: 
I really don't want to believe NR and DK are a couple based on a couple of pics of them hanging out but it's so weird that NR isn't denying it. We've had these kind of rumours before. It was TMZ who also released the "NR and EK are dating!" story and NR took to social media to deny it AND had his reps deny it too within hours of the story breaking. But this time... nothing? I'm starting to think he can't deny it because it's true.




Anon: 
Even if it turned out to be true , i would be dissappointed in Norman , but do we actually think he is that stupid? To love a hollywood woman thats been acting like a diva? He isnt even like that , she will hate his fans and try even more attention from all the media. I really hope his people says something about this situation because this is going to give him a bad reputation 😖





Anon: 
Some things are objectively clear 1) DK, who has a deal with DM, orchestrated the pap pics *without NR's knowledge or consent*. She arranges weekly pics with DM and this time they just happen to "catch" NR--in her garage? 2) The content of the original articles (DM TMZ) is a lie. She wasnt upstate with him 3) DK was aware the pics, article (and lies therein) were gonna come out, but NR wasn't, it seems. Doesn't seem like something a loving gf or even friend would do. Thoughts?





Anon: 
Tripping across the dark playground 🤐. It seems like she 'confirmed' by liking insta comments about him being good at hiding the relationship. --mod-- New favorite phrase "tripping across the dark playground" I'm stealing it anon 




Anon: 
why are people so upset about if norman and diane turns out to be couple? I dont really follow them to much but I cant see the problem.. --mod-- Mostly because of the cheating allegations if they've been together. She was in a long term relationship which ended.



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[lucky-clover-gazette]

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapter 17

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

If Damen was rougher than he needed to be, it was because he didn’t approve of this plan. Hearing it described, he’d felt as though his body was under a weight, a hard pressure. Now he released Enguerran in the tent and watched him get to his feet without helping him. Enguerran had a wound in his side that still leaked blood. Laurent, entering the tent, pulled off his helm, and Damen saw what Enguerran saw: a golden prince with his armour covered in blood, his hair sweat-dampened, his eyes unsparing. The wound in Enguerran’s side had come from Laurent’s blade; the blood on Laurent’s armour was Enguerran’s.

lamen back at it with the strategic improv. we love to see it

He wanted no part of what was about to unfold.

support your boyfriend’s tactical theatrics, damen. let laurent get a little silly with it

‘I see. So you need me to get inside Ravenel. That is the real reason I am alive. You expect me to betray the people I have served for ten years.’ ‘To get inside Ravenel? My dear Enguerran, I’m afraid you are quite mistaken.’ Laurent’s gaze travelled over Enguerran again, his blue eyes cold. ‘I don’t need you,’ said Laurent. ‘I just need your clothes.’

i love the little moments where laurent explains his plan with like. total seriousness. but the plan itself is something that would happen in a dungeons and dragons game or animated film.

Damen was repelled by the disguise. He had argued against it. The deception was wrong, the pretence of friendship.

going crazy with that nice vs. good theme lately damen. i wonder if there’s some other reason you’re particularly opposed to the idea of disguising oneself and poisoning a friendship with deception at the moment

The brazen audacity of this was characteristic of Laurent, though dressing up his entire troop was on a different scale to walking into a small town inn with a sapphire in his ear, batting his lashes. It was one thing to disguise yourself, another to force your whole army to do it.

As the heavy latticed iron beetled above their heads, Damen found himself wanting it, wanting disruption, a cry of outrage, or of challenge, wanting it as a release to this—feeling. Traitor. Stop. But none came. Of course it didn’t. Of course the men of Ravenel welcomed them, believing them to be friends. Of course they trusted in the face of a deception, leaving themselves wide open.

this is sooooo mean (and clever) of pacat, given the interpersonal stuff between damen and laurent rn

Barrels were upended into a courtyard fountain, so that men could scoop wine out as they pleased.

love this detail

He dispatched men to take Touars’s nine-year-old son Thevenin and hold him under house arrest. Laurent was developing quite a collection of sons.

well someone has to be nice to children in this fucked up world

Then Laurent turned and saw him, and the pressure in his chest grew like pain as Laurent greeted him, half-stripped and bright-eyed. ‘How do you like my fort?’

laurent is especially fascinating as things really heat up between him and damen. it’s part cognitive dissonance, but also… i think damen has changed his mind. i don’t think laurent hates damen anymore. i think everything that seems to have developed between them, actually has developed both ways. even if laurent goes back on it later, and says mean things, damen has at this point completely changed laurent’s initial perception of him. damen is damen, who laurent knows and trusts, and not damianos. that’s where the cognitive dissonance comes in—not in any kind of false impression of damen himself. it’s, again, sad in a different way to read with the context i have. because laurent is being true here, despite the lie, and i just wish they could come by this with total honestly. but that would never have been possible for them, with their history. and the auguste thing will have to be reckoned with, eventually. laurent just has it on ice for now.

All right,’ said Laurent. ‘You see? I’m learning to take your advice.’ He spoke with an unselfconscious little smile that was wholly new.

i don’t think laurent is enjoying damen’s turmoil. i don’t even think he notices it. while he definitely respects damen, laurent still doesn’t expect him to stay past the point of his given freedom. and that’s why he flirts, and is friendly, and fucks him, despite the auguste thing. because it all ends tomorrow anyway, by damen’s choice. so laurent might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

of course, laurent underestimates damen’s devotion, as usual. even when he has sex with damen, i’m sure laurent thinks damen is counting it as just another conquest that he’ll forget about the day after. so it doesn’t matter, and it doesn’t have to matter—which good, because if it did matter to damen, it would matter SO MUCH to laurent as well. and laurent knows that his brother’s killer can’t matter to him, because that would be insane. so it’s good that damen just sees him as 1) partaking in an agreement that he (damen) will leave as soon as he’s freed and 2) a piece of ass. yep. that’s definitely it, laurent. good job.

He said, ‘What will you do next?’ ‘Bathe,’ answered Laurent, in a tone that said he knew perfectly well what Damen had meant, ‘and change into something that’s not made of metal. You should do the same. I had the servants lay out some clothing for you that befits your new station. Very Veretian, you’ll hate it. I have something else for you as well.’ He turned back in time to see Laurent move briefly to pick up a half-circle of metal from a small table by the wall. It felt like the slow push of a spear into his body, the awful unfolding inevitability of it, in front of servants, in this small, intimate room. ‘I didn’t have time to give this to you before the battle,’ said Laurent.

ohhh laurent’s going full delusional here, riding the high of his previous act. but this isn’t an act, not really. but it has to be an act, for laurent to be okay with it. just how laurent performed cruelty in book 1 with hate in his heart, he’s performing affection here with love in his heart. but it can’t be true—it can’t NOT be in some ways a performance, and laurent has made sure of that by keeping the lie going for this long. this man is in a heaven/hell of his own design. it’s honestly impressive how deeply he manages to complicate things for himself. he made his own bed and now he’s getting fucked in it

The last thing he heard was Laurent saying, ‘See to my Captain. Tonight he is to have anything that he asks for.’

HELL yeah he is

‘We are lucky the Prince’s messenger got through with his signet ring,’ Damen acknowledged. ‘What messenger?’ said Torveld.

lmaooo i think the messenger was about loyse’s whole reveal? like VERY long game?

‘I’m a Captain through your help. I owe you a great deal.’ Shyly, after a pause: ‘I told you that I would repay you. You did so much to help me in the palace. And . . .’ Erasmus hesitated, looking over at Torveld. When Torveld nodded that he should speak, he lifted his chin, uncharacteristically. ‘And I didn’t like the Regent. He burnt my leg.’ Torveld gave him a proud look, and Erasmus flushed and made obeisance again with perfect form.

eugh i haaaaaate the way the akielion slaves talk. it’s especially jarring after not having to see them for like an entire book. i know it’s supposed to be off-putting though so job well done i guess

Damen repressed another instinct to tell him to stand up.

buddy you're so close don't repress it!

He looked at Erasmus, the demure limbs and the lowered lashes. He had bedded slaves like this, as pliant in bed as they were out of it. He remembered enjoying it, but the memory was distant, as though it belonged to someone else. Erasmus was pretty, he could see that. Erasmus, he recalled, had been trained for him. He would be obedient to every order, intuit every whim, willingly. Damen turned his eyes to Laurent. A picture of cool, difficult distance confronted him. Laurent sat in brief conversation, wrist balanced on the edge of the great table, fingertips resting on the base of a goblet. From the severe, straight-backed posture to the impersonal grace of his cupped yellow head; from his detached blue eyes to the arrogance of his cheekbones, Laurent was complicated and contradictory, and Damen could look nowhere else.

LET'S GOOOOOO

As though responding to some instinct, Laurent looked up and met Damen’s eyes, and in the next moment Laurent was rising and making his way over.

‘It can wait. You just won me a fort,’ said Laurent. ‘Let me spoil you a little.’

yeah he’s just going all out he knows it’s over tomorrow nothing matters

‘That wasn’t a play against my uncle. That was a play against Nicaise. Boys are easy. At thirteen,’ said Laurent, ‘you could have led me around by the nose.’ ‘I can’t believe you were ever easy.’

an untraumatized 13 year old laurent would have been soooooo fucking weird around damen

‘Torveld tells me that in Akielos, it’s the slave who feeds the master.’ ‘That’s right.’ ‘Then you can’t have any objection,’ said Laurent, picking up the morsel, and lifting it.

laurent i think you forgot who’s the sl—you know what it’s fine they’re roleplaying again

He took a second bite. He didn’t look at the food, he looked at Laurent, at the way he held himself, always so controlled, so that all of his reactions were subtle, his blue eyes difficult to read, but not cold. He could see that Laurent was pleased, that he was enjoying the acquiescence for its rarity, its exclusivity. It felt like he was on the edge of understanding, as though Laurent was coming into view for the first time.

laurent really just said “fuck it i’ve got one night left time to be a freak about it”

Damen’s attention was on Laurent’s ivory and gold colouring, the overfine skin, the last traces of bruising from where he’d been tied up and hit. Damen’s gaze travelled, inch by inch, taking in the proud lift of his chin, the uncooperative eyes, the arch of his cheekbone, and dropping back down to his mouth. His sweet, vicious mouth.

Everything would be simple in the morning.

definitely

‘I thought you helped them out of compassion.’ ‘No, you didn’t,’ said Laurent.

He’d never stood against his father for anything. He’d never needed to, so closely had their values aligned.

damen please keep pulling at this thread and think about why that might be

‘I never questioned the way my father saw the world. It was enough for me to be the kind of son he was proud of. I could never bring shame to his memory, but for the first time I realise I don’t want to be . . .’ His kind of King.

YESSS GOOD JOB DAMEN

Father, I can beat him, he’d said, and he’d ridden out and returned to a hero’s welcome, to have his armour stripped by servants, to have his father greet him with pride. He remembered that night, all those nights, the galvanising power of his father’s expansionist victories, the approbation, as success flowed from success. He had not thought about the way it had played out on the other side of the field. When this game began, I was younger. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Damen.

the apology for auguste… ohhhhh my god. damen you’re having a character development!!!! you’re questioning things!!!!

Laurent gave him a strange look. ‘Why would you apologise to me?’

okay shut up let him have this you know why

He said, ‘I didn’t understand what being King meant to you.’ ‘What’s that?’ ‘An end to fighting.’

:)

‘I wish it could have been different between us, I wish I could have behaved to you with more honour. I want you to know that you will have a friend across the border, whatever happens tomorrow, whatever happens to both of us.’

damen you behaved with an insane amount of honor. and don’t make promises you can’t keep

‘Friends,’ said Laurent. ‘Is that what we are?’ Laurent’s voice was tightly knotted, as though the answer was obvious; as though it was as obvious as what was happening between them, the air disappearing, mote by mote.

Damen said, with helpless honesty, ‘Laurent, I am your slave.’ The words laid him open, truth exposed in the space between them. He wanted to prove it, as though, inarticulate, he could make up for what divided them.

my reading of this line is that damen is admitting his metaphorical devotion to laurent. like forget the cuffs or whatever, he’s just helplessly down bad. not suuuure if that’s the point of the line, though. the last line also implies that he wants to be with laurent as if they're equals, despite the power imbalance, soooo badly that he doesn't even care about the power imbalance

The touch he offered was accepted as it had not been last time, fingers gentle on Laurent’s jaw, thumb passing over his cheekbone, soft. Laurent’s controlled body was hard with tension, his rapid pulse urgent for flight, but he closed his eyes in the last seconds before it happened. Damen’s palm slid over Laurent’s warm nape; slowly, very slowly, making his height an offering, not a threat, Damen leaned in and kissed Laurent on the mouth. The kiss was barely a suggestion of itself, with no yielding of the rigidity in Laurent, but the first kiss became a second, after a fraction of parting in which Damen felt the flicker of Laurent’s shallow breathing against his own lips.

all the little details of laurent’s reactions continue to really touch me. for reasons previously mentioned. the contrast of words like “gentle” and soft” with “tension” and “rigidity” is very good

It felt, in all the lies between them, as if this was the only true thing. It didn’t matter that he was leaving tomorrow. He felt remade with the desire to give Laurent this: to give him all he would allow, and to ask for nothing, this careful threshold something to be savoured because it was all Laurent would let himself have.

a kingdom or this babyyyyyyyyy

do you think laurent is thinking something similar? it seems like he’s been thinking that all evening. this is the only true thing, and damen may be leaving tomorrow, but it isn’t tomorrow yet

They broke apart at the voice, the burst of sound, of nearby footsteps. A head was cresting the stone steps. Damen took a step backwards, his stomach twisting. It was Jord.

is this a lamen hr complaint? they did go somewhere private, it’s more of a jord hr complaint, like he’s at fault here. i won’t count it.